A Child's Prayer - Issue #38
The year leading up to this birthday, my mom's health circled the drain and went down fast. Menopause, combined with blood sugar dysregulation and a thyroid condition, all conspired to lay her flat, quite literally. She didn't leave her bed for weeks. She became so weak and her nerves were so frayed, that she didn't sleep for days on end. She could barely stomach any food, and small noises brought her to sensory overload. Even watching movies from bed was too much. She could do very little but lie helplessly in bed, shaking. At this time, there was no diagnosis, and we had no clue what was going on or if she would ever pull out of it. It was a frightening time for all of us, most of all, my mom.
My dad was working, trying to pay the bills on his meager salary. My older sister was married and lived 24 hours away, so she couldn't do anything to help. My big brother, who was still living at home, tried his best, but he was also trying to finish up college, and my little brother was only eight. So, many of the household duties fell upon me. Cooking, cleaning up the kitchen and washing dishes, laundry, etc... In reality, it was a lot less than what most moms do in a day. But at eleven, it felt overwhelming. The burden suddenly placed on me felt crushingly sober and heavy.
I recall walking downstairs to my room after another round of household duties and chores. I attempted to pick up playing with my dolls where I'd left off. But the weight of the house and the reality of my mother in bed upstairs was too much, and all the imaginative magic of play had vanished. It never returned. And this, before my years-long prayer for an "Addy doll" had been answered.
As with most little girls my age at the time, American Girl dolls loomed large in the imagination. I signed up for the catalogs and drooled over every page when they arrived. The beautiful doll clothes, the intricate, miniature, historically accurate doll furniture, the matching little girls' outfits...oh, my! It was more than a little girl's soul could take. I went through the catalogs with a pen and circled all the stuff I wanted. I knew I wasn't going to get any of it, but it was fun to dream. My parents, you see, were poor as church mice.
My dad, by choice, taught at a Christian school which did not charge tuition. The founder of the school, my pastor, had a vision that a quality, Christian education should be available to anyone, rich or poor. The ministry was run on donations. My dad got paid when there was money. And we always had what we needed, even if it wasn't exactly what we wanted.
My dad would look at those catalogs with me sometimes, and I could tell he wanted nothing more than to give me my heart's delight. But, we just didn't have the funds. However, when I decided that Addy was my favorite doll, (I think it was her long, luxurious locks that won me over in addition to her stories which sparked a years-long obsession with the Underground Railroad) my parents did not discourage me from praying for an Addy doll. And I did, for several years.
Eventually, I started saving up any money I came by and squirreling it away. Finally, the year my mom's health went missing, I had enough cash! I told my parents that I had the money and could I please order the doll? They both, with a little glint in their eye that I couldn't quite understand said, "Why don't you think on it a little longer before you spend all that money at once?" I was a little confused, but being the trusting and obedient kid I was, decided to wait.
It was the day before my birthday, when I heard a knock on the front door. It had been a bleak day all around, with no improvements in my mom's condition and no plans, that I recall, of celebrating my birthday. My mom asked me to go answer the door, and so I did. There stood my pastor's daughter holding a big box, grinning.
"This is for you," she said, handed it to me, and left.
My jaw must have been on the floor as I caught sight of the American Girl Company logo on the box. As I opened the box, my heart nearly burst with delight. There she was in all of her beauty--my Addy doll. I walked around in a daze the rest of the day, pausing to just stare at her, smooth her dress, tie and untie her bonnet..
My pastor's wife, you see, had always bought me some little thing for my birthday. She knew Addy was my favorite of all the dolls, so she had bought me the Addy cookbook, some books, and other American Girl paraphernalia over the years. This year, I still don't know her reason, she went all in and bought me the doll. Neither she nor my pastor had gobs of extra money laying around either, so I am sure it was a sacrificial purchase of love. No matter the reason, it was just what I needed to brighten an absolutely abysmal year.
God knew that, too. He loves us through people, and circumstances, and sometimes through things like dolls.
I was now too old to play with dolls anymore. Things had changed inside of me, and I would never be the same again. But Addy remained in my room, displayed prominently. All my dolls are long gone, but I will never get rid of Addy.
She is not just a doll. She is a symbol of answered prayer--a prayer that to a lot of people would seem silly, materialistic, childish. (God knew better.) She is a symbol of God's care for me. She reminds me every day that there is nothing too low or too silly or too small to ask God for. Because asking God for anything is an implicit admission that I cannot get things for myself and I am completely reliant upon Him to get them for me. Prayer is humility. And isn't that the point?
Most of all, she reminds me that into each darkness, God sends some light.
Soon after this, we found out what was wrong with my mom. She got the medical care she needed, and slowly but surely, got better. I don't think she has ever been that sick since.
What brought this all to mind? Oh, lots of things, I guess. I saw some Addy dolls at a thrift store a while back and it reminded me. Then I got really sick with a stomach virus last week, and being laid up in bed being cared for by my husband reminded me again of the themes that keep reappearing in my life.
I struggle to remember that God loves me. I struggle with that a lot. I often don't feel His love. But I realized a while back that God loves us in millions of ways if we only open our eyes and look around. This experience of mine is one I go back to over and over again.
Getting this doll at that particular time was as if God reached down, took my hand and said, "I see you. I am here. And I love you."
Every day contains a gift from God. Look for it, and like a ray of light, follow it up to where it came from, and bask in the sun.
Until next time, folks...
*I believe it was my twelfth birthday, but it may have been my thirteenth. Things get fuzzy with age.
