The story of my husband. When I was 15, I was in a forest area near my school with several friends. We would go here often after school to talk and hang out before going home for supper. It was also common for us on colder days to starts a small fire to keep warm. Nederland is a very wet country so there is rarely a fear of a fire getting out of hand. However, the boys are another story. Boys always act dumb around the fire. One time when we were in the woods. a boy who had been playing with the fire had lit a stick and was walking around with it like a torch. Some home the stick or ember fell onto my school bag (back-pack) and caught fire. This also caught my jacket and hair and skirt on fire, as well as the backpack, which began to melt from the fire and drip onto my clothes.
Everyone panicked and by instinct I ran back to the school. running only made the fire worse. I was seen by an adult, a teacher i think and I was put on the ground and the fire was put out. But much damage had been done already. I was taken towards the hospital and the school called my parents. I was burned from the top of my head down onto the top of my leg just above my knee. Much of my hair on one side of my head was burned away, but because hair burns quickly there was little damage to my face, more like a bad sunburn, except for on my neck and along my jaw bone where my jacket and backpack burned. My legs were mostly OK too as the skirt I was wearing was wool and did not burn easily and was away from my legs.
My right arm and body were not as well off. Where the jacket was and where the backpack was had burned the most and had melted like hot plastic because they were synthetic material. I was in hospital for many weeks and had many surgeries over the span of my life to help the skin grow and to graft skin from my legs onto parts of my chest and arm that were the most damaged. If I where jeans and a long sleeve shirt you cannot tell that I have any scars other than the line of scars that go up my neck on one side. Many times I can hide those scars with makeup. The one good thing about being a red head with pale is that it hides some of the scars as some of it is also pale white.
After my accident, I became more shy and less involved. I feared what people would say about my scars and what happened. I would always wear long sleeves and hooded jumpers to try to hide. Especially in the beginning as I was waiting for my hair to grow back where it had burned.
I have several rectangle-shaped scars on the inside of each of my thighs, These are from skin grafts taken to treat the scaring on the side of my body, chest, shoulder and back where the burns were the worst.
Fate Determined The Direction
Even if you have not met many Mormons or believe in their teaching, I think most people are aware of the Mormon Missionaries. Especially the young men wearing white shirts and ties with black tags on their shirts with their names on them and riding bicycles. They really stick out in Nederland because they are the only people in the country wearing helmets when they ride their bikes.
Missionary work is not a requirement as a Mormon. It is voluntary. The Church decides on where to send you and once you are in your country or area of service, you will still move around from city to city every few months until you go home.
Nearly a year after my accident, we received a new missionary in my city. He was very nice like the other missionaries and was very cute. The girls at church always thought the missionaries were cute. I was 16 and he was 19 and I later learned that we had the same Birthday. The new missionary had been out for almost a year and he spoke very good Dutch, although he spoke it with a Northern accent where he spent most of his mission time at that point. He was also a very talented artist and would draw pictures of cartoons for the kids at church.
As part of their missionary work, they were asked to also do community service. At a small fair being put on by the community, the missionaries set up a booth and he was doing face painting and painting kid’s faces. He is a very talented artist and he was very good with all of the kids. I saw him many times during the day and talked to him a couple of times while he painted my younger sister. He kept asking if I was going to let him paint me, but I said no and went back to the other booths. Later in the day I was with a friend who really like the other missionary (they are all ways in twos) and wanted to go talk to him, so I found myself again at his booth.
There was no one being painted at that time so the chair was empty and he started talking to me. He asked again to paint me and told me he knew what he should paint on me, but would not tell me. With my “encouragement” of my friend and the other missionary, I reluctantly agreed. I removed the hood of my jumper and turned my left side to him. He told me to turn and look the other way, giving him my right side. My scar side. reluctantly turned. And he began to paint me.
I Was Ashamed of My Scars
I usually try to hide my scars under my hair, but he moved my hair and i could feel him painting on my scars under my jawbone and onto my neck. He painted on me for what felt like a very long time compared to my sister. Up on my forehead down over the side of my face, a little on my ear, over my jaw and onto my neck. When he was done my friend looked at me in silence. The other missionary said “nice” and gave him a High-Five. I asked for a mirror and my friend dug her makeup mirror from her bag and handed it to me. When i held up the mirror I saw what he had painted and i ran.
Our church building was near by and open for visitors to come in and ask questions. I ran inside and upstairs to and found an empty room, threw myself in the corner, and cried.
He painted a bright orange, yellow and red phoenix over my face. He painted over my jaw and onto my neck and used the scars as the tail of a Phoenix that rose up and framed my face. He had made my face beautiful. He saw a beauty in me that I myself could not see and incorporated it into something that made me stand out and beautiful.
My friend eventually found me and just sat down with me on the floor and held me. Wiping my tears, more to protect that paint than to comfort me I think. Eventually, she helped me clean up and walked with me outside. I had several people stop me that I knew and did not know and ask about the painting on my face. That day people saw my face and not my scars and it was because of what he saw in me.
I knew that day that I wanted to marry him, I wanted to be with someone who could see past my ugly deformed scars and body and could see me and make me feel special. I also knew that I was just a 16-year-old girl and he was practically a man who could not date, and would only be in my city for a short time and then eventually go back to the US and forget about me.
The silly thing is, after that moment I had a difficult time being near him or talking to him. Girls are silly that way I think.
A couple of months later he did get word that he was going to a new city (Zwolle) and made his way around town on his last day, telling everyone goodbye before he left. My family asked the missionaries to stay for dinner and they did, making this the first time I had really talked to him since the fair.
I was still very shy around him and nervous because of how I felt that day and what he did. Before he left that night to go and finish packing, I became brave enough to ask him if I could write him. He said yes and that he would like that and handed my a card with his new address on it (this was before the email). My sisters heard my question and wanted to write him too, so I had to share the address. I waited about a week and wrote him my first letter. In it I thanked him for what he had painted on me and how beautiful I thought it was. And asked if he could send me a photo of it if he had one.
He wrote me back and told me he thought I was angry with him because I looked upset and had run off. And unfortunately, I had run off before he could get a photo, so he drew a similar picture for me in the letter. I wish to this day that I had gotten a photo of it. We sent many letters to each other, and everything worked out in the best way.
Strange are the ways of the Lord. We have been married for almost 25 yrs now and have 3 amazing daughters. Luckily, they all look like him.
