I read a story recently that will
always stay with me. It
went something like this. A doctor was writing about his mother, a
woman he greatly admired. In her youth, she was beautiful, and at
the London Conservatory of Art where she studied, the male students
vied for the privilege of painting her. She moved to India with her
husband to perform missionary work, and after many years of
fulfilling service, her husband suddenly died of blackwater fever.
When this doctor saw his mother upon her return she was so disfigured
from her grief he vowed never to love a woman so much if that is what
love does to a person. Against the advice of her family, she
returned to India and found herself again through her missionary
work. Her life was one that all of us would consider grueling. The
conditions in which she lived and the intense daily physical demands
of her work took their toll. At the age of seventy-five, she
suffered a major hip fracture. Her son begged her to retire, but she
still returned to her precious hill village in India. Her response
was, “Why preserve this old body if it's not going to be used where
God needs me?”
“For Mother, pain was a frequent
companion, as was sacrifice. I say it kindly and in love, but in
old age Mother had little of physical beauty left in her. The
rugged conditions, combined with the crippling falls and her battles
with typhoid, dysentery and malaria had made her a thin,
hunched-over old woman. Years of exposure to wind and sun had
toughened her facial skin into leather and furrowed it with wrinkles
as deep and extensive as any I have seen on a human face. Evelyn
Harris of the fancy clothes and the classic profile was a dim memory
of the past. Mother knew that as well as anyone – for the last
twenty years of her life she refused to keep a mirror in her house.
And yet with all the objectivity a son can muster, I can truly say
that Evelyn Harris Brand was a beautiful woman, to the very end.”
The last time he saw her in her
village, he was left with such a strong impression of her mother's
impact on the people she loved and the love they had for her in
return. The faces of the people she tirelessly served glowed with
trust, affection and total devotion.
“To them, and to me, she was
beautiful. Granny Brand had no need for a mirror made of glass and
polished chromium; she could see her own reflection in the
incandescent faces around her.”
The lesson and legacy she left to her
son was that by giving away one's life, that is where one finds it.
Jesus tells us in Matthew 10:39, “Whoever finds his life will lose
it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” Gandhi's
version was, “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in
the service of others.” Both messages are similar and
unequivocally true. When one attempts to “find” oneself, they
will ultimately fail. I don't believe that we have the capacity to
look at ourselves objectively and see what is really there. Granny
Brand didn't need mirrors to see herself, because her true value and
self-worth were reflected in the faces of those she served and loved.
I think that our relationships serve as our mirrors. When we devote
ourselves to our spouses and children, our selfless service ignites a
small fire within us. The more we serve others, the brighter that
light becomes until it fills us completely. And only when we have
that sort of backlighting, only then can we start to see who we are.
If we don't have family around us to serve and devote our lives to,
it is like trying to figure out what we look like without the benefit
of a mirror.
I did the soul-searching,
trying-to-find-myself thing in my 20s. I lived alone and suffered
bouts of depression. It took me awhile, but I did finally figure it
out. Finding Christ certainly helped. No, actually it was
essential. I was finally happy and whole, but wanting to marry and
start a family. I knew that that was the missing part of my life
that I needed. And it's no secret to my family and friends that I
had the perfect marriage. We served each other tirelessly and
selflessly. And by growing our family with three children we were
given the opportunity to serve even more. And, oh yes, I have found
myself. Even though I am no longer with a spouse, and feel a bit
disorientated without having a husband to care for, I am still whole.
I continue to serve my children daily, and they continue to ignite
my light from within. I remarked often during my husband's cancer
journey that, “Thank God my children are small.” Not for their
sake, but for mine. The constant demands of caring for three young
boys kept me moving. It kept me focused on something outside of my
own grief. And I am so very grateful for that. And although I am
certainly guilty of looking in the mirror WAY too much to make sure I
look okay, I can also see my self-worth in the smiles of my sons.
And that is the only reflection that matters.