Last night I dwelt in a pocket of time between life epochs, if only for a half hour. I felt the urge to see if I could find a "Baby Tenderlove" doll on ebay. You see, the earliest Christmas that I can remember prominently featured "Baby Tenderlove." I think I was four. I still believed in Santa Claus. I had asked for the doll, and stayed awake half the night thinking of holding it in my arms next day. I simply could not wait. When finally she was mine, I carried her with love and, well, tenderness. A relative tried to shame me for not seeming interested in the doll they gave me. I felt mild embarrassment but could not help my preference.
I found a couple of "Baby Tenderlove" dolls still in the box, and crazily priced. Then my eyes hooked on one. She was out of the box, her wisps of hair still intact. Her photo haunted me. The date on the ebay listing was 1972. A photo prominently displayed the Mattel 1972 stamp on the doll. Could this be exactly like the one I cherished so much? I agonized over whether or not to pay the very low price the seller asked.
I began the purchase process, getting all of the way to the paypal "confirm" button. What would I do with the doll? I could not very well display it. Did purchasing her mean I was becoming one of those little old ladies with dementia who play with dolls? Did it mean I was suffering from a scorching case of arrested development? What, exactly, would such a purchase mean? I aborted the process, but I think I have halfway divined what all of it meant, and means again today, in the gray light of an overcast late morning. Certainly a good time to divine things.
It seems to me that a lot of women in their mid to late forties (I will be forty-six next month) are content and happy. They have done with their lives what they set out to do. Me, not so much. I had dreams of being a writer. I also love people. I became a hermit over the last nine years. I have wasted so much time, it seems. Instead of having the happy, fulfilled experience of accomplishment, I have a heartbroken feeling that I put my light out with a wet blanket of fear and discouragement. I did everything I could over the last ten years to keep people from hurting me, to sauter off all pathways to rejection. Maybe gazing at the "Baby Tenderlove" doll reminded me that there is still time to bring back to life all of the parts of me that are truly me. Maybe it is time to keep meeting people until I know the people who will respond to the real me. They are out there. I know they are.
While I was recounting the "Baby Tenderlove" episode here just now, I heard the vibration of my phone from upstairs beside my bed. I went up there to get it. Here is what I found: a text from a Christian friend who I never really got the chance to know as closely I would have liked to, but whose depth of love and genuine Christianity shone through when I did not get a medal after a group of ladies in my neighborhood walked the Music City half marathon and she took hers off and gave it to me. She probably doesn't remember doing that. It's just who she is. Anyway, here's what the text said just now, as "Baby Tenderlove" was lighting up my Christmas morning here in the blog:
"'Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.' (Proverbs 3: 5-6) So he will make my paths straight when I completely submit to him. How often am I missing his straight path b/c I'm not submitting?" Even while I was typing her text here, the reality of what she wrote was hitting me hard. God has a good plan. We foul it up with our refusal to submit to Him. He made us wonderfully unique. We are to serve each other and him, but we (listen up mothers) are never to lose who WE are in the process. He enjoys our uniqueness, our distinct personalities and giftings. It's HIS stamp on us. I don't have "MATTEL 1972" etched into my neck (thank goodness), but if I had anything like that it would read "God's Work, 1968".....or maybe just the Name of Jesus, since he redeemed me for eternity after God made me in His image and loved me uniquely as he was doing that.
I found a couple of "Baby Tenderlove" dolls still in the box, and crazily priced. Then my eyes hooked on one. She was out of the box, her wisps of hair still intact. Her photo haunted me. The date on the ebay listing was 1972. A photo prominently displayed the Mattel 1972 stamp on the doll. Could this be exactly like the one I cherished so much? I agonized over whether or not to pay the very low price the seller asked.
I began the purchase process, getting all of the way to the paypal "confirm" button. What would I do with the doll? I could not very well display it. Did purchasing her mean I was becoming one of those little old ladies with dementia who play with dolls? Did it mean I was suffering from a scorching case of arrested development? What, exactly, would such a purchase mean? I aborted the process, but I think I have halfway divined what all of it meant, and means again today, in the gray light of an overcast late morning. Certainly a good time to divine things.
It seems to me that a lot of women in their mid to late forties (I will be forty-six next month) are content and happy. They have done with their lives what they set out to do. Me, not so much. I had dreams of being a writer. I also love people. I became a hermit over the last nine years. I have wasted so much time, it seems. Instead of having the happy, fulfilled experience of accomplishment, I have a heartbroken feeling that I put my light out with a wet blanket of fear and discouragement. I did everything I could over the last ten years to keep people from hurting me, to sauter off all pathways to rejection. Maybe gazing at the "Baby Tenderlove" doll reminded me that there is still time to bring back to life all of the parts of me that are truly me. Maybe it is time to keep meeting people until I know the people who will respond to the real me. They are out there. I know they are.
While I was recounting the "Baby Tenderlove" episode here just now, I heard the vibration of my phone from upstairs beside my bed. I went up there to get it. Here is what I found: a text from a Christian friend who I never really got the chance to know as closely I would have liked to, but whose depth of love and genuine Christianity shone through when I did not get a medal after a group of ladies in my neighborhood walked the Music City half marathon and she took hers off and gave it to me. She probably doesn't remember doing that. It's just who she is. Anyway, here's what the text said just now, as "Baby Tenderlove" was lighting up my Christmas morning here in the blog:
"'Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.' (Proverbs 3: 5-6) So he will make my paths straight when I completely submit to him. How often am I missing his straight path b/c I'm not submitting?" Even while I was typing her text here, the reality of what she wrote was hitting me hard. God has a good plan. We foul it up with our refusal to submit to Him. He made us wonderfully unique. We are to serve each other and him, but we (listen up mothers) are never to lose who WE are in the process. He enjoys our uniqueness, our distinct personalities and giftings. It's HIS stamp on us. I don't have "MATTEL 1972" etched into my neck (thank goodness), but if I had anything like that it would read "God's Work, 1968".....or maybe just the Name of Jesus, since he redeemed me for eternity after God made me in His image and loved me uniquely as he was doing that.
An insightful blog. I've missed reading them, shame on me!
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