Set Free from the Ties that Bind

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity or cowardice or fear, but of power and of love, and of sound judgement and personal discipline (abilities that result in a calm, well-balanced mind and self-control). 

~ 2 Timothy 1:7 {AMP}

Today I’m giving myself permission to free-write in my “good journal.” To write whatever comes to mind, as in Dear Diary…and go from there. I know…normally I wouldn’t take such a daring risk without having a specific topic in mind, but I’ve confined myself to patterns of strictness and structure my whole life and today I just want to let go, have fun, live life, and que sera sera (whatever will be, will be)…at least as far as my writing goes.

A writing coach once made the suggestion regarding the “good journal” (to actually use it) and had me almost convinced it was a good idea. I know…it boggles the mind! I was “this close” to diving into those special pages that I was saving for the perfect words and the perfectly special day they would arrive. But I decided against it. Deep inside I was thinking, “what if I make a mistake, my hand-writing is bad, I scribble, or accidentally smudge ink globs onto the beautiful paper?” It would all be ruined, never to be my perfect journal again. The gamble was too great. I decided for all non-structured writing and off-the-cuff thoughts, I must stick with the notebook paper I picked up at the dollar store. The last thing I wanted was for the pages of my beautiful, leather-bound journal to fall into the wrong hands…my hands. The paper needed to remain perfectly unblemished, awaiting the fruition of a secret dream, that sometime in the future my elegant penmanship would be found as an old, abandoned journal, pages yellowed with age, the ink (from an inkwell, of course) forming sentences flowing flawlessly across the page in calligraphic style, telling tales of danger and heroism. But how could that be? I didn’t have that journal, or that life, or those words. I only had my life and my words.

So…that prompted me to reflect on my own childhood and of being a little girl in 1960s America. Maybe I could find something “there” to write about. So many recollections of growing up bring a smile to my face and warmth to my heart. So much so, it’s even tempting to want to return to those simpler days, but of course that’s not possible. And I almost want to interject here that forward is the only option open to us, but that’s not quite true. Sadly, we can also remain stationary, static…stuck. I’ve actually spent a lot of time there; in the stationary, stuck in the status quo, held hostage by something that at its root is fear. More specifically, it’s a fear of ruination (that’s RUIN-ation not another word referring to using the facilities). Anyway, it begins, shall we say…innocuously; and when you’re five years old just about everything is innocuous. Merriam-Webster defines innocuous as “not likely to give offense or to arouse strong feelings or hostility.” If we were lucky, our little-kid-selves went about each day being little kids. Our job was to play, learn, play some more, eat, sleep, and repeat. Children are sponges. They soak everything up, take everything in, even or especially, the innocuous. And sometimes an internalized, innocuous message lasts a lifetime. Allow me to share a story.

One day recently I was thinking about my childhood dolls, what their names were, when I got them and what eventually became of them. There are two or three I gave to my daughter when she was little and they remain with her, but what of the others? I decided to do an Internet search for fun. Not to find my very dolls, but to find their likenesses, if possible. To my delight, I found most of them for sale on vintage resale sites like e-bay and other online sellers, and it’s simply magical how a first glance of an old toy can bring back the sights and sounds of bygone days, or trigger the memory of the unique smell of opening and holding a new doll on the Christmas mornings of yesteryear. I didn’t get dolls throughout the year, so that special “new-doll-smell” is forever married to Christmas in my mind and heart.

Anyway, through the miracle of technology I found Baby Boo, who cried whenever her pacifier was taken away, and Snugglebunnie Baby whose name I shortened to simply, Bunnie. Then I came across Baby First Step and Swingy, who weren’t infants but rather, toddler dolls who walked and danced with the power of batteries and pull-strings. That’s when, in my scrolling to peruse images of my childhood treasures (accessories included), I came across the doll I had named “Teeny Baby.” She was petite, hence her name, with milky white skin, rosy cheeks, and strawberry-blonde hair. In the online photo I didn’t recognize the dress she wore as one I’d ever owned or seen before, but something else was amiss and the more I studied her image, the more I knew this Teeny Baby lacked something. I looked closer: her hair was exactly the right color as though blonde locks were stained gently by red berries, her porcelain cheeks kissed by angels, and the pink pout of her lips as perfect as a freshly-born babe. She was beautiful.

But she was different. This was a close likeness of my Teeny Baby…and yet she wasn’t her.

“She’s exactly the same doll, so what is different?” I studied her carefully, not able to put my finger on it.

