I am an image in her mind, created to remind her that once she almost became a teacher and that, if she can become strong again in her determination, perhaps she may try again. She fears that her reputation will follow her, that other people in other schools will know that she tried once and lost the energy and will to persevere against the barriers created by her blindness. She was required to adapt, to have answers to questions about what she needed. She didn't have the answers; for she was a student and learning about her young self and knowing nothing of what the hidden roles of being a teacher were. So she created me, a blind person who did make it as a teacher. Perhaps I will be her motivation to achieve.
I see the effects of her blindness on her social life, and I empathize with Beth, who is the representation of those effects. Remaining in childhood much longer than most others, Beth longs to grow up, to have friends,; but she does not know how. As the one who motivates the research on teaching and blindness, I search ever for the root of Beth's trouble and the solution that would bring her into maturity so that we can take another step toward wholeness and a full life.
In 1992, there was a major split. A difference was formed between Sarah, the core, and Cara. Sarah began slowly to slip into hopelessness, but not quite. She continued to try to pursue some avenue of interest. Cara remained behind, clinging to an interest in ministry. Since we had transferred to a new university where there was no program to prepare ministers, Sarah moved to pursuing a teaching certificate, intending to work with students who were visually impaired.
Along the way, inaccessibility of course materials became a problem. Sarah was also feeling fairly weak in the first place, although she denied this for a long while. But eventually avoidance of issues which need inner healing catches up to a person. Sarah began to burn out. School was no longer interesting as it once had been. It no longer seemed possible to stand up against the logistical and emotional barriers before her. She moved on to something else that seemed more possible. I was left behind, clinging to the dream of being a teacher.
This has been the pattern for Sarah as a whole. Now, in the spring of 1999, we who are holding various dreams, hopes, and interests are struggling to somehow create or find a dream which we can all share as a common goal so that we can combine our strengths in working toward it. This is not very easy; for we have equal levels of competency in many areas of interest, and none of these areas of competency are strong enough to satisfy requirements for graduate school. The person known as Sarah will graduate at some point with an undergraduate degree, and her grades were not necessarily poor. But when there are 200 hours on your transcript, it is very difficult to raise the GPA once it has been pulled down without retaking classes.
Where we are now as a system is at a point of needing to rely completely on God to move us into any area of professional interest and productivity. Only He can do it. It is far beyond our ability or even our confidence. How will we learn to put our confidence in Him? How will those of us who end up giving up our dreams find new places in the system? It is no longer productive to leave behind another who will continue to hold out hope.
These are the thoughts and questions I deal with daily. I used to be very strong, able to assume responsibility for daily tasks if necessary. But as my dream of teaching slips further and further from my reach, I find myself becoming very angry and frightened. What will become of me, Meredith? I thought I was made solely of the desire and determination to teach, to make a difference in the lives of visually impaired children and their families. Can I change? Can I be molded into whatever it is God desires Sarah as a whole person to be? Or will I die in order that the rest of Sarah can live? If that is what it took for Sarah to be successful--and to her success translates into following a call which comes from God--then that is what I would do. But the possibility pains me greatly. Surely I do not have a passion like this just so that I should lose it or give it up! Can it be that there is some other place for my passion? If so, where is it?
There is a place for me. Through the past two years, we have struggled with career decisions and still do. But I have chosen to relinquish the dream as I once knew it. I have integrated with Tracy, who was active in 1998 researching prematurity issues, and I am now putting my energies into writing about blindness issues. I have also integrated with others who were interested in teaching, and together we have found that working with babies part-time is satisfying.
I have also taken an active role again inside, helping some of the teens to work through their pain. It is deep, and the work is long and hard. But I see them growing, and this gives me purpose.