Her vivacious spirit was evident immediately. In a room full of parents with their children, she was the one child scurrying around on the floor, bouncing a ball and entertaining her inadvertent audience. Her name was Ellie-Mae*, and she was one of the children at the clinic who needed cataract eye surgery.
Just like the other children in the room suffering from cataracts, Ellie-Mae's vision was practically obliterated in her affected right eye. She could see out of her left eye, but that right eye ran around like an unruly pinball. When looking at Ellie-Mae's face, it was hard not to focus on that right eye. But to focus on that eye was to overlook the beauty captured in Ellie-Mae's ear-to-ear smile and the mischievous expression that so naturally appeared on her face. That expression invited you to engage in combat. With no audible word, you could hear her say, "Come on, I dare you."
Ellie-Mae's family was poor. It was not hard to see. While exact living conditions were uncertain, it was likely that she went to sleep every night in a tin shanty. But Ellie-Mae was too young and too full of life to worry about such matters. Her attitude might have been summed up as "Who cares? I am living life. Try to stop me."
We were there to witness Ellie-Mae's eye surgery. A procedure that would improve her right eye's focus and vision. It would be dramatic. It was going to be fantastic! When the time came, Ellie-Mae and her mother went back to see the doctor for the pre-surgery check. This step was a necessary final inspection of the eye to determine any special procedures required for the surgery. Ellie-Mae was to be sedated after this check and then go into surgery. We waited outside the operating area.
After an hour, word came from the operating area - "deferred." Ellie-Mae was seen by the doctor, who determined during the evaluation that her right eye had a detached retina. Any cataract surgery performed on that eye would not correct sight. Ellie-Mae was blind in her right eye. "Deferred" - a loathsome word.
The deferral made our hearts hurt. It all happened so fast that it was hard to grasp. I sat in silence thinking about it. Too quickly, Ellie-Mae and her mother appeared from the operating area. Her mother's face had that dejected look that one gets when hearing a bad report from the doctor. Ellie-Mae had that same vivacious smile on her face, a child unaware of the verdict condemning her right eye to darkness. We said goodbye, and that little seven-year-old girl reached out to me for a hug. I was blessed and torn to pieces all in the same embrace. I smoothed back her hair and said a short blessing over her. I wished I could repair her right eye, but I couldn't, so I prayed to the only One whom I knew could.
Ellie-Mae and I will likely never meet again. I was unable to see her vision corrected. But that little girl was able to give me something I needed: perspective. When problems arise in your life, I encourage you to think about Ellie-Mae. Remember the little girl in Manila, living in poverty, living with a blind right eye. She isn't complaining. She's not screaming for pity or fairness. She is living the life she has been given, defining her joy and daring us to join her: Thank you, Ellie-Mae.
*Name changed