Helen and I.

Helen Keller
Helen Keller (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Helen Keller.

A bright child; she had learned to talk a bit before she grew ill with a ruthless fever that plunged her into darkness, isolating her from parents that loved and adored her.
There was no way to reach her or alleviate her suffering.

I cannot imagine what it must have been like to adjust to »nothing«  upon her recovery.

A toddler.
A baby…
Suddenly sightless where there was so much to see before.
Unable to hear, when before, the sound of her mother and father’s voice was security, consolation, music…
She was alone.

I read about what happened in her psyche in her own words, when the word “water“, signed into her hand,  slipped into the correct slot within  her comprehension.

She wrote about her joy;
Her reunion, as it were, with understanding and meaning, and finally … That »rest« within her when the world – which was hidden – was no longer withheld from her.

I am experiencing a similar thing tonight;
A similar “awakening”.
I am basking in my new awareness here, sitting on a warm sidewalk, in the dark, the moon above my head looks like a spotlight, it is so bright.
I am outside of a campus where I worshipped during a huge church service, after a long absence from such a corporate gathering.

I don’t know what it was that caused darkness to overshadow my understanding years ago.

I tried to be faithful while I endured it;
Faithful to write what I knew to be true, though my eye could not see, and I was deaf to my Father’s voice.

It had been a long silence.
I walked by faith, a spiritual road map imprinted in my memory, an innate sense within my spirit guiding me while my natural eyes could see nothing.

And something slipped into the correct slot of my comprehension tonight…

Like Helen who recognized water;  that cold liquid coursing over her skin from a hand pump, I recognized the Spirit of God – his peace, his grace coursing over – inside of – me.

Helen’s first word was “water”.
She knew the word as a baby … and she finally understood the word for what it was as a girl, when she felt it, then had it repetitively, and physically impressed into her hand  by her teacher; W A T E R.
Faint recognition from years past stirred in her memory and the connection was made in a life-changing, world changing moment.


I sat tonight, during the quiet hush that can only be experienced after a powerful time of worship, my head down as I quietly savored what I was feeling.  My torso gently shook, tears were pouring down my cheeks as I experienced stirrings within my belly and  in the recesses of my mind, a memory stirred… as currents, ebbs, and flows from rivers of peace swirled through me, over me, around me.

Like Helen strained for recollection while she stood at that pump getting wet, I could feel something in my intellect, like the breath of a whisper, as God re-familiarized me with that supernatural flow of living water.
He was in charge of the pump and generous with the “water” that gushed freely over the skin of my inner man, saturating me with the things that I love most;
His Grace.
 His Presence.
His peace.

I did not suffer like Helen, though I »was« blind.
I did not live in anguish like Helen, though I think I understand a fraction of her pain, as she touched and felt her father’s body, knowing that he was there while being yet unable to communicate with him.

He was there,
but He was NOT There!

“I know you are here, Daddy, but I cannot hear you!”, must have been her heart’s cry until it became as much a part of her existence as breathing.

In one instant the barrier was broken;
Her inner turmoil and her Father’s daily anguish at her suffering – finally over.
She collapses in his arms, both of them ecstatic that she will now “hear” Him.
He rejoices at the fact that he will never have to see that particular expression of frustration and loneliness on her face again while being unable to alleviate it because he was shut out of her world.

And I am talking about both myself and Helen, now;

For we were both consumed with our own plight and blinded – unaware – of the depth of our Father’s love for us, or his hurting heart, while He exhausted attempt after attempt to break through, no doubt weeping bitterly at his daughter’s blind eyes and deaf ears and inner struggle.

I am not Helen.

I will never know the depth of her sorrow, which means I will never truly experience the power of her elation,
But we were both separated from our Fathers, (her earthly, my heavenly) by a barrier.
A barrier that kept us from him, though we »knew« he was there all the while.

God be praised…
It was nothing lasting.

A paper wall, only.
A paper wall, rent in two.
Rent in two and removed forever.
Disintegrated by refreshing streams of Living Water.


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