by Merrilee Browne Boyack
February 02, 2009
Over the years, I have sung that song from “West Side Story”—“I feel pretty, oh so pretty!” and have laughed. I felt anything BUT pretty. I have spent my entire lifetime feeling unattractive.
To be truthful, I was somewhat taught that I was not pretty. I could share a litany of comments from various people in my life: “You’ll never be beautiful so work on your personality.” “Your friend is pretty and you are smart. That’s just the way it is.” And one of my personal favorites when I was considering serving a mission as a young adult: “You’re not ugly enough to go on a mission.” Ugly? Enough? Uh, OK . . . . .
So you can imagine how I felt when I was diagnosed with breast cancer and told that I had to have a mastectomy. You’ve GOT to be kidding me. Wasn’t I ugly enough? The thought of losing my hair, which I felt was my one saving grace, hit me. I shall never forget the day when I was on my prayer/walk and I realized that by the end of the month I would be bald. Bald. Ugly. Could I survive all this emotionally?
On that day I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked for a gift. I asked for the gift of healing of my feelings about my appearance. Now don’t worry, I’d been praying for complete healing for a while. But I knew this was not something I could survive very well emotionally on my own. And I was tired of feeling ugly for 50 years of my life. I wanted healing. And I knew the only way to get it was to get it from God. So I asked.
Now a strange thing began to happen. Day after day I felt prettier. I know that is very strange and hard to explain. It just did. I began to notice things about myself that I liked and were attractive.
And then came the day to face the mirror after my surgery. The bandages were off. And you know what, it was OK. It was different, but it was OK. I knew that I would have reconstruction eventually and it was fine. And look at my wonderful body! It was a miracle!
Next came the day when my hair was going. It was really falling out and I called my son and asked if he would come buzz it off. Sweet Brennan came home on his lunch hour. I buzzed his hair, and then he buzzed mine. As he was buzzing it, he commented, “It’s not every day you get to buzz off your mother’s hair!” All too true. When it was done, we took pictures and he said I now looked like one of the Boyack brothers (we have four sons who have had many “buzzes” in their lifetimes). I then went in the shower and shaved it all off to the skin.
And then came the time to face the mirror. And an amazing thing happened. I looked in that mirror and saw beauty. My eyes that I had always hated were shining. My skin was glowing. I had a good head! And a big smile. I realized that I was truly beautiful. Positively gorgeous.
I told my husband that I have felt more beautiful in the last two months than I have ever felt in my life. He laughed and said it must have been the hair!
But I know that something deeper has happened. God has healed my feelings about my appearance. I have finally been able to see myself as He sees me—a marvelous work of art. And the voices that I have carried in my head for decades have been completely silenced. It was a gift from Him –pure and simple.
I have learned a deep lesson. God creates beauty. It is that simple. And when He created me, He created a lovely, pretty, down-right-CUTE daughter. I have also realized that every single one of us is beautiful. Yeah, yeah, we have inner beauty. But I have discovered that every single one of us in all our shapes and sizes and ages and conditions, are truly beautiful on the outside. That was something I had not understood until now.
God creates beauty. God created me. And He did a good job.
by Merrilee Browne Boyack
September 21, 2009
I’ve read the verse a million times. “He shall turn the hearts of the children to their fathers.” OK, maybe I’ve read it a million and one times.
Over the past few months, I’ve been thinking a lot about my mom. My mom is 88 years old and her whole life she has had the most amazing memory. She would look at a picture and say, “Oh yes, I got that polka-dotted dress at J.L. Hudsons in 1934 for $7.85 and I wore it to three parties.” I mean it was CRAZY what she could remember.
This year she cannot. The memory is gone. The short-term memory left last year and this year the long-term memory is fading away quickly. She has wanted to write her life history for the last several years but just seemed unable to do it.
I had decided I didn’t care. My mom was a homemaker her whole life and if she didn’t really want to write her history, that was OK. I was wrong. I admit that now.
This past week I’ve been recuperating from surgery and I thought if I had to sit around, that I may as well just type up a quick history for my mom. I knew that it would make her immensely happy. And I just felt like this window of opportunity was closing quickly.
And so I began. And I wrote. And I began to tell my mother’s story.
My mother’s life is a story of the decades. She was born in Alabama and lived there in the 1920’s during the bootleg era when her dog was killed to keep him quiet. She grew up during the Depression in extreme poverty and moved 43 times between Detroit, Michigan and the South by the time she had graduated from high school just to survive. She was homemaker during the 50’s—those high-pressure “Pearls and Heels, Ladies” days and had her five children. She struggled with two children who got swept away in the rebellion of the 60’s. She went back to college and graduated in the early 70’s as she finished raising her children.In the 80’s she enjoyed prosperous times and camped and traveled all over the world with my dad. They also served 3 missions. In the 90’s her life slowed to a quiet retirement pace. And in the new millennium, she lost her husband and moved to a retirement center to enjoy looking at her photos of her 5 children, 17 grandchildren, and 18 great-grandchildren.
I was so wrong. As I’ve written my mother’s story, the agonizing details of the hardships she endured have burned deep into my heart. Her unwavering faithfulness has given strength and courage to my own. Her constant commitment to being the best wife and mother she knew how has have given dignity to her life and the lives of her posterity.
My mother has been true and faithful her whole life. And I have found that in this week of writing and reading her story, my heart has turned to her. It has turned to her in love, in forgiveness, in deep respect.
I’ve known my mother my whole life. But it is only now that my heart has truly been turned to her and to all those who preceded her. I understand now why this verse is discussed in all four of the standard works.
That heart turning to our fathers and their hearts turning to us is about love. It’s about love and forgiveness and understanding and respect. In short, it is everything that we are as a family. It is everything that we are as brothers and sisters in our Heavenly Father’s family. It is the heart that is at the center of His eternal family and our own.
Thank you Mom. I understand now.
