TIMMY THE BEGGAR
By R. Edward Miller
R. Edward Miller March 18, 1989
BLIND TIMMY
Long, long ago a well-to-do young man lived with his lovely young bride in a far, far away land that nestled on the shore of the Great Sea like a kitten curled on a hearth. Before there were doctors, nurses and modern hospitals like we have today, they eagerly awaited the birth of their first child.
At last the exciting day arrived when little Timmy was born. He could not have been more welcomed or loved if he had been born in the household of a king. Daily his parents watched anxiously as their baby boy developed before their loving eyes, and with tender care they loved and played with him all the day long.
However, as Timmy grew older, his parents began to realize what a quiet baby he was -- seemingly so uninterested in things around him. Watching him carefully, they began to have misgivings and apprehensions about him. First, they noticed that any ordinary noise close to him would startle him -- as if he could not find any reason for that noise. Before many more weeks passed, they were certain that Timmy had a real problem.
When either his mother or father talked to Timmy, he would quickly respond and turn expectantly to them. Yet, if they silently drew near and even looked down into his sweet face, he acted as though they were not there. With fear and trepidation his concerned parents began to test little Timmy in many different ways to see his responses. Finally, they sorrowfully discovered that Timmy responded to any sound, but no action they performed before his little eyes awakened a response from him. His eyes were as lifeless as glass beads in his adored little face.
With broken hearts Timmy's parents realized their precious little baby was blind -- totally blind! The strongest light could not penetrate the blinding shutters that closed his sightless eyes. Tragically, his dark opaque eyes only brought unrelieved darkness into the recesses of his veiled mind.
With yearning hearts and many tears the sorrowful couple watched their beloved first-born struggle through infancy in a world of darkness while surrounded by abundant light. Because Timmy had been born sightless, he didn't really understand that he was blind -- or even what "blindness" meant. Nor did he suspect that his eyes were different from those of his parents -- or any one else who came to visit their home.
Healthy and normal in every other aspect -- and graced with a lovely disposition -- Timmy soon learned to walk. It wasn't long before he toddled about the house as any infant his age. The major difference was that he always banged and stumbled over household objects. The many bruises and scars on his little body testified to the hurts and pains that continuously marred his young life. As he learned to walk cautiously about the house, he still bumped into the furniture and fell over toys that he could not see.
"Daddy," he said to his father one day, "does it hurt you when you walk about?"
"No, of course not, son. Walking is normal and does not hurt at all," his father answered patiently.
"Then why does it always hurt me when I walk? I fall and bang into things; it hurts so much that I cry. I don't hear you bumping into things or crying when you walk, Daddy. Why is that?"
When his father sorrowfully realized the sad plight of little Timmy's blindness, he determined to help his precious son. First he patiently tried to explain sight to Timmy. "With my own eyes I can see where I am walking; you cannot, your blind eyes cannot see things as my eyes can."
Pointing his little fingers to his sightless eyes, Timmy answered, "Daddy, I have eyes too! But I still bang into things and fall down and hurt myself." Although his daddy used all the simple illustrations he could to explain blindness and sight to his son, he found it completely impossible to bring "the light of understanding" to Timmy. Nor could he find any meaningful way to explain "light" to his dear little blind one who had never seen "light." Nor could he put into words for Timmy what relationship "light" had with keeping him from falling or clumsily bumping into things.
Finally his Daddy had a bright idea. Taking Timmy's hand, he taught him to count the steps from one piece of furniture in the house to another. So many steps led to the kitchen door -- three to the left and seven to the right. He taught his son how to count the exact number of steps to the door of any room where he wanted to go. How carefully Timmy slid his hands along the wall . . . door by door . . . till he reached his desired destination. Walking through the house, his Daddy taught his blind child to "count steps" and to "feel doors" to locate everything he needed. To learn this most valuable lesson took several days of constant teaching, but soon Timmy mastered the lessons of walking through the house effortlessly and not falling over a single thing. He also learned to put every toy in its place as soon as play was over; this way he would not stumble over it and fall. After Timmy successfully learned his house map, his parents were very careful never to move anything out of its regular place.
How overjoyed Timmy was when he could freely run and skip about the house. "Look Daddy! Look Mommy," he gleefully shouted as he ran about the house. "I can see! I can see! I can see! . . . I don't fall over things anymore!" Daily he delighted in his new ability to "see" wherever he went. Sadly, Timmy did not as yet know, nor could his father help him understand, that he really was blind -- completely blind.
