colorless

I held Cici's hand today.

When I started to feel myself get frustrated with a customer, I grabbed Cici's hand, and I held on for dear life.

I don't know if that was a good idea or a bad because there was a combination of emotions involved. On the one hand, I smiled and thought of her smile. For a split second I was back in Uganda, sitting on her door step, holding her hand, and just watching her head go back and forth as she laughed out loud. She had a good laugh... a rare quality these days.

On the other hand, I caught myself wanting to cry. Your heart breaks when you meet someone like Cici. Maybe you don't even realize it in the moment, but give it a week or two and get back into your normal routine, and then all of a sudden one day you realize... your heart is broken... and you can't stop thinking of Cici.

The thought of Cici can break your heart in a split second... but in that same second, the thought of Cici can mend your heart. How can you not smile when you think of someone like Cici? How can that smile and the thought of that woman not mend your heart?

As I go back and forth between emotions on the inside, I continue with my usual jokes and laughs on the outside. Cici wouldn't want me to cry for her. She would want me to remember her, but she wouldn't want me to cry for her. She would want me to come back to her, but she wouldn't want me to cry for her.

And so I decide... I do Cici no good standing here crying into people's coffee on her behalf. In fact, I do two parties no good... Cici, and the coffee drinkers.

And so I decide... I will go back to visit with Cici. I will go back to hold her hand and rest my head on her shoulder. Though she is blind, she has the qualities of a good mother... times 10... maybe even 11. And though I would want to hold her in my arms, she would want to hold me in hers. She would feel my skin and tell me how beautiful I am.

I don't know that I've ever really truly believed that until I heard it from the lips of a blind woman... the lips of Cici. Maybe it's because it had nothing to do with I look like. Maybe it's because even though she couldn't see me, she saw me exactly for who I was. She really saw me... and so few people do these days. They see the skin that I am in and they leave it at that.

Cici sees beyond the skin. I was not white, nor was she black. I was a woman (and still am... praise the Lord), who traveled to this third world country intending to "save the day" and love on it's people, who realized... even those who "save the day" (or think that's what they're doing) need to be held, need to be loved. I wanted to be loved, in the same ways that she and all women do... and over this, we bonded. In the connection between our colorless hands... we bonded.

And with this, I accepted her compliment, not because of pride or even because I agree with her, but because her definition of beauty is not the same as the world's... and I think that this is the biggest compliment that one can get... so I accept it.

And now that I am away from her, I close my eyes and I see her more clearly than ever. It is amazing how much you really can see someone when you can't see them at all. She is just as beautiful now as she was that day on her door step.

And so... I stop crying and I smile, because I know I will see her again, and I know what this means...



I will go back to Africa!*


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*Which also means I will be writing you all soon for more money.
(hey, like I said, I have to be honest in all of my writings)

:)