Hollering at the Handicapped

When I married my husband almost five years ago, we both had plenty of "baggage". Some of it was physical. I often teased that between my stretch marks and his excessive hairiness, nobody else would have taken either of us. Most of our baggage, however, was emotional - scars left behind by what seemed like ages of hurt from our respective pasts. I had dealt with much of mine through forgiveness, but Mark hadn't gotten there yet.

Today, as I was talking to a friend, I remembered a couple of stories about our first couple of years together. You see, my husband has always been wonderful to me when we are one-on-one or when we are at home with the kids. However, when we were first married, he had a bad habit of making fun of me to and/or in front of other people. He called it "teasing", but I always thought that teasing was more fun. His brand of teasing didn't feel fun to me at all. It was usually a comment to the effect of, "Who can get a word in with her around." I remember the first time he did it. We were just dating, and he was at church with me for the first time. A longtime guy friend of mine shook his hand and said, "I've known Marcie pretty much all our lives." To which Mark replied, smiling sweetly, "I'm sorry." I was a little surprised that he had said it, but then everyone laughed, and I kind of put it into the rolodex... you know; the one women keep in the back room of the mind in case they need to bring up something - anything - you've long forgotten?

Well, we only dated for about 5 weeks before we got engaged, and, within another 2 months of that, we were married. He lived almost 4 hours away while we were dating, and we only saw each other every couple of weekends during that time... much of it with children in tow. It's a good thing too, or his quirky little habit would probably have kept us from getting married at all.

Back to today, my friend and I were talking about the difference between handling a difficult situation the right way and handling it the wrong way. I immediately scrolled through "the rolodex" and thought of two instances which went two very different ways.

The first was when we were looking at houses. We were starting to get desperate as we'd been looking for almost a year and were setting the kinds of records with our realtor that make a person memorable - and not in a good way. Once, as we were driving down a country road, we saw a gorgeous house that we knew was way beyond our price range. However, we started quipping about it, during which I said, jokingly, something to the effect of, "Well, I guess I could always get a job, but I'd have to make more than you." He (and I'll maintain that he was) - not thinking - replied, "Oh, yeah. Right. What kind of job are you going to get? You've been a housewife for 6 years. You're basically uneducated, and ..." I think he said some more things after that, but I was recording on that rolodex so furiously, it was like my mental hand was getting a cramp. If you're a woman, you probably gasped when you read the words in red. I've never told that story in front of another woman without hearing a loud gasp or series of gasps. They know, right away, at precisely which point in his words they would have had to knock him into next Tuesday. I was shocked too. I mean, I knew he could be insensitive sometimes. After all, he had been a bachelor for most of his adult life, but was this what he really thought of me??? Uneducated? Incapable of making an amount comparable to his wages? I mean, not that I doubt that, but it's through no fault or deficiency of my own - I believe - that I would doubtful be able to earn wages comparable to his. He had just taken what I had thought was an amusing, far-fetched conversation and turned it into something personal. I can't remember exactly how I reacted, but I know I wasn't pleasant. I said something to let him know which words had hurt me and why. I probably didn't raise my voice much, as I imagine there were kids in the car, but I'm almost certain it was followed with an ugly, cold silence that could have ended in another "Berlin Wall" running straight down the middle of our house. Bottom line, I was mad, and it probably took a few days before I came around, and that's generally unlike me. I don't do grudges well.

In this next story I was a bit prouder of my response. The funny thing is that I don't remember exactly what it was that he said that time - the exact wording that was hurtful. It was likely something to the effect of "if someone could ever get a word in edgewise around you," because that has been in his repertoire for quite some time. This time, remarkably, I didn't respond right away. I was frustrated, and, as a result, I prayed first. I got with God, and came out of it remembering my identity. I just looked at him, as he faced forward driving, and I said simply, "I'm a blessing to you, whether you know it or not... whether you acknowledge it or not." I was not a loudmouth, always prattling on about some worthless thing (this, I had bought before). I was God's beloved daughter and the wife that God thought would be perfect for Mark - what he needed. I was the iron that would sharpen him. I was the sister who would speak Truth to him. I was the woman who would speak life to him. I was one who God would use to refine him. Truth reigned, and a minute or so silence ended with Mark saying, "You're right. I know that you're right, and I love you." World War III did not ensue. The rest of trip was just delightful.

I have since come to realize that I try to project how I would do something onto the person/people with whom I'm interacting. I think that it is far more productive to realize that the person with whom I am trying to relate is nothing like me. He/she wears skin like me, but that's where it ends. Even if we share likes/dislikes it's probably for entirely different reasons. Our motives don't usually match. Our desires rarely align. Our problem is that we're handicapped. When something happens to damage a person before he/she is born, that person comes into the world "handicapped". They are incapacitated in one or more ways - mentally, physically, etc. This draws, from most of us, a depth of compassion we didn't know we had. We show that person a tenderness and dignity that we don't tend to give those who cut us off in traffic or tell us we're uneducated. However, what about when something or a series of things happens to a person after he or she is born? Is that person not considered handicapped anymore? (In most cases...) If it happens one day before you come screaming into the world, fate is responsible, and you are pitied. If it happens a day after, you are responsible for it, and you are guilty.

