A Face Without a Reflection Read online

  She laughed out loud at this thought. “Lava laughs,” she dubbed them. We sat together in silence until she shook off the moment. “Now, where was I?”

  “You painted his face,” I offered.

  “Oh yes, I painted his face. How do you like it?”

  “It’s a wonderful face! I can’t believe he had long hair.”

  “He did. It was perfectly acceptable back then, but that wouldn’t have mattered to your father. I’m sure he liked it that way, but I think the real reason he wore it long was because he didn’t want to stop whatever he was doing to have it cut. Sitting in a barber’s chair for an hour when he could have been outside doing anything else would have been agonizing for him.” She chuckled as she began to drift off again.

  “I’m glad he had long hair,” I said, not knowing what else to say. “Tell me more about how he looked.”

  “Well, he was not particularly tall, although he was taller than me.”

  “That wouldn’t be hard to do,” I chided my mother, who stood just under five feet two.

  “True enough.” She laughed. “I think Daddy was just about five feet, eleven inches, so he was about a head and a half taller than me. The top of my head didn’t quite reach his shoulders.”

  I tried to picture my mother and father together, which was a challenge. But I didn’t want to get hung up at this point, so I said, “Got it,” to keep her moving on.

  “He was in very good shape. He was an avid swimmer and very active. He loved horseback riding, which he did nearly every day. His body was strong and athletic but lean…not beefy.”

  The word “beefy” made me laugh.

  “And he looked very good in clothes,” she said, smiling to herself once again, “which is quite funny, as he cared very little about them. But there was something about the way he dressed that caught your eye. It wasn’t the clothes he wore so much as how he wore them. It’s hard to explain, and it’s kind of a phenomenon now that I think about it. But it was almost as though his clothes came alive with every move he made, yet he was completely unaware of their attachment to him.”

  I was carefully constructing an image of him in my mind when she said, “But I want to say something that’s not about how your father looked, because even though most people considered him attractive, he wasn’t what one would think of as a handsome man.”

  I was disappointed at this statement, mostly because I had just made him very handsome in my mind and hoped I wasn’t going to have to start over. She went on with an indisputable truth.

  “There was nothing about his appearance that was particularly striking or out of the ordinary by itself. And if you saw him in a room with other men, you might not even notice him. But when he spoke, when he engaged himself with you, he made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. And it wasn’t just with me. He was that way with everyone he met. His attention was always on others and never on himself. He could connect with anyone whether they were rich or poor, young or old, happy or sad. He was compassionate and immeasurably kind, and he had a way of comforting those in need and giving hope to those who had none. He was created to encourage and enable others to rise above their circumstances and become more than they dreamed they could be. He was a brilliant light in a dark world. That’s what attracted people to him.”

  “I love that about him!” My heart was about to burst when the “handsome” man came back clearly once again.

  “You have all his goodness in you, you know,” she said.

  I was far more embarrassed by her statement than complimented. I wanted to be a good, kind, compassionate, and selfless person like my father, but I knew I fell far short of those qualities. I saw my role in life as always pleasing others, obeying the rules, and, of course, never being a disappointment to anyone. I thought that if I was the perfect child in everyone’s eyes, I could somehow maintain a status quo to life that would ensure nothing bad would ever happen. I considered this my duty, even if it wasn’t something I wanted to do. This was what separated me from my dad. His heart was always willing to sacrifice for others, while mine seemed to have no reason for beating. I envied how naturally the sacrifice came to him; but careful not to desire what belonged to someone else, I stopped myself before wanting what he had. “After all,” I reminded myself, “no one likes a jealous person.”

  These thoughts and longings lived inside of me every day, but I never shared them with my mother. I was afraid she might think I was ungrateful for all the things I’d been given or worry about my self-esteem. I never wanted to intentionally upset her, nor did I want to appear less than perfect in her eyes, so I kept these feelings and many others to myself. With her words about my goodness being like my father’s hanging in the air, I mustered up a humble smile, thanked her for her kind words, and kept my secrets safe with a simple, “I hope so.”

