At noon on Thursday, November 7, 2013, friends and supporters around the world were praying for Maria … and for me. I was facing the most difficult reconstructive eye surgery of my entire career.
It seemed like an impossible situation. At church the Sunday after I first evaluated Maria, I tried to listen to the sermon, but instead I kept going over the details of her upcoming surgery over and over in my mind. Her chance for healthy sight had been slim from the start to begin with, as Maria had been born prematurely, weighing only two pounds. Growing up in a Moldovan orphanage, she had also lacked access to basic medical care and essential nutrition. Maria had retinopathy of prematurity. The accompanying detached retina in her left eye was never treated, so she had lost all hope of any sight in that eye. She also had only light perception vision remaining in her right eye, but even that was compromised by the eye’s severe damage and chronic inflammation. So since her right eye was all we had to work with, we had only the slimmest chance of restoring any sight at all for Maria.
I was honest with Maria and her host family and Steve and Lynn Hendrich, in explaining to them that the surgery on Maria’s right eye could fail, and if it did, she could lose even the little bit of sight she had left in that eye. And if there were any surgical complications—such as an infection—then we might have to remove her entire right eyeball altogether. That would be a disaster, since an eye that at least has light perception vision is still much better than facing the rest of her life in total darkness. Additionally, if the eye had to be removed, the tissues and bone structure around her eye socket would deteriorate, so her pretty, young face could be permanently disfigured.
Furthermore, what if I opened up Maria’s eye and found even more damage, like I had with Kajal? Could I handle another heartbreak like that? I felt tense and unsettled.
And to add insult to injury, my third marriage was unraveling as well. I had met Ye-jia Xue about five years earlier at a social gathering in Shanghai. She was beautiful, an elegant dancer, and one of the smartest people I had ever known. We fell in love, and Ye-jia moved to the U.S. to be with me. We were married a short time later, but the ongoing stress of work took its toll on our marriage over the next several years. As I spent more and more time at work, Ye-jia grew increasingly unhappy, and our marriage suffered as a result of each of us focusing on our own issues, instead of working to strengthen our relationship.
The burdens I was carrying with another declining marriage, and the tremendous risks and high expectations related to Maria’s surgery, caused me so much stress that I felt like I was going to completely fall apart. I had nowhere else to turn but to God. Sitting in the church pew, I bowed my head and prayed.
“God, why do I have to go through all these trials all at once? It is unbearable. With Maria’s upcoming surgery, if someone could create the absolute worst-case scenario regarding amount of intensity, risk, and uncertainty, this would be it! This is too stressful for me. Everyone has such hopes for her surgery, and on top of that, my own life is falling apart at the same time! Now God, this is really the time I need you, Lord … I need you desperately! You’re my only hope to survive through all of this. Lord, I am not scared or fearful of the failure for myself or how hard my situation is right now, I have seen stress and failures so many times in my life. Rather, I am scared and fearful of possibly letting down Maria, someone who is so innocent, precious and vulnerable. God, please help us!”
On the day of Maria’s surgery, I had a moment to myself while I scrubbed in. Despite seemingly insurmountable difficulties, my earnest prayers over the previous few days had brought me peace. I finally sensed that God was with me, and I was able to put my personal stress aside long enough to focus exclusively on Maria, and on her surgery. Even though the surgery seemed impossible, I knew God had already carried me through other unimaginable surgeries—Francisco, Joel Case, Brad Barnes, and Kajal—so I was confident He would come through for me again with Maria.
Perhaps God had allowed my personal and professional lives to be so stenuously tested so I would fall to my knees and be humbled enough to realize how much I need Him. Perhaps He wanted me to fully realize that even my best human efforts would not be enough to help these patients … or myself. I needed to listen to Him, and submit to His much greater power and will. Only through a combination of hard work and true faith in Him could I have a chance to persevere through these most difficult situations.
I walked away from the scrub station with my hands held high, feeling refreshed, at peace, and completely determined. Before I walked into the operating room, I told Steve and Lynn that we had arrived at the point of no return. We were all well aware by this time that the surgery was going to be very risky and in the end, Maria may regain some vision or she may lose her sight completely. We prayed for God’s guidance, strength, and wisdom. Because the chance for success was so slim, I prayed that God would help us all to accept whatever His will was with the outcome. I knew deep down that truly having faith doesn’t mean asking God for what we want and then expecting Him to give it to us, but rather faith is presenting your prayer request to God with a humble attitude of “not my will, but yours be done,” and then accepting whatever His decision is for our situation.