The thing is, I am handicapped. My husband is too. The things he said, as he later realized, were borne out of anger and resentment toward women in general... not just toward me. He had suffered unimaginable heartache at female hands, and he wasn't able to figure out how to reconcile those feelings with the truth of who God had made him. The truth is, that the people who had wronged him had probably suffered the same kinds of things at the hands of others. We can't see how badly handicapped the person next to us is, and we can't know all the reasons why they act the way they do. This afternoon, I was thinking, "I wouldn't yell at a handicapped person. I wouldn't give him/her the silent treatment. I wouldn't jot off a sassy e-mail full of pithy sayings and smart remarks." I would recognize that, if they had been untouched by the harm this fallen world can deal us, they wouldn't intentionally hurt, anger, or annoy me, and I wouldn't them.

This isn't an excuse to take another person's abuse, but it is a plea, or a reminder even, to consider that there are reasons, far beyond what we can know, for the ways others act. They are handicapped, just like you... just like me. The actions or words of another person don't give me my worth. My worth was given me long before I was born or even conceived. Before I was conceived by my parents, I was conceived of by God Himself. He thought about what He wanted to make, and He made a me. Of all the other things He could have made... made a me? That's my true worth - where it lies... the desired creation of the One who hung the stars, and so is my husband, my neighbor, and the guy in the elevator next to me. Yes, even the lady who cuts me off in traffic was meant to be. If I remember who God made me when He saved me, the words and actions of others won't impact me. They won't own me.

I am very happy to report that, although not easily achieved, Mark has worked through a great deal of forgiveness toward people who hurt him and treats me as wonderfully outside the home as he does inside it. We are truly blessed to have one another.

Giving a person value was God's prerogative. Recognizing that worth is our responsibility. So stop hollering at the handicapped around you. Take pity - not just because they are handicapped, but because you are too.

Skin Deep, Part II

I have naturally curly hair... very curly hair. It has been my companion and my nemesis since the moment my mom gave me a very short haircut (when I was about 10 years old), and it grew back in tiny ringlets all over my head. I started those first few months by brushing it out - the way I had always brushed my hair "B.C." (Before Curls). As you may guess, that ended in a ball of frizz the likes of which clowns were undeniably envious. In the years that followed I vacillated heavily between "working with" my curls and battling them with fervor. I most often hated them.

In my junior high years, I started trying to grow out my locks, which, as most of you know, had it's bad days and its worse days. It has never ceased to astound me how the same hair on the same person, washed in the same water, dried in the same fashion, styled with the same hair products, and finished in the same way can fluctuate so absolutely between utterly fabulous and completely grotesque. This has been my unfortunate experience, and when I had a "bad hair day", it didn't effect just me - it effected the people who were unfortunate enough to have to sit behind me - within 110 degree arc - in geometry class or english class or Spanish class or the movie theater. Furthermore, those kinds of days became more and more frequent as a T.V. show called Friends became popular and ushered out the popular "big hair" of the 80's and ushered in the stick straight, perfectly placed, unbelievably smooth and shiny 90's hair. I agonized in front of a big mirror for years - trying to tame down the God-given mane into something more popular. I have done the same thing, off and on, for many years since.

My curly hair was the object of many an obnoxious boy's teasing. In fact, one fateful day in the fall of my 8th grade year, an unfortunate fellow-student ended a humiliating day of his own, with a red handprint, the size of my hand, on the side of his face... all because of my hair. In Bible class, of all things, he had decided to call me "afro chick" - the way he often had - whispering it into my ear as he sat behind me. However, on this occasion, he topped it off by spitting wads of paper mixed with his saliva into my hair also. As I struggled to pull these wads out of my mangled coiffure, I began to be less and less inclined to "turn the other cheek". So... I warned him that he'd better stop or be sorry he hadn't. This deterred him for a while, as we both worked on our tests. As I finished early, he began in again with his teasing and spit-wadding, and my mild manner could take it no longer. I stood, turned around, looked at his smug face, wound up, and slapped him with all I had in me. He proceeded to promptly and completely black out. I turned around and sat down. The teacher, whose view of what had happened was blocked by several desks and students, asked, "Who did that?" I raised my hand and said, "I did." He called me to his desk asking, "What was that noise?" I said, "I slapped Jake." He said, "You did what??" I replied, "I slapped Jake." He said, "That was one of the loudest sounds I've ever heard. Is he okay?" I looked back at his lifeless figure on the floor and declared, "I don't think so."

I couldn't tell you what happened in the moments that followed aside from the fact that I was sent to the principal's office (for the first time ever), and that I was made to apologize to Jake. It made it easier as his smug grin was replaced by a rather swollen, red likeness of my own hand. Had it not been for my hair, he might have had no reason to tease me at all.

