By Hallie J Carl

I was born in 1975, which means most of my childhood memories are centered around the 80’s. Knight Rider and Magnum P.I. were my jam.

What is the thing a grade school girl wanted more than anything in the 80’s? A Cabbage Patch Kid. Here was the problem: My family didn’t have much extra money. We had moved to Arizona with not much more than our stuff and dreams of new beginnings. We moved into a condo that neighbored expensive houses. Most of my peers at school lived in those big sprawling two stories, had fancy clothes and nice bikes and they hadn’t given a second thought to how much money it took to buy one of those chubby faced dolls.

My best friend at the time, Julie, lived in one of those two story houses. It had a pool, trampoline (two things I thought were about the coolest ever). She also had about 100 Cabbage Patch Kids (ok, maybe 10….which may as well have been 100 in my eyes.) How I longed and dreamed that Julie would casually give me one of the forgotten ones, the one she didn’t like as much. I would have taken such good care of it.

Which is how I came to some formative moments in 3rd grade with Mrs. Upstill. There are three things I remember about Mrs. Upstill: She read us Where the Red Fern Grows (cue little Hallie tears and a lifetime love of dogs), she was very pregnant and would miss half the year for maternity leave, and she let the girls bring their Cabbage Patch Kids to class on Fridays.

The first couple of weeks that my classmates brought their dolls, I saw them all laying on a table in the back of the room. Lined up and waiting for recess when their owners would play with them and show them off. There were bald headed preemies, curly yarn headed boys, long pigtail yarn headed girls. Green eyes, blue eyes, freckles. Some had teeth, some didn’t.

One thing I knew: I was the only girl in class that didn’t have one waiting for them in the back of the room. My distracted glances on Fridays, full of longing and envy would dance over the dolls, noticing how they were dressed and what they looked like. Some of the girls were careless with their dolls: dirty hands and feet, marks on their cute faces from being neglected. A solemn oath grew in my heart: If I were ever lucky enough to get a CPK of my own, I would take such good care of her.

My mom, who sewed a lot, found a fabric pattern for a Cabbage Patch Kid stuffed animal. Essentially, it was the print of a doll on fabric that you cut out, sewed and stuffed. Was it an actual CPK? Not at all. But was I excited about this? Yes. It was better than nothing. My mom sewed away and I was grateful for that little treasure.

I couldn’t wait for Friday. I was excited to have something to bring to class and lay on that prized table in the back of the room. I couldn’t wait to show her off.

As you can imagine, this was a recipe for disaster. My peers were less than gracious about my makeshift doll standing in for the real thing. As they teased me, I felt like I might fold up on myself and disappear. The envy I held in my heart began to bubble up into anger.

When Christmas rolled around, I wanted a real Cabbage Patch more than I could stand. I hoped so much that when I came out of Christmas morning there would be a wrapped box with that particular shape of a brand new Cabbage Patch doll.

My parents saved up the money and got me that doll. My mom stood in an early morning line at Toy’s R Us where they literally threw you a doll off the truck when you forked over the money in cash.

When my eyes laid on my new doll (who I immediately named Elizabeth), I was overwhelmed by joy. I felt like I was full of complete satisfaction.

Those chubby faced little dolls taught me a few important life lessons:

1. