the girl who change my lift

My childhood and adolescence were a joyous outpouring of energy, a ceaseless quest for expression, skill, and experience. School was only a
background to the supreme delight of lessons in music, dance, and dramatics, and the thrill of sojourns in the country, theaters, concerts.
And books, big Braille books that came with me on streetcars, to the table, and to bed. Then one night at a high school dance, a remark, not
intended for my ears, stabbed my youthful bliss: “That girl, what a pity she is blind.” Blind! That ugly word that implied everything dark, blank,
rigid, and helpless. Quickly I turned and called out, Please don’t feel sorry for me, I’m having lots of fun. But the fun was not to last.

With the advent of college, I was brought to grips with the problem of earning a living. Part-time teaching of piano and harmony and, upon
graduation, occasional concerts and lectures, proved only partial sources of livelihood. In terms of time and effort involved, the financial
remuneration was disheartening. This induced within me searing self-doubt and dark moods of despondency. Adding to my dismal sense of inadequacy was
the repeated experience of seeing my sisters and friends go off to exciting dates. How grateful I was for my piano, where—through Chopin, Brahms,
and Beethoven—I could mingle my longing and seething energy with theirs. And where I could dissolve my frustration in the beauty and grandeur of
their conceptions.

Then one day, I met a girl, a wonderful girl, an army nurse, whose faith and stability were to change my whole life. As our acquaintance ripened
into friendship, she discerned, behind a shell of gaiety, my recurring plateaus of depression. She said, “Stop knocking on closed doors. Keep up
your beautiful music. I know your opportunity will come. You’re trying too hard. Why don’t you relax, and have you ever tried praying?”

The idea was strange to me. It sounded too simple. Somehow, I had always operated on the premise that, if you wanted something in this world, you
had to go out and get it for yourself. Yet, sincerity and hard work had yielded only meager returns, and I was willing to try anything.
Experimentally, self-consciously, I cultivated the daily practice of prayer. I said: God, show me the purpose for which You sent me to this world.
Help me to be of use to myself and to humanity.

In the years to follow, the answers began to arrive, clear and satisfying beyond my most optimistic anticipation. One of the answers was Enchanted
Hills, where my nurse friend and I have the privilege of seeing blind children come alive in God’s out-of-doors. Others are the never-ending
sources of pleasure and comfort I have found in friendship, in great music, and, most important of all, in my growing belief that as I attune my
life to divine revelation, I draw closer to God and, through Him, to immortality.
Right under our nose in our home cities and town on our sofas and lap a quiet invasion has been taking place. The cat is now officially the most
popular pet in the Western world. In Britain alone it's reckoned there are 12 million cat a vast,softly purring army which it seems we are utterly
powerless to resist.