Her Smile

Whenever I saw her, usually very early in my workday, she was always smiling. Short and stout, probably in her sixties, her toothless grin greeted me several mornings a month. She never wanted much from me and I didn’t even know her name. But her patient, happy smile always touched me. One morning she came in with a paper folder clasped in her hands, her smile even broader than usual. “I remembered to bring it this morning,” she said, and held the folder out to me. “Oh, thank you,” I replied, having no idea what she was talking about. She watched me expectantly as I took the folder from her. “May I look inside it now?” I asked, not knowing what to expect—a letter? a drawing? an old newspaper clipping? Her quick nod told me she wanted me to open it. What I pulled out was a photograph of her, a recent one. Full-color and a little fuzzy it showed her in a dark blue dress, her long brown hair pulled back and her broad sunken smile looking back at me. Startled, all I could say was, “Oh, your eyes are so beautiful!” And they were. Deep blue and clear, they bored into me and for the first time I realized that she was pretty. Despite her age and poverty and lack of teeth, she had a certain beauty about her. I told her thank you and she hugged me and left the office, her mission accomplished. I slipped the photo back into its folder and went back to work. Later that morning I mentioned the woman to a coworker and showed her the picture. “Oh yes, I know her!” she exclaimed and she told me the woman’s story.

Born into a large family, they lived in the hard mountain poverty of the South, the kind not yet softened by more recent government assistance programs. Farming and logging made for a poor living, but they were no different in that from most of their neighbors. Their differences were much more sinister. From her earliest years, “Sue” had suffered her father’s horrific sexual abuses. Her brothers and sisters and their mother were also victimized. While the community seemed to know what her father was doing, no one stepped in to stop it. Years of abuse and poverty had shaped Sue’s life, surely. Yet what I knew of her, what she was always showing me was her disarming smile. I mentioned this to my coworker and her response stunned me. Thoughtfully, she replied, “You’re probably the best thing in her life.” What? A few minutes a week spent in casual conversation? How could that mean so much to someone? Could that even be possible?

Of course it could be. None of us knows the power that simple kindness can have to heal a wounded soul. A smile, a soft word, a few moments of simple conversation—this can be great love to someone who lives in wounded isolation, in an invisible prison of hurts, abandonments, or history. Being Christ to others happens every day. In what can seem like very small things, we can reveal His very great love for all of us. Sue has taught me to be more mindful of every opportunity God places in my path each day as a chance to live the Gospel and to never take for granted His call to love my neighbor. And Sue’s constant, life-affirming smiles heal me, too. Now, more than ever since I know her love has blossomed despite her life circumstances. We are both Christ to one another and I thank God for allowing me to know her in my small way.

“Every time you smile at someone, it is an action of love, a gift to that person, a beautiful thing.”
—Blessed Mother Teresa

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. AdorationRocks
    Apr 01, 2014 @ 01:40:03

    Why do you think “Sue” gave you a photograph of herself, Judy? Does she know you are a Catholic writer? If so, could she have wanted you to use her image, instead of just explaining it?

    Reply

    • tiberjudy
      Apr 01, 2014 @ 02:26:35

      “Sue” only knows me in the context of my job with the government. I’m sure she has no idea that I blog or write for a local newspaper. I’m not even sure that she can read. Our interactions don’t require her to do that. I think she just wanted to give me something more of herself than the smiles we’d already shared.

      Reply

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