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love beyond appearances
by Debbie Brazil
Debbie is still happily married to Paul. She is a homeschooling mom of 3 and is expecting their 4th in May. Her passions include family, friends, hospitality, and sharing her faith. She attends the Pasadena celebrations. |
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It was the summer of 1990. Madonna was at the top of the charts and Pretty Woman was at the box office. I was in my early 20’s, single, and had been a follower of Christ for 4 years. Like many girls my age I was praying for Mr. Right to come along and sweep me off my feet. Sadly, too, like most girls, I was deeply insecure about my looks, my hair, my clothes, my education, my everything.
Memorial weekend I spent the day at the beach with a group of friends.
Among them was a charming young Irish fellow that I had taken a liking to.
I wanted to be friendly to him, without letting him know I liked him. So, noticing that he was quite fair skinned, I suggested that he use sunscreen. He did on his face and arms.
I then innocently offered to apply some to his back, which he replied in his thick brogue, “Ah, you just want to rub me back, don’t ya?” Ohh, how insulting, I thought!
You could be certain that after a comment like that, that I wasn’t going to help him; so sadly, he burned!
The following evening I was driving home alone on the freeway in my white Ford Broncho. A light drizzle had begun to fall. It was late and few cars were out, (by L.A. standards that is). I was in the center lane when I noticed brake lights in the two right lanes ahead. In an attempt to avoid whatever was happening on the right side of the freeway, I quickly merged over two lanes into the fast lane. As I completed my lane change, a yellow pick-up truck suddenly loomed in front of me. The truck was completely stopped and laying perpendicular across my lane. I slammed on the brakes, but because I was traveling at a speed of 65 mph, I slammed into the passenger side of the 2-ton truck.
Completely conscious, I jumped out of the car to assess the damage. Cars were screeching to a stop and slamming into one another. As I gazed through the smoke coming from the car’s engines, I heard cries for help and smelled the odor of burnt rubber and gasoline. In shock, I placed my hands to my forehead as to gesture. As I lowered my hands, I felt wetness; so I looked down. I discovered I was covered in blood.
I ran across the highway to the onramp, where a Suzuki Samurai, with a man and woman inside had just entered the freeway. They slowed down and asked me if I needed help. I shouted, “I need to get the hospital!” They told me to get in the car. As I walked closer to them, I could see the look of horror on their faces. I would later learn that I had sustained a laceration 6 inches by 4 inches on my forehead and that part of my skull was exposed.
At this point I began to feel light-headed and white specks danced in front of my eyes. Then the thought raced into my mind, “I’m going to die.” As I sat down in the front seat of their car I found it difficult to breath. I poured my heart out to God saying, “I don’t want to die, Lord, not now”.
The female passenger, now in the back seat, gently grabbed my hand, and in a calm but firm voice said, “You are not going to die, you are going to live in Jesus’ name.” She then began to sing the most beautiful song...”I gave you Jesus, He’s the peace that surpasses all understanding.” Then my fear and panic subsided as I sensed an overwhelming sense of God’s love and presence. I knew He was with me.
What happened at the hospital is a blur. I do remember a CHP officer coming into my room and asking if I was driving a white Ford Bronco on the Long Beach freeway. Yes, I said. “How did you get here?” he asked.
I told him all about the couple who picked me up, and how they comforted me and prayed for me. I was sure they were in the waiting room. “That’s strange, he said. No one saw anyone bring you here” They had said they’d see me later. I described them to him, but he told me that no one had seen anyone fitting that description. I never saw them again and it still remains a mystery as to who brought me to the hospital that night. But what remains certain to me is that God was with me through the care and kindness of these “Good Samaritans.”
In the morning I woke with over 100 stitches in my swollen and bruised forehead. My nose was broken, and pushed to the left side of my face. While the nurse was checking my vitals, she told me that my husband was very worried about me. “My husband?” I asked my self. “Am I married? Do I have amnesia?” I wondered. Though my mind raced with questions, my body was slow to respond. “Who?” I asked in a weak voice. As she pointed to the door, I could see the charming Irish fellow I mentioned earlier peeking his sunburned head through the door. “He’s been here all night.” she said. I was confused, happy, and horrified all at the same time. I was glad he was there, but I didn’t want to been seen in my condition. Because of my insecurity about my appearance when I wasn’t bandaged and in a hospital, I never even wanted people to see me without make-up—let alone bruised and bandaged!
As the days and weeks of my recovery passed, my Irish visitor came by nearly every day. He regularly encouraged me, humored me, and helped me anyway he could even when I was released from the hospital. One day I needed a lift to see the doctor and as I leaned down to put my shoes on, my head pounded. I couldn’t do it. He knelt down and put my shoes on for me. “Could this be my Prince Charming,” I wondered. I thought of all the time and energy I spent in the past trying to make an impression in order to be accepted. Now, here I was, broken and bruised, feeling so helpless I couldn’t even put my own shoes on; yet this man still wanted to spend time with me and care for me, even when I felt I had nothing to offer in return.
Then I thought of Christ and His unconditional love for me. How He had accepted me when I was broken, bruised, and helpless and had nothing to offer in return, yet He laid down His life for me. Love always requires sacrifice.
Several weeks passed and I was finally up and about. My Irish visitor had not been by for several days, when the phone rang, “Would you like to join me next weekend for the Irish fair,” the voice on the other side asked in a strong Irish brogue.
"I'd love to," I responded. My heart raced as I hung up the phone. "Is this a date?" I wondered. It turned out it was a date, the first of many. Four months later we were engaged; and by the following spring, we were married. Seventeen years have passed and I remain beholden to the man who saw me at my worst and not only accepted me, but loved me and taught me that true love sees beyond appearances.
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