  My mouth suddenly gave way to an involuntary yawn, and although my mother must have been glad that I was showing signs of being tired, she was cautious not to end the night before I was ready for sleep.

  “So how are you feeling, Miss Lily Johnson, now that you’re twelve years old?” she asked, likely being careful not to remind me of how I was feeling when I first climbed into bed.

  “Tired,” I exclaimed, with no recollection of anything unpleasant having transpired.

  “Well, that’s not surprising, considering the day that you’ve had. Birthdays can be quite exhausting, you know.”

  I smiled with my eyes half-closed as she rose from the comfort of her chair to give me a hug and a kiss on my forehead.

  “Sleep tight, my precious Lily. I love you more than the whole wide world.”

  “I love you too, Mommy,” I said without opening my eyes. “This was the best birthday ever.”

  CHAPTER 6

  FAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE YOU STEW

  My birthday weekend was over, and it was time for me to go back to school. I hemmed and hawed that morning, not wanting to leave Spirit for a single moment, let alone an entire day.

  “I have an idea,” my mother said, trying to get me to move faster than a snail’s pace. “Why don’t we try out Spirit’s new leash? Grab your backpack and lunch bag, and I’ll get Spirit. But we must get moving. It’ll take longer to get there with the little steps he takes, and we’re running a bit late as it is.”

  It hardly seemed like a suitable alternative to my idea, which was to stay home and play with Spirit all day. But the thought of showing him off to my friends was sufficient motivation to get me moving. And just in time, as the bus arrived at the stop at the same time we did, and the driver opened the doors. Everyone on the bus was peering out the windows to get a better look at Spirit.

  “We’ll be here when you get home,” my mother told me.

  I heard a collective “Aww!” from inside the bus.

  “That’s a very cute puppy, Lily,” the driver said. “Is he yours?”

  I turned around and blew a kiss to Spirit. “Yes, Mr. Little,” I said. “He was my birthday wish. His name is Spirit. Good-bye, Spirit,” I called out as the driver shut the doors. Mother held Spirit up and waved one of his paws in a good-bye as the bus slowly pulled away.

  Everyone asked about my dog and said things like, “He’s adorable!” and “I want one!” I was too proud to be sad. But I couldn’t wait to get home.

  The first day away from Spirit seemed to take forever, and I was the first one out of the classroom when the final bell rang. Everyone except my friend Maddie had forgotten about the puppy that waved good-bye that morning. Maddie sat next to me on the bus and usually had the seat by the window. But on this day, she offered to give me her seat, so I could see Spirit as soon as we arrived at my stop.

  “I hope your mom remembers to bring him,” she said.

  “She will,” I assured her. “She never breaks her promises.”

  My face was pressed against the window as the bus slowed around the curve that led to my stop, and I stood up a bit prematurely.

  “
Lily Johnson!’ the driver bellowed. “Sit down! That puppy will wait for you.”

  “Yes, Mr. Little.”

  I sat back down just before the bus heaved slightly forward and then backward again before coming to a stop. I climbed over Maddie’s lap, said good-bye, and hurried toward the open doors.

  “Take your time, Miss Lily! He’s not going anywhere!” Mr. Little laughed as I jumped from the last step and ran to my mother and Spirit, who wagged his tail and jumped up to kiss me.

  “Someone’s happy to see you.” Mom handed me the leash and took my backpack.

  Spirit jumped around and ran between my legs, entangling my feet in his leash. He grabbed hold of it with his teeth and growled as he tugged at it. I was a little bit startled, but Mom just laughed.

  “Oh my heavens!” she said. “He wants to play with you. Give the leash a little tug when he pulls on it but be gentle. You don’t want to pull out any of those puppy teeth.”

  We both laughed as Spirit planted his hind legs firmly on the ground and tried with all his might to get the leash away from me. When he’d had enough tugging, he dropped the lead and pranced proudly down the road toward our house.