I was going to give it my best … and the rest was up to God!
Inside the operating room, the surgical team prepared the surgical instruments as I secured my gown and gloves.
We were ready to begin.
There were at least ten significant barriers to restoring sight in Maria’s right eye, and we had only overcome one so far—the ultrasound had indicated that her right retina was still intact. The next barrier was that her pupil wouldn’t dilate and would have to be manually pried open, which increased the risks of the surgery. The goal was to get behind her constricted pupil to break up the rock-hard, opacified cataract, excavate, and implant an artificial lens. All of that had to be accomplished through a scarred cornea—which gave me only a very limited view of the eye’s content—and a chronically inflamed eye with a distorted anatomy. In addition, I wasn’t sure whether I would encounter an unstable lens or the capsular structure would be firm enough to support the removal of the dense cataract and the implantation of the lens. Finally even if we were successful with all these steps, I would still have to face dealing with the distorted iris, trying to reconstruct her pupil, and after this surgery, managing potential retinal and optic nerve issues.
As I attempted to manually open her pupil, I realized that her iris was stuck to the capsule containing the lens, which was why the pupil couldn’t dilate. I was going to have to separate the stuck tissues, which was an extremely delicate procedure because of the high risk of damaging the capsular tissue in such a chronically inflamed eye. And if the capsule was damaged, the removal of the rock-hard cataract would become much more difficult. To separate the iris from its tight adherence to the capsule, would be like gluing two pieces of plastic wrap together, and then using a surgical blade to cut all the way through the middle of the two pieces without tearing or puncturing either one … except for the fact that the iris is even thinner than plastic wrap! I felt like I was attempting an impossible feat.
I looked at the nurse and whispered, “It’s going to be a long day.”
I looked through a large surgical microscope and used the tips of the finest forceps to stretch the tissue slightly until it was taut, and then sliced it with an ultra-thin scalpel with the utmost care and precision. After about an hour and a half—which felt like an eternity—I made it through about seventy-five percent of the stuck tissues, which was only a few millimeters in length. But as the iris was separating from the capsule, the capsule and lens got free and began to move all around and sideways. Since it was no longer tightly anchored to the iris, the lens started to shake and threatened to fall into the eye cavity. At this point, the detaching work became even more difficult, like cutting through those same two pieces of glued plastic wrap, except now they were blowing back and forth in the wind.
Faced with even more difficulty in an already unfeasible situation, I finally felt that I had to give up. It just wasn’t humanly possible to go any further. Sadly, it looked like we wouldn’t be able to help Maria, and the situation would end just like Kajal’s did!
I injected some gel to stabilize the content in the eye, and then pushed the microscope to the side and rolled my chair away from the operating table. The gravity of the situation had caused me to sweat all over, and I needed a break, a chance to refresh myself. The nurse pulled down my surgical mask and held a paper cup to my lips so I could take a sip of water.
I had reached that familiar place of angst where I had done my best, but was at the limit of my surgical capabilities and couldn’t go any further on my own.
Suddenly, the first prayer I had ever prayed—thirty years ago at the University of Maryland as I stood over the atom collider—came flooding back to my mind. “God help us!” I thought about how I felt that night in the Harvard quad, about my struggle to find meaning in science and a solution to the moral dilemma of fetal tissue research. God reminded me that at the times in my life when I thought there was no hope or solution, He demonstrated His power again and again, just as He had when He revealed the solution to the fetal research dilemma.
Now I knew I needed to do what God had encouraged me to do in every one of those previous difficult situations—humbly submit to Him and ask for His help in pushing through this extremely narrow passage in Maria’s eye surgery. The spiritual symbolism of the moment was so profound that it brought to my mind the Bible verse from Matthew 7:14, “Narrow is the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.”
I took a deep breath, and lowered my head to pray.
“God, I am done,” I said. “You’ve given me a challenge that is beyond the knowledge and skills I have acquired up to this point in my life. Please reveal YOUR plan! You’ve carried me this far, so will you please help me through this most difficult part? Will you please steady my hands because I really cannot afford to make a single mistake now. I ask this in the most powerful name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
Though it had only been about a ten minute break, that can feel like an eternity to an operating room staff, so I knew the nurses and technicians were wondering what was going on. Since the surgery looked like a lost cause, one nurse was actually getting ready to turn the lights back on as soon as I declared the surgery a failure and confirmed that we were done. But I just remained in prayerful stillness, listening for God’s leading.
