A husband and wife stood at a bus stop with their nine restless kids after a long, exhausting day. Bags in hand, nerves frayed, they waited impatiently as traffic roared past.
A blind man soon joined them, his cane tapping softly on the pavement.
When the bus finally arrived, the driver frowned. “Only room for ten.”
The wife quickly ushered all nine children onto the bus and climbed on after them, leaving the husband behind with the blind man.
“No problem,” the husband said. “We’ll walk.”
They headed down the sidewalk together. At first, there was only the sound of traffic—and the steady tap, tap, tap of the cane. Tired and irritated, the husband finally snapped.
“Why don’t you put rubber on that stick? That noise is driving me crazy.”
The blind man stopped and calmly replied,
“If you had put rubber on the end of your stick, we’d both be on the bus.”
The husband froze—then burst out laughing.
As they walked, the blind man spoke gently about carrying heavy burdens and trusting the path even when you can’t see it. The husband began noticing the warmth of the sun, distant laughter, the smell of fresh bread—things he’d rushed past before.
At the next stop, the bus returned with two open seats. The blind man let the husband go first.
“Guess I needed the walk,” the husband said.
Later, he learned the man—Samuel—had lost his sight, wife, and child in a fire, yet spent his life helping others find hope.
Moral:
Sometimes the people we pity most have already learned how to see.