His troubles started all over again when Timmy grew older and began to go outside the house. Every tree, every bush, every rock, every ditch and every stump blocked his way. Wherever he went he either banged into an object or fell over it. His little shinbones were always skinned and bruised. Many a hurtful tumble brought him much pain; many tears flowed from the sightless eyes. So discouraging were the incessant accidents that Timmy preferred to stay indoors as much as possible, for there he felt safe. In the house he could "see" his way around.
When Timmy heard other children happily playing outside, he found his way to them guided by the sound of their voices. Thoughtlessly they laughed at him. Taunting him, they mockingly challenged, "You're blind! You're blind!"
Timmy stoutly denied it, for he was convinced he could "see" every bit as well as the other children could. Weren't his eyes as good as theirs? His denials only made them laugh at him all the more. Throwing a ball and hitting him, they challenged him to pick it up. When Timmy couldn't find it, they again teased, "See, you are blind."
"I am not blind; I can see! I can see as well as you can," Timmy shouted in frustration and distress, then ran into his house to crying.
After Timmy shared with his parents all his troubles with the children, his daddy found a way to help him walk around outdoors. Making him a little cane and painting it white, he lovingly showed Timmy how to tap his cane in front of him (and around him) so he could "see" where to go. The cane even helped him identify objects he met outside.
Being very bright, Timmy learned quickly and shortly moved easily outside using his little cane almost as well as he could indoors. Once more Timmy was happy, for with his little cane he now "saw" trees, shrubs, rocks and other objects in the yard. With his sensitive fingers -- and the help of his little white cane -- Timmy thought he could "see" just like his playmates. In his dark little world, with this enlarged capacity to "see," once again Timmy concluded that he really could see "just like other folks."
As Timmy would tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . with his little cane, his hand skillfully reached out to investigate different objects. Slowly he ran his fingers over them. As the thoughtless neighborhood children watched, they made fun of Timmy's blindness over and over again.
"What is this? What is that?" they would ask. So Timmy with his cane and sensitive fingers would tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . around the objects or run his fingers over them and finally tell the boys what he had found.
"This . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . is a big rock. That . . . tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . is an empty box," he would confidently say. Sometimes he would carefully feel an object with his sensitive hands and then say, "That is a tall tree."
But still the unkind and rude children only laughed and insisted that he lived in a world of darkness, a world without any light at all. "We," they boasted, "live in a world of light. We can see everything around us. You're the blind one. We don't have to tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . with a cane or `feel with our fingers' to be able to see," mercilessly they taunted.
Stoutly Timmy denied their mockery, challenging, "How cruel you are! Why do you lie to me?" Because the meaning of sight and light had never entered his understanding, he could not -- he would not -- believe them. Any "seeing" in Timmy's darkened world depended on touch and sound. With his limited capacities, "touch and sound" were sight.
"Mommy, what is the `light' that all the children talk about?" he asked one day. To answer his question, his mother led him out of the cool shade of the house and into the bright sunlight outside. His eyes saw nothing, but his face felt the contrast of the warmth of the sunshine and the coolness of the shade. "Oh," he laughed, "Yes, I can see it now; I can see the light. The children laughed at me; they tell me I can't see the light. But you know, Mommy, I can see the light.
Light feels like a warm, gentle hand on my face." Through sorrow-filled tears his mother replied, "Yes, Timmy, you can feel the light of the sun on your face."
Once again Timmy faced his playmates stoutly declaring, "I can see light just as you can. Now I know the difference between light and darkness."
This only made the boys laugh and play more tricks on him. "Even if you can tell what things are, it takes you such a long time to decide. In just a second we can tell you what anything is." And again they laughed at him. In anger and frustration Timmy shouted insults at them, then ran back into the house to his room and cried. In no way could Timmy understand how he was different from all the other children. He lived in a "world of darkness" -- where no light ever reached. Timmy had never experienced the truth of light; therefore, the concept of light had never entered his understanding.
One day when all the children were older, Timmy's playmates began to tease him about colors. "If you can see," they taunted, "then what color is this shirt?" Blind Timmy would continue to touch and feel, but he was not able to tell. "What color is that rock?" Using the skills his father had taught him, Timmy would tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . the rock, but he could not tell what color it was. In fact, Timmy didn't know what the word "color" meant anyway. He thought the children were still deceiving and making fun of him. Surely there must not be such a thing as "color."
How cleverly Timmy analyzed the sounds around him and defined objects by the touch of his sensitive fingers and the tap . . . tap . . . tap . . . of his cane. By now Timmy really thought he could "see." And as he moved around quite easily, Timmy couldn't understand why all the children said he was blind while they could see.
"What are colors?" he asked his father one day. "The children keep teasing me about colors." His daddy realized he must make another attempt to explain the truth to Timmy. With much tenderness, yet in clear words and great wisdom, he finally convinced his son that he truly was blind; there was no way he could see as sighted people see.
