BEAUTY
IS ONLY SKIN DEEP
Future
historians may well reckon the last 20 years of human history as ‘The Cosmetic Age’ because we exist in an
era of abject superficiality, i.e. we are overly fascinated with glitz and
glamour. Why so? On a daily basis, we are bombarded with mass
media images that narrowly define beauty
for us. Indeed, the majority of goods
and services are marketed by ‘the
beautiful people.’ We consumers
purchase them with insatiable appetites and great expectations that we will
somehow look like those who stylishly model the products that such businesses
hope we will find absolutely indispensable.
This shallow emphasis on exterior beauty causes many to become
desensitized to people and things that do not mirror perfection.
The
next time you are tempted to judge someone by their physical appearance, just
remember the following true and touching story.
Our
house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance at Johns Hopkins
Hospital in Baltimore. We lived
downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic. One summer evening as I was fixing dinner,
there was a knock at the door. I opened
it and beheld a truly awful looking man.
‘Why, he’s hardly taller than my eight-year-old,’ I thought as I stared at his stooped, shriveled body. But the most appalling thing was his face. It was lopsided, swollen, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, “Good evening. I’ve come to see if you have a room for just one night. I am here from the Eastern Shore for a treatment, and there’s no return bus until morning.” He told me he had been hunting for a room since noon, but with no success. “I guess it’s my face...I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments…”
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words really grabbed hold of me: “I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch,” he suggested. “My bus leaves early in the morning.” I told him we would find him a bed, and he could rest on the porch for the time being.
I went inside and finished preparing dinner. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. “No, thank you,” he said. “I have plenty!” And he held up a brown paper bag. When I finished the dishes, I went back out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn’t take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that very tiny body. He told me he was a fisherman and worked hard to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who had been hopelessly crippled by a back injury.
He didn’t tell any of this by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was prefaced with thanks to God for one blessing or another. He seemed very grateful that no pain had accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. And he thanked God for just giving him the strength to keep going.
‘Why, he’s hardly taller than my eight-year-old,’ I thought as I stared at his stooped, shriveled body. But the most appalling thing was his face. It was lopsided, swollen, red and raw. Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, “Good evening. I’ve come to see if you have a room for just one night. I am here from the Eastern Shore for a treatment, and there’s no return bus until morning.” He told me he had been hunting for a room since noon, but with no success. “I guess it’s my face...I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments…”
For a moment I hesitated, but his next words really grabbed hold of me: “I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch,” he suggested. “My bus leaves early in the morning.” I told him we would find him a bed, and he could rest on the porch for the time being.
I went inside and finished preparing dinner. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. “No, thank you,” he said. “I have plenty!” And he held up a brown paper bag. When I finished the dishes, I went back out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn’t take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that very tiny body. He told me he was a fisherman and worked hard to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who had been hopelessly crippled by a back injury.
He didn’t tell any of this by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was prefaced with thanks to God for one blessing or another. He seemed very grateful that no pain had accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. And he thanked God for just giving him the strength to keep going.
At
bedtime, we put a cot in the children’s room for him. When I rose the next morning, the bed linens
were neatly folded and the little man was already out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left
for his bus, rather haltingly asked for a favor. “Could I please come back and stay the next
time I have a treatment? I won't put you
out a bit. I can sleep fine in a
chair.” He paused a moment and then
added, “Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children
don’t seem to mind.” I told him he was
welcome to come again.
On his next trip, he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they’d be nice and fresh. I knew the bus that transported him departed at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
On his next trip, he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they’d be nice and fresh. I knew the bus that transported him departed at 4:00 a.m. and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.
For
several years he came to stay overnight with us, and there was never a time
that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. At other times we received packages in the
mail, always by special delivery: fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh
young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.
Knowing that he walked three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious for us. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after this dear man had left our home that first morning. “Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!”
Knowing that he walked three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious for us. When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after this dear man had left our home that first morning. “Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!”
Maybe
we did lose roomers once or twice. But
oh! If only they could have known him,
perhaps their own illnesses would have been easier to bear. I know our family will always be grateful to
have known him. From this man we learned
what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with total gratitude
to God.
Recently I visited a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum that was bursting with blooms. To my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, “If this were my plant, I would put it in the loveliest container I had!” But my green-thumbed friend changed my mind. “I ran short of pots,” she explained, “and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden.”
She must have wondered why I was laughing so spontaneously and happily, but at that moment I was imagining a similar scene in heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when he came to the soul of that sweet old fisherman. “He’s so beautiful that surely he won't mind starting out in this small body.”
Recently I visited a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum that was bursting with blooms. To my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, “If this were my plant, I would put it in the loveliest container I had!” But my green-thumbed friend changed my mind. “I ran short of pots,” she explained, “and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It’s just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden.”
She must have wondered why I was laughing so spontaneously and happily, but at that moment I was imagining a similar scene in heaven. “Here’s an especially beautiful one,” God might have said when he came to the soul of that sweet old fisherman. “He’s so beautiful that surely he won't mind starting out in this small body.”
Let us
learn to love and live in the image and likeness of our Creator. “For man looks on the outward appearance, but
The Lord
looks on the heart.” (II Corinthians 10:7b) Profound truth.
Sisters and brothers, be continually
blessed, and please (above all else) MAKE SURE YOU ARE READY TO MEET OUR SOON
COMING KING. Maranatha!
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