My childhood and adolescence¹ were a joyous² outpouring of energy, a ceaseless quest for expression, skill, and experience. School was only a background to the supreme³ delight of lessons in music, dance, and dramatics, and the thrill of sojourns⁴ in the country, theaters, concerts. And books, big Braille books that came with me on streetcars, to the table, and to bed.

我在童年和少年时代激情四溢，无时无刻不追求展现自我、磨砺才艺和体味生活。学校里的音乐、舞蹈和戏剧课让我欢欣不已，而剧院和音乐会更让我身心为之震颤， 乡间流连的时光也同样美妙，还有我的书，那些厚重的盲文书籍无论在我乘车、用餐还是睡觉时都与我形影不离。

Then one night at a high school dance, a remark, not intended for my ears, stabbed my youthful bliss⁵: "That girl, what a pity she is blind." Blind! That ugly word that implied everything dark, blank, rigid⁶, and helpless. Quickly I turned and called out, Please don't feel sorry for me, I'm having lots of fun. But the fun was not to last.

然而，一天晚上，在高中的一次舞会上，一句我无 意中听到的话霎那间将我年少的幸福击碎——“那女孩是个瞎子，真可惜!”瞎子——这个刺耳的字眼隐含着一个阴暗、漆黑、僵硬和无助的世界。我立刻转过身， 大声喊道：“请不要为我叹惜，我很快乐!”——但我的快乐自此不复存在。

With the advent⁷ of college, I was brought to grips with the problem of earning a living. Part-time teaching of piano and harmony and, upon graduation, occasional concerts and lectures, proved only partial sources of livelihood⁸. In terms of time and effort involved, the financial remuneration was disheartening.

升入大学之后，我开始为生计而奔波。课余时间我教授钢琴及和声，临近毕业时还偶尔参加几次演奏会，做了几次讲座，可要维持生计光靠这些还是不够，与投入的时 间和精力相比，它们在经济上的回报让人沮丧。

This induced within me searing self-doubt and dark moods of despondency. Adding to my dismal⁹ sense of inadequacy¹⁰ was the repeated experience of seeing my sisters and friends go off to exciting dates. How grateful I was for my piano, where—through Chopin, Brahms, and Beethoven—I could mingle¹¹ my longing¹² and seething¹³ energy with theirs. And where I could dissolve my frustration¹⁴ in the beauty and grandeur¹⁵ of their conceptions.

这让我失去了自信和勇气，内心郁闷苦恼。眼看我的姐妹和伙伴们一次次兴高采烈地与人约会，我更觉消沉空虚。所 幸的是，还有钢琴陪我。我沸腾的渴望和激情在肖邦、贝多芬、勃拉姆斯那里得到了共鸣。我的挫败感在他们美妙壮丽的音乐构想中消散。

Then one day, I met a girl, a wonderful girl, an army nurse, whose faith and stability were to change my whole life. As our acquaintance ripened¹⁶ into friendship, she discerned, behind a shell of gaiety, my recurring¹⁷ plateaus of depression. She said, “Stop knocking on closed doors. Keep up your beautiful music. I know your opportunity will come. You’re trying too hard. Why don’t you relax, and have you ever tried praying?”

直到有一天，我遇见一位女孩，一位出色的女孩，这名随军护士的信念和执著将改变我的一生。我们日益熟稔，成为好友，她也慢慢察觉出我的快乐的外表之下内心却 时常愁云密布。她对我说，“门已紧锁，敲有何用?坚持你的音乐梦想，我相信机会终将来临。你太辛苦了，何不放松一下——试试祷告如何?”

The idea was strange to me. It sounded too simple. Somehow, I had always operated on the premise¹⁸ that, if you wanted something in this world, you had to go out and get it for yourself. Yet, sincerity¹⁹ and hard work had yielded only meager²⁰ returns, and I was willing to try anything. Experimentally, self-consciously, I cultivated the daily practice of prayer. I said: God, show me the purpose for which You sent me to this world. Help me to be of use to myself and to humanity.

祷告?我从未想到过，听起来太天真了。一直以来，我的行事准则都是，无论想得到什么都必须靠自己去努力争取。不过既然从前的热诚和辛劳回报甚微，我什么都愿意尝试一番。虽然有些不自在，我尝试着每天都祷告——“上帝啊，你将我送到世上，请告诉我你赐予我的使命。帮帮我，让我于人于己都有用处。”

In the years to follow, the answers began to arrive, clear and satisfying beyond my most optimistic anticipation²¹. One of the answers was Enchanted²² Hills, where my nurse friend and I have the privilege of seeing blind children come alive in God’s out-of-doors.

在接下来的几年里，我得到了明确而满意的回答，超出了我最乐观的期望值。其中一个回答就是魔山盲人休闲营区。在那里，我和我的护士朋友每年都有幸看到失明的孩子们在大自然的怀抱中是多么生气勃勃。

Others are the never-ending sources of pleasure and comfort I have found in friendship, in great music, and, most important of all, in my growing belief that as I attune²³ my life to divine revelation, I draw closer to God and, through Him, to immortality²⁴.

除此之外，朋友们真挚的友谊以及美妙的音乐都给我带来无穷无尽的欢乐和慰藉。最重要的是，我越来越意识到，在我日复一日的祷告中，当我聆听上帝的启示之时，我正日益与他靠近，并通过他接近永恒。