Free Blind Hope: An Unwanted Dog & the Woman She Rescued by Kim Meeder and Laurie Sacher Page B

what I should be doing. I needto
do
it. I kinda feel like a less-than-bright kid who’s been presented a gift my entire life, but I kept choosing not to receive it. Such a gift, even from God, is completely worthless as long as it sits unopened on the doorstep of my life. He’s always offered his light. It’s only now that I’ve decided to receive it, to bring it inside my heart.”

O f all my favorite outdoor adventures, cross-country skiing ranks in the top three. I love the total body workout, the fact that you are not confined to a trail, and the overwhelming beauty of a winter-cloaked wilderness. Most of all, I love the solitude. I treasure the profound, soul-drenching quiet that Nordic skiing offers. Because of this deep passion, I’ve made it one of my delightful missions in life to teach my staff this beautiful sport.
    Early in the season, Laurie and I went up to one of the best jumping-off points into the Cascade Wilderness. After parking my truck at the base of Tumalo Mountain, I helped Laurie gear up, and together we headed out across Dutchman Flat. Iplanned for us to traverse downward through an old-growth forest and make our way north to Todd Lake. We would then skirt its heavily frozen edge and return back up the mountain flank by another route. Since it had snowed the night before, all leftover tracks were now only vague depressions in the drifts of untouched white.
    Laurie and I chugged along side by side and took advantage of the opportunity to catch up on each other’s lives since our last conversation a week prior. We covered ranch operations, my public speaking trips, and our recent holiday travels.
    “I’ll break trail if you talk.” I flashed my friend a Cheshire smile.
    “Deal!” Laurie’s speedy response verified that I was on the heavy lifting end of this trade. Laurie laughed like a girl who had just stolen my last piece of gum. She jumped into the even tracks behind me.
    I glanced back at her. She was smiling, beautiful, natural. I slowed down to a stop and reached my gloved hand back for her. “I just love doing this with you.”
    She stretched her hand forward and held mine. Her voice was warm. “I love this time together too.”
    I set the pace, and stride for stride, Laurie breathed in rhythm behind me. We left the ease of flat land and enteredthe ancient forest. Then we wove through the trees in a serpentine fashion, making our way down the mountainside. “So, how’s your Mia baby these days?”
    “Well, it’s official. My dog is teaching me far more than I could ever teach her. What a crazy journey this has been. I still shake my head at the fact that it has taken a sightless dog to show me that I was the one who was blind all along.”
    I jumped in. “Now you know it’s true! I keep telling you God has a sense of humor!”
    While she laughed, I followed up my statement. “In many ways, dogs really are smarter than people. I used to roll my eyes at statements like that until I realized that if the standard for comparison is nothing more than, say, forgiveness, it’s a done deal! Dogs know how to forgive and keep on forgiving. Man! Here I am a grownup, and in this area I’m still learning.”
    Dogs know how to forgive and keep on forgiving

    Laurie had become the sighted, two-legged student of a blind, four-legged teacher. Because of this new reality, she began to see her dog with a fresh perspective. Day after day, she watched in wonder at just how much alike they were in their blindness.
    Laurie found she favored autumn for her walks with Mia. They would often take a well-liked trail along one of the waterways pouring through Central Oregon. Cast under a heavy morning frost a few weeks earlier, all creation plunged even deeper into the rich and earthy radiance of fall. Sedges reveled in golden apparel. Mountain ash enticed all with its kaleidoscope of color. Willows called out to join in the celebration of another passing season. Just as we might blow a kiss to our