“Thus says the Lord, “Stand by the ways and see and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is, walk in it…” -Jeremiah 6:16
I could probably count on one hand the number of dolls I had as a little girl. The above was my first. Her name was Ruthie and she lived some years.
At the hand of a tom-boy, she suffered many death defying feats and haircuts. Much of it was my misplaced mothering, but I loved her. She comforted me, even made of hard and unforgiving plastic. I think I even sucked on her fingers until I bit them off. (that may or may not have been my trying to quit thumb-sucking phase) The best thing about her ugly old self was, that she was MINE.
Recently, I bought some dolls on Marketplace to have at my house for my grandkids’ visits. The lady that I bought them from has advertised a plethora of toys and dolls on Marketplace and I figured her kids must have outgrown them and she was cleaning. When I met up with her for the buy, I asked, out of curiosity, about how she came to have so many toys. She told me that most of her kids had their own grandkids and didn’t visit as much, then said something that grabbed my attention. “I really had all this stuff for myself. I enjoy playing with them, dressing them and making them clothes.”
I smiled. I get it lady. I could be the same. I may never play with the stuff, but I could if I wanted to.
The thought freed something chained up in me; something old and maybe festering and forgotten.
When I was little, I longed to have dolls and ‘house’ things. Whenever I went to a friend’s house to play the desire only increased and I would beg my mama for whatever grand thing they had. A playhouse, a barbie, play dishes, a new dolly. All of it held an attraction for my soul that wasn’t fulfilled by my bald Nurse Barbie, my buzzcut Ruthie, or my tattered Raggedy Ann. The pestering became so great that my mom finally consented to let me buy a Barbie if I saved my money.
It seemed like a year before I had enough pennies saved to get the coveted doll. My dad took me to Fed-Mart and I found the doll I wanted. She was ninety-nine cents. I pulled out my coins and lay them on the counter. I did not have enough to cover the cost plus tax and I was devastated. I think my dad had mercy on me and payed the additional three cents, because despite growing despair, I walked from the store, wiping tears, but victorious, with that brand new doll in my fat little hands.
There was another incident in my doll-loving life that occurred when I was around ten or eleven. I saw a doll on TV that was almost as tall as I was, she walked beside you when you held her hand. I wanted that doll SO bad. Again, I was discouraged in my desire and told I had to save my money. And then came the crowning blow, “Aren’t you too old to be playing with dolls?”
Doubt creeped in. WAS I too old? Why then did I love dolls so much? What was wrong with me?
Addendum to the story of the walking doll was that I indeed saved up the ten dollars and bought that doll. The sad thing was, I was embarrassed by my desire for the doll, didn’t play with her that much, and very soon abandoned her to the back of my closet.
The fact that I remember these events so clearly is a testament of how they had affected me.
As I have mused over the random Marketplace stranger’s honest declaration of her enjoyment of dolls and toys, my absolute appreciation for that, AND my desire to acquire the dolls for my home, I have seen some more layers of old woundedness that are slowly being peeled away to reveal true treasure underneath.
My well meaning mama, perhaps dealing with her own personal pain about a past doll that was taken from her, unknowingly taught me to deny something in myself. The freedom released in me by realizing that I was NOT too old to play with dolls (is there an age limit?), and, that I can own the pure and sweet inclinations built into my very fiber. Pretty sure mama hadn’t meant for this to happen, but in my young and impressionable brain, I wondered if I was broken.
There is time to let go of the old beliefs and losses, and embrace the new. It is a process, slow and methodical, in the caring Hands of our Creator.
In Him, we are new. The old has passed away.
“…He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” -Philippians 1:6