[During the past Mrs. Ruth Wilson Kelsey
has contributed some of our most helpful
manuscripts for this department. In a per-
sonal letter I once chanced to say that her
days must have been most happy and satis-
factory ones. Greatly to my surprise, she
sent me the following, which she reluctantly
consented that I might print. It will suggest
to us for how little we have complaint and for
how much we should give thanks. Epitor.]
Vg aud LL my life I have been what is
W® known as a handicapped person.
A¥E With a little more than ten per
cent vision, I cannot read com-
mon print. I cannot recognize persons at
any distance save by the clothes they wear.
Often I wish my friends would not buy so
many new things. Unless I sit in the second
or third row, I can see very little of what is
taking place on a stage. To look at a picture
I must hold it very close to my eyes. Even
then I miss little details. My fingers often
tell me whether or not I have cleaned the
corners of a room. But I do not need a
guide; I can shop alone, and I am able to
match colors and shades.
If I would take time to list them, there
are many things I have not seen and cannot
do. Because of this I attended a school for
the blind where I learned the touch system
along with those who do not see at all. To
that school I owe much, for it gave me ad-
vantages and training I would otherwise
have missed.
Partially-sighted persons who are gradu-
ated from a school for the blind find it
difficult to convince many persons that they
can see at all. As a young girl I once grew
exasperated when questioned closely by an
inquisitive elderly lady. “Yes, I can see
you,” I told her. “You have gray hair, you
wear glasses, and have a long nose.”
In those days I often tried to prove how
much I could see, but now at middle age 1
worry very little whether or not most
people understand, for I know I am more
happy and content than many who have
said, “Isn’t it a shame—when she is so
talented, too!” But those talents very
likely would never have been developed
had I been born with perfect sight. My
parents were far too poor to send me to a
boarding school equal to that school for the
blind. Realizing this, I have many times
asked myself the question, “ What have 1
missed? ”’
Surely my school days were as happy
and full of pranks as those of any girl.
When I heard an orchestra practicing for a
program—a program in which I had a
part—many glowing ambitions would be
stirred within me. I would sing like Madam
Tetrazzini. I would give long readings and
plays. I would write wonderful stories and
operettas. In a very small way some of
these ambitions were realized. With my
school chum, who was an excellent pianist,
I did concert work for a year or two.
Many times, clad in shining garments, I
stood before an audience, happy to know I
pleased them with my readings and songs.
Then romance came into my life. I
know what it is to love deeply and to be
Page SIXTEEN
X “Surely my
school days were
as happy and
full of pranks
as those of any
girl.” And what
school child does
not recall the
happy Hallow-
een with its
pumpkin faces?
RICHARD K.
WHAT HAVE | MI5oED!
By Ruth Wilson helsey
loved in return, and to be truly cherished
throughout the years. |
I know the eager waiting for that miracle,
the first baby. I know the heavy ache a
mother carries so long in her heart after a
little white casket has been covered over
with a dark mound of earth. I know
through it all the gentle hand of a kind
husband, and the solace of close friends
standing beside me. Grateful for this, I
made myself sing the words of Riley:
““O heart of mine, we shouldn't
Worry so!
What we have missed of calm we couldn't
Have, you know!
What we've met of stormy pain,
And of sorrow’s driving rain,
We can better meet again,
If it blow!”
In our home three baby voices learned
to lisp the words, ‘‘ Mother’ and ‘“ Daddy,”
and I have found peace when little dark
heads bowed at my knee in innocent prayer.
I watched the chubby little bodies grow
into lengthy ones. I have experienced that
sweet release from fear after a long night of
watching over the sick bed of a child. I
have rejoiced in the precious confidences of
my children who share with me their tender
secrets. I have seen the children blossom
into young womanhood and manhood. I
have spent happy hours of shopping with
the daughter who must find just the right
dress for that special occasion. And I know
the pride of the parent who sees his child
clad in cap and gown receive a well-earned
diploma.
I know the contentment of preparing a
family meal in a sunny, bright kitchen. In
those early days my housekeeping was on
a schedule, for many pupils came to my
door to obtain lessons in expression. I have
known mingled pleasure and anxiety while
presenting them in recital.
I know the thrill of attending a public
performance of one of my own little
operettas or plays.
I know the feeling of exaltation a check
from a publisher can bring. I also know the
slump that comes when a most perfect
manuscript has been rejected five or six
times.
Many times it has been my duty to lead
The WATCHMAN MAGAZINE