December 3, 2007

• Sunday Best.

   

  She was wearing her Sunday best. 

   

  Only, it wasn’t Sunday morning that day I walked into the room.  But there she was in her Sunday best, with a blouse and pearl necklace covered with a black coat that was sewn by a fading generation’s hands, her face adorned with bright red lipstick contrasting against the wrinkles fashioned through years of toil yet proudly displayed as symbols of engendered wisdom. 

   

  But the tears are new.  They always are, aren’t they?

   

  If all the world is a stage, as was once said, then there is nothing like the rawness of emotions being played out when tragedy befalls us and the curtain begins to drop and the lights begin to dim. 

   

  She was wearing her Sunday best.  Perhaps it was to make herself feel better.  Or perhaps it was to make him feel better.  If only he could see her, sitting there in her Sunday best, then he could know how much she loves him and maybe that is enough to will him to be better.  But he can’t see her at this moment.   He’s resting amidst the hustle and bustle and bells and whistles of a new hospital morning, so he doesn’t see her holding his hand, the tears flowing down as if they too are seeking to follow the same path as the heart that produced them.

   

  The Good Book tells us that we only need to look at those around us to see God. I would also add that to see ourselves we only need to look at those we choose to circle around our lives. The company you choose to keep is often a reflection of your wants, your needs and that which you strive to attain, whether it be a character trait, career goal, or something as simply complex as the type of heart you hope to possess.

   

  I don’t know this man.  I have been helping to take care of him, of course, but I don’t know him.  I have never heard his voice and what facts I do know I learned from a computer screen which displays numbers that I try to fix on a daily basis.  But seeing her sitting there in her Sunday best has told me all I need to know.  He is a man worth saving, a man whose life is worth living.

   

  When I had emergency surgery one of the few memories I have of that night was waking up frequently due to pain or some noise and each time I looked down and saw that she was there, head resting on her hand in my hand, staying up the whole night to watch me sleep.  In that moment I realized that I must have done something right in my life to deserve that. 

   

  I thought of that moment as I walked out of the room, leaving the woman in her Sunday best so she could have a moment with her husband without me there.  I also thought of that moment later that day in the market as my wife was giving me a lesson on how to pick the best apples and it struck me… 

   

  Sunday best cannot be earned, neither is it deserved.

   

  Love, you see, is an act of grace, caring or forgiveness that is imparted upon you when you do not deserve it.  Anything less and love is rendered to a simple act of quid pro quo. 

   

  So as we sorted through the apples I thought about the woman in her Sunday best watching over her beloved and the other woman who watched over me when the curtains came close to falling and the lights came close to dimming.  And I just watched and let her do the picking, because I knew that I had already picked the best one.

   

  The one who is my Sunday best.

  —–

  Congrats to the only undefeated team in the nation, the University of Hawaii Warriors!  Sugar Bowl, baybeeeeee!!!!!!  The whole BCS system is incomprehensible.  I don’t see how Missouri can go from being ranked #1 and then being shut out of a BCS bowl after losing in the Big-12 championship while Kansas, the team they beat earlier, gets a BCS nod.  And a 3-loss Illinois in the Rose Bowl?  Ai-ya.

   

  Edit:  I can’t stand research.  I became a doctor to treat people, not crunch stats.  Just thought I’d say that to make me feel better.  Haha…

   

  Have a great week!

  • 9:47 am
  • 54 Comments