The Mirror Lies

Bill Raab left an interesting comment on my blog when I started A Beautiful Conversation.  He wrote:   Being a photographer I see beauty in people more than I had before I ever started photographing them. It's a blessing.  Bill is a photographer and owner of Exposed to Light Photography.  Learn more: http://exposedtolight.com/.  I was curious about Bill’s insight, and asked him if he would respond to this question:

                “As a photographer, what does it mean to reveal beauty in another person?”  

There is a way we see each other that is different than what one sees in a mirror. I am guessing it is a God given gift that when we meet with and talk to someone we just overlook the physical imperfections that the person who wears the face is so keenly aware of… from looking in the mirror.

Our eyes, created by God, are infused with His handiwork. They are amazing. Mirrors created by man are infused with his handiwork. Men (and women) are all too quick to point out each other’s faults and imperfections.  Why should we expect mirrors to be any different?   God, I believe, gave us eyes with which to admire His creation and to help and guide us through this earthly life.

As most things go we as men and women can twist God’s creation… and we do.  I believe what we see and how we perceive it is directly related to the presence of God in our heart. I also believe it is related to our ability to see His handiwork just as it is… work done by the hands of God. We are all wonderfully and fearfully made.

“God did not screw up when He made you. He’s a God that loves to parade you.” --By Delirious?  from Our God Reigns

As a photographer who often photographs young women I have witnessed their carrying the mirror image of themselves rather than the God created image they bear. One can hardly blame them. We have all seen the magazines, the ads, the movies, which show us all how we should look. 

I often run into people uncertain of their appearance. I have been blessed with a knack for making people feel comfortable in front of the lens. I hardly recall purposely considering how to compose an image based upon someone’s physical imperfections. Maybe it makes me a poor photographer but mainly I just do not see them.  When it comes to being behind the camera I see:  joy, love, grace, beauty, hope, courage, life and much more at times. I think all of our eyes were made to see in this way. It is how God created them.

I see people insecure in their looks and while I can only do so much re-assuring when I am with them, my prayer is that when they see the pictures they begin to see what I have seen. The way that is possible is that I try to capture moments that exhibit the essence of the person. Images that show who that person is… not just what they look like. 

I have photographed stage 4 cancer patients and I saw beauty, and they see it too in the images. It is not by my magic, it is not by the camera I use. It is the result of seeing with the gift God has given me and translating that to an image of a person that embodies that vision.

We, all of us, every person on this planet, and every person that was ever on this planet were all made in the image of God. Yes, it is hard for us to grasp hold of that. Yes, it is hard to live in that space. Yes, it is hard to see each other in that light. But it is true and it is a core truth of our lives.

Beauty moves from the inside out. The best image I make of anyone is when I can get them to move to a place of comfortableness that they can be who they are and the inside, gets out. It happens, I have seen it. The person so certain that they are anything but beautiful becomes the very image of the beauty that God has created in her, or him.

Is beauty only skin deep? Hardly… that is something a man once said and man continues to buy into. True beauty is created by God and it runs deep. When we see in the way God has intended us to see, we can see this beauty in each other. When we view each other through the eyes of man that have been trained by man we miss so much.

This image is of my brother in law Chip, taken Christmas Eve of 2009. We did not know that in a few short weeks he would be diagnosed with cancer. Nor, those in about 8 months he would be gone. He would never think of himself as beautiful… but he didn’t see himself the way we all did. But, he saw us all the way we saw him.

Being Scarred By Beauty

While doing some research for the blog last week, I came across this quote:

“Jesus Himself did not rid Himself of the physical marks brought about by His crucifixion and death. Instead, He kept the nail marks and spear cut to demonstrate that He had died and was now alive. His broken body brings us spiritual wholeness.” Dave Andrus, executive director of Lutheran Blind Mission

Special guest blogger Becky Patton has more to say on this subject.

______________________________________________
Being Scarred by Beauty.

Beauty

seen,

touched,

felt,

found,

discovered,

experienced...

There is this guy in scripture that has become my friend. In Acts he is the one that had to touch the scars of Jesus; some how just seeing was not enough, instead he needed to touch, feel and experience the wounds. Scripture does not condemn his action yet that hesitation has led us to label him “doubting Thomas.”

Yet I wonder is there more?

Jesus invites him to

come close...

touch and feel...

these scars that marked his body.

Could this physical scaring actually hold traces of beauty?

Have you ever wondered about why Jesus chose to return into an earthly body that held scarred hands, feet and side? Why keep the scars?  I mean Jesus did conquer death, I am guessing that ripped and torn skin could be replaced or remolded.

I use to believe that I would not be like Thomas, that if I had been there, just seeing the wonder and beauty of Jesus would have been enough, but I have come to realize that I, like Thomas, often have need of learning to be invited to more than just what I “see.”

