The Thorn in my Side

The Bible tells us that Paul battled a "thorn in his side."  I don't mean to minimize or make light of it, but I have a thorn, too, and as ridiculous as it is, I am being completely honest with you when I tell you that it brings me great anguish.  I've harbored this thorn since the day I was born, although it has taken various forms.  As a tiny baby, I could have been called "Onion-head," for I was as bald as a bat.  As a three year old, I wore a blanket on my head and even tied it in pig-tails in an effort to give myself the appearance of long hair.  Then, as an elementary school student I envied the straight, long tresses of my friends.  Mine wouldn't grow and what did was a wild tangle of frizzy locks.   As a freshman in college, I yanked out my first gray hair, and my battle with the mop on top continued in a whole new way.  I began a strict color regiment, and then just over a year ago began permanently straightening it.  The color quickly fades, and the permanent straightening process is a joke.  My stubborn coiffure maintains it's curly quirks, despite my best efforts to the contrary.

And so this is what our friend Paul says to the Corinthians, "To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me". (2 Corinthians 12:7-9, NIV)

I hesitate even to bring up this passage, because to compare myself to Paul is beyond ridiculous.  You may be reading this blog post, and thinking, "Is she FOR REAL?  This is what she has to deal with...curly hair?  I would LOVE curly hair."  And that's true.  Many people would love to have curly hair.  I assure, you, however, that you would not want mine.  The time and effort required to give it any semblance of manageability, in addition to the sheer amount of product consumed to tame the mane is enough to fill a cesspool two acres wide.  I don't even want to consider the amount of money I have spent on relaxers, conditioners, balms, sprays, oils, mousse, gel, and restructuring cremes.  I tell you, my cabinet is a filament graveyard, filled with half-empty bottles of stranded promises.  I'm no longer bald or gray, but my locks are a far cry from beautiful.

As I write this, I am contemplating additional treatments and a drastic haircut that I fear will make me look like the stereotype I've been fighting for the last twelve years:  MOM.  I love being a mom, so like my mini-van, perhaps my hair can serve as an additional badge of honor.  Accept the burden and embrace the blessing.  Right?  My husband whispers this verse in my ear, and even though my vanity tries to drown it out, I know the words are true:

I Peter 3:3-5:  Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. ⁴ Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.  (NIV)

I do so desire that gentle and quiet spirit.  To be valued by God is so much more desirable than that of the world.  The peer pressure (which, by the way, does not end when high school is over) is so overwhelming, though, that I am having a hard time keeping this verse at the forefront of my thoughts and prayers.  Inner, unfading beauty...beauty that doesn't need special treatment and that instead rests in the quiet understanding of what God is doing in me is my hope. 

I just hope I don't lose any hair over it.

Of Pride and Pain

My older daughter had braces put on her teeth today.  I thought we were headed to the orthodontist for a quick consultation, but to my surprise, a rare open schedule on this particular day brought with it an opportunity to fill her mouth full of metal and wires.  The staff presented us with a choice:  do it now or re-schedule later.  Either way, we were doing this thing.  Because I had no plans, and my daughter thought it fortuitous that she would miss P.E., we decided to go for it!

Actually, I am very proud of Christiana for choosing to begin the grueling eighteen month long process of tug-of-war on her teeth.  Truly, the decision took a fair amount of fortitude on her part.  She often procrastinates and has zero tolerance for pain.  Since the day she was born, she has cried every day of her life.  I fill my prayer time by begging God to give me the patience to endure it and to work with her to build both the relationship I have with her, as well as the one she has with her heavenly Father.  She is tender-hearted and sensitive but also full of angst and sadness.  And because she is in Middle School, her perspective on life in general is a little skewed, to say the least.  I love her madly, and I see glimpses occasionally of the woman she will one day become.  Today's bravery ranks as one of those, and I made sure to congratulate her on such a grown-up decision.

Of course, tonight her eyes brim with tears, and through the mumbling of clenched jaws, I cannot understand a word she says.  I gather, however, that she is starving and can neither do her homework nor go to sleep.  Two steps forward.  One step back.

Romans 5:3-4:  "...but we also rejoice in our sufferings because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character, and character, hope."  Suffering, at its best, is uncomfortable and at its very worst, unbearable.  Regardless of our temporary perspective, however, this unpleasant sensation in us yields abundant fruit.

The first time I felt true suffering was during the labor of my first child, the very one of whom I am writing now.  Breathing through the contractions, I noticed a cartoon on the wall.  "

Honey", I said, "read me that cartoon.  It looks funny."  Anything to take my mind off the contractions. 

Gavin squinted at the wall, and said, "I don't think you want me to read that cartoon." 

But I persisted.  "Yes, I do.  Read the cartoon.  NOW!" 

The cartoon in question was actually a copy of the hospital's face pain chart, a handy little reference of facial expressions rated on a scale of 1-10 and designed to represent a person's felt pain. The first one depicted a perfect little happy face and the last a distorted monster of one.  Not funny. 

I persevered through the pain, and when my tiny baby girl was delivered into my arms, I felt an enormous surge of power.  The next three times I endured labor I was able to withstand it and each time I think my character developed a little more fully because I had the hope that once again a precious little child would soon join our family.

Braces are a minor thing.  She is not dying.  She is not paralyzed (although she may think she is).  She is not confined to a wheelchair for life.  We are simply putting a little bit of pressure on her teeth in an effort to straighten things out a bit.  Outwardly, her appearance will change.  Inwardly, I want her to character to evolve.  She is not suffering, any more than I was as I was breathing through those contractions all those years ago.  But I want her to understand that this first baby step in a direction that seems uncomfortable brings with it great rewards down the line.