Thank you, Molly

The day I put down the dolls is the day a part of my imagination died. It was more than play. Because of the dolls, a storyteller was born.

I don’t recall much from when I was three, but I do recall the doll. Her name was Molly. Double brunette braids, circle glasses, a plaid sweater, a navy skirt and a beret. I wanted to be Molly at first, and I especially wanted those glasses, but as time went on, I got creative. I wrote her story, but I still appreciated the one she came with: the patriotic daughter of a World War II soldier who loved tap dancing and cherry Coke. Molly taught me how to adapt a story. She taught me to change the narrative to match a story I can tell, and so I did. Molly was not only a ‘40s child, but in the modern day, she was a contestant on “American Idol,” a contender for the title of “Miss America,” a mother to the Bitty Babies, a pet owner and a gymnast. Molly could be anything I wanted her to be. The options were limitless.

For eight years straight, Molly was joined one-by-one by Caroline, Marie-Grace, Nellie, Rebecca, Ruthie, Lanie, Josephine, Kanani, McKenna, Isabelle, Felicity, Kirsten, Samantha, Kit, Emily, Julie, Elizabeth and a look-alike doll, all of which either my grandmother gifted to me or I inherited from my sister and my cousin. They sat in my classroom, in my home, in my fort, in my camper, in my office and stood on my stage. They were anywhere doing anything I could have ever imagined them doing. I drove their actions. I created.

Though I read a book about their lives for a history lesson and watched Molly’s movie over and over again, I changed it all up and wrote without even holding a pencil. Not only could the dolls be anything I wanted, but holding them in the corner of my bedroom by the window, I could be anything I wanted to be too. I was their teacher, their mother, their camp counselor, their boss and their gymnastics coach. Together, we were a team committed to make-believe so much that it became reality. Because of them and my drive, my mind was a colorful place.

My bedroom was a colorful place too. I had a storage cube full of their outfits, some of which a family friend sewed for me. Their outfits changed based on the story I was telling that day. A gold sparkly dress was the number one pick for days of music recitals, and a long sleeve purple leotard was reserved for the Olympics. Tutus were for dance performances, and gray joggers and a green and blue striped T-shirt dress were for school days. I never kept them in the outfit they came in. It was more fun that way. It was intentional. There wasn’t a single detail that was left out of their story. If I could create their story, I could change their outfits, and that made it all come to life even more. 

I did this routine – coming up with a story and laying out outfits – until I reached the 7th grade. Dolls were all I ever wanted for Christmas or for my birthday until then. I was the very last of my friends to give the dolls up.

I still remember that final year so vividly. Sixth grade. I invited my friends to come with me to my 12th birthday party at the American Girl Cafe in Dallas, and even if they didn’t still play with dolls, we all basked in doll heaven. At the end of it, though, I knew it was the last time I’d ever do such a thing. 

I remember the last doll I got, Josephine, and I remember stroking her silky hair while knowing it was likely the last doll I would ever unwrap. After every doll I opened up before, I always found myself bubbling up with excitement to go home and play with them, but this one was different. After opening Josephine, I felt a bit of sadness. I was happy, of course, to have a new doll, but I was slightly upset because I thought I had to let it all go. I thought that a teeneager surely wouldn’t ask for a doll, and I didn’t. I thought I had to grow up. Josephine would be the one played with the least, and I felt bad, but the haunting “you have to do it” took over.

Along with most young ladies, my middle school years were challenging. Some girls were kissing boys already, and some girls were still having sleepovers with Disney movies. I didn’t know what group I fell in line with, but I knew I was uncomfortable with the transitional time. If I could just hang on to the dolls a little longer, all innocence would carry me through until I figured the rest out. At least if I played with dolls I would have something to look forward to every day after school. 

At the time, I knew I had a knack for writing. I wrote in journals, wrote essays during class when I was supposed to be doing math. I lived to create, and the older I got, I was more aware of that quality. That last year, the stories were more elaborate. I was focused on finishing each narrative and not putting the dolls down until I had something good, something that gave my soul a spark when I thought about it. Knowing it would all end soon before I could even think about it, no story was left unwritten in my heart.

In an interview with The Guardian, Greta Gerwig, the writer of the recent “Barbie” movie, had a

similar experience that revealed a connection to the dolls. “I played with dolls until…I don’t want to say too late, but I played with them long enough that I didn’t want kids at school to know I still played with them,” Gerwig said. “I was a teenager. I was about 13 and still playing with dolls. And I knew that kids at that point were already kissing.” At 13, she still held the dolls, and at 39, she wrote a movie that made $1.45B. There’s a clear thread.

It’s never been in my plan to write a blockbuster movie, but it has always been in my plan to create something worthwhile. I watched Gerwig’s movie in amazement at the detail, the thoughtfulness, the execution of every theme and the perfect completion of every storyline in the very end. I have no doubt Gerwig learned that from the dolls, and Gerwig was so successful because she circled right back to where the seeds were planted to produce her success.

At 12 and 13, children’s minds are sponges. The years between ages 12-18 are some of the most impressionable years, and if Gerwig and I hadn’t played with dolls when that range began, we might not have the same drive to passionately tell stories and create new ones. 

I could’ve held on even a bit longer like Gerwig. Of course, going into high school with dolls would’ve truly been absurd and, might I say, concerning, but even just a year longer would’ve given me a broader imagination. It wasn’t about the dolls. It was about what the dolls told me I could be and allowed me to create. It was about the shaping of my storytelling capabilities they provided. It was about the core of hearty enthusiasm behind all of the stories. For that, I owe my gratitude to Molly. 

