我在童年和少年時代激情四溢，無時無刻不追求展現(xiàn)自我、磨礪才藝和體味生活。學(xué)校里的音樂、舞蹈和戲劇課讓我歡欣不已，而劇院和音樂會更讓我身心為之震顫，鄉(xiāng)間流連的時光也同樣美妙。
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.
還有我的書，那些厚重的盲文書籍無論在我乘車、用餐還是睡覺時都與我形影不離。然而，一天晚上，在高中的一次舞會上，一句我無意中聽到的話霎那間將我年少的幸福擊碎——“那女孩是個瞎子，真可惜！”瞎子——這個刺耳的字眼隱含著一個陰暗、漆黑、僵硬和無助的世界。我立刻轉(zhuǎn)過身，大聲喊道：“請不要為我嘆惜，我很快樂！”——但我的快樂自此不復(fù)存在。
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.
升入大學(xué)之后，我開始為生計(jì)而奔波。課余時間我教授鋼琴及和聲，臨近畢業(yè)時還偶爾參加幾次演奏會，做了幾次講座，可要維持生計(jì)光靠這些還是不夠，與投入的時間和精力相比，它們在經(jīng)濟(jì)上的回報(bào)讓人沮喪。這讓我失去了自信和勇氣，內(nèi)心郁悶苦惱。眼看我的姐妹和伙伴們一次次興高采烈地與人約會，我更覺消沉空虛。 所幸的是，還有鋼琴陪我。我沸騰的渴望和激情在肖邦、貝多芬、勃拉姆斯那里得到了共鳴。我的挫敗感在他們美妙壯麗的音樂構(gòu)想中消散。
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?”
直到有一天，我遇見一位女孩，一位出色的女孩，這名隨軍護(hù)士的信念和執(zhí)著將改變我的一生。我們?nèi)找媸祜�，成為好友，她也慢慢察覺出我的快樂的外表之下內(nèi)心卻時常愁云密布。她對我說，“門已緊鎖，敲有何用？堅(jiān)持你的音樂夢想，我相信機(jī)會終將來臨。你太辛苦了，何不放松一下——試試禱告如何？”
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.
禱告？我從未想到過，聽起來太天真了。一直以來，我的行事準(zhǔn)則都是，無論想得到什么都必須靠自己去努力爭取。不過既然從前的熱誠和辛勞回報(bào)甚微，我什么都愿意嘗試一番。雖然有些不自在，我嘗試著每天都禱告——“上帝啊，你將我送到世上，請告訴我你賜予我的使命。幫幫我，讓我于人于己都有用處。”
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.
在接下來的幾年里，我得到了明確而滿意的回答，超出了我最樂觀的期望值。其中一個回答就是魔山盲人休閑營區(qū)。在那里，我和我的護(hù)士朋友每年都有幸看到失明 的孩子們在大自然的懷抱中是多么生氣勃勃。除此之外，朋友們真摯的友誼以及美妙的音樂都給我?guī)頍o窮無盡的歡樂和慰藉。最重要的是，我越來越意識到，在我日復(fù)一日的禱告中，當(dāng)我聆聽上帝的啟示之時，我正日益與他靠近，并通過他接近永恒。
