remember cici?

I'm thinking of Cici today, so I thought I'd share a flashblack...

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Cici

She was blind.



Up front a man is complaining about having to wait for his drink... and the woman behind him complains about having foam on her no foam latte... and the lady in the drive-thru wants a 40 cent refund.

So what do I do? I stop dead in my tracks and I think of Cici.

I think of Cici and my heart drops into my stomach.

She was blind... she is blind.

"Welcome back to America," I think to myself.

She was a school teacher... a good one, and still is a good mother, but her husband beat her so badly that she went blind.

She stumbled out of her tiny little house that day and welcomed us into her home. I sat next to her and I held her hand. "I want to see you," she said, and she grabbed my face. She told me I was beautiful. And then she smiled.

She had no idea... she was the beautiful one. She had dark skin and bright white teeth... long eyelashes and big, thick lips. Her hair was cut short... almost completely shaved. She wore a long, auburn colored dress and her feet were bare... my favorite footwear... especially when in Africa.

I try to figure out how to put 40 cents back on this lady's card, and I think of Cici. I try to understand how this man thinks he is going to have a bad day because he had to wait for his drink, and I think of Cici. I watch as Lindsey removes the slightest bit of foam from this lady's drink, and I think of Cici.

"Welcome back to America," I think to myself... and then I think of Cici.

I want to hold her hand again. I want to carry her daughter on my back. I want to sit next to her while we pray. I want to walk bare foot with her and hang from the tree outside of her house. Mostly, I want to hear her laugh and I want to see her smile.

She has the most beautiful smile. Her husband beat her until she went blind, and yet she has the most beautiful smile. Her tin roof is full of holes that allow the rain to come in and soak up her dirt floor, and yet she has the most beautiful smile. She can never teach again, something that she loved to do, and yet she has the most beautiful smile.

So I'm at work, and I look at this woman in her comfy, air conditioned car, and I glance over at this man in his nice suit with spiffy sunglasses, and I quickly check out the woman who can afford to pay $4 for a cup of coffee, and I wonder... why aren't they smiling?



I wonder... why aren't they smiling? And I think of Cici.

I am torn between wanting to smile and wanting to cry. I want to smile for her, but I want to cry for them.

They have no idea... she is the beautiful one.

I could try to explain to them how beautiful she is, but I know it will do no good. Someone who doesn't have time to wait for a cup of coffee doesn't have time to listen to a good story... especially on a Sunday morning... they might be late for church. So I go about my day, and I wear a smile, and I think of Cici. And I pray that she knows...

she is the beautiful one.