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| Little Girl Me |
I have always felt
a little "out of place" and never sure where I "fit in". When I was a little girl, I remember not knowing who really liked me,
who I should trust to be my friend. At the same time, however, I wanted to be
every body's friend because I didn't want anyone to feel alone or "out of
place". I felt that everyone should have a place to "fit"
and I longed inside someplace deep to be a part of something bigger than what I
had known or experienced or could imagine.
I could not have
articulated this as a young child, but thinking back as far as I can recall on
this topic, a memory from the fourth grade stands out to me about friendship.
A girl in my class
would talk about her home and her life with her parents. Her name was Crystal
Sparrow, the most beautiful name a girl could have...
I'm sure there were things
she said that were exaggerated and elaborated- it's what little girls do!
We speak of things that are real, intertwine them with our imaginations,
hopes and dreams, then believe that life can be more that what we see.
The
faith of a child is a beautiful thing.
One cold day at
recess in the room, maybe it was cold and rainy. I’m not sure, but I know
that the teacher had allowed us to talk quietly and play in the room for a
while and my friend was describing her bedroom to us.
 |
| Me at almost two years old. |
From her words, my
mind imagined and pictured a four poster bed with a canopy draped in
beautiful pink and white lacy fabric. Beside her window was vanity
where a mirror gracefully folded into thirds where she could sit and brush her
beautiful hair. There were stuffed animals and lots of baby dolls and
Barbies too... It was the most enchanting room
I had never seen with my own
eyes. I heard my self say to her
"I bet your room is the most beautiful one ever.." (hear the longing
in my voice to have one too) and I remember that her eyes brightened up and she
said ,"oh, yes! it is so beautiful!"
I don't think I
felt negative emotions toward her, but I do remember longing to feel like the
princess that she had unknowingly described her life to be. She knew she
was loved and special and she had a beautiful place to live loved.
I wondered why I
wasn't a princess too?
Why
was my friend and the others girls in my class
so perfect and I was not?
Where was my place? Would I always feel like I was just on the edge of
being in the group?
Could I ever lived loved?
I was, in fact, a
princess, but I had somehow forgotten.
When I was in the second grade, I
remember timidly telling my teacher that I was to be baptized that Sunday.
She was very proud of me... words that I longed to hear. Someone.
Proud of me.
I had prayed the
Sinners Prayer sometime before that school year... I am not sure of the exact
date, or the preacher's name who came to do the official prayer with me... but
I do remember being in Sunday School at about the age of seven or eight and
another girl telling me that she had asked Jesus to live in her heart and she
would live with him forever.
I loved Jesus. Would he come in to my
heart? Would I live with him forever?
I hesitantly asked my
mother one afternoon- I remember standing in our small kitchen at the time,
asking her about what these things meant and that I wanted to be baptized too.
It must have been that night when my dad came to my room and knelt down
by my bed to talk to me about Jesus and to walk me through the concept that
even though I was young, I needed Jesus because I was a sinner. He was
right.
I was not good enough, could never measure up to the rules and
this somehow confirmed to my little mind that I was somehow less than and I was
desperate for someone to love me in the way that the my heart longed to be
loved- without conditions, without reservation or limitation.
I suppose my dad
and mom wanted to be certain I was saved, so they invited the preacher over to asked and me me the Questions. I don’t remember this pastor’s name, he
was not the one with the long pointy finger, but I do remember kneeling around
my parents orange ottoman/footstool-the kind of orange you remember form the
60’s or 70’s. (Its funny the things we
remember!) All of this seemed odd to me at the time since, after all, I had
already prayed and believed that Jesus lived in my heart. I simply believed.
I knew my friend
Crystal was not a "real" princess, but being a little girl who loved
a romantic fairy tale, I positioned her in my mind to be something that I hoped
to be one day. A princess with a perfect life.
Even in the fourth
grade, I forgot that I was a princess, loved by God and chosen by Him.
After our Christmas
Break that year, Crystal did not return. The class was told that she was
sick so we prayed for her before lunch. We could still do that then, pray in
school. I missed her being there. I missed her stories. She was so pretty
to me…even though I cannot remember what she looked like, I just remember
thinking she was the prettiest girl ever.
When news came that she had
died, I didn't know how to process. What did that mean? There had
been deaths in our family before, but not one that I really understood or had
had a friendship with. This was real. Real upsetting.
I did what I usually
did and pressed my emotions and through down inside. If I expressed my
sadness or grief... I don't know. Even now as I write, I am not certain
why I didn't feel that I could express my thoughts and emotions without them
being wrong, or inappropriate or....forbid it...not perfect.
I didn’t feel safe to
express myself. I did not feel I was
“allowed” to express myself without begin corrected or told what was wrong with
my emotions and how I “should” feel instead.
When the emotions
came, though, it was in a flood and I remember my dad kneeling by my bedside to
comfort me and try to explain what death meant and how my friend was with
Jesus. My dad allowed me to imperfect and to have some space to feel what I
felt... and it was OK. If only I would remember that it's OK to express
yourself in a healthy and respectful way and that I could be understood without
judgment if grace got a little messy.
Grace gets messy, but grace always
fills in the gaps between our imperfections and His perfect love.
While studying this tree one bitter winter after an
ice storm left my favorite tree’s branches all broken, jagged and many fallen…
I feared it would not spring alive the next season…that it would not survive the cold wintery season.