  This was the time I looked forward to each day…the brief period that existed between arriving home from school and starting homework. Mother recognized my need for downtime when I was in the second grade. That’s when homework assignments started, and I had my first meltdown. We used to spend this time taking walks through the woods or just hanging out. But now it was devoted to Spirit. I couldn’t wait until the end of the school year, so I could spend more time with him, and I often found myself daydreaming during class about what it would be like to go on adventures with Spirit. Mom and I still didn’t know much about otterhounds except that they were hunters and liked to run. Lindenwood had more than enough space for him to run, but the idea of him leaving the property terrified me. On the other hand, I didn’t want to keep him on a leash all the time either. I decided to train him as soon as possible.

  “He must learn important commands,” I reasoned with my mother that night before bedtime. “It will be much safer that way.”

  “I agree.” She winked and gave me a smile. “And a lot more fun!”

  “Right. That’s what I meant. Anyway, I think I’ll start tomorrow.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea, kiddo. The sooner, the better. If you pick up a book from the library, you can start working with him this weekend. I think Spirit is going to do whatever is needed just to be with you, but training him early is a very good idea. It’s going to take a lot of patience and effort on your part, you know.”

  I nodded my head. “And dog treats!” I added. “I’ll need dog treats for his rewards. Can you get some?”

  “It’s a deal.” She shook my hand. “You get the book…I’ll get the treats.”

  An image of a fully trained Spirit danced in my head, and my restless feet wiggled beneath the covers as I pictured the two of us running through the open field. Mother sighed as she tried to tuck me in.

  “Getting these covers around you is like trying to dress a greased pig,” she exclaimed.

  I laughed at the thought of my mother trying to put clothes on a well-oiled hog.

  “Would you like to hear more of Mira’s story? It’s been a while since we’ve visited her.”

  “Oh yes,” I said with a grin, although my mind was still on Spirit.

  “Great!” she said. “Let’s see. Where did we leave off?”

  “Oh, I know,” I offered happily. “I remember everything about Mira. She was very happy and beautiful, and she loved everyone, and everyone loved her. But she was too little to worry about not having a reflection, and when her mother and grandmother figured out that she couldn’t use mirrors, they decided to keep it a secret from her until she was older.”

  “Well, that’s mostly right.” She smiled. “But they didn’t tell her about her reflection because they wanted to be certain she fully understood and was comfortable with her inner beauty.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot that. What is inner beauty?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” she said happily. “Inner beauty is something that can only come from your heart. It can’t be measured by any physical standard of beauty because it has nothing to do with how we look, but it has everything to do with how we feel and how we make others feel. It is the most perfect kind of beauty there is, and you can’t get it from a cream, a blush, or a lipstick. In fact, it has absolutely nothing to do with beautiful hair, a perfect body, or even designer clothes. It shines from within, and those who truly possess it are quite rare indeed, as they have been blessed with everything that truly matters: love, joy, peace, kindness, goodness, patience, and faithfulness.”

  “That’s what Mira had,” I remembered.

  “Absolutely! But this kind of beauty can’t be seen in a mirror. It can only be felt. It’s quite a treasure.”

  “That’s what I want someday,” I said, wondering what it would be like to feel beautiful.

  “You have it now,” she said, smiling. Then she continued the story of Mira, a child who was blessed with everything that truly mattered.

  “‘Mira,’ her mother called. ‘Dinner!’

  “Mira’s mother had a lovely voice that sounded like a ringing bell. When she called out for Mira from the porch of their happy home, her words rode on the back of two beautiful lilting notes…one high, one low.

  “‘Meeer-ahhh! Diii-nahhh!’”

  My mother’s lovely voice sang the words so sweetly.

  “Mira put down her little shovel, brushed the dirt from her tiny hands, and skipped toward the house, singing the notes back to her mother, ‘’Kaaay, Mahhhm.’ Mira loved being outside on almost any kind of day, even when it was cold.

