Sometimes I’m amazed at how insensitive some people can be, and by some people I mean me. It’s painful to realize that about yourself, and even more painful to admit. I think what concerns me the most is how quickly I can jump to the wrong conclusion about people and how damaging it can be. A few years ago my wife and I went to a play at Tennessee Performing Arts Center—the state-run theater in Nashville, TN, which if you are not familiar with Tennessee, Nashville is the state capital.
We sat in the grand balcony level on a Saturday night that opens out onto a bridge that crosses over the street to an open-air mall with fountains and statues; and at night, after a play, it’s a nice way to end the evening, taking a long, leisurely stroll back to the parking lot.
Now what’s unique about the theater in TN is on each level there is a bar in the lobby that sells hard drinks and snacks, something I do not remember seeing in any other theater, certainly not a state run theater.
I only mention it because as we walked out the back door entering the outdoor mall I noticed two beautiful young ladies, probably in their early twenties, both immaculately dressed, walking ahead of us.
But then I noticed, one of the girls walked haltingly, stumbling as she held on to her friend’s arm and I remember thinking..she’s drunk. “What kind of person comes to a theater and gets smashed?” For several long minutes they walked ahead of us and I was embarrassed for her. People stared at her, shaking their heads, no doubt thinking the same thing I did. We followed them for what seemed like ten or fifteen minutes before I realized the truth. She wasn’t drunk…she had cerebral palsy. I felt my throat thicken as I realized how wrongfully I had misjudged her. And even though she didn’t know what I thought…I did.
Now as I looked at her with “new” eyes I saw how beautiful she was, even with that unimaginable condition. The cruelties she must have endured growing up and how much courage it must have taken for her to do something as simple as come to the theater on a Saturday night.
For a moment I wished I could take it from her. Like an angel, unseen in the crowd, gently brushing by and heartbeats later, suddenly her legs would straighten and she would become, beautiful and strong and whole again; becoming the beautiful young lady that God had intended her to be.
And then another humbling realization. I realized… she already was.
I am the one with the disability, not her. I was unable to see her for the beauty she truly is. I think sometimes perfect and imperfect are the same thing. And I, all to often, like most people, see imperfection where none exists.
I’m not convinced beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it’s in the heart of those… we behold.
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