In a previous church I served, we had a young couple in our congregation whose names were Barry and Cindy, and both Barry and Cindy were blind. This was an impressive young couple who managed to live a normal life despite their disability. They maintained their own apartment, held down jobs, cooked their meals, managed their finances, and all that. There was almost no place they couldn’t go on their own, almost nothing they couldn’t do.
For example, one Friday night, my wife and I went to the local movie theater, and there, to our surprise, were Barry and Cindy. We sat down on the row just behind them, and, after saying our “hellos,” we settled in for the movie, just like they had.
As the film was starting, Barry asked me if I would do him and Cindy a favor. “Sure,” I said. I didn’t know what they might need, but I was willing to do it. “Could you narrate the action of the film for us?” Barry said. “You know, just describe to us what’s happening on the screen.”
I looked at my wife. She nodded. And I leaned forward and said, “Of course.” And I positioned my head just behind and between theirs. And from that moment to the end of the movie, I did my best to give them a running commentary on everything I saw. I described any and every detail I noticed on the screen. Indoor and outdoor settings. Climate conditions. Who was on camera. Movements of the characters. I don’t believe I’ve ever worked so hard trying to take in every aspect of a movie. I was concentrating to make sure I didn’t miss a thing so that our friends wouldn’t miss a thing.