life is beautiful

dear muffin,

she was nervous. I couldn't blame her.

terse replies were all I could draw out as I finished my work; her face was taut, expressionless.

it's doubtful that anyone in the history of the scalpel has not been nervous in those moments of waiting. moments before the wheels begin to clatter along tile floor, rolling past sterile operating rooms. after all, the idea of having one's insides opened to the world has never been a pleasant one. 

"okay then! I think we're ready." the nurse deposited an armful of IV bags & tubing into my waiting hands. "make sure you keep that piggyback higher than the primary fluid," she said in my direction. 

we helped the woman onto her feet, allowing her to smooth back disheveled blonde hair, & began the procession. the nurse led the way with routine briskness, followed by the patient herself. I took up the rear, holding the IV bags at shoulder height & keeping the train of tubing off the floor. 

her surgery was scheduled for 0800 hours, which meant it was already 30 minutes behind schedule. but no matter. the mass of foreign tissue growing below her diaphragm would be removed, the incision sutured, & before she knew it the whole ordeal would be over. still, no reassurance can shorten the moments before the plunge.

inside the operating room, every surface glinted in sterile perfection. scalpels arrayed with mathematical precision, gauze neatly stacked, suction equipment hooked up & tested. sterile blue drapes were spread over the table, ready to receive the patient.

"and, the surgeons are here." announced the circulating nurse. "Michelle, you want to get them ready?" the scrub nurse nodded & began unfolding blue plastic gowns as the surgeons poured into the room, followed by the woman's husband-- who looked ready to faint. while they scrubbed in, the anesthesiologist struck up small talk with the patient.

"so. how're you feeling?" he asked after a moment. the woman laughed shakily.

"you know that part on a roller coaster, when you're going up & all you can hear is 'click...click...click...?' that's what this part feels like." 

"alright!" announced the head surgeon. "we're a go." the light glanced off the first scalpel as it went in. 

blood. blood trickling down a swollen abdomen. the smell of burnt flesh as cautery hits blood vessel. the surgeons opened the skin with a smooth cut & then burned back the yellow fat beneath. I moved to get a better view.

there; I could see it. a mass rose into sight as the abdominal muscles separated. it was smooth, taupe-colored, with a complex pattern of blood vessels visible beneath the surface. it was larger than I had imagined. the surgeon made one final slice, reached in deep, & pulled. as he lifted, the foreign body came free in his hands.

he held up 8 pounds, 3 ounces of tissue. & as he moved it towards the light, it kicked him.

the room launched into motion. nurses closed in, transferring the now-wriggling mass to a table. the table disappeared from view as blue scrubs bent over to perform a well-practiced dance.

"heart rate 150."

"BP 67 over 35."

"O2 sats?"

"68."

"looks good!" announced the pediatrician, laying aside his stethoscope. a nurse gathered up the bundle & brought it over to the woman & her husband, who was furiously rubbing away tears of joy.

"Here you go," said the nurse with a smile. "Congratulations; she's beautiful."

-rory

from the inside looking out

“mirror mirror on the wall, who is the fairest… scratch that… who is the purest of them all?”

dear rory,

once upon a time, in a land that was obsessed with beauty and appearance, lived a woman. this woman was an older lady. she was small. she was slight. she was weak and yellow and frail. and on top of all that, she was sick. very sick. she had had cancer for sixteen years and it had taken its toll on her body.

to be honest, she wasn’t very beautiful… at least, not if you gave her a brief glance. not if you were making a quick evaluation.

why, if you had happened to live in this land and had happened to know this woman and had happened to be the doctor who gave her a check-up, you would have noticed that besides being small and frail and unattractive, she was also bruised and beat up. especially her knees.

how did such a woman belong in such a land?

she didn’t.

she didn’t belong in that land at all. yes, she lived there, but her heart belonged in a kingdom that was far greater than that petty land. she belonged to a kingdom that was ruled by a mighty King. the mightiest King that ever was. a King she had given her life to as a gift to build His Kingdom. a King she would soon get to meet face to face.

