Pieces of Pretty

    "Mom," she rushes in, "Look what I did, I broke it!"

    One huge drop of tear courses down a cheek as pretty girl hands tenderly hold an old Trixie Beldon book, its binding broke and its cover torn asunder.  In her world of ‘it must be right’ and ‘it must be nice and neat’ and ‘bad things come with chaos’ this was an ominous catastrophe.

    "I’m so sorry, Mom, I snuck it into bed with me last night because I  knew, I just knew they were going to find Jim and I didn’t want to wait until the morning to find out and….oh…..oh, look what I’ve done!"  She’s just bawling now and I wonder, as I often do, how it is that little girls can produce so many tears.  Of course, she isn’t really little anymore but the deliverer of that news hasn’t arrived yet so we just plod along with our baby dolls and pretty bows and frilly things for as long as we can – there’s no crime here in having a childhood we haven’t had before, now, is there?

    I have her come sit with me in my big office chair and quietly slip the well worn book out of her hands into mine where I examine it carefully from top to bottom, inside and out, and a little upsidedown just for the extra bit of drama times like these warrant.  Inspection done, I hand it back to her and say…

    "Why, Doodle, this book isn’t broken!  This is a book that has been well loved."

    Sniffles, "What do you mean?"  I know she wants to wipe her runny nose on her sleeve but just can’t bring herself to do that so I quickly slip her a tissue and continue.

    "Look at these pages with me because, you know, these books weren’t new when we got them and you certainly were not the first little girl to love her way through them.  What do you see?"  I lay open the book to a few of the more yellowed and stained pages for her to look at.

    "It just looks old now, Mom.  Old and broken!"  Ahhh, she wants to cry some more I can tell.

    "Not old, Honey, well loved.  Why, looky here….is this a tear stain?  I bet if I read a little I can tell why some little girl was crying on these pages."  I nudge her a bit to look with me.

    I can tell she’s looking even before she begins…."She’s crying because of the poor family.  I think it hurt her heart like it did mine.  Mom, did you cry when you were a little girl and read these too?" 

    "Yes, I did.  I even cried when I was a bigger girl and reread my books for the zillionth time.  You know, all my books looked a lot like these do.  I got them new…boy, was that a long time ago!….but when it was time to give them to another little girl they looked just like this.  Well loved I call it."

    She’s looking at the book a little differently now and I am grateful.  Grateful that my little girl who could barely read two years ago now sneaks her books into her bed at night which is why I never take the flashlight out of her room when I am dusting, even though I know she’s up another hour.  I’m grateful that she has found tears for others, what an amazing sign of healing that is.  And, and I’m grateful that God has allowed her to be a little girl, finally and fully, before the seasons change so fast and she’s a big girl by default.  I’m just grateful.

    "Mom," she whispers, "Were other kids hurt like me and Sissy?"

    Ahhh, so there is where the tears that have fallen upon my lap have sprouted from.  We seem to come here more and more in these days of trial as little girls try to grow to become big girls and fight the memories.  My heart turns a bit, as it always does when I hold their pain, and I pray for the softest sounds of wisdom to be salve to her wounds.

    "Yes, Doodle," I whisper back.

    "Did any of them grow up to be normal?"  Because that’s the fear you know, that no matter what you do, it will live on you, or in you…or near you….

    "Doodle," I gently cup her face in my hands, "You have to know some things now, you’re getting to be a big girl.  You need to know that people are a lot like that book you’re holding there.  Sure, the cover has been torn and sure there are some marks….but the story is not about the outside of the book….it’s always about what’s inside.  People can hurt you, but they can’t take away what is inside of you.  Who you are and who you are going to be is a beautiful story that you’re just starting to write."

    I pet on her a bit more while she thinks that over and then I redirect her into a new area….I let her dust around my old books for a bit while she looks in the covers to see when they were written.  Something quite peaceful comes along with the musty smell of old books, I am sure of it, and it isn’t long before she is humming to herself as she works.   She’ll start singing out loud soon, though she won’t know it, because this is what she always does when her spirit is lifted – she busies herself in a sweet task and sings, "Amazing Grace."  

    She has found the truth that lies in the old books that she now dusts, books she isn’t even ready to read yet.  Later, when she is off on a new adventure I slip out a favorite MacLaren and peek to see if I had it right….and yes, my memory served me well.  What is this, this knowledge of Jesus, what does it do for the child?

    It bid us look around, and if that sadden us, it bids us look up, and thence it bids us draw confidence to look forward.

    And so, I press on.

Lama