Kim's Eyes

It was 1967 and I was a student at Indiana University where I was studying English and living off campus in an apartment. No one I knew in those days had a vehicle, so we walked to classes through that huge campus of 40,000 students in all kinds of weather. Since we had no phone in the rooms and no internet we never knew if classes were called off for snow. Oh! How I remember trudging through snow drifts, my fashionable wool pleated skirts worn mid-thigh with knee socks on my short legs. One winter was brutal and the freezing storm left a half- inch crust of  ice on top of the drifts. I got to class and read on the board "class canceled".  I rubbed my blood-red knees and thighs that were nicked with deep scratches from the ice and headed back home.

A bright spot in my cold story:

I met Kim when we shared a class in Ballantine Hall. Kim LOVED life! She saw beauty everywhere. While others whined about homework, rain, or lousy dates, Kim rejoiced. She would point and exclaim over the beauty she saw all around her as we walked from Ballantine Hall to other buildings in which we shared classes.

Kim was blind.

I was not a believer, so I didn't even put two and two together that God was the source of her joy. I just knew that Kim was amazing and overwhelmingly grateful when I didn't see a lot for which she could be grateful. She would squeal and exclaim about how pretty the creek looked or how beautiful the sky was. She didn’t want a service dog or a cane. She wanted to walk holding hands. She wanted to hold MY hand.

I invited Kim to dinner.  As soon as she walked into my apartment she began exclaiming about how cute everything was. Her hands eagerly touched every object on my shelves and responded about each that it was so adorable.

I did hear Kim complain once: about being short! Since we were the same height I could commiserate with her. I gave her a huge hug and said, "Kim! We're same size but your heart is MUCH bigger than mine!"