Her Lovely Dollhouse

His words buzzed harmoniously in her ears, shockingly beautiful. “Fill your dollhouse with life.”1

So she did, setting to work on molding little beings out of clay. At the center of each one, she placed a heart of goodness, a heart she hoped would not be misguided or misunderstood. When she was done, she kissed each of them on head and placed them into an imperfect world. It was too small, stuffy, and occasionally dangerous. Some of her figures fell out of the elaborately decorated house, so she replaced them with others who she hoped would learn from their ancestor’s mistakes; most of them didn’t, but a few at least tried and that was enough to satisfy the little girl, their loving mother. She furnished the home with supplies which were plentiful in some rooms but sparse in others, causing her beloved ones to complain, whining, screaming, and blaming. Staring down at them in horrified shock, the creator couldn’t believe that those to whom she’d given everything would react in such a way. Shock lead to anger so fierce that she might have kicked over the house or maybe let out some of her emotional confusion on the dolls, ripping off a head or two. Instead, she contained herself, taking deep, slow, breaths to calm her fiery heart. Overwhelming despair came next, a feeling of being totally alone, isolated from the love of her companions, her dolls, her beautiful, sweetly terrible dolls. Although they’d disappointed her horribly, one of them redeemed them all. 2

“I’m sorry,” the doll murmured in barely audible prayer, “please forgive me; please forgive us all.”3

And, happily, she accepted the apology, responding by adding all the joy she could into her lovely dollhouse. 4