I used to find notes left in the collection basket of the church, beautiful notes about my homilies(讲道)and about the writer’s thoughts on the daily readings. The (1) fascinated me. But it was a long time (2) I met the author of the notes.
One Sunday morning, I was (3) that someone was waiting for me in the office, a young woman who said she (4) all the notes. When I saw her I was (5) , since I had no idea thatit was she who wrote the notes. She was sitting in a chair in the office. Her (6) was bowed and when she raised it to look at me, she could barely (7) without pain. Her face was disfigured(畸形), so smiling was very (8) for her. We (9) for a while that Sunday morning and agreed to meet for lunch later that week. As it (10) , we went to lunch several times, and we shared things about our (11) . We spoke of authors we both had (12) , and it was easy to tell that (13) are a great love of hers. She suffered from a disfigurement that cannot be made to look (14) . I know that her condition (15) her deeply. Yet there was a beauty to her that had nothing to do with (16) . She was one to be listened to, whose words came from a wounded but (17) heart. She possessed a fine tuned sense of beauty. Her only (18) in life was the loss of a friend. The truth of her life was a desire to see beyond the (19) for a glimpse of what it is that matters. She found beauty and (20) and they befriended her, and showed her what is real.