Faces

  
   I've been thinking a lot about honesty lately . . . maybe because I'm realizing that I'm not very good at it. Growing up, the adjective I remember most often used to describe me was "sweet". Yes, I was that "sweet" girl . . . smile nicely, be polite, follow the rules, help others . . . in public.
   I grew up, got married, had beautiful children, watched as one suffered with leukemia, and then buried my little girl. And, I still tried to put on my sweet face before marching out into the world. The drive home alone in my car was when the sobs and screams at God would force their way out from my soul. And, the shower before bedtime was a great place for silent tears.
      Two years later, I had a miscarriage and lost my much-wanted baby. The sweet face got lost in the anger. Rather than reveal the monster hiding within, though, I withdrew from life, rarely went to church, wouldn't answer the door, and threw unread Helen Steiner Rice cards in the trash. When I was forced to leave the house, I found a different mask to wear . . .maybe it was a little like the Phantom of the Opera . . . one that would stoically conceal the gruesomely scarred and bleeding tissue underneath.  Even with my mask on, though, people would see me coming and would turn away to avoid catching a glimpse of my pain.  Finally, every week, Tuesday would come, and I drove to our Compassionate Friends bereavement group.  I sat down with about twenty other people, and we all took our masks off, enjoying the feel of cool, fresh honesty against our damaged spirits.  Slowly, gradually, the healing came.
      Sometimes, I wonder how much quicker my grief could have diminished if I had learned the value of honesty sooner.  Has my family suffered unduly because I was not willing to let the horror and intensity of my pain be exposed?  I chose hiding and suffering silently over being real with my doubts, depression, and fear, and I lost the opportunity to be genuine before my children, my family, and my church.  "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face.  Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known" (1 Cor. 13:12).  I'm old now, tired of trying on different faces, ready to start knowing and being fully known.  Better late than never?