As an adult, I tried several times to have hairdressers "fix" my hair through a new cut and/or style, only to be completely embarrassed or disappointed or both when I walked out of their doors. In fact, on one occasion, as an adult, I participated in a friend's wedding. She sent us to a particular hair studio in town to get our hair done. We were instructed to arrive with our hair freshly shampooed and ready to be styled. I did as I was told and arrived, along with 6 other women, to have my hair styled for the wedding. I waited eagerly to see how they would style my hair - hoping for some new tip or hope for my hair. The three stylists glanced from woman to woman and called each over in turn to style her hair. As it came down to the last of us, the stylists turned to one another and argued over which one "had to" take me. The one who lost the coin toss reluctantly called me to sit down in her chair and proceeded to brush my hair out. I looked like Troy Polamalu. My hair was huge and frizzy. To make things worse, she found some tangles that she could simply not brush out of my hair. She then proceeded to take scissors and cut those chunks out of my hair. She then re-curled my hair in a "nicer" way, and charged me $45 for her time. I didn't look horrible, but I had again received the message that my hair was too curly and unruly and imperfect.

I have felt convicted, off and on, for several years now about trying to cultivate a more natural beauty, in acknowledgement of and appreciation for what God has given me. After all, He never thought when he was creating me, "I'll give this one freckles and frizz, because they can't all be beauty queens." He took pride in what He made and "saw that it was good". He gave me all of what I needed to be unique and to glorify Him.

I once found a placard in a dollar store that said, "God loves each of us as if there were only one of us." It was a sweet thought, I guessed, and I bought it to keep in my kitchen, as a pleasant thought. Only recently, however, have I rediscovered how true that little statement really is.

My husband had a "Holiday Party" for his work last Saturday night. It is pretty much the only night of the year when I feel like it's okay to get a dress to wear and to look a little fancy. Every occasion I've encountered in my adult life when I've wanted to look extra pretty or fancy has never turned out the way I had hoped. The hair dressers would get my hair wrong or the dress wouldn't fit right or both. Last year, at this same party, one of Mark's co-workers came over to be introduced and declared, "Oh, you're Mark's wife? I thought you would look younger. Your picture on Mark's desk looks younger." I can't quite explain how I felt (aside from the fact that the photo on Mark's desk had been taken only 3 months earlier), but it was a mixture of confusion, annoyance, and sadness. I doubt I'll ever forget it - or stop mentioning it from time to time when Mark talks about this guy from work. "Oh, yeah, the guy who said I look OLD!" to my husband's refrain of, "He really is a nice guy." I'm sure he is, but an etiquette session wouldn't be lost on him.

Anyway, this year I have lost about 10-15 pounds from last year, and I think that I felt a little better about going - feeling I had a little less to be self-conscious about. As I was preparing to go, I prayed that I would feel pretty, but that people would see God in me. I prayed that I wouldn't feel so self-conscious. I felt very sure of His presence with me as I went through the usual steps of getting ready. I felt completely reassured and calm. I kept getting a feeling I can't describe as anything more than a "nudge" to try wearing my hair curly and going light on my makeup. As I went with a light foundation, I began to search for a compact of eyeshadow that my hairdresser sold to me a few months ago. It had some dark colors and a brush to help get a more heavy application. I couldn't find it anywhere, although it's always been in the same place. I felt as though I would find it, but only after I was obedient to lightly apply a more natural shade, which I did. I was certain I was going to find it, and trusted it would turn up eventually. As I went into the bedroom, I bent down to get something, I looked slightly up and saw, under our bedskirt, a black compact. It was the makeup that had gone missing from the bathroom. The odds of me 1) looking under our bed, 2) seeing it was there under the bedskirt, and 3) that it had happened within seconds of making the right decision, made me know that it was God's doing. It was as though He was courting me - making me know He is proud of what He made in me - even when I'm not.

A few months ago, I taught a class on planets and the solar system. In completing research for the class, I rediscovered that there are thought to be billions of other galaxies aside from ours. However, from as far as scientists have been able to find in our universe, no other planet in any planetary system of which we know, is able to sustain life. There are very definite, very finely tuned and balanced, very particular sets of perfect circumstances that have to be in place in order for life to be sustainable. Earth seems to be the only planet of which those things are true. I found myself wondering why God would go to the trouble of creating all those other galaxies if He only intended to place life on one, small planet - third rock from the sun. I have concluded that it is because He wanted to give us a very real understanding, maybe when we need it most, that what that placard I bought several years ago was saying, that He loves each of us as if there were only one of us. Although there are billions of people on our planet, He provides carefully for the needs of (and desires an intimate fellowship with) individual people. Similarly, as there are billions of star systems, planets, etc. in the universe, He chose just one on which He would accomplish His purpose of companionship and redemption. The relief it provides me to know I'm not a cosmic mistake (and neither is the planet on which I live) is simply unquantifiable. The blessedness I feel from knowing that God cares for the silliest things in my life - that He's fixing even those ridiculous insecurities and healing those long-set-aside hurts - is beyond my ability to put into words.

The absurdity that God cares about what I wear or my outward appearance doesn't escape me. However, I think there was more to it than that, at least in my case. I think it was because He knew that I cared so much about it, that He was choosing to show me that my worth was much more than what I see in the mirror each day, or what Mark's co-workers see standing next to him at a Christmas party, or what a hairdresser sees when I sit in her chair, or what an 7th grade boy saw when I sat in front of him in Bible class... it is determined by Him alone.