I remember hearing of this woman’s death. you see, I live in the same land that she did. this woman was a dear friend of our family’s. her name was Ruth, and while she was not the most beautiful in the land, she was one of the most beautiful women in the kingdom.

for sixteen years she had battled her cancer. for sixteen years she had prayed and cried out to the King of Kings. for sixteen years, she never turned her back on Him.

she used her last few days to witness to the hospice nurse caring for her. that nurse became a citizen of the kingdom.

and what of those bruises on Ruth’s knees? how did she get them? I cry even as I write this- those bruises were from the hours she spent kneeling in prayer.

not hours praying for herself. hours praying for others. hours praying for me.

looks can be deceiving.

especially in this land in which we live.

I have a childhood memory that frequently haunts my mind.

(side note: isn’t it annoying how we remember some of the oddest, most obscure things about childhood, but seem to forget all the important events? like remembering the scary biker neighbor bringing his pet iguana over for a visit but not remembering the birth of a sibling?)

like I was saying… I have this childhood memory that frequently haunts my mind. years and years ago, I was at AWANA (a Bible group for kids) and at this particular Wednesday night meeting, we had a guest speaker. and the speaker had brought two cakes.

one was beautifully decorated. instantly it made my stomach growl and my eyes bug out. a frozen sea of white, creamy frosting glazed the surface and little candy flowers ornamented this miracle of a cake. the other cake was frosted a nasty color… pea green. and it had no flowers or borders, only a light dusting of bitter coffee grounds.

I saw the speaker take out a knife to cut the cakes, and in that moment I knew what was going to happen. the other little girls watched hungrily as the speaker cut into the beautiful cake. I leaned back and cringed.

as you may have guessed, the beautiful cake was nasty on the inside, and the ugly one was filled with springy, yellow yummy-ness.

I wasn’t surprised. but the whole thing bothered me. and I didn’t know why. so the memory grabbed a magazine, got comfortable in some back corner, and for many years only occasionally strolled to the front of my mind to see if I could make anything of it.

after Ruth died, it hit me. a cake that is ugly on the outside and nice on the inside doesn’t exist. and THAT’S what had been bothering me for so long.

you see, we have become so accustomed to living in this land, that we have forgotten what beauty is. beauty isn’t how much frosting you can pile on a cake or how much make-up you can paint on a face. It isn’t how many sugary flowers you can place on top or how many layers of nice clothes you can wear.

beauty is what radiates from a person. beauty is what makes you forget a person’s outward imperfections and only see the smile in their eyes. it’s the kind tone you hear in their voice. it’s the warmth you feel in their grasp. it’s the wrinkles bearing witness to years of smiling friendliness.

beauty is what you find when you stop searching someone’s face for what this land considers beautiful and allow yourself to see something bigger. beauty is allowing yourself to see the King shining through an individual.

I can honestly say I have never met a person who is pure on the inside and ugly on the outside. ugly cakes with perfect middles just don’t exist.

it’s easy to judge a book by its cover. people in this land do it all the time.

what’s harder and not as normal is to judge a cover by the book.

from the inside looking out.

love you!

muffin

where the blacktop ends...

dearest rory,

you may be asking yourself why I haven't written in so long. well, I'll tell you...

I have been partying it up.

no, you weren’t invited. this was a… well… a rather small party. to tell the truth… I was the only one invited.

and let me just tell you, it was one of the longest pity parties I’ve ever been to! oh it was terribly fun. lots of wallowing in puddles, staring blankly at the wall, trying to imagine how life will ever be happy again... that sort of thing. and as a party favor, I gave myself a broken umbrella, cloudy skies, rainy weather, and rain boots (you know, so I could go find more puddles to stand in... in case the one I was in dried up). it was a blast.

why are you looking at me like that? haven’t you ever thrown yourself a pity party? haven’t you ever lost sight of the big picture and become self-centered?

self-centered? how did that word slip in? of course I didn’t actually mean… well, you don’t really mean to say that throwing pity parties for one’s self is selfish… do you?

well okay. so it is. it is selfish. and when one is feeling selfish, it is hard to write letters to friends trying to encourage them when you really feel like saying, “hey, wanna go jump off a cliff with me?”

