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Broken Yet Beautiful

(Never Judge a Book by the Cover; Ever)

One Sunday morning when I was ten my dad came home from the swap meet with an old, antique doll. This doll had a hard, cracked face and body. She was clothed in a dirty, torn, red, satin dress. She barely had any hair left on her head. The few brittle strands did not do her justice. Her eyelashes were missing and her eyelids didn't open and close any more.

She had a far off look in her eyes as if she were gazing right past me. She gave me an eerie feeling. I hated that doll. She frightened me. She didn't say ma-ma, and her body wasn't soft and cuddly like my familiar baby dolls. She left me feeling cold and anxious inside and I felt uncomfortable looking at her.

The other day while I was shopping at the mall I saw a similar doll. One that looked almost identical to the antique doll of my past. I went in to take a closer look at this relic and found myself still afraid. After all these years I still could not get past the horror I saw in the face of the doll.

During my childhood, dolls represented a big part of my life. The only thing I desired for Christmas and my birthdays was a new doll. I cherished my dolls. I treated them as if they were real. I made sure they were dressed warm and hats covered their ears. One year my parents bought me an old trunk full of real baby clothes. This trunk was filled with adorable tiny dresses and nightgowns, outfits and shoes. I guarded that trunk with all of my heart. I had even made a vow to myself that these miniature clothes would adorn my first child.

I remember praying and asking God to make my dolls come alive. How silly that seems to me now. But I had a fondness in my heart for a beautiful baby doll and ideas in my mind about what I thought a doll should look like. I found myself locked into a place of judgment and my attitude portrayed a certain pride I have to admit I was not proud of.

While I stood staring, reliving a time in my past, the saleswoman walked over and wound the doll up. This doll began to play beautiful music. The sound was delightful. Instantly my whole perception of her changed. She made beautiful music and I didn't perceive her as ugly anymore.

I learned a valuable lesson that day about first impressions. I realized I wasn't always so welcoming to people who didn't look the way I thought they should. Maybe because of years of self abuse or even circumstances beyond a persons control their faces might portray a damage that cannot be mended.

These people appear broken and my first reaction is to run from them. But then they speak, and I see the hidden beauty. From the place in their hearts where goodness dwells, flows a sweet spirit.

I learned that I must never preconceive a person's character before I know the person. And just as I've been taught never to judge a book by the cover, I realized these broken yet beautiful people might actually contain an awesome story within.

Learn more about this author, Lacy Enderson.
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