While I was in surgery a few friends held vigil for me in a family lounge down the hall from my hospital room. They visited and told stories, prayed, made music and art. When I returned to my room after surgery, this colourful sign was stuck to the wall by my bed with a band-aid.
The words stayed beside me in the hospital and in the weeks of recovery at home. They made sense to me and they helped me to stay open to the overwhelming generosity of love I was receiving from people every day.
When I started this blog I knew the title would come from this quote. But I became self-conscious. I worried that you might think I was being self-absorbed. So I changed “the truth about myself” to “the truth about life.” It’s still meaningful, but felt safer.
Recently I realized the dis-service of this safety. When we don’t acknowledge and celebrate our own beauty, we seek it outside of ourselves. Beauty becomes something we consume, trying to fill ourselves up. But it’s a false emptiness. When we’re bold enough to embrace the truth of who we are, in all its beauty, we find ourselves deeply connected to the beauty all around us. The idea of being made in a divine image starts to make sense.
When I remember this, I’m open to receiving the abundance that is offered to me. Friends who hold vigil or send tea in the mail. Patterns that swirl in the water when my nephew throws sand into the stream as we take a break from riding bikes. Tasting freshly picked raspberries with my breakfast, a flavour that I hope will never seem ordinary.
And beyond the obvious beauty of birds and flowers and food and friends, there is unexpected beauty. My surgery scars remind me every day about the amazing resilience of human bodies. Mom reminds me about the resilience of the human spirit as she dances between choking on a sip of water and expressing gratitude for life, from struggling to express her extraverted self with a weakening voice to poking fun at my cooking. Suffering and beauty are the butter and salt on the popcorn of life. It just wouldn’t taste right without both of them.
And then there’s the beauty of friends who take time to read your words and listen to you wax eloquent about beauty. Yup, you’re pretty darn beautiful.