The operating room was quiet, very quiet, interrupted only by the monotonous beeping of the cardiac monitor.
Gradually, a sense of calm came over me as it had in all the other situations where I had let go and let God be in charge, and I felt His presence within me increasing.
With renewed confidence, a refreshed mind and steady hands, I rolled my surgical chair back into place.
For the next two hours, I worked with “laser focus” and determination to separate the last, most difficult bit of stuck tissue, all while facing the added challenge of the unstable moving lens.
When I finally made it through the remaining tissue and the pupil was finally open, I was amazed to see that the capsular tissues were still entirely intact. It was a miracle! When I asked for a new instrument, the staff knew the dangerous dissection was finally and successfully completed, so the relief to the whole team was palpable.
The hardest part was over, and I felt immense relief, but I had to stay on task. Next, I had to maneuver through the stretched pupil to carefully break up the rock hard cataract without damaging the back part of the lens capsule or the already weak supporting structure, then stabilize the lens capsule and implant the artificial lens. The rest of the procedure including the removal of corneal opacities went quickly and after I finished, I rotated my chair around, glanced contentedly at the staff, and gave them two thumbs up.
“We got it!” I exclaimed, then cheers and applause broke out throughout the operating room.
God had come through for me, and for us, once again!
Routine cataract procedures typically take only about ten minutes, but Maria’s surgery was so arduous and multi-layered that we were in the operating room for over four hours. The surgery had gone as well as I could have hoped, but the results were yet to be determined. I had restored the anatomical structure of her eye, but I didn’t know yet if Maria would be able to see at all. There still remained several obstacles to overcome. What if her retina or optic nerve didn’t function properly? We would have a better idea once we removed her bandages, but even if all the parts of her eye were healthy, we still had to contend with whether or not her brain would be able to process visual stimulation after a lifetime of blindness.
As Maria slowly came off the anesthesia, the nurse came to me and said, “Dr. Wang, she asked for you.”
In that moment, I had a decision to make. I could remove her patch and test her sight all by myself, so no one else would witness the letdown if the surgery had failed to restore her sight. But if she was able to see, I would be the only one to witness this once-in-a-lifetime moment of miracle of God. Few of us know someone attempting to go from darkness to sight, but even fewer of us are present at the very moment when a person comes out of that darkness, and enters the amazing world of sight!
I decided to put my ego aside and accept that if the results weren’t what we had all hoped for, I had the peace of knowing I had done all I could. But if Maria regained any sight at all, the experience was something everyone would remember for the rest of their lives.
This was too precious an opportunity for anyone to miss. To be present when a blind person is finally able to see is truly a miraculous moment.
I asked Maria if her host family, supporters, and the staff could be in the room when I took off her patch. Maria agreed, and the entire team that had labored for nearly two years on her behalf gathered around her. I was too exhausted to go into much detail about the surgery, so I simply told them that it had been a close call.
“This is the moment of truth,” I said. “God has carried us this far. This is the moment for Him to shine. God, please help us accept whatever your will is.”
Maria lay listlessly on the bed, still wrapped in a light white blanket with large sunglasses that dwarfed her delicate features. Lynn stood to Maria’s right, teary and nervous. She and her family had poured so much of themselves into this young girl’s life. If Maria couldn’t see when the patch was removed, Lynn and Steve had already decided they would care for Maria for the rest of her life. This is, in fact, the foundation’s biggest challenge—finding host parents willing to provide lifelong care for an orphan who may or may not regain sight, even with our best efforts.
But I knew Lynn wasn’t crying because she feared the task in front of her. She was nervous and hopeful. She loved Maria so much and wanted nothing more for her than to receive the gift of sight that would transform her life. We all longed for the same thing.
While everyone watched, I took off the sunglasses and then the patch over Maria’s right eye. She had very limited light perception vision left before surgery, so my first test would be to see whether she still had the same amount of vision, or if the surgery had in fact reduced her already very limited sight even further. “Maria, is the light in the room on?” I asked.
She nodded. I was relieved that at least we hadn’t lost anything!
I then summoned up the courage to continue testing her sight while her host family and supporters looked on. I had no idea what to expect; the results were up to God.
The first indication of improved sight would be her perception of hand movement, so I waved my hand back and forth in front of her face.
