Appearances and Beyond

She was in her early twenties and heavily tattooed. I knew her and remembered that she would usually get a new tattoo or piercing whenever she was going through difficult times. She did it to remind herself that she was stronger than she felt. She had told me that the stinging sensation left by the needle would shift the focus from the inner pain. Whenever she felt weak and fragile, haunted by memories of a troubled youth marked by a series of poor choices and lasting consequences, a mere glance in the mirror would set her straight, as a determined survivor would stare right back at her.

Hard times

It was obvious that she was going through a rough patch. Her face was covered by multiple new piercings, bordering on self-mutilation. I observed her as she was speaking to my parents. Her eyes came alive and her gestures became cheerful as she eagerly chatted with them, sharing minor and major news from her life. They listened intently, smiling and nodding as she went along. Now and then they let out a few encouraging words, but more than anything, they listened carefully, not missing a word or a heartbeat.

After a while she said goodbye and my parents came toward me. They were in their late sixties at the time, and I wondered how they felt about the creative expressions of the next generations. “Wow, she sure had a lot of new artwork” I commented. They both looked surprised at me. “Did she? We didn’t see any.” I hesitated. I didn’t mind the artwork at all, but somehow I expected my parents to be bothered by it. “You did see all the new piercings in her face, right?” No. They had not noticed. My parents had been so focused on how she felt and what she had to say that they didn’t notice how she was dressed, tattooed or pierced. They saw her.

Change of perspective

As they left I prayed that I would be able to see people the way my parents saw them – as precious individuals, sons and daughters of a living God.

I prayed that I would neither be blown away nor repulsed by appearances, but rather focus on the person’s heart and inner being. I wanted to be blind to whatever could offend or overwhelm me. I just wanted to see what God saw and to recognize the God-given treasure in each individual.

Some time ago I listened to a brilliant Norwegian physician and thinker, Per Fugelli, MD and professor in social medicine, who explained that he used to be “remarkably convinced” that there was no life after death. “But through seven years of disease I have moved from what I now perceive as a primitive arrogance to openness. I don’t know if there’s a God, but I’m pleased to have reached a point of curiosity.” He went on to saying that he had been a doctor for many years and often present at deathbeds. “In the very moment when people die the body is left behind like an empty container while the God matter, whether it’s soul or spirit, that makes you a human on the earth is gone. I don’t know where the God matter disappears, but it has to go somewhere.”

My father loved that man.

Lasting letters

As he was dying from cancer he wrote to Dr Fugelli, who was also suffering from cancer. The two men had never met, but my father still thanked him for his service to society and for his outstanding way of acknowledging the outcasts and the downtrodden. The letter went on to saying: “I want you to know that I have been praying for you every day for more than two years. I thank God for you.”

He pondered the letter for days before he sent it, even asked me if it was okay, or if I thought the good doctor would be offended. I told him to send it. Who could possibly be offended by the loving kindness of an old man? A couple of weeks later my dad received a wonderful handwritten note from Dr Fugelli, thanking him for his letter and his kind words. Dad was so relieved to know that his heartfelt thoughts had been understood exactly how he had intended them. He was determined to make people know that they were loved.

The glorious exchange of kindness between giants.

I felt small, humbled and determined to make this my way of life, too. I want to recognize the heavenly treasures in my surroundings. I refuse to miss out on the God matter in people. Just as my parents, I want to see people as God sees them. I long to speak to their God-infused character, whether it is apparent or not, and love it to life. Big words? No, great love.

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.

1 Cor 13,1-2 (NIV)