Old Doll

Over Christmas break my mom and I are trying to clean the garage out and get rid of all the junk we don't need. We were working on that Monday evening and she asked me to take inside a load of old, broken China dolls. Some of them I remembered playing with when I was younger. They all had some sort of defect, but one specific doll caught my eye.
"That is the ugliest doll ever," I thought to myself. She had dull brown hair tangled in a huge mess. Her pale, blue-white face was stained with dirt, and she looked at me through tired, dirty eyes. Her body was made of cloth, and her worn-out China hands and feet hung on by sagging threads.
Mom followed me inside with a tube of super glue, instructing me on how to attach broken limbs. "This one," she said pointing to the ugly one, "is probably worth the most, so be extra careful with her."
"Worth the most??" I thought. "How can this be? Even if she is antique, she's just so ugly, no one would want her!"
So I grabbed a comb, wet a cotton ball, and got to work. First I wiped the dirt stains off her face, gently digging in the crevices around her lips and nose to work all the grime out. A faint pink started appearing in her cheeks, even though she was still ghostly pale. Next I tackled her hair, patiently working out each tangle and turning the dull brown into a shining auburn. Her eyes still conveyed an inner sadness but they held a touch of hope in them.
All the while I had this growing feeling that this doll was really me. I've let dirt get on my face and scar my beauty. I've drifted away from God, hiding myself in an out-of-the-way drawer to keep people from seeing what I've really become. No one must know all the times I've brushed aside my conscience and told myself I don't care. No one can know all the times I've felt the yearning tug of the Holy Spirit on my heart and refused to open, telling him to give up; I'm a hopeless case anyways. No one can see it. No one can truly know. That is the me in the drawer.
And there I sat, tenderly cleaning the doll, while God sat there lovingly asking to permission to come in and clean me.  Then I made a startling discovery. As I combed the underside of her hair, my finger caught on a hard object on her otherwise cloth back.  Taking a closer look, I realized she was much more than just an old doll; she was a music box too!
I listened while she ticked out the melody she was made to sing. It made me feel like singing or crying, I'm not sure which.  God made me beautiful, and He gave me a beautiful song to sing. I might have made decisions that "messed up my hair" or "got dirt on my face," but the truth is, God is just waiting. He knows my inner beauty, even when I've forgotten.  He knows the song I was made to sing, even when I've forgotten the tune. He is just waiting to teach me again. I am invaluable in His eyes. He gave His Life for this old, dirty doll. It breaks His heart and mine when I reject His song for my life.
Lord, I give you my life and my song. Clean me and use me for Your work. Please. I need You.