“Maria, can you see my hand moving?”
She nodded again.
I was elated! Her eyesight had actually improved! As excited as I was, I wondered if I should stop right there and end the testing on a high note, or take the risk of going on to the next test and face a possible negative response. There was only one more test I could do without a vision chart, so after a moment of thought, I decided to go for it. I held up my pointer finger and asked her how many fingers she could see.
Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath.
Maria squinted toward my hand. There was a pause.
Then she whispered, “Unu,” which is “one” in Romanian.
Maria could see my finger!
The room erupted in shouts of joy, laughter, and sobs of relief. We were each overflowing with elation born of a Herculean effort that had spanned nearly two years and five thousand miles, and included the contributions of hundreds of people.
We had witnessed a miracle, something only God could accomplish.
At long last, Maria could see.
Maria’s vision continued to improve as the swelling went down. The Hendriches took her home so she could rest and recover. Later that evening, when Maria had come out of her groggy haze from the anesthesia, Steve, Lynn, and their daughter Casey stood with her in front of their large bathroom mirror. She clutched her dark glasses in one hand as her patch was removed.
Maria looked quizzically into the mirror. She was noticing something. Steve perceived an expression of uncertainty and disbelief on her face.
“Can you see yourself, Maria?” he asked.
Maria started putting her dark glasses back on, almost poking herself in the eye.
“Oh, oh, be careful,” Steve responded as he gently pushed the glasses away from Maria’s face.
Maria looked into the mirror again, except this time when she moved, the image in the mirror moved too! Her expression transformed into a big smile as she realized that the person she was seeing in the mirror … was in fact herself!
“Sunt frumoasa!” she squealed in an elated, high-pitched tone. Her Romanian declaration was, “I am so pretty!”
Casey moved closer to Maria and asked her, “Can you see me?”
Maria turned to Casey and looked at her intently. “Yeah!” she cried, and then the two girls hugged tightly.
Maria looked back at the mirror again. She was quiet, studying the lovely image reflecting back at her, and contemplating what had just happened.
Maria had just seen herself, and the world around her, for the very first time!
* * *
At one of her first post-op visits, Maria received an amniotic membrane contact lens to help her cornea heal after the removal of her corneal opacities. It had only been a few years since the amniotic membrane contact lens had emerged on the commercial market. After being granted the two U.S. patents for this technology in 1999 and 2000, I had spent the next decade trying to develop a viable product before eventually licensing the patent to a company in California. So after sixteen years of research and development by our team, the amniotic membrane contact lens was finally available commercially in November of 2011. The breakthrough technology was rapidly adopted, and more than a thousand surgeons have used them to restore sight in countless number of patients throughout the world.
My experience with the amniotic membrane contact lens is powerful proof that science and faith can indeed work together. I believe God loves all of us and He wants us to do research, since our quality of life is improved by what is reaped through research. But He wants us to do it the right way. The amniotic membrane was a godsend opportunity for us to conduct fetal tissue research without harming an unborn child. We can now help blind patients without compromising our moral, ethical, and spiritual principles.
The amniotic membrane contact lens allowed Maria’s eye to begin to heal, and the vision in her right eye improved from one percent to twenty percent.
By early 2014, we were faced with another unique challenge. Until recently, there was little evidence that a teen or adult brain could learn to see—to interpret visual stimulation—if the person had been blind since birth or early infancy.
But in Maria’s case, the surgery had actually been done on a unique human being whose physical age was fifteen, but whose visual age was only a few months. So based on all we knew, Maria should not have been able to interpret visual images. However, defying all previous scientific assumptions, I was amazed to see that Maria’s brain began to actually adapt. With vision therapy and the help of renowned optometrist and a foundation doctor Dr. David Shen, Maria was able to gradually learn to interpret what she sees. She can now put jigsaw puzzles together, and with the help of a magnifier, she can do math. In fact, when I play card games with Maria that require math skills, she sometimes beats me! She also learned to ride a bicycle. Maria is a straight-A student in school now. She learned to play the piano and gave her first public piano recital. It was such a blessing to see Maria, who has gone from being a blind orphan at the brink of being subjected to human trafficking and prostitution, to now a happy teenager who can see, who is loved and lives in Franklin Tennessee with her host family the Hendriches!
On Saturday, October 11, 2014, the Wang Foundation for Sight Restoration held its ninth annual EyeBall fundraiser at the Massey Concert Hall at Belmont University. It had been two years since Maria’s pictures first filled the giant screens at the 2012 EyeBall, inspiring many of the event’s attendees to rally around her to offer assistance.
