The Importance of Being Sincere

 In Latin, sincere means without wax. It comes from a tradition of broken statues being repaired with wax so that imperfections could be hidden and painted. To be without wax is to be real, to be original. People see what they get.

A while back, I went to lunch with my family, and we talked about sincerity. My husband immediately said, “It’s not as beautiful as the statue analogy, but it makes me think of apples in the store. I once bought the reddest apple I could find, but when I bit into it, the inside had completely bruised. The only thing that made it look so wonderful, was the wax.”

My son also piped in. “Don’t they fix imperfections with gold in Japan? Broken bowls end up having gold streaks?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said.

“Well,” Trey responded, “wax could be when we try to fix ourselves, but gold is when G-d does.”

One of my oldest daughters smiled. “The statues that are worth the very most now aren’t the kind fixed with wax. They’re the kind with broken arms and missing pieces. People want to see what’s real, and what time did.”

Photo courtesy of Unsplash.com

I thought of how I’ve written memoirs about my life, memoirs that have been like ripping open my chest, just to see what makes me tick. There have been times when I wanted to act like my life is perfect—fill in all the imperfections with wax. I really felt like that at my high school reunion. Everyone had such great jobs and wonderful stories to share. Right before the reunion I looked at their profiles online, and their glamorous lives floored me. But then I had to stop and give myself grace. I’m fighting cancer, and things are so obviously wrong. I can’t even pretend my life is perfect.

So, I’ve set the wax and paint aside, and the result has amazed me. People who I thought were perfect, have been able to share real struggles with me because of what I’m experiencing. We’ve cried and built new friendships. It’s honestly incredible.

So, although I might be more battered than people realize, I’m still standing—lucky to be alive—and that makes me worth far more than a cheap fix or something any amount of “repairs” can do.

Despite health struggles, I’m proud of who I am. Because when people see my flaws, maybe they’ll realize their scars make them more precious, too.