Fearfully and wonderfully made

I had an odd conversation yesterday after church. We have a plastic surgeon as a member of the congregation – she’s here in Adelaide to learn and to work with a world renowned plastic surgeon at one of the hospitals in town. She stopped me and asked me whether I had a private health cover. It was quite an odd question because I didn’t know where she was heading. I answered by saying “Yes”. She then told me that she would advise me to ‘correct’ my upper jaw by moving it forward and that she could get me in touch with the plastic surgeon. It was certainly one of those awkward moments, especially since I thought that my upper jaw was alright! Well, my teeth are not perfect and could be corrected, but I didn’t know that my upper jaw needed to be moved forward! 😯

After that conversation, I’m more conscious of how other people’s jaws look like – well, perhaps I would look better if my upper jaw is moved a couple of millimetres. Had this conversation taken place when I was in highschool or right after university, or within the first years of my career, perhaps I would’ve thought it through and given it a serious consideration. However, I’m not that self-conscious anymore and making myself look better through plastic surgery isn’t one of my priorities at the moment.

I have had my share of surgeries – when I was born, I was born with a torn lip, so I had my first surgery through the hands of the doctor who delivered me even though he knew nothing about plastic surgery. He botched it. I had  a corrective microplasty surgery when I was in Junior High and by then, it was already my fourth surgery. I had to spend a period of time in Jakarta, living at my fifth sister’s then-boyfriend’s lodging. My second one took place when I was small – I was running around with the local children when I tripped and hurt my chin. My mum and I hailed a becak (Indonesian rickshaw) that took us to a local hospital. I remembered that the doctor stitched me up without adequate anaesthetics so I was crying and screaming the whole time. Well, I was small – what do you expect? Hahaha. My third surgery was a hernia operation when I was … hmmm … how old was I? I can’t remember really – but I was pretty young as well. The only thing that I remember is that I got a Famous Five book – the Indonesian translation of the Five on Kirrin Island Again. I was hooked – that was my first taste of Enid Blyton’s books and one of the first books that truly made me some kind of bookworm for life. Hahaha. 🙂

I don’t know if I want to have a major operation just to make me look better and live with some titanium screws and plates for life. The way that I look is scripted in my genes that I will inherit to my children. Even if I can correct my look and fix everything that seemingly needs improving, my children will not inherit those “corrections” and “improvements”. I’m happy with the way that I look now – well, I wish I could shed off some kilogrammes easily,  were taller, musclier, had a pointier nose, a hairy chest,  better teeth, better skin, and … , and … hehehe. Naaah, I’m alright thank you (well, except for the skin … hahaha).

I know I’m loved the way I am.

For You formed my inward parts;
You covered me in my mother’s womb.
I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well.

Psalm 139:13-14 (NKJV)

Published by fuzz

I've finally relented to the lures of blogging - and for those who care, well, I'm a self-confessed geek who's a wanderer at heart, who thinks and analyses too much, and who's trying hard to hold on to his 7-year old inner persona.

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