  “‘That child would live outdoors if you let her,’ Grammy would say. ‘She’s like a snowflake in the winter and a dewdrop in the spring. She belongs out there with the flowers and the trees.’

  “‘And the birds,’ her mother added.

  “‘Oh yes,’ Grammy agreed. ‘The birds, the deer, the rabbits. Anything that hops, flies, or runs.’

  “They both laughed for a moment, and then they smiled for a very long time.

  “‘I can’t imagine her any other way, Mummy,’ said Mira’s mother to her darling mum.

  “‘Neither can I, dear. Neither can I.’

  “And the mothers went about the business of seasoning, stirring, lifting, and serving as all mothers do.

  “Mira’s cheeks were flushed when she walked through the door into the warm kitchen. It was autumn, and the air was cool and crisp (something that went unnoticed until she stepped into the cozy room). Mira had been playing in the field by the little stream all day, building a small house of twigs, mud, and grass for the rabbits to nestle in during the winter. She did this every year, and although she never actually saw bunnies living there, she didn’t want to disappoint any would-be inhabitants who might be secretly depending upon her for shelter from the cold.

  “‘Winters in U-R-Here can be quite difficult if you’re a creature without a home,’ she once declared. ‘I think I shall make them a small place to live that keeps the weather outside where it belongs.’ And so, she did. Stepping inside her not-too-big-not-too-small dwelling, she noticed that the house felt particularly wonderful and smelled almost heavenly. And she said so.

  “‘What are you making, Grammy? It smells heavenly.’

  “Her grandmother stood over a large pot of stew that was well stocked with vegetables, beef, and barley. This was Mira’s favorite dish when the weather was crisp and her stomach quite empty.

  “‘Love You Stew and pumpkin bread,’ Grammy said. Then she chuckled. ‘But it’s not for little girls covered in mud.’

  “Mira looked down at her clothes, which were caked with dirt. ‘Oops,’ she said. Then she did a quick about-face back to the porch where she removed her shoes, brushed off her clothes, and wiped the excess earth from her hands before making ano
ther entrance.

  “‘I’ll go wash up, Gram. The food smells so good. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!’

  “‘It is my pleasure, little one,’ Grammy called out.

  “Mira ran down the hall and up the stairs to get ready for a big bowl of Grammy’s Love You Stew and pumpkin bread.

  “Mira’s bedroom was on the second floor of her not-too-big-not-too-small house, and it was just one door down from Grammy’s room. The room where her parents slept was across the hall from Mira and Grammy, as was the main bath. Grammy had a small bathroom, but Mira shared with her parents.

  “The main bath was a bright white room with a blue and white tiled floor, a gleaming white pedestal sink, and a great big white tub with four clawed feet. One large window overlooked the side yard. Mira’s Grammy had made beautiful light-blue gossamer curtains for it that had tiny white flowers along the edge, which she had embroidered herself. A single closet was located on the wall that was opposite the sink, where her mother kept the soap, shampoo, and all the fresh, clean linens and towels. Mira thought they smelled like summer, and she loved to bury her face in a newly laundered towel before drying off after a bath.

  “There was also a medicine cabinet just above the sink that Mira was not allowed to open. Being a very good and obedient little girl, she never did. She often wondered what was behind the small door as she stood on the stool in front of the sink. But she dismissed her thoughts, as doing otherwise would only lead to trouble. Trouble was something Mira never cared to know.

  “‘Why ask for trouble when you can ask for so many wonderful things instead?’ Grammy once said.

  “From that day on, Mira only asked for things that made people happy and pleased the One Who Provides.

  “By the time Mira had taken a bath, washed her face and hands, brushed her hair, and changed her clothes, there was more than just stew brewing in the kitchen. She quickly ran down the steps toward the voices and laughter to join the group of people who were now milling about. Some folks were placing dishes and flatware on the table; others were cutting bread or pouring lemonade. Mira’s mother was smiling ear-to-ear as she and Grammy miraculously pulled more delicious-smelling food out of what seemed to be thin air. But when Mira entered the room, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to her.