Blind Spots

Below is Chapter 11 of this really amazing book "Everybody Always" by " Bob Goff"
It's such an inspiring read.

I have a friend named Lex. He has the same problem in both of his eyes that I have in one of mine. After ten failed operations, he lost his eyesight completely when he was eight years old. In high school Lex began to compete in track-and-field events. By the time he got to college, he figured out he could run like the wind. So he went out for the track team. My first thought was, How can a blind guy run track? Then I found out Lex has a friend. His friend runs in front of Lex and calls his name. Lex just runs toward a voice he knows he can trust.

Everyone who runs track-and-field picks
an event. Lex picked the long jump. This still makes my head spin. If you’re not familiar with this event, you run as fast as you can down a three-foot-wide track from a position more than one hundred feet away. With your last step, you launch into the air as high as you can from a wooden board in the track and land as far away as you can in a sand pit. Impossible for a blind guy, right? Not for Lex. Do you know why? He’s got a friend whose voice he knows he can trust.

What Lex does is both simple and impossible at the same time. When it’s his turn to compete, his friend squares Lex’s shoulders to the sand pit down the track, then goes to the edge of the pit and starts yelling, “Fly! Fly! Fly!” over and over. Lex runs toward his friend’s voice as fast as he can and then jumps as far as he’s able.
Get this: Lex went out for the US Paralympic team—and he made it. He can
jump farther than just about anyone in the world. Here’s the reason why: people who are becoming love try impossible things because they’ve surrounded themselves with voices they can trust.

At the World Championships, Lex’s friend took him to the far end of the narrow track. He squared Lex’s shoulders and walked back to the edge of the sand pit. Then he started calling, “Fly! Fly! Fly!” to Lex. Because Lex is blind, he doesn’t always run in a straight line. The louder his friend called out to Lex, the more Lex wandered. When Lex got to the end of the track, he leaped into the air with everything he had. The problem? His path had wandered, and he launched crooked. Everyone in the stadium gasped. Lex missed the sandpit entirely and crashed and burned on the concrete. Lex’s friend put his hands over his head in disbelief at what had just happened as he ran to his friend’s side. Lex was badly bruised, his track uniform was ripped, and he was helped off the field for medical attention.

We’re all a little blind and have a tendency to wander. Sometimes we know what caused us to stop running in a straight line, and other times we don’t. We crash and burn and usually don’t know what happened. It’s what happens next that will tell a lot about who we’re becoming.

I’m no athlete, but if I were Lex, I would have been tempted to quit. I would have thought about how unfair my life was. I’d complain to myself about how I’d jumped far and hit hard. I might be afraid if it happened once, it might happen again. These are the voices of defeat each of us hears at some point. If we let them, these dissonant voices can drown out the voices we’ve come to trust in our lives. Lex doesn’t see the world this way. His faith doesn’t just inform his heart; it informs his whole life.

Lex’s friend got him a new uniform so he didn’t moon everyone, and Lex walked back onto the field to thunderous applause. Together, they walked to the end of the narrow runway. There’s a saying in track: “Last one, best one.” His friend squared Lex’s shoulders and his feet once again, walked to the edge of the sand pit, and called, “Fly! Fly! Fly!” as he clapped faster and faster. When Lex hit the board on his sixteenth step, he leaped into the air like a gazelle. When he hit the sand more than twenty-one feet later, he won the whole competition. Sure, he’d strayed a little from the path before. He’d even crashed the last time he’d tried, but Lex doesn’t let fear call the shots in his life, and we shouldn’t either.

We’ve all jumped for something we couldn’t see. A relationship, a career, even our faith. We’ve all been beat up too. We’ve jumped big and missed even bigger. We aim for the soft sand but hit the hard stuff. Here’s the thing: God doesn’t like us more when we succeed or less when we fail. He delights in our attempts. He gave each of us different abilities too. I can’t jump over a street curb. Lex can leap over a Buick.
I’m not trying to be Lex, and he isn’t interested in being me. One thing we do have in common is having a couple of good friends. These friends of ours don’t need to give us a lot of instruction either. They just call our names. The promise Jesus made to His friends was simply this: He promised to be a voice they could trust. All He asked His friends to do was to run toward it.

Jesus talked about sheep and shepherds a lot. I’ve had a couple of dogs. I’ve even briefly had a parakeet and a turtle. But I could never really relate when Jesus talked about what it’s like to have a lot of sheep. He said sheep can recognize the shepherd’s voice because it’s a voice they’ve come to trust. I think I understand a little more now what He was saying.

God doesn’t just give us Himself. Sometimes He gives us a few other people in our lives whose voices we can trust. Figure out what Jesus’ voice sounds like in your life. He’s standing at the end of the track calling your name. Run as fast as you can in His direction.

I had Lex come and speak to a university class I teach. Hundreds of students sat spellbound as Lex spoke to them for an hour. There was a grand piano on the stage, and he even laid down a song I’m still humming. It turns out the guy has some pretty strong vocal pipes too. When class was over, we got in my car and made the forty-five-minute drive back to the Olympic training center. When I turned on my blinker to make a right turn, Lex leaned over and said, “Bob, it’s the next street.” I just about swerved off the road.

“What?” I asked in amazement. Here’s the crazy part: he was right.

“How did you know that?” I asked him, still stunned as I made the next right.

“I keep track of where I am. It helps me find what I need,” he said confidently.

I’ve got a lot to learn from Lex. I have plenty of sight and use very little of it. He has none and somehow sees more than a dozen optometrists can. I wonder if the Bible has so many stories about blind people because many of them are in touch with where they are and what they need. Oftentimes I’m not. I’m learning from Lex the power of keeping track of where I am, figuring out what I need and listening for voices I can trust.

As we drove down the correct road, Lex asked, “Do you want me to blow your mind?”

“Buddy, it’s already blown. There’s nothing left,” I said, shaking my head.

“There’s a speed bump in thirty feet.” A few moments later, both sets of tires bounced over the bump in the road.

We’ve all heard the term "blind faith". I didn’t understand what it really meant until I met Lex. He’s the wise man who told me, “It’s not what you look at; it’s what you see.” I agree.

Keep running your race. Is it going to be easy? Heck, no. You might even question a couple of times if it’s worth it. Jesus is standing at the edge of eternity calling your name. He wants you to run toward Him as fast as your legs will carry you. He knows you can’t always see what is before you, and He wants you to forget what lies behind you. Fly! Fly! Fly! His voice is one you can trust. He wants you to run big and jump far.
Last one, best one.