this was the mood I was in for the past several weeks. terrible, I know. but I had lost sight of something. something important. and I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

but God is good at giving reminders.

this past weekend, we stayed out at my grandparent’s cabin in Middle of Nowhere, Iowa. to get there, you start in Burlington, get on the highway, drive past a llama farm, several big red barns, a corn factory, and a run-down racetrack. once you see a rusty, old water tower make a left into a corn field, follow the narrow, paved road past a cute little graveyard, and continue until rubber meets gravel.

where the blacktop ends, follow the gravel road past a blur of crooked farmhouses, battered grey barns, lazy cows, barbed-wire fences, hat-tipping farmers, dust-covered howling dogs, and sleepy looking horses.

drive, oh I don’t know, for fifteen miles or so (as the crow flies), go down a steep hill (with a ravine off to the right), and make a left into our lane right after you pass a dented mailbox.

and that’s where you’ll see the cabin.

I love the cabin.

and this past weekend, even with my on-going pity party, was no exception.

Sunday morning, I woke up early. not bright and early. dark and early.

at six in the morning, the sun was still hiding, but the moon was out in full force. it illuminated the grass so that it glowed blue as it danced in the bitter, autumn breeze. I walked down the lane leading away from the cabin, inhaling deep droughts of air.

it was quiet. the only sound to be heard was my own breathing and the crunch of gravel under my boots.

it was dark. the brightly colored trees were merely black shadows against a blacker sky.

it was cold. my hands were buried deep inside my dad’s jacket which had been obligingly hanging near the front door.

and it was beautiful. I turned out of the lane onto the main road and kept on walking. the sky opened up in front of me like a pop-up book and millions of morning stars blinked down at me. maybe they were laughing at me as I tried (and failed) to walk in a straight line while keeping my head thrown back to watch them. there were so many!

I kept walking. and the sky kept growing lighter in the east. at first, the sky faded from black to gray and then quickly blossomed into a rosy pink. like a virus, the pink began to spread, reaching farther and farther into the blackness.

I looked back towards the west and saw the moon still perched up in the sky. he was slowly sinking as he watched the countryside below take shape under the morning light. a few stars still looked down at me and I stared back at them until, with a final blink, they waved goodbye.

the sky doesn’t seem so large here in the suburbs.

now I could see the fields that were splayed out on either side of me, and they stretched all the way to the horizon.

I put my hands deeper into my pockets and felt small. my puddle began to shrink as I remembered how big God is. as I remembered that the same God who knows the stars by name, who tells the sun and moon when to rise and set, who remembers every bird of the air and every flower of the field… this same God not only knows what life holds for me, He is the one who has planned it.

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. So I prayed. I thanked Him for everything I could see. I thanked Him for the sky and the country and the crooked farmhouses and the moon and the grass and the stars. I thanked Him for being in control. I thanked Him for knowing what lies ahead. I thanked Him for loving me. I thanked Him for reminding me that it’s okay that I’m not in control… in fact, it’s a thousand times better that I’m not.

And I was glad that He is big and I am small.

walking back up the lane to the cabin, I realized that the same world I had walked out into forty minutes before had been transformed. oh, it was still rather dark and cold and quiet. but it was alive and changing. it was silently waiting for God’s plan to unfold for the day. waiting not only for the sun, but also for the clouds. waiting for the cold and the warmth. waiting for the difficulties and the blessings.

so was I.

I tore the streamers down that day and swept up the confetti. I put my rain boots back in the closet and shooed the clouds away. my pity party was over. and a life of trusting God’s plan began again.

love you muchly,
muffin

beautifully broken

dear rory,

beauty.

that word brings so many images into my mind. ladybugs, mountains, gandalf’s horse shadowfax, the grand canyon, the color blue, a feathered arrow, queen esther, sparkling eyes, crystal chandeliers, natalie portman, chocolate (don’t look at me like that… it’s beautiful… in a way), caves full of diamonds, peaceful streams, long dark hair, gold lockets, old barns, and weeping willows are just a few.

what exactly is beauty?

according to the oxford dictionary, beauty is “a combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight”.

in other words, beauty is something that you see on the outside. it is appealing and charming and much sought after.

but wait a minute. is that really all beauty is?