One day, I didn’t even realize when it ended, I just tucked them all away on the top shelf of my closet and never played with them again. The day I put them down, I let go of a piece of imagination. One day, I hope I have a little girl and a reason to circle back to Molly because if not, why did I have to grow up?

Seeking God's best over your "good"

I’ve clung to Romans 8:28 and dissected it over and over again for the last several weeks, probably even months, because there’s so much power, conviction, and hope behind it. But ultimately, it’s caused me to pause with an overwhelming sense of peace.

It's a great verse to dissect. It's slightly short, but there are a lot of moving pieces within those words. When I read through the verse three consecutive times, I notice a different feeling with each read:

1. At the first read, it sounds powerful. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” That truly sounds powerful almost beyond comprehension. How can God order good for THAT many people? I’m not really sure how He does it, but I am assured that He does.

2. At a second glance, I’m almost convicted and stumped with the word “good.” You see, I’ve been taught over and over again that God’s “good” isn’t always the same definition I use for “good.” Sometimes things, paths, ideas seem morally good, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re God’s best for you. I’m convicted of believing so strongly in things that are surface-level good instead of just surrendering the root of those things, which is desire. But the action of this thought process doesn’t feel right unless you truly bask in an already provided peace.

3. After that feeling of conviction, another read makes the verse sweet. God defines “good” with His idea of best. His call to order is crafted together so flawlessly, and only He can see the bigger picture. He orchestrates every movement, breath, raindrop, ray of sunshine to seamlessly align with His vision and His will. When we remember his perfect hand, we find comfort.

I look around at our hurting world- suicide rates are high and heartbreaking, mass shootings are shattering communities, too many Americans are living without homes, natural disasters are turning worlds upside down, and the list goes on… But, humanity only pauses the political and social isolation for one short moment to empathize, and then we’re back to the loudness. If only our world could be more still and rest in this promise and speak this promise over the hurting souls, we would realize that with God, it will all be okay. After all, there’s a home much more important, warming, and delightful in the end days ahead. That’s the end goal. It matters more than our “good.” Heaven is God’s ultimate good for us, and our lives should be totally devoted to sharing this good with others.

This world will never consistently feel good to the flesh. Following the patterns of this world will actually rot the soul. Pursuing God’s good isn’t always comfortable, but it sets the stage for the overflowing taste of good in heaven. This is why advancing His kingdom is so important.

So, my prayer for you, friends, is that you pause for a moment and differentiate your desires from the Lord's because His will point you upward and create an example of exuberance for those watching you. It's a tricky pattern of thought, but it will be worth it when God says to you, "well done, my good and faithful servant." I'll be right here working on that mindset with you.

Better When We're Dancing

I’m a line dance girl. Anytime one comes on, I rush to the dance floor. Quite possibly, there’s no greater rush of adrenaline than the intro of “Footloose.”

I remember my high school prom. “Footloose” came on, and I ran to the dance floor. Naturally, I assumed many others would follow, but instead, I think I was one of four people doing the line dance (granted, it was a small school). I remember thinking “why am I one of the only ones doing this dance? It’s the best line dance there is!”

Fast forward to college, and I was standing on a dance floor in a pool of poodle skirts and leather jackets doing the “Cha Cha Slide” with nearly everyone on campus. Maybe college kids just like to dance more, or maybe my opinion of “Footloose” being the best line dance is inaccurate, but the difference in the spirit of those two places was incredible. As a college student who didn’t really care what she looked like cha cha-ing on the dance floor, I felt the liberating aura we created just through a song, and for a moment, we could all dance in perfect unison without any distractions from the world.

I never really understood why I loved a good dance party so much until that moment. I grew up around dance and was a proud show choir kid, so I constantly had a little jig in my head, but to me, dancing with people always produced one of the purest forms of joy. In my poodle skirt that night, I noticed how all of the people in that room just stopped what they were doing and took their place on the dance floor. And might I say, they did the same thing for “Footloose” later.

See, everyone has a spot on the dance floor, because everyone has a temple that can produce liveliness. I believe God designed our bodies to act out of joy, and moving them produces a contagious spirit of comfort and contentment with our bodies. Dancing shows confidence without saying anything, and it releases the natural mood booster, dopamine.

Dancing also releases endorphins, which makes it a natural painkiller. Dancing is the one moment where everyone can join together and bond over one thing: the melody. It’s a painkiller because it’s unifying. When a familiar tune comes on and everyone rushes to the dance floor, all of our outside cares seem to fade away for approximately three minutes.

We need that kind of natural pain killer in our everyday lives, not for our flesh, but for our souls. If we could all dance through life, I think our world would be a more harmonious place. Yet, we walk through life caring too much. We care too much about the way we look, the things we have, the people and policies our friends vote for, and the things that hurt us. We walk through life caring, and because we care about the things that bring us down, we walk through life lonely.

Our world is cold, but thankfully we have a God who is willing to dance with His children. Dance with God and His will and grace in gladness. Dance in the rain if you want to; dance in your car; dance at a wedding; dance with your friends; dance in a TikTok; dance with joy in your heart. I promise a little hair flip or even a little shimmy will make your day brighter, but even when you can’t actually get up and dance, do a little eight-count in your heart of hope, praise, and optimism that encourages those around you to exude the same. Get over the embarrassment. Dance on earth like nobody's watching. Dance for the glory of God, and one day, I believe we’ll be dancing like we've never danced before in heaven.