Timmy was crushed! For many days he didn't even go out to play. As the reality of his affliction finally bore in upon him and pierced his hopes, he sat home dreary and dejected. Yes, he was blind; he could not see at all; he had only deluded himself. At last, in a limited way, he understood why his life was so frustrating -- so full of hurts and bruises.
"Daddy," he asked one day, "is there anyone anywhere who can heal my eyes and make me to see like you and Mommy and others see?"
"No, Timmy, there is no one in this whole world who can make a man who was born blind to see," his father answered compassionately.
"Daddy, isn't there anyone anywhere who can fix my eyes? Can't someone make them receive light and be normal like others' eyes? Will I always have to use a cane and tap my way around? Will I always be fearful of something suddenly hurting me in the darkness?" Timmy questioned.
"There is no one in all the world except God who can heal your eyes," his father quietly answered. "He and He alone can do such a miracle for you."
"Then where is God, Daddy? I will go to Him and ask Him to heal my eyes."
"Jehovah is in heaven, son, and does not dwell here on earth. However, once in a long while God comes down to earth and walks on our roads. And then, He only stays for a short time."
"Then I will go and look for him," Timmy asserted.
"No, Timmy," his father explained, "you could never find Him. But if He ever does come on the road where you are, you must cry out immediately for Him to heal you, for some say He passes by quickly."
"Have you ever seen God, Daddy?"
"No, I have never seen Him nor has my father nor my grandfather. God has never come by our house, for rarely does God ever visit the earth. Timmy, you must be alert and listen for Him. And if He does come, hurry out to meet Him. Our Jehovah can touch your eyes and make them see," his father said encouragingly.
From that day on Timmy laid hold of the hope that someday he might find God and be healed. Hiding this hope in his heart, he often remembered his father's words. How he yearned for God to come to him!
Timmy grew into a strong but tragically helpless young man. The only way he had to earn his living was to go where people gathered, hold out his hands and ask for alms. He knew that he was nothing more than a blind beggar -- one forced to live by the charity of a few people who would have pity on him. To his many other hurts of life was added one more great wound.
Now Timmy always liked to sit by the side of the main road of his town. He always remembered his father's precious words . . . "Once in a long while God comes down to earth and walks on our roads." So Timmy, the helpless beggar and the frustrated blind man, sat at the roadside begging. Sometimes he asked folk passing by if they had seen God on that road. Laughing, they called him the "foolish one" for such an absurd question. Who in all history had ever seen God walking on that road -- or any other road for that matter? Nevertheless, Timmy just refused to give up hope that someday God would walk by. He determined that he would stay there and wait for God . . . and God would heal him. On that wonderful and glorious day he would no longer be "blind Timmy," the beggar.
Sometimes, when no one passed by to give him alms, Timmy let his imagination run free with fantasies as he pictured God walking by. Within his heart he imagined himself running up to God and asking Him to heal his eyes. Oh, he just imagined himself running, jumping and reveling in the light as other folk did.
But all too soon Timmy's visions faded away in the stygian and binding darkness of utter reality. "It must be just a dream; I know it will never happen, for I am too old. Already I'm past forty, and such dreams are dreams for children. God probably will never come down and walk on my road . . . or will He? After all, people say that God has never walked on any road in this city, nor any other city they know of. I only frustrate myself by such fancyings. Wouldn't it be better to just accept my fate as a blind beggar sitting by the side of this road?" Timmy mused. "But oh, I just can't help wishing and dreaming that someday God will come walking by. On that day I will run to Him and plead for His mercy."
Sometimes Timmy even dared to pray, "God, will You please come down? Will You visit me? Will You walk by on my road and heal me?" Then Timmy would wait and listen for some strange footsteps . . . but, of course, nothing ever happened. Even though he prayed this prayer quite often, still he waited. Spontaneously this prayer rushed out of his heart, but afterwards he felt ashamed for even praying such a prayer. Timmy now thought it impossible for God to come down on his road to heal him.
One day when he heard an abnormal amount of excitement among the people that passed by, he asked them what was happening. "Jesus of Nazareth has come to our town," they answered.
"Who is Jesus?" Timmy questioned.
Laughing at him for his blind ignorance, the people told him that Jesus was the strange miracle worker who claimed to be the Son of God. And while, of course, they didn't believe Him, Jesus did do some strange and wonderful miracles of healing. Rumors claimed He healed lepers, opened deaf ears, cured all kinds of sick folks and even fed thousands of people in the wilderness.
Enraptured with this news, Timmy listened intently. His keen ears heard only one thing, "GOD HAS COME TO OUR TOWN!" He knew it . . . he just knew it in his heart. His prayers were answered. At last, God had come down to earth to walk on his road.
