“A man who took great pride in his lawn found himself with a large crop of dandelions. He tried every method he knew to destroy them. Still they plagued him. Finally he wrote the Department of Agriculture. He enumerated all the things he had tried and closed his letter with the question: “What shall I do now?” In due course the reply came: “We suggest you learn to love them.”
“I was proud of my lawn but I too was plagued with dandelions that I kept fighting with every means in my power. So learning to love them was no easy task. I began by talking to them each day. Cordial. Friendly. They maintained a sullen silence. They were smarting from the war I had waged against them—and were suspicious of my motives. But the day came when they smiled. And relaxed. And we started to be friends. My lawn, of course, was ruined. But how attractive my garden became!
“He was becoming blind by degrees. And he fought it with every means in his power. When medicine gave out, he fought it with his emotions. It took courage to say, “I suggest you learn to love your blindness.” At first he would have nothing to do with it. And when he eventually brought himself to speak to his blindness his words were bitter. But he kept on speaking till the bitterness became resignation and tolerance and acceptance and, one day, much to his own surprise, friendliness… and love. Then came the day when he was able to put his arm around his blindness and say, “I love you.” That was the day I saw him smile again. His vision, of course, was lost forever. But how attractive his face became!”
~ from “The Song of the Bird” by Anthony de Mello