A few weeks ago, two days before Easter Sunday, the day that so many parents feel the pressure to dress their children up in the best of clothes, making sure hair is pull back just so, shirts stay unstained and every photo shared is close to flawless…two days before, one of Willa’s eye sutures fell out and God grounded me, once more, in His truths.
Since her right eye loosed itself of that suture, I’ve felt like she’s been exposed. Exposed to what? I don’t know. I just know that it made me uncomfortable. I kept wondering “how do people feel when they see her eye like this?” We’ve been out places with her, and we hear peoples’ hushed conversations. You know the ones. The ones you’ve been a part of when you see someone who looks “different” and you come up with the story that you think fits their image the best. “I bet they were just born that way.” “I wonder what happened.” “I wonder if they feel bad or different.” “It’s probably a delay of some sort.” “Birth deformity.” “Gosh, that’s so awful.” “That’d be so hard.” “Don’t look over there right now, but…” You stare over your shoulder, just long enough to catch a glimpse that’ll give you an idea of how they got that way. I’m not pointing the finger. This is me, too. As much as I hate to admit it, we see someone different and we linger there a moment. We weigh their “offensive” physical traits and make a decision to accept them or not. And I get it. People need to do that with Willa too. I can be patient with that, with people’s ignorance to her situation, the human race’s obsession with outward appearance. But I don’t have to accept it. Because when paired against Jesus’ perfect love, what we do to one another, and to ourselves, while obsessing over fleeting beauty, is absolutely repulsive.
It’s repulsive that I, as Willa’s mother, would explain to a stranger in haste why her eye is missing so that they would accept her. It’s almost unspeakable that I would feel the need to coddle anyone because they’re taken back by a baby with one eye.
When Jesus looks at us, covered in all our sinful bents and deformities, He doesn’t need a moment to figure it out before He accepts us. He doesn’t need us to explain ourselves to Him. Explain how we got where we are, why our hearts are so hardened, bitter, shameful, full of regret. How we got our scars, our wrinkles, stretch marks, permanent frowns. He’s not taken back by our appearance and He sees it all….our faces and our hearts, our gnarled figures and our souls. He accepts it all. He wants it all.
Our resurrected King, when appearing before Thomas, still had His wounds. The living, resurrected Christ, fresh from conquering sin and death, wore His scars. I imagine that if asked, Thomas would tell you that to lay eyes upon the Risen Christ was the most beautiful thing he had witnessed in his whole existence. In all his Glory and perfection, Jesus was marked by pain and suffering. Pain and suffering that led to freedom. What beauty. A mark of vindication! Of Completion!
In a few days we leave to go back to St. Jude. Willa will be fitted for a prosthetic eye. So…before that happens, I want to dwell here and soak up her tiny face with her wound, a reminder of her pain and suffering…..pain and suffering that has led to freedom. Freedom not only of her cancer, but freedom for her parents and for anyone else who has been touched by her story, freedom to rid ourselves of the doubt that God isn’t for us. A reminder that we have all been set free, each one of us with our own wounds and scars….many that we will wear for the rest of our existence. Reminders of true beauty. Sacrificial, unconditional love. Given for us. A conqueror for us.
Oh, give us a thirst for that beauty….mark us with that beauty….raw, bloody, real, perpetual beauty.
….And Willa……golly, are you ever beautiful!
So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 2 Corinthians 4:16