Part 1: Beauty Is a Woman Named...

Beauty is a woman named

Renita Bolton.

     Two years ago this March, I began dating the son of one of the most beautiful women in the world; I just didn't know it at the time. Over the next several months, Renita would become to me a second mother, a dear friend, and a kindred spirit - someone I could count on to tell me the truth, share in my pain, and help me find beauty when I couldn't see any. I hope I did the same for her.

     Less than a month ago, this woman who grew so dear to my heart in such a short time left this world to sit at the feet of our Heavenly Father. As I stood in the receiving line at the funeral home beside her husband Tommy and her son Kyle who became my husband last June, I was blown away at the outpouring of love we received from those who knew Renita. With each passing handshake, hug, and kind word, it became evidently clear to me that I wasn't the only one who was dazzled by Renita's beauty. Today I want to try to put into words just what it is about this woman that captured so many. I think I can explain in two simple truths.

1. Her love for God and her faith in Him drove her life.

     I have never in all my life met a woman more optimistic than my mother-in-law. Some may point out that's not saying a whole lot for me because it seems that the females in my family (including myself) tend to be eternal pessimists, but I fully know that regardless of the scale on which I have to measure, Renita is the brightest light. The entire time I knew her, her life was what most would deem a struggle. Shortly after I met her, she was forced to quit working due to her health. This alone broke her heart, but the difficulty it brought to her home would've been enough to crush anyone's spirit. Oh yes, she had hard days. I sat across from her at the kitchen table on several occasions sharing tears over the past and sorrows about the present, but for Renita, there was always a light at the end of the tunnel. It didn't matter how long she cried, when it was over, she would set her eye on the hope of the future.

     She found this hope in one place alone: her relationship with Jesus Christ. It still amazes me the faith this woman had. She countered every harsh reality with a promise from God. To be honest, right after she passed away, I felt so angry with God because I kept calling to mind all those promises she stood on, and I just didn't feel that those promises had been fulfilled. I couldn't have been further from the truth. Regardless of what we here on Earth desired, Renita had her ultimate hope for the future fulfilled: meeting her Savior face to face. It was His life in her that made her truly beautiful. 

    2. Meeting her just once could change your life forever. 

     I've always heard those little inspirational quotes about crossing paths and being forever changed or how one person had the potential to offset another's chosen direction with simply a smile. While these words were always beautiful thoughts, I never found them to be beautiful truths until I met my mother-in-law. I promise you the woman didn't go anywhere that she didn't impact someone's life. She always wore a smile, and laughter was constantly dancing on her lips. Her words were full of encouragement and zeal, and while sometimes they carried a bite (especially to those who knew her well,) she made a point to speak truth and life.

     Renita was a nurse by trade, but her capacity to care for others went far beyond any learned bedside manner; it was truly a gift from God. When you looked into her eyes, you felt sincerity. When she hugged you, her embrace spoke of overwhelming love. She was a mother to more than just her son, a sister to more than just her brother. She was a woman who knew no stranger and who looked for the good in everything and everyone. She was capable of pulling beauty out of the ugliest situations and if truth be told, out of the ugliest people. Her whole life reflected the beauty of the world around her.

     Beauty is a woman named Renita. Yes, she had warm, honey eyes, thick hair that could hold a curl, and a smile that lit up the entire world, but these outward traits were only a fraction of her beauty. Her beauty was found in her Heavenly Father's love for her, the love that she shared with everyone she met. Her beauty was in the way she made those around her feel: special, important, victorious. Her beauty was the hope she kept hidden in her heart, the hope she fostered against all odds and poured out to those who were hurting as well. 

     It is my hope to do for others what she did for me. I want to take the love and the kindness and the truth that she gave to me, that God gave to me through her, and pour it out on others. I want to be the kind of person who is full of life and love and laughter. I want to be the kind of person who seeks out all of God's beauty in all of God's creations and opens others' eyes and hearts to all the good there is to be found. In some of my darkest moments of doubt, shame, hurt, and fear, Renita helped me find light. She taught me how to see beauty in myself that I had never noticed before. I want to be one who can do that for others. After all, what good is beauty buried beneath dirt or hidden by the dust of the past? Truly beauty is meant to be shared and enjoyed. I am eternally thankful Renita's was shared with me.

The Truth About Scars

          Before my husband Kyle and I were ever engaged, he had a severe gallbladder attack and had to have the nasty little thing removed, and it was exactly that: a nasty little thing. What should have taken just a couple of hours turned into six. His family and I sat quietly in the waiting room, the silence being broken only by the ring of the telephone indicating to us the doctor had news. For the first few hours, it seemed the phone rang on the hour every hour, the speaker on the other line giving us increasingly uncomfortable updates. After several failed attempts to remove the gallbladder laparoscopicly, the doctor decided to go about it the old-fashioned way: slice open the skin and remove the organ. Of course, this meant more time in the OR, a longer recovery, and one heck of a scar. 

          I remember distinctly a moment after Kyle (finally) had the drainage tube and the staples removed. He was standing in front of a mirror with his shirt lifted up staring intently at the scar that now very noticeably covers a section of his abdomen. He turned toward me and asked in a somber tone, "Does this scar make me unattractive?" My heart sank into the pit of my stomach, uneasily settling there as I searched for words that would heal. Was that scar in its fresh, tender, reddened state something I considered ugly? Absolutely. Did it make the man I loved and wanted to share my life with unattractive? Absolutely not. 