I have a confession: I often get caught up with outward beauty. I want to know what the latest style is, where that person got her scarf, how that lady did her make-up, when I can get my next hair-cut, why I can’t be as beautiful as that person over there, and, in fact, is it really too much to just ask to be the most beautiful person in the world?

however, over the past few years, God has been trying to teach me what true beauty is. He is patient with me and gives me little reminders time and time again.

for instance:

I remember a few years ago, while my family and I were on vacation, we went to a church service at a place called the Tabernacle. it was the children’s night to get up on stage and perform the Bible verses and songs they had been learning in Sunday School.

the third grade group climbed (some of them trudging… looking extremely uncomfortable in their church clothes…. probably wishing they had never been born… inwardly shaking their fists at their parents for making them do this) up onto the stage. you could immediately pick out which kids were the “cool” ones. they were the children who were doing their best not to stick to the program. the ones who were trying to trip the kid next to them. the ones who had their hands in their pockets with their heads thrown back proudly as if to say, “I am not associated with these other losers.”

I watched from my seat as the children lined up. parents darted up the aisles to snap a picture of their precious angels and some of the little girls waved and smiled and twirled their pig-tails. most of the boys just looked uncomfortable. and most of the teachers looked frazzled.

the music started, and the children began to sing the song they had been practicing at Sunday school. only three-quarters of the group were half-heartedly doing the hand motions, a few bold ones decided to go for the more attention-grabbing “everyone look how obnoxious I am” style of exaggerating every movement and over-annunciating every word, and the rest of them refused to sing or do any hand motions at all.

I had seen this kind of service hundreds of times. it was more like a show than church. a show that I could fall asleep while watching.

but as I settled back into the pew, I noticed one child in particular. it was a little boy. he was sitting in a wheel chair and tubes were attached to different parts of him. (I didn’t look too closely to see what those tubes were attached to because I get queasy with tubes and needles and blood and bandages and… well, for the sake of time, let’s just say I get queasy around a lot of things.) I noticed his arms were hanging somewhat limply and his head kind of rolled from side to side. his eyes were big, and his face was shaped a little differently from everyone else’s. obviously, he had some sort of physical disability, and it appeared that he may have had a mental one as well.

I pitied him. he wasn’t what one would consider beautiful. in fact, the world would despise him. he was weak and broken and ugly. he sat there unable to take care of himself. unable and incapable of doing so many things.

but he was capable of singing. or trying to sing.

and so he sang.

and his arm that still functioned relatively well swayed with the music and laboriously did every hand motion it could. the other arm lay uselessly on the wheel chair, but I could see that his hand was flinching as if trying to join the other.

he kept singing and dancing throughout the entire song. easily at first. working harder to keep up his energy by the end.

this child wasn’t looking at the other children to see if they thought he was cool. he wasn’t wishing he had worn his other shirt. he wasn’t hoping the song would hurry up and end so that he could go do whatever he wanted. this child was praising God. and he was using every ounce of strength he had to do it.

as tears filled my eyes watching him, I couldn’t help but imagine that God was looking down on this child and asking me quietly, “isn’t he beautiful?”

and I couldn’t help but think that he was.

when I think of that boy now, I remember that “charm is deceitful and beauty is vain” [Prov. 31:30]. I remember that outward beauty is not everything.

guess what? people grow old, their hair falls out, their teeth decay, fashions change, mountains crumble, ladybugs get stuck between the screen and the window pane and shrivel up, chocolate goes bad, weeping willows get cut down, “the grass will wither and the flower will fade away“ [James 1:11], etc.

a heart that loves the Lord and wants to follow Him always, a heart that only cares what He will think, a heart that wants to know Him better, a heart that is anxious to please Him and not “aesthetic senses”, a heart that is willing to praise Him with all the strength it can muster… now that is a beautiful thing.

I still enjoy outwardly beautiful things. God created us to enjoy them. but something I am learning, is that God often creates beautiful things out of what man would deem unbeautiful. out of hearts. out of sinners. out of dust. out of that child in the wheel chair.

God is so good.

love,
muffin