By Annette Hubbell
Gradually, I came to realize that I was not like other children. So many adults telling me I could not do this because I was blind. That hurt, and feeling blue, I’d sneak off to be on my own. In my prayers, though, God assured me that He had great plans for me, and I came to believe Him, for He always speaks the truth.
I became content with my blindness and did not even think to pray for sight; there was a greater concern on my mind. I prayed for an education. Blind people were not teachable, it was thought, or at the very least, no one knew how to teach us.
Dear Lord, I would often pray, please show me how I can learn like other children.
On my own I began composing poetry. Have a listen to this, my very first poem. I was eight:
Oh, what a happy soul am I. Although I cannot see,
I am resolved that in this world, contented I will be.
How many blessings I enjoy that other people don’t.
To weep and sigh because I’m blind, I cannot, and I won’t.
When I was in my sixtieth year, I added a new chapter in my life—one that lasted another thirty years, give or take. I became a mission worker in the Bowery. I moved to a rundown apartment—just at the edge of it. I didn’t care. I could have lived better, but I had other priorities and chose to give away most everything.
The Bowery was the New York Slums: dance halls, taverns, and small shops selling filthy pictures. Homeless Civil War veterans—usually with one or more limbs missing—roamed the streets along with prostitutes, alcoholics, and pickpockets. There, you could pay money to see a dancing bear or a man bite the head off a rat. It was the Water Street Mission, the Bowery Mission, and the Door of Hope—a home for unwed mothers—that I gave my attention to, gladly living and working among the downtrodden.
A month shy of 95, I Fanny Crosby, went to heaven. Throughout my life my sight came from the heart and soul, as surely as I am here with God in heaven. One of my personal favorites from the songs I wrote begins like this: Tell me the story of Jesus; write on my heart every word. When I greet you in heaven, I’ll still be the one telling you all about Him. Oh, what songs you have yet to hear!
Dear Church, the life of Fanny Crosby is a life content with where the Lord had placed her. May we too strive to be the best for the Master and content in whatever circumstance that He has placed us. Pastor Mark