Playing with dolls.

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I suppose it’s quite like an Elijah/Jezebel thing. Who am I, a mere mortal to stand in the way of money, power, and avarice?

Who am I to tell a different story?

The Gospel is the most amazing tale ever told, woven from the very beginning of time and still braiding together, thread after thread, to this day. It is a story of our dirtiness, our sin, our unwillingness to bow down to God and how God still died for our unholy hearts.

It’s a story of how the things we think we want are just worn out band-aids covering our soul-level problem. That the only way to Jesus is to drop the way of this world, confess and repent our sins, and follow Christ as He wears down our path.

It is not a story easily told to those whose hearts have hardened.

I see their faces, and I see the old me. I see the mocking glint and puckered mouth. I see the rolling eyes and manicured hands. I see the bravado and the pride I used to wear nestled close like the Coach bag against my body.

I was a real piece of work, and I know that kind of work when I see it.

Humbling myself to that kind of thought process is grueling. I really just want to start smacking people, if I’m honest. But as a fellow human being, I know that’s not conducive to peeling back the layers of this world to show what’s at the core of it: a deep and dirty lie that keeps you apart from God.

Some people have no qualms about that, separation from Jesus. I personally shudder at the thought. The idea of an eternal hell with no hope, separated from the Maker that knows every inch of me? It’s not something to take lightly.

So I’ll think about that when I see their well groomed hair and expensive clothes. I’ll remember they’re nothing more than a dressed up doll playing at life, at the idea of being something more than the plastic parts that are surely meant to break.


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