          We all have scars. Some of us have physical marks that smudge our flesh, reminding us of searing pain, trouble, or anguish. Some of us are pocked with emotional and mental scars that limit us in our pursuit of healthy lives filled with joy. We all have moments from our past that darken the light of our futures. We have all, at some point, carried blemishes, and what is more burdensome than the weight all of our imperfections combined is the question we ask over and over: "Does this make me unlovable?" The answer is quite simply this: no.

          The truth about scars is yes, they are ugly, but we don't have to let their appearances in our lives dictate the way we look at ourselves. When we see our defects staring back at us from a mirror, we are flooded with feelings of inadequacy, doubt, and regret. It's easier to believe we are unwanted than it is to see the beauty beyond the scars. Please, though, consider this: does one torn corner of a hundred-dollar bill decrease its worth? Does one missing petal from the bud of a rose subtract from its beauty? Stop wondering if your scars make you unforgivably repulsive, and wonder instead why you are giving them so much power. Look squarely in the face at the person in the mirror and ask the only question that truly matters, "Does one ugly moment define my entire life?"

The answer is quite simply this: no.

            

The Marilyn Make-Up Part 3

       


          Marilyn Monroe - Norma Jean - a talent, a beauty, a tragedy. True to form, her soiled personal life led to an unattractive death. There are varying reports about exactly what happened to Monroe (some of them following a conspiracy - the Kennedys playing a hand in her death,) but one fact remains: an overdose ended her life. She was born into a world void of love, protection, and stability and left it just the same: alone and tormented.

         Despite how ugly her life was, when the world looks upon the face of Marilyn, the only thing reflected there is beauty. Why is it that we can disregard all the scandal and hail her, still, America's sweetheart? What is so appealing about this bottle-blonde that keeps us mesmerized fifty-one years later?

          I call it the Marilyn Make-Up, and it is as simple as this one word: TRUTH.

          Marilyn's appeal isn't that she was blonde, busty, leggy, or full-lipped. There are a multitude of women who fall into that same category. Her appeal is in the knowledge we have of her, proving to us that she was real. She was a real human being with real hurt, real emotions, and real mistakes. Behind those fluttering lashes, we see someone, a girl, to whom we can relate. We know her life was not perfect; she was not perfect, and her pain was excruciatingly true. We see Marilyn Monroe for who she was: a person, just like us, trying to find a way to cover up her scars.

The Marilyn Make-Up Part 2

          Norma Jean. Pretty. Curvier than average. Brown hair. Broken home. Nothing remarkable. She grew up in foster care, never knowing her father, while her mother roared through the 20's as a risque flapper, occasionally stopping in to see her. She lived a life of confusion, shuffling homes, those influencing her giving her conflicting ideas about morals and standards. She once attempted to live with her mother again, only to witness the woman's nervous breakdown resulting in institutionalization and Norma Jean's return to the foster system. In this second phase of foster care, Norma Jean's experience was even worse, as she was sexually abused on more than one occasion as her body propelled her into womanhood. Finally, to escape an orphanage, she married in 1942 at age 16. 

          In 1945, Norma became Marilyn. After being discovered by an army photographer, she signed with a booking agency, bleached her hair, and changed her name. Her breakthrough came in modeling, but she had her mind set on the silver screen. She worked constantly to improve her acting skills and deeply desired to be taken seriously as an actress. When working on a film, she would request take after take, not because she was a diva but because she wanted to give her audience her very best. She yearned for the people's approval. She lived to please.

          Despite her career successes, Marilyn's personal life was a running tragedy. She was married and divorced several times (different biographers report different numbers,) and she was involved in high-profile affairs, one allegedly with JFK. She and her husband Arthur Miller tried multiple time to have a child, each attempt resulting in miscarriage, and her dependency on drugs to deal with anxiety and to sleep grew greater with each passing day. To look at her, one would think she had the world: beauty, fame, riches, the love of millions. Underneath, though, the only thing visible was pain, hurt, emptiness, scandal. 

          What could possibly be so beautiful about that?

          

The Marilyn Make-Up

          There is no denying that Marilyn Monroe was beautiful. Even now, she is considered by many to be the epitome of attraction. Men and women alike clamor over her photographs, wanting her, wanting to be like her. Every year, there are new calendars published, each month bearing a picture of the blonde bombshell. Souvenirs, collectibles, cups, dolls, costumes: you name it, her face has donned it. Her look is legendary, and so is her life. Since her death in 1962, no other woman has come close to achieving the status Marilyn's name is synonymous with in our society. So what is it about Miss Monroe that has America, still, after all these years, enamored with her? Why can't we let go of Marilyn?

       

Into the Looking Glass

Beauty. 

She evades me. 

Sometimes I think I recognize her, so I call out to her, reaching and stretching, hoping to grasp her, 

But she disappears, turning her head,  mocking me with her sparkling sweet smile. 

Where did she go? 

For that one fleeting moment, I thought I might own her, understand her, know her even, 

but Beauty, once again, has slipped quietly away.