Currently I am sitting next to what would be considered a site of beauty - Lake Superior. There is a slight breeze and the colors of blue are multiple in layers. The shoreline has carved and scarred rocks and cliffs that have been sculpted by the wind and water. I am invited to come climb into this picture of beauty.

How is this beauty created?

Last night this same location was covered in stormy darkness. Wicked lightening and violent winds stirred the water into angry waves that slammed into the rocky boarders of land. Electricity was lost and I was instantly plunged into dark--the kind where you cannot see your hand in front of your face. As the theatrical show of light and darkness danced through the sky, I felt an invitation to come close, to experience my own vulnerability without fear and to rest in the beauty of darkness and not rush to rescue it with light. To remember the beauty of where I had sat only only hours before, that was now being carved and scarred...

Does scarring hold beauty?

Can darkness play a role in creating beauty?

What I know from the Genesis account of creation is that “...darkness was on the face of the deep...” God pulled the light from that darkness. God was there in that first darkness because it is only one verse later that the light is pulled forth.

Could the beauty of that shoreline have been created without these storms of darkness? 

Does Thomas’ vulnerability invite me to experience the invitation to see my Savior as both scarred and resurrected?

Yes, I want to see beauty, but sometimes I need to be invited to

come...

touch...

feel...beauty in order to actually see it IS beauty.

If I avoid all darkness and all scars, maybe I also miss the invitation to experience a beauty that is beyond what I can see...

Becky Patton is the founder of Trueessence: Sexuality & Spirituality and the author of  Holy Sexuality: Beginning with Questions.  She also writes a blog called Holy Sexuality: Reclaiming the Truth of Who We Are.

The Preciousness of the Soul

This week three of my friends and I met in a park for a picnic.  An hour later, a spouse showed up unexpectedly with a camera wanting to take a picture of us.  We all erupted in spontaneous protest.  “No, don’t take a picture!”  “My hair’s too poofy!”  “My pants are too big!”  “I’m wearing a T-Shirt!”  In the end, after some coaxing, we all gave in and posed for the camera.   

Our collective reaction to the photo shoot reminded me of how fixated humanity seems to be on physical appearance---I included.  I love dressing up, especially for church, I love finding just that right pair of shoes to top off an outfit, and I’ll never pass up the opportunity to add a little bling to my wardrobe when I know it will earn me a compliment.  It’s often, however, that I’ll look in the mirror admiring that my make-up is “perfect,” and be reminded that I am not. 

Living with a physical disability has changed how I view myself and other people.  When I meet someone for the first time, I’m hoping they’ll like me. I’m also hoping that they will have the courage and the patience to see my exterior, but also to look even further, deep into the heart of who I am.  In turn, I often find myself spurred onto a similar treasure hunt.  Knowing all too well that truly “seeing” a person takes more than a first impression, I try to dig deep, uncovering what beauty lies beneath the skin.  This is not an easy task; it takes time, patience, and repeated interaction.   

When the person has a disability, this task can become more challenging, but at the same time even more compelling.  Physical disability, I’ve found, is often perceived in sharp and unexpected contrast to what people expect a body to look like, but even initial shock or a subtle startle can provide the extra motivation necessary to enter into a deeper realm, one that carefully peers into the human soul.  

I recently came across an intriguing quote from Joni Eareckson Tada.  Joni is a quadriplegic and head’s up an international ministry to people with disabilities.

  

“Most churches have difficulty in ministering to the handicapped simply because of some basic fears and lack of awareness. As we move past these attitudinal barriers and misunderstanding, we’ll discover the joy of caring for someone simply based on the preciousness of their souls, not on their physical attractiveness and intellectual capabilities or social position.”

This week…
Challenge yourself.


When you meet someone new, whether they have a disability or not, take a moment to look beyond their exterior, past the things you don’t understand or find yourself afraid of to discover the beauty within; seize the opportunity to behold “the preciousness of their souls.”

Photo by N. Crist
Quote Source: http://www.memphis-umc.org/accessibility/hearts_in_motion.pdf

The Beauty of Rehab

“To join with my patients as a partner in the task of restoring dignity to a broken spirit.  This is the true meaning of rehabilitation.”—Dr. Paul Brand

Therapy of any kind is hard, courageous work.  It forces you to confront your limitations, to come face to face with your vulnerabilities, and yet I believe there is beauty to be found within the experience.  This spring I was working with a physical therapist to strengthen my hip flexor muscles.  The right side of my body seemed to respond easily to the motion; my left was a different story.  For what seemed like a solid minute, I lay on the table and with every ounce of mental energy I could muster, I told my left leg to move in a certain direction.  It would not budge.  Eventually, other muscles kicked in to compensate and I moved about an inch.  My therapist recognized my struggle and said to me, “Is your left side a little tighter than your right?”  