Then it hit me. This doll’s hair, while still tidy and obviously well-cared-for after many decades, was loose and free, just a little mussed. But my Teeny Baby’s hair had been perfect; perfectly coiffed, never a hair out of place…because it was also perfectly contained in parts of her original packaging. A tight, white net engulfing her head and cinched securely under her chin at the neck was keeping her hair style intact and her skin smudge-free. She was never intended to remain in her original packaging and I did remove her from the box and disposed of that. But in that moment of studying the photo, like a lightning strike to my soul, I recalled my mom saying she would “stay neat and clean” if I never took off the net. She didn’t tell me I had to keep it on, but the strong suggestion of the “right thing to do” from the woman, who, after all, was already a mother, seemed to make sense. I was just a little girl with a toy, but real moms know best, and I had no reason to doubt mine.

So the tightly-fitting net stayed.

Forever

I thought at the time how Teeny Baby might be more comfortable without the constricting laces around her throat, and also, if the netting was gone I’d be able to give her a bottle and caress the tiny cheeks that I imagined to be smooth as silk. But I was only five, and surely my mom knew something I didn’t.

So, that Kindergarten Christmas of 1967 I got new green pajamas, a toy ironing set, an inflatable plastic Rudolf to sit next to the tree for the whole family to enjoy, and Teeny Baby, perfectly ensconced in her netting, which as it turned out, would remain for years and years to come.

Teeny Baby was, and is, me. During the years I owned her, which was well into young adulthood, the net never left her hair and face. It had always been there and was, for some reason, supposed to stay. It’s been almost 40 years since I donated her to charity, net still intact. But if she were back with me today, I would rush for the first pair of scissors I could find and cut those ties of constraint she’s endured for too long. I’d unleash the tightness from her neck so she could breathe freely. I’d hold her and let her know that she’s loved, that perfection is a lie, and that all this time she should have been free to move and breathe and be herself. In the Bible, the Book of Acts 17:28 says, “In Him, we live and move and have our being.”

I feel my being, or sense of self, was created for much more than I’ve attempted or lived up to in 60+ years. I have accomplished some incredible things, but I’ve also been plagued with fear and timidity and the near-constant anxiety associated with both. I’ve been anxious for as long as I can remember. What’s more, I’ve often adopted as my own, tremendous guilt for the choices, words and innuendoes of others…especially subtle offenses veiled as piety that were imposed on my younger self. But I’m learning to cut the ties of mental and emotional entanglement which has strangled me for so long. Seeds of fear and doubt sowed long ago, grown into a thicket of viney brambles, fostering in me a spirit of defeat and ruination, have met their end.

In the 1965 TV special, A Charlie Brown Christmas, Charlie Brown agonizingly declares after needles fall off his little tree, “I’ve killed it. Oh! Everything I touch gets ruined.” If you know anything about the Peanuts gang, you know Charlie is a sad little boy with low self-esteem and his fair share of bad luck. I’m not sure of Charlie’s background or what caused him to feel defeated, but I know that he, like all of us, have gifts to be used for greatness in one way or another. Fear of failure to the point of giving up our hopes and dreams, or the fear of ruin because we believe possessions, processes, and people must remain perfect and damage-free, is not living. Living is feeling the wind blow through your hair, walking in the rain, basking in the warmth of the sun as you weed the garden. It’s deciding to try out for that team, or choir or play. It’s finding new hobbies of interest and having fun in the process of learning a new skill. It’s diving into your beautiful, leather-bound journal and writing every word that comes to your mind, heart and soul, even if it’s messy. It’s embracing what the day has to offer, every single day, no holds barred…OR…taking moments of pause to rest and count blessings if the day or the season calls for it. In essence, it’s giving our imperfect selves the permission to try, to be free to make some mistakes in the trying, and heaping God’s grace on ourselves and others to make up for what we lack. Because He is enough for all of it! He isn’t going to force us out of our shells, but He’d sure like us to try. He has removed our shackles so we can endeavor to do beautiful things, great and small, and best of all, He promises to be with us in the trying. He has already broken our chains and cut us free from the net that encircled our neck and threatened our airway. He has set us free and now we can breathe.

The Bible says in 2 Timothy 1:7, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and a sound mind” {NKJV}. That means we can confidently move forward in our gifts and calling, and face each day with enthusiasm for the tasks ahead, rather than fear and dread. We can leave timidity and trepidation by the wayside as we forge ahead on the path our Lord is leading us.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found was blind but now I see…

My chains are gone, I’ve been set free. My God, my Savior has ransomed me. And like a flood His mercy reigns…unending love, amazing grace.”

~Arrangement by Chris Tomlin~