The Golden Thread

“Halfway through the meal, I noticed the easy comfort and warmth of the conversation. Mr. Logan certainly was not the first guest to have dinner with my family, but already he felt like he belonged somehow. It seemed as though a golden thread of friendship and connection wove itself between Mr. Logan and my parents. ‘Perhaps Samantha and I have a golden thread connecting our hearts,’ I thought, satisfied with the idea. ‘What makes some people comfortable on the spot, and others we’ve lived around for ages feel like puzzle pieces that don’t fit?’”

“Doesn’t it make you just a little mad that you won’t be able to ever see again?” James leaned back and nodded his head. “I could be. I was for a long time after Leonard found me and I learned from the doctor that my sight was gone forever. Then I realized I could make a choice. I’m beginning to realize there are several kinds of seeing,” he said, turning toward me. “I’ve had moments of bitterness and hatred, and those feelings brought more darkness into my life. Minutes later I would be overwhelmed with gratitude that I was still alive, especially when Leonard found me. The light seemed different inside me when I was grateful. I could see clearer, even though my eyes couldn’t. It’s difficult to explain. There’s light within us as well as the light we see by. It’s in all of us. So, in that pit in Viet Nam and in the hospital after I was rescued, I practiced. I can’t see the sunlight, but I can feel it. I can’t see the energy—I suppose it’s energy—of despair or hatred, but I can feel the darkness in those emotions. I’m not interested in hanging on to hatred. Forgiveness carries more light.”