“Yes,” I responded.  “I think I just met my match.”  

“It’s okay.”  

I felt so dignified in that moment, like I had just been given space to struggle without being judged.  In fact, I felt like I had a cheerleader standing beside me.  In light of this experience, I asked one of my former physical therapists to respond to this question:  “What beauty have you discovered in helping people who have encountered an injury or disability gain a greater sense of movement?”  Enjoy what Connie Bromaghim has to share!

__________________________________________________

 “At first glance, I thought the answer would be easy to write as I recalled patients I’ve had over the more than thirty years in the profession. I remembered as a young therapist in Duluth, MN, organizing “an old-time dance” activity for the post-stroke rehab patients. The beauty came in their smiling faces upon hearing some favorite polkas and waltzes as they tried harder to move their arms and legs that no longer ‘danced” the way they once did.

Then, I recalled the beauty in a young man injured in a motorcycle accident. After re- learning to walk, we walked outside in the sunshine. He heard sounds he’d not recently heard while in the hospital and he felt the wind blow. He bent down to feel the grass and a smile lit his face. Finding that he had to get up from the ground in a different way really didn’t matter because he was so delighted to be outside again.

Pediatric patients like Jenny were always especially fun because I always felt challenged to make necessary exercises playful, if possible. Rehab can be daunting, exercises can be tough, but less so if the focus is on a game that achieves the same outcome. Beauty is found when helping a patient accomplish rehab goals with optimism, pride, confidence, and feeling good with one’s “new-normal.”

I’ve spent most of my years in physical therapy working with chronic pain patients. These individuals often feel disabled because pain interferes with their lifestyle, perhaps their every movement. Beauty comes when they learn, and are committed to doing new techniques, to manage their pain because they find that their spirit feels better too. And, that’s the key. For me, it is beautiful when I know I have found the right connections and built a rapport that helps patients move forward with new strategies to feel better, even if not totally pain free.

For the challenge is not solely in accomplishing an exercise program but in developing the understanding to want to change, breaking down tasks to simple components and achieving small successes that eventually lead to bigger, more positive successes. When that happens, there truly is beauty and grace in those new-normal movements because they are done more confidently, with a spirit that moves more freely.”

Using my Gumby and Pokey toys as part of rehab with Connie 1989.

Meet Noah

Greetings!  I’d like you to meet Noah.  (It will only take 30 seconds, I promise!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iaNokB9uCtE

What did you notice most after watching that video?

Noah’s smile?  

His steady pace?

His determination?

Did you notice the teacher standing by the door at the end of the video, smiling and looking on? 

This week, you have an opportunity to help other children like Noah find their stride.  Thursday, July 26^th is Miracle Treat Day at DQ restaurants across the country.  One dollar for every Blizzard purchased will be donated to a children’s hospital in your area.  In MN, the money goes to Gillette Children’s Hospital who works with kids like Noah.  This year, an additional dollar will be donated if you simply respond to an RSVP of this public event on Facebook.  Click on this link to find out more: http://miracletreatday.com/ 

See you at DQ!

Picture Source: http://49writers.blogspot.com/2012/04/if-youve-been-reading-this-blog-you.html

There is More

Last week we started talking about the beauty of movement, especially in the face of limitation.  To continue our conversation and further illustrate this idea, I asked my friend and veteran marathon runner, Steve Wiens, to write about what it is like to move through the last few miles of a race.  Enjoy!

There is More, by Steve Wiens

Everyone who has run a marathon insists that the marathon is really two races: the first twenty miles, and the last six point two. 

During the first twenty miles, assuming you have adequately trained, your body does what you have prepared it to do: At mile 10, you wonder why you don’t run marathons every day of your life. Thousands of people shout your name, cow bells echo the clarion call of your own personal greatness, endorphins pulse through your body, and the road floats beneath you as you glide through the miles with effortless joy. 

At mile fifteen, your legs begin to feel fatigued, but you still enjoy the race. I’ve even had deliriously happy moments at this phase of the race when I felt sad about the inevitable finish line looming in the distance; I didn’t want it to end! 

But at mile twenty, it all begins to change. The glycogen in your body is rapidly decreasing. What used to be a slight ache in your hips is now constant and sharp, as if you are missing some essential lubricant, without which you will grind to a halt, in a heap of smoke and bones and pain. The bottoms of your feet, which used to feel fluid and graceful, are now made of iron; they’re heavy and they clang in protest with every foot strike.

If the first twenty miles are mostly physical, the last 6.2 are all mental. 