Since it was founded in 2003, the Wang Foundation for Sight Restoration has helped patients from more than forty states in the U.S., and over fifty five countries around the world. Foundation doctors donate their services, and other supporters have helped cover all other costs. As the foundation decided to take on more blind orphans, we realized that our greatest need and challenge was to find dedicated host families like the Hendriches, so we offered free admission to the 2014 EyeBall. Although the event has historically been mainly a fundraiser, we wanted as many people as possible to hear about this need for host families so the foundation is able to help more blind children.
More than seven hundred guests showed up for that event, the theme of which was “A Gift of Sight for Our Children.” Rather than our usual ballroom dance gala, this time we hosted a concert. I played the erhu along with Carlos Enrique on classical guitar, Deidre Emerson on cello, and David Fischer singing tenor. Acclaimed producer Robert Swope created the show. Halfway through the program we showed a video of Maria’s remarkable journey, and then Steve, Lynn, and Maria came on stage. Steve shared with the audience how they met Maria at the summer camp in Chişinău, Moldova, and how they were moved to help her. Lynn then spoke about how deeply Maria had impacted her family, and helped her children realize how blessed they are living in America today and how much they should appreciate it.
When our guest of honor, Maria, came to the microphone, she shared the deep joy and gratitude she felt for receiving her sight back and for being rescued from impending destitution.
“Thank you for being here,” she said. “I love you all very much!”
Then, just as Kajal had done, Maria surprised us with a song. Steve later told me Maria had fallen in love with “Lord, I Need You,”—initially recorded by Matt Maher, a Canadian contemporary Christian artist—and that she now sings it all the time.
She sang each word full of emotion. “Lord, I need you, oh, I need you. Every hour I need you. My one defense, my righteousness, oh God, how I need you.”
Maria had overcome more adversity than many of us will ever comprehend, yet she has remained very sweet, kind, and tender in spirit. Like Kajal, Maria had a profound impact on the people who knew and supported her, and on the over quarter million others from around the world who have watched the incredible video footage of Maria seeing herself for the very first time, exclaiming “Sunt frumoasa!” Maria entered all of our lives with a purpose of which even she was unaware. She pointed us to God and reminded us that He comes through for us when we reach the end of ourselves, and when no human option remains to pull us through.
As Steve, Lynn, and Maria left the stage, Maria gave me a big hug. We then resumed the music and before we began our last song, “Amazing Grace,” I spoke to the audience. The guests present that evening included supporters of different nationalities, cultures, and faiths—Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and also many Hindu Indians who had supported Kajal. They all gathered at EyeBall 2014 for the same purpose, to do their part to bring sight to blind orphans. I wanted this final performance to include everyone, to help all of us transcend our differences and barriers, and unify us in the common goal of serving the poor and vulnerable.
“The EyeBall is an occasion for all of us to celebrate the spirit of giving and to show that we love those who need our help,” I said. “We are celebrating the remarkable journey of one young orphan girl who has gone from darkness to sight. The world today is not always a very friendly place, but being among the loving, generous people here tonight reminds us that there is still hope for humankind. This last number is a song that, no matter what your ethnicity, culture, or religious beliefs are, reminds us of our vulnerability, our mortality, and our need to believe in an immortal, eternal, almighty Creator.”
Then one at a time, the members of our ensemble began to play, each musician rendering an interpretation of “Amazing Grace” that reflected his or her own life experience, as well as the eternal quality that transcended them all.
From Deidre’s cello came deep, melancholy tones whose mournful sound recalled the pain of Maria’s former darkness, as well as the pain that many blind orphan children from around the world still suffer today. It reminded me of the pain I myself had sustained, and how far I had come to be sitting on that stage and performing for the people and country I love.
Next, Carlos’s classical guitar strummed out a lively and joyful South American interpretation. His version of the song reminded me of the feats our team had achieved, my own life’s light and happy moments, and all the wonderful people I have known, those who have helped me and those I have been blessed to help in return.
David’s was the only vocal rendition of the song, and it was full of his compassion and love for God. “Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now I’m found, was blind, but now I see.”
Next I played the song on my Chinese erhu violin, deliberately slowing down the melody, extending each note. I wanted the two strings to convey the essence of life, the adversity I faced during the Cultural Revolution, the pain of discrimination, the hard work, the moments of joy, and the emotions and love that connected all of us.
