The Blind Man Who Taught Me About Light

Lessons from Jacques Lusseyran's And There Was Light

Over the past several years, one of my greatest teachers about light has been a blind man.

Jacques Lusseyran, author of And There Was Light, lost his eyesight at the age of seven. Yet instead of describing his life as one of darkness, he insisted that true light comes from within. As a leader in the French Resistance during World War II and later a survivor of Buchenwald concentration camp, Lusseyran discovered something extraordinary: fear dimmed his inner light, while joy strengthened it. His memoir challenged my assumptions about what it means to truly see.

As I have pondered his writings, I have come to believe that Light is far more than a physical phenomenon. It is the creative and redeeming power of God. It is His life-giving presence, His love, and His invitation to become more than we presently are. We carry that Light within us because we come from Him, and learning to recognize it changes everything.

One passage from Lusseyran has never left me. Reflecting on the years after losing his sight, he wrote that whenever he became fearful, doubtful, or began calculating, the light within him seemed to fade. But when he turned inward with trust, he discovered something unexpected. Joy and light arrived together. He described himself as becoming "a passageway" for that brightness.

That truth reaches far beyond one man's experience.

So many women today are surrounded by voices that teach them to measure themselves by comparison, appearance, performance, or the opinions of others. Our circumstances may be very different from Lusseyran's, yet we often experience our own forms of blindness. We lose sight of our worth. We become trapped by fear, shame, trauma, regret, or hopelessness. We begin believing the lies our minds tell us.

For nearly three decades, I have walked beside women—and men—caught in addiction, betrayal trauma, abuse, grief, and profound shame. I know something about darkness because I have lived there myself.

Years ago, during my own struggle with opioid addiction, I reached a point where I no longer believed I could continue living. As I poured out my despair to God, a brilliant light appeared above me, accompanied by unmistakable words:

"Michele, you do not have to live like this."

That moment did not instantly erase my addiction. Recovery became a journey that lasted many years. But from that day forward, I knew that darkness was not my identity, and it was not my destiny. God had shown me there was another way to live.

Since then, I have watched remarkable transformations in countless women. I have held those whose hearts were shattered by betrayal. I have listened to mothers consumed by regret and women crushed beneath abuse, addiction, and shame. Again and again, I have witnessed the same miracle: when they begin recognizing the Light already present within them through Christ, hope returns. Fear loosens its grip. Joy quietly begins to grow.

Lusseyran believed that our greatest prison is not always found in physical circumstances but in the way we think. He challenged his readers to practice a new kind of awareness—to notice where fear, resentment, and despair cloud the mind, and to deliberately choose another way of seeing. That invitation resonates deeply with my own experience. Healing often begins long before our circumstances change. It begins when our minds begin to change.

As women of faith, I believe we possess remarkable capacities for light, compassion, discernment, and creation. These gifts do not remove suffering, but they transform the way we walk through it. We are invited to cultivate the Light God has already placed within us until it becomes strong enough to illuminate the lives of others.

Jacques Lusseyran taught me that blindness need not prevent us from living in light.

Life has taught me the same lesson.

No matter what sorrow, grief, addiction, betrayal, or loss we face, we are never abandoned to darkness. God's Light remains available to us. As we learn to recognize it, trust it, and live by it, we become women who carry hope into a world desperately searching for it.

Lusseyran expressed it beautifully:

"Light is in us, even if we have no eyes."