Steve at mile 25 during his 9th marathon

Fans lining the sides of the course, noticing your obvious pain, will shout encouraging banalities like, “You’re almost there!” even though you know you are nowhere near the end. Your mind and your body are now engaged in full-scale war. Your body demands that you quit this foolish, meaningless quest. I have run 10 marathons, and I cannot recall even once when I did not desperately want to quit somewhere between mile 20 and the finish. 

In the last two miles of the race, your focus narrows. You feel every stab of pain, your brain is foggy with dehydration, the blister on the back of your heel is now open and raw, and you can’t believe you haven’t seen the mile 25 marker yet. You convince yourself that in your state of semi-delirium, you must have missed it. But something inside you knows you have not. 

Mile 25 is a torture chamber. But as you creep by the miler marker, you realize that you are going to finish. Though the pain continues to increase, your mind has conquered, and your body has given in. You know that you are going to finish. I have run one particular marathon 9 times, so I know every step of the way intimately, especially the last 1.2 miles. At mile 26, the runners turn slightly left, crest a gentle hill, and then the finish line comes into view. In that moment, a wash of emotion comes over me that causes me to weep, every single time. By some act of exquisite grace on the part of the course planners, these last two tenths of a mile are mostly downhill, and sometimes I draw on the last drips of glycogen that remain in my body and attempt to sprint down that hill and across that mat, signifying that the race has ended, and I have endured. 

I do not run for the medals, tee shirts, for accolades from friends, or because I’m addicted to competition. I run marathons because of what is forged in the crucible of those last painful miles of the marathon: when I fear that there is nothing left, there is more. 

There is more.

The Body's Grace

What is the most beautiful movement you’ve ever seen in your life?  A heartbeat on an ultrasound monitor; Michael Phelps winning his record breaking 8^th gold medal; a heron taking flight as it sores across the lake?  Movement seems to have the capacity to evoke many different emotions within us. 

Movement can be emotional.  A few weeks ago I fed my baby nephew his bottle and he reached up and gently touched my face.  

Movement can be funny.  Are any of you Seinfeld fans?  I think there are only a handful of actors who are as hilarious as Michael Richards.  Check out this 30 second clip of Kramer scrambling for a seat on the subway.  

Movement can be triumphant. Remember Karri Strug’s final two vaults during the ’96 Olympics?  She sprained her ankle during the first vault, but got up and did it again, fighting incredible pain, to win a gold medal for the team.

Movement can be different.  Have you ever taken the time to watch yourself move?  You might be surprised at what you see. Earlier this summer I was dressed up to meet a friend for a lunch date.  As I was walking quickly down the street towards the restaurant, I caught a glimpse of myself moving in a store window.  I was shocked at my appearance; I couldn’t believe how “tangled” my legs appeared.  My movements seemed to clash with the outfit I was wearing as if I had somehow mistakenly chosen to wear bright red pants under my teal tunic.  It looked “wrong.”  Is that really how I look when I move?

It’s taken me a while, but I am learning that there is beauty to be found in the way everyone moves, even people who live with physical disabilities.  So often, when I encounter someone who faces challenges in their mobility, my initial reaction is, “Wow, that person is really struggling to walk,” followed by, “I wonder what’s wrong?”  

While I think these questions are normal, my whole perspective has started to shift in this regard.  I once heard a radio interview with Matthew Sanford, fellow Minnesotan, yoga instructor, and quadriplegic who had much to share on this topic. Below is my paraphrase of his thoughts. 

We ought to look at people who face physical disabilities differently.  Instead of thinking about how hard it is for them to walk, we ought to consider how well they are moving.  Despite all the challenges that they face, the mixed messages that their minds are sending to their muscles, they are moving exactly the way they were designed to move to the best of their ability.  Their movement is not only one of struggle; it is also one of amazing beauty.

Artist Simon McKeown is interested in showcasing how people uniquely move who have physical disabilities.  He has created computer generated animations recording the movements of 14 people who have physical disabilities including Spina Bifida, Cerebral Palsy, and Brittle Bone Disease.  A video is embedded below.   I’ve never seen anything like this before.  It is both different and unique.  You can read more about this project on his Website: http://www.motiondisabled.com/ 

Motion Disabled Promotion from simon mck on Vimeo.

This week….

Watch yourself move.  What do you notice about your stride?

Watch other people move.  If you encounter someone with a disability, try to remind yourself of the beauty and grace that is being exhibited before you.  Despite the challenges that this person may face, their body is moving exactly as it was originally intended to the best of its ability.  Amazing!

Resources

Photo Source: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/olympics/swimming/4445637/Michael-Phelps-facing-criminal-charge-for-bong-shot.html

Mathew Sanford Interview: http://www.onbeing.org/program/body039s-grace-matthew-sanford039s-story/feature/room-matthew-sanford/1210