Backstories: The Beauty of Transparency

One of the nicest people I’ve ever met was a little old lady who lived her days to the rhythm of gratitude. I met her on a warm afternoon in May, after my pastor asked if I’d be willing to deliver a flowering plant to several shut-ins. Margaret’s house was my first stop.

I expected to visit just a few minutes, but her dancing blue eyes and easy laugh captured my heart. She also captured my schedule, and for the next five years, Margaret and I kept a regular Thursday afternoon appointment. She shared exciting childhood stories of growing up in a sod house that sat against a hill in North Dakota; how a rape at age 12 had affected her life; and what it felt like to be entering her thirtieth year of widowhood.

Our friendship grew so precious, there were moments when I felt a strong nudge to memorize a certain conversation.  Somehow, I knew I’d draw upon the wisdom of her experience someday–like the day she shared what it felt like to suddenly be without parents. At the time, I  still had both my mom and dad, and couldn’t imagine life without them. Years later, though, after both of them were gone, I learned the truth of Margaret’s words: During the toughest times of life, don’t worry. God will be enough. He’ll see you through.

When our second grandbaby was born with a rare syndrome involving multiple disabilities, I recalled yet another conversation: Look for a sparkling gem in every situation. This precious granddaughter is, indeed, a priceless gem who has brought such joy into our lives. I wish Margaret had stuck around long enough to know her.

Sometimes we shed tears together but more often, my visits with Margaret found us laughing about the crazy side of life. She passed away at the age of 97, leaving behind one niece and many, many friends who treasured her simple brand of transparency.

Transparency is a rare quality, and when I bump into such a person, it stops me in my tracks.  Squidoo lensmaster mysticmama (Bambi) writes transparently as she shares the riveting story of a tragedy which struck her family. Her story is so horrifying, so beyond imagination, I found myself holding my breath as I began each new paragraph. Her husband was critically injured in a fire, and given such a grim prognosis, few believed he would even pull through the night. Her lens contains a warning of graphic photos, and truthfully, they’re hard to view because they’re pain in visual form.

But throughout this story of one man’s fight to survive–and the hope of a family who desperately needed him–is a raw transparency that blessed my heart. No fancy words needed–just the gut-wrenching, genuine story of a family’s struggle to see their beloved husband and father return home to them.  Prepared to be amazed by In a Flash.

When I think about people like Margaret and Bambi, I have to ask myself, How transparent am I – really? Transparency doesn’t matter if you’re not interested in connecting beyond a polite “Hi, how are you?” I suspect, though, that tough economic times are going to present plenty of opportunities to reach out and help others in need.  Delivering a bag of groceries will become more important than ever, but not nearly as important as the human touch behind the gesture.

It’s something to think about.

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