Whoa. That poem was...Wow. It was so insightful and kind of speechless, I kind of feel like crying...!
*Not trying to distract from the poem, here is an essay I wrote for one of my college applications. I had to write about an issue that is important to me. It really goes along with this poem, though it is from the side of a hearing person (me). (The man, Pedro, in the story is the man who gave me my sign name!)
I watch as the man raises his hands, his face to his Creator. He cannot hear the beautiful, soul-stirring music. He cannot hear those behind him worshipping. In fact, he cannot hear at all. Pedro attends these District Prayer Meetings; he is the only Deaf man present, which is no surprise as a recent survey by Silent Blessings Ministries states that only a mere two percent of Deaf people claim to be Christian. Because Pedro is alone in his stand for Christ as a Deaf man, he has no friends other than his interpreter. Ignored by hearing people. Isolated. And as I watch Pedro sincerely worship the One who made him Deaf, I realize… it bothers me that he is ignored. It bothers me very much.
Prayer meeting ends and I begin to timidly approach Pedro. Thoughts of doubt fog my mind as the epiphany shocks me: I cannot effectively communicate with this man. Like everyone other person in the room—in the whole building, actually—I am not fluent in sign language. Perhaps I will just make a fool of myself; or perhaps he will think I am trying to mock him. Before I can turn back, however, Pedro notices me. Catching my eyes, he waves enthusiastically; his smile stretches further than his face will permit. I reach his side, or Pedro reaches my side, or maybe we both meet in the middle. All I can concentrate on are his words in sign to me. “You have grown up so much since the last time I saw you. Are you still taking sign language classes?” “Yes,” I slowly sign back, “but I do not know sign fluently yet.” Pedro shrugs off my self-doubt, happy that he can speak to someone, even if it requires many gestures and much finger spelling.
Lost in conversation, while learning new signs, I am surprised when I notice the time! “We have been talking for forty-five minutes and not once has Pedro made fun of me for not being proficient in sign.” I think to myself, smiling. But then I think again, and this time the smile vanishes. “No one else has tried to converse with Pedro. Could it be that so few Deaf people attend church because hearing people do not care enough to bridge the communication gap?”
Then, there, with Pedro’s loneliness of the past, I determine in my mind, in my heart, even in the very depths of my soul to be a pillar—a pillar that will stand up as a foundation for the communication-gap bridge. Whatever the hardships that may come as a discouragement to my becoming a Deaf educator, I will stand strong. For the deaf community. For Pedro. For hearing people. And for myself.
