The Eye of the Beholder
The LORD does not look at the things man looks at.
Man looks at the outward appearance,
but the LORD looks at the heart” Samuel 16:6-8.
People often ask me how I have maintained such focus and intensity throughout my career. I have just entered my seventies, and the very idea of giving up surgery and the quest for physical 
excellence cuts me to core. I believe unequivocally that I was put on this earth to do this work — and specifically to bring healing and hope to these remarkably inspiring children.
I am reminded of a poignant story about choices — personal choices, as well as the choices we make that affect the lives of others we know or may not. At a fundraising dinner for the World Craniofacial Foundation, where I will devote my energy and my heart into the future, the father of one of our children delivered a speech that I will never forget. After humbling all of use with his gratitude, the pensive dad offered this query, “If everything God creates is perfect, why was my son born with a disfigured face and the inability to eat, breathe or hear properly. Why was he sentenced to a life of humiliation? Where is the natural order of things in my son?”
The audience sat in uncomfortable silence.
The pause became excruciating, and the father continued, “There is an answer, and it is not what you might expect,” he stated with an emotionless intensity. “I believe a child like Sean brings too the world an opportunity to expose the best of human nature — through his resilient spirit, as well as the way others treat him.” He went on to tell this story.
“One day, Sean and I walked past a park where some boys he knew were playing baseball. ‘Do you think they’ll let me play,’ Sean asked. I suspected that most of the boys would not chose someone like Sean for their teams — primarily out of fear and discomfort. But I also considered that if he were allowed to play, the experience would give him a valuable sense of acceptance, belonging and even self-confidence.”
“So, I approached one of the boys on the field without great expectation and asked if Sean could play. The boy looked uncertain but said, ‘ Well, we’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team. We need al the help we can get.’ Sean struggled over to the bench — ready to play, even though he had vision in only one eye due to his a facial abnormality. With a broad, infectious smile, he slipped on the team jersey. I had never been so proud — Sean’s courage in stepping up to the plate and the teams willingness to embrace him. I wiped away the trickle down my cheek and sounded a robust cheer for the Rangers”
“In the bottom of the eighth inning, the Rangers scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Sean put on a glove and played in right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was beaming with excitement to be in the game. In the bottom of the ninth inning, Sean’s tam scored again. Now, with two outs, the bases loaded and the potential winning run on base, Sean was next at bat. I wondered if they’d pull Sean off the line to guarantee a hit. But, they gave Sean the bat — even though they knew a winning hit was next to impossible, because Sean did not know how to hold the bat properly, much less crack the ball. “
“However, as Sean stepped up to bat, the pitcher clearly recognized that the other team was putting winning aside of this moment in Sean’s life. He moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly to help insure Sean would make contact.”
“‘Strike one,’ bellowed the dad on umpire duty.”
“Again, the pitcher took a few steps forward to toss the ball easily toward Sean. As the pitch passed over the plate, Sean swung and hit a grounder right back to the pitcher. What happened next renewed my faith in the human spirit. The game could well have been over — with
the pitcher picking up the grounder, throwing it to first base and sending Sean out.”
“Instead, the pitcher threw the ball over the first-baseman’s head, out of reach of his teammates. Everyone in the stands and both teams yelled, ‘Sean, run to first! Run! Run to first!’ Never in his life had Sean ever run that far, but he made it to first base. Everyone yelled, ‘Run to second!’ Catching his breath, Sean ambled toward second base. By the time Sean approached second base, the right fielder had the ball. Though he could have thrown the ball to second base, he decided to throw the ball high over third base. Sean was euphoric as he ran toward third base, and the runners ahead of him circled the diamond toward home. They were all chanting Sean’s name. I had chills on that warm afternoon.”
“As Sean rounded third, the spectators were on their feet. ‘Run home! Run home, Sean! You can do it!’ they cried. As Sean hit home plate, he was cheered in as the hero of the game who hit the grand slam.”
“That day,” the father said with tears now running down his face, “the boys from both teams offered a selfless gesture of true love and humanity — to one hurting child who needed it so desperately. Though Sean must endure many more surgeries throughout his life, he will never forget that day of triumph — instilling in him the belief that anything is possible.”
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I am extraordinarily moved by this story on many levels, but I suspect I am most profoundly touched by the group’s collective recognition of the value of the individual on that warm, spring. They knew it instinctually, and this is what makes the experience so gratifying for all who participated. And this concept is the very fiber that has bound me to this work and the pursuit it’s excellence all of my life — and for the rest of my life.
