Seeing Past Disguises

I had the great fortune to grow up across the street from a mentally handicapped boy a few years older than me. We always knew Brad was different, but we didn't really care. He was just one of the neighborhood gang, and allowances were always made for the fact he couldn't do everything the rest of us could.

Brad was smart in a different way - he was far more socially aware of tension in a group dynamic than you might expect. He had an hysterical sense of humor, and could keep up in quips with my mom and dad - king and queen of the quippers. Until his parents died and he went to live with siblings, he had a running contest with my mother to see who could get their American flag out first on holidays. The 'in-your-face' gloating began when he won. He worked at the Deseret Industries for decades, and was awarded an honorary Eagle Scout for his service in scouting in his 60's.

Brad had a neighborhood of fierce friends who defended him when the pettiness of humanity was ever directed at him. All of us - not just his siblings - would brook no mockery of him. We had watched his older brother - the older brother of the block, really - always pick Brad first at games. Taking our cue from Brent, we subliminally learned to understand that Brad gave his best efforts to any neighborhood enterprise, and that was good enough for us.

What a gift, to grow up with someone who comes into this world in such a notable disguise. It has been a major private lesson that has continued into my adult life, giving me an instant respect for anyone who comes into a fallen world gifted with a disguise of mental and physical limitations. Anyone reading this who has known such a person knows exactly what I'm talking about.

The older I get, I'm realizing pretty much every one of us is in disguise in one way or another. And yes, if you must know, this is absolutely in part because the morning reflection in my mirror does terrify me at first glance. Talk about a disguise.

Old age - let's not sugarcoat it - is a fascinating disguise. I can't remember exactly when it happened, but I was NOT an old lady when it did: I suddenly became invisible to anyone a generation younger than me on down. Or if seen, instantly dismissed as irrelevant.

When one of my DF's needed to move her daddy into assisted living after too many falls to keep track of, she told me she made a placard to hang outside his door with this written on it (not a direct quote):

"This is a cowboy. This is a former Golden Glove boxer. This is a former math teacher who has been Math Teacher of the Year. This is a beloved father, a grandfather and great-grandfather. This is our dad."

My DF wanted casual caretakers to know whom they were taking care of in the hopes of inspiring a little more dignity and respect than is far too often afforded the elderly.

Of course, the young often feel equally dismissed; their disguise is their obvious inexperience. Too often, passionate opinions are too often smiled at benignly, treated as a passing 'phase' and dismissed with not always unintentional condescension.

How sad: that's the very dynamic that is often carefully choreographed to gaslight someone into escalating their passion to prove the point of mental instability. There's some dignity and respect for ya.

And seriously - don't you think just garden-variety ordinariness is a disguise? Who lurks behind an accountant, a health care worker or welder? What wonders might you discover if you stumble into a conversation with the checkout clerk, and learn she's about to road trip to Cheyenne, Wyoming, to scatter her mother's ashes beside her father's grave? (This may or may not be actually based on a true story.)

Ordinary is most definitely a disguise for us humans who "trail[ed] clouds of glory" into this world (nod to Wordsworth) from a home of glory. In a world where a pleasing appearance is everything, it can be challenging to go against the mainstream flow and not proverbially judge human books by their covers.

Attractive disguises can be far more subtle, and even quite pernicious. Not only are many extraordinary humans disguised with ordinariness, the converse is true. There's an entirely different subset of humans who disguise shallowness and vapidness beneath a pleasing veneer of beauty. Worst of all, some of the darkest humans who glory in cruelty hide beneath this disguise. My favorite literary lesson of this principle is Victor Hugo's Hunchback of Notre Dame.

You know it's a prominent human tendency when even Samuel in the Old Testament - a prophet of God - is surprised by the Lord repeatedly telling him - upon being presented SEVEN TIMES with one strapping, good-looking boy after another: "Not him. He's not the one I want as king, keep looking." (not a direct quote).

"But the Lord said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart." (1 Samuel 16:7)

Samuel got guidance from God Himself, but we're just ordinary humans. Do we have the Lord whispering in OUR ears the way a prophet of God does? Actually, yes, we do.

It's definitely a project that takes a lot of practice, seeing beyond the disguises at all - but the greater practice is that of listening to the voice of our Father Creator who is constantly available to help us when we are serious about seeking His help. Curiously, the help seems contingent upon asking with the intent to actually DO something with what you're told. Generous Father that He is, He doesn't want you to ask in vain - ask and dismiss - and then be accountable for disobeying.

There are learnable, practiceable things to see past disguises:

• Engage with people every chance you get.

• Make conversations about other people

• Inject yourself only as you look for common ground

• Assume each and every one of God's children has something to teach you (Imagine biggest font on this one)

Limited mobility doesn't mean limited mind.

Limited mind doesn't mean limited bandwidth and wellsprings of compassion and insight.

Limited worldly experience doesn't mean limited experience.

Limited depth doesn't mean limited life narrative.

Limited physical beauty doesn't mean limited spiritual beauty.

Limited flaws don't mean limited challenges.

I repeat: if you assume everyone you meet - regardless of how they look, sound, smell, or act - has something of great value to teach you - and treat them with the respect and dignity that affords them - life will change and become profoundly richer. Seeing past the disguises of a fallen world (translation: temporal. Translation: temporary) is the hobby of a lifetime, and a huge stepping stone to develop charity, "the greatest of these" (1 Corinthians 13:13).