a Look at a Book

When I was finishing up my first school year in Ecuador, I had a terrible month and a half. It began with a cavity being found and filled incorrectly by the dentist that had been recommended to me. I had more pain after it was filled than before!

Then, my grandma passed away.

When I traveled back to the U.S. for the memorial service, I had a terrible cold. All of us cousins were supposed to sing this beautiful song during the service. I had no voice. I could honk out a couple of the lower alto notes or sing the tenor part, both of which, as my cousin gently reminded me, wouldn’t help me be able to teach on the following Monday.

So I stood there with my siblings and cousins, wishing I could sing my heart out as an outlet for all the emotion coursing through me, and I simply had to mouth the words and pretend I was singing.

Oh. And don’t forget about the tooth pain.

Fabulous.

I got back to Ecuador and found a different dentist to try. I had to go back after the initial consultation for multiple visits. They needed to grind away the filling that was touching my nerve (!!). By that point, I needed a full-on root canal. Apparently, the way dentists work there meant that the root canal happened over a couple of visits. One time, they postponed part of it because I was (still?) congested enough that I couldn’t stop swallowing due to the post-nasal drip and that was interfering with their work. So they sent me home. 

I was walking from the bus to the dentist’s office on my fifth (or was it sixth?) visit to the dentist in a matter of as many weeks. Needless to say, I was sick of going to the dentist! Sick of having to schedule appointments and make the trek there and back in and around school hours. Sick of the tooth pain and the communicating about my mouth in Spanishy-English and only mostly sort of understanding. And I was so discouraged, homesick, and sad. 

As I walked, I was ever conscious of how conspicuous I appeared as a white American female walking alone. The horror stories I heard always made me just a bit on edge when people passed by too closely. Was I holding my bag in a way that made my cellphone and wallet hard to get to? Was I walking with purpose so that I wasn’t an assumed ignorant tourist?

Because of the noise of my constant low-key anxiety, I noticed the older gentleman walking towards me in terms of “he looks harmless, should be fine” manner, when all of a sudden, his whole face broke open into the sunniest smile seen on the equator.

He looked right at me, and it wasn’t the forced smile you muster up for a stranger. It was as if I made him the happiest person alive just for walking past him at that very moment. I couldn’t help but smile right back. He didn’t know me; I didn’t know him. I have no idea why that man smiled at me in such a way. But I can tell you that it bolstered my spirits in a way nothing else could have. I honestly wondered (and still do) if he was an angel in disguise. Because who smiles at a stranger like that? 

I don’t know about that man, but I can tell you about one other person who smiles like that at strangers: my one year-old son. 

People constantly remark on how happy he is. That’s likely because he has learned that if he smiles at someone, they’ll smile back. I mean, first, who can help smiling at a baby? Second, when the baby is smiling at you and obviously waiting for you to notice, and his whole face crinkles into one big grin, no one is immune. They smile right back.

What I marvel at, though, is how he smiles at whomever he sees. If he is in his stroller or in my arms, he feels safe, and the world, as he knows it, is just peaches-and-cream wonderful.

He hasn’t learned to make assumptions about people based on how they’re dressed or to interact with them a certain way because of how they appear or talk. 

We have been in fast food restaurants where there are people who appear to need a shower and are dressed in likely their only set of clothes and he beams. We’ve been at church where people ooh and ahh over him and play peek-a-boo during the service. His whole face is wreathed in grins. 

If we see one of the elderly people in our neighborhood and we’re out on a walk, he gives them a big smile. If it’s a child of any age, he smiles at them – and smiles and smiles – until they notice and interact. 

No matter the person, he gives them a big, sunny smile. He doesn’t see clean or dirty, young or old, rich or poor. He sees a person. In his (very limited) experience, people are there for playing, smiling, and caring for him. Sure, he sometimes smiles just to get attention. But I also think he simply has a lot of joy to share. 

There may come a day when he has experienced hurt and heartache and that influences how he views and responds to people. Or he may develop preconceived notions based on the treatment of others that people around him model.

I will mourn that day, because right now my son is being an example of how Christ Jesus treats others: he sees a person, and he smiles. It’s as if that person is making him the happiest baby alive just for being near him at that moment. I think Christ is that way. I think when He sees people, his whole face breaks out into one big smile, because people are for loving. Period the end. 

Maybe, though, my son won’t ever stop his smiling. Maybe he’ll get to be an old man, whose face is wrinkled from all the sun and smiles and life he has lived. Maybe one day he will smile at someone walking past him on the sidewalk, smile the biggest “I’m happy to see you” grin he’s got, and that someone will be encouraged – even if it’s the worst month and a half of his or her life and it’s their fifth (or sixth?) visit to the dentist.

In a word: smile big. It makes a world of difference.