Finally, all the musicians joined together to play the song for the fifth and the last time, inviting all the EyeBall guests to sing along. Many people stood up, singing in worship and full of emotion. I could feel the resonance throughout the auditorium, each person expressing the song in his or her own way, based on his or her own life experience, everyone aspiring to be part of something greater than all of us. EyeBall reminds us that no matter what our culture, religion or ethnicities are, we as human beings share more in common than we are different. We all desire the same thing, to love and to be loved.
Following the EyeBall, we held an after-party at Nashville’s Sunset Grill for key patrons. As I entered the restaurant, I greeted a group of about eighty people that included Wang Foundation board members, participating physicians, medical counsel, musicians, artists, photographers, and event volunteers. At my side throughout the evening was a special woman named Anle Ji.
As I’ve gotten older, I have finally learned that life is not just work; it is also and more importantly about family, and about finding a proper balance between work and those relationships that mean so much to us all. I have also learned that in order to truly love others, we must first love those who are closest to us, such as our own family members. As I’ve matured in this area, I now spend more time with my son Dennis, my brother Ming-yu and his family, my parents, and my godparents Misha and June. I have come to realize how deeply I love my family. They are my backbone and strength, and their love sustains me in my work. My parents are in their eighties now, and Dad has severe Parkinson’s. In order to better take care of them, I moved both of them in, to live with me, for the rest of their lives. In my youth, my parents have done so much to help me. In their sunset years, I want to take good care of them.
I also understand now what it is that I truly need to be as a man. After my divorce from Ye-jia, I met Anle, a Chinese-American woman who is beautiful, mature, gentle, caring, supportive, and a dedicated Christian. She is also well-educated and comes from a strong academic family like my own. What Anle brings to my life is what I have always lacked—balance with work, responsibilities, and family time. With Anle’s help, I am learning what it means to support one another and approach life as a team. For the first time in my life, I have been able to be with someone with whom I share a deep and loving connection, and a lifelong passion of wanting to make not only our own lives better, but also the lives of people around us.
With Anle’s hand in mine, I walked to each group of guests and thanked them for the contributions they made to both the foundation itself and the 2014 EyeBall. When I approached Steve and Lynn Hendrich, we shared with each other the deep gratitude and joy we felt about all God had allowed us to witness and accomplish together during the long two-year journey since they first showed me Maria’s photo.
And finally I walked up to Maria, who was walking around, chatting with everyone.
“Would you like to dance?” I asked. “Do you remember the swing dance I taught you?”
She smiled and nodded, and then handed her glasses to someone. As we started dancing to the Big Band music playing in the background, most of the guests circled around us. In the presence of everyone who had helped her, it seemed fitting for Maria to have an opportunity to showcase her newfound joy. At first, she was shy and timid with so many people watching, but then she bravely took her first step. As Maria warmed up to the music and the rhythm of the dance, she became steadily more comfortable and light on her feet, and her burgundy dress twirled as I spun her around.
She began to laugh as she danced more and more with abandon. It seemed the cork had finally popped on the joy inside of her that had been bottled up and suppressed by the darkness in which she had lived all these years. Her newly restored sight had already started transforming her life. She was no longer living in an orphanage or facing a destitute life on the streets of Moldova. Instead, she was living in a free and prosperous country, among God’s people and with a family who loved her. She could finally be the fun-loving teenager she was meant to be.
As we danced, I enjoyed every moment that Maria’s laughter filled the air. I had never seen her laugh so much! Her joy reminded me of what I had felt so long ago when China’s deadly Cultural Revolution finally came to an end. Gone was the darkness, fear, and looming dread of deprtation that hung over me constantly. Gone was the hardship and suffering I endured as I fought against ethnic prejudice. Gone was my impulse to run from the ghosts and darkness in my life.
My whole life’s experiences—both good and bad—made so much more sense to me now. My character had been shaped by my Eastern origins and my heart and soul had been healed through the faith I received from the West. I was now free to love more fully. By doing what it took to come out of my own darkness, I was able to help others out of theirs. God had blessed me with gifts and abilities that I will continue to use to give back to others in need, especially the blind orphans who need it the most. Maria tossed off her heels and danced with an energy that I found difficult to match. It dawned on me that the surgery that I performed on Maria not only restored her sight, but also liberated her spirit as well.
Once she was blind, but now she is free.