Timmy questioned, "But will Jesus pass by on the road where -- in the abysmal depths of my darkness -- I, the son of Timeus, sit and beg?"
Attentively and patiently Timmy sat . . . and begged . . . and waited . . . and listened. Late that afternoon he heard a strange sound -- like the sound of a thousand people all talking at once as they neared where he sat begging. As Timmy wondered what was happening, the unruly crowd almost trampled him as they noisily passed by.
"What is happening? Who's there?" Timmy called out to the people as they swept past.
"It's Jesus of Nazareth, the miracle worker,"
someone finally answered.
"Oh! . . . Oh!" Timmy said to himself. "It is God!
He walked right by me . . . and I couldn't see Him. What a curse
it is to be blind! My one and only chance -- and I missed it
because I can't see." Forgetting everyone around him, Timmy
stood up and shouted desperately at the top of his voice,
"Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy upon me!" Over
and over again Timmy roared, "Jesus, thou Son of David, have
mercy upon me!"
Getting annoyed with his screaming, the people commanded him to be quiet -- but Timmy, son of Timeus, was not about to be quiet. All the more he cried out in agony from the depths of his soul . . . "JESUS, THOU SON OF DAVID, HAVE MERCY ON ME!"
Suddenly the crowd stopped. A strange quiet reigned. Jesus had heard Timmy's desperate appeal for mercy. Standing absolutely still, Jesus commanded one of His disciples, "Bring that man to Me." Obediently that disciple brought Timmy near to Jesus. An ecstasy of unbelievable hope surged up in Timmy's heart.
Timmy heard a voice sweeter than any angel's say to him, "WHAT WILT THOU THAT I SHOULD DO UNTO THEE?"
Blind Bartimeus had only one desire and it did not take him long to say it. Just one thing he yearned for, ". . . LORD, THAT I MIGHT RECEIVE MY SIGHT!"
"AND JESUS SAID UNTO HIM, `GO THY WAY; THY FAITH HATH MADE THEE WHOLE.' AND IMMEDIATELY HE RECEIVED HIS SIGHT."
Into dead orbs, and into sightless sockets divine life surged in mighty creative power. Light . . . glorious, marvelous light shot unimaginable rays into Timmy's stygian world of darkness. Eternal night fled precipitous --away from the sightless dungeons. In the glorious light of the setting sun, the world about Timmy sprang into a glorious landscape of light, color, and a thousand beauties he had never known. Never, even in his wildest flights of fancy, had Timmy imagined what this glorious moment would be like! It was beyond all he had ever hoped or longed for. Every blade of grass -- and even the most despised weeds -- took on a marvelous beauty. As in a celestial vision, flowers, shrubs, trees and a thousand smiling faces all surrounded him.
In rapturous delight Timmy's eyes slowly focused on things around him. Now translated into another world, he shouted in glorious joy, "I can see, I CAN SEE!" At last his dream was true. No longer was it a delusion of childhood's fanciful ignorance -- Timmy could see. IT WAS TRUE! . . . IT WAS REAL! . . . IT WAS SHEER JOY! . . . IT WAS A MIRACLE OF MIRACLES! Again Timmy roared, "LOOK! LOOK, I CAN SEE! . . . I REALLY CAN SEE!"
Then Timmy turned his newly created eyes away from the earthly beauty around him and looked upon the smiling, ineffable face of Jesus. Looking deeply into the unsoundable depths of those eyes -- so full of love and gracious kindness -- Timmy felt another even more glorious light illuminating his released soul. The wondrous light of holy and eternal love met Timmy's gaze. In that moment, Timmy fell in love with Jesus, the Nazarene. Yes, God had come down to earth; he had passed by on Timmy's road.
God Himself had come to Timmy, the son of Timeus -- not as a man, not as a carpenter -- but as the anointed Jesus of Nazareth. Had not his father said long ago, "Timmy, no one but God can ever heal your eyes and cause you to see?" Without any doubt Timmy knew who this man called Jesus really was. God . . . God Himself walked by as Timmy waited and begged on that road.
o No longer a beggar by the roadside without hope or purpose;
o No longer alone and helpless -- an outcast from society;
o No longer any need to beg for his bread in shame;
o No longer forced to live in the prison of total darkness;
o No longer would blind Bartimeus, the son of Timeus, have to
go
about tap . . . tap . . . tapping his way through the streets.
When Jesus drew near, light -- earthly and heavenly light -- came to Timmy. The eternal Jehovah lighted both his eyes and his soul that day. No longer would he have to live as an outcast, as a despised beggar. He became Jesus' lighted disciple. From that day on Bartimeus, "FOLLOWED JESUS IN THE WAY."