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The look of love
I have a "look."
No, not "the look" as it pertains to fashion, style or beauty. If that were the case, my "look" would be more along the lines of don'ts rather than dos.
No. This "look" is sent visually to tan intended recipient and woe to anyone who intercepts it by mistake, for this look speaks volumes, especially to those who know how to read it. It has proven itself to be nearly as effective as my "mother's voice," and I often boast that, even now, if I can catch one of my my children's eye -- even from from across a crowded room -- that warning look will still stop them in their tracks.
I'm sure I've already shared the power of my "mother's voice." Carefully modulated, with exceptional diction, I can communicate the seriousness of any infraction simply by my tone of voice.
Indeed, the "voice" has held me in good stead, even against a U.S. Marine Corps drill sergeant. My husband still likes to tell the story about the time I made that drill sergeant run. When properly motivated (and nothing motivates a mother like the perceived need of one of her children or threat to same) this voice is strength personified. Size, political or social status, even weaponry, cease to factor into the equation. I had no idea of the power of the voice until that day, and have since discovered only a few brave souls who are able to stand against it.
Yelling and screaming are not in my repertoire unless someone is in imminent danger of being struck by a speeding vehicle or in some other life-threatening situation. In situations where volume is imperative, I can hold my own. Nevertheless, the real power lies in my "voice." Or, barring that, the "look."
The once-popular sitcom "Tool Time" featured the "look" in one episode as it relates to husbands and wives. The owner of the hardware store where Tim spent his spare time and most of his paycheck, warned his cronies about the "look." Those who were unmarried, and thus uninitiated, scoffed and pooh-poohed the power of the look. Soon enough, the hardware store owner's wife came in, gave the owner the "look" and as each man in the store caught sight of it, various stages of horrified paralysis overcame them.
Those on the receiving end of my look do not react with the same level of hyperbole that Hollywood is known for, nevertheless, the look registers, and whatever they were doing that drew the look in the first place is finished, then and there.
I'm not sure how I came to have this look. Perhaps it was standard equipment for mothers back in my day. Nevertheless, as effective as it has proven to be, I think I'm ready for a new look.
After my mom died, the five of us, Debi, David, Dean, Danett and I, went through the boxes of snapshots taken over the years, wanting to take home a picture or two of mom. We wanted to leave Daddy something to remember her by as well, so were very careful in our selections.
I selected two. One was a favorite snapshot of Benjamin, their first-born grandchild. In the other, I am seated on the floor of the house on 68th Ave. (That's what we called it.) Ben, age two, is standing next to me. Mom is seated on the couch directly behind me. She looks like Mom usually looked on a weekend day -- a little tired, her hair hidden under a kerchief, no makeup and no fancy-go-to meeting clothes.
Oh, but the look in her eyes.
Mom and I had a tempestuous past. What with my rebelliousness and her lack of time (I had to share her with her husband, and my two sisters and two brothers), there were times when I wondered if she really, truly loved me. (Leaving home at 16 didn't help matters any. Thank God that we reconciled after only a few years of separation.)
After she died, and this photograph found its way into my hands, I took one look at the look in her eyes, and have never since doubted her love. I never suspected that behind the anger when we were at odds, when misunderstanding or disobedience got in the way, there was this tender look of love, hidden only temporarily by the strong emotions of anger and disappointment.
Ray Boltz has a beautiful song, "Watch the Lamb" he sings from the perspective of Simon of Cyrene, who carried the cross of Jesus to Golgotha when the Lord's injuries and weariness overcame him. As Jesus forgives his tormentors Simon shares, "Never have I seen such love in any other eyes."
Every time I hear that song, I remember this ordinary, everyday -- just visiting -- snapshot, and I see the love captured in my mother's eyes, as she looked at me, her rebellious, willful and often all-too-difficult daughter. That is the look I want to cultivate, that is the gaze I want my children to remember. I want them to see the look of love.
"God is love. Whoever lives in love, lives in God, and God in him." I John 4:16b (NIV)