From the Grass Roots
AS A CHILD, I watched my grandmother spend years groping her way through life in fear and misery as a result of cataracts on her eyes. She constantly said she could manage alone, but gradually she became more and more blind. After a great deal of family and medical persuasion, she put her complete faith in a renowned surgeon who performed the operation successfully. Her remaining years were spent in deep gratitude for her new life, and in enjoyment of the beauty around her. How often I think of her, when I see my years of alcoholism in retrospect--self-sufficient, content that I could manage alone, stumbling past life's responsibilities, pleasures, and beauties, until at long last I desperately turned myself over to the Divine Healer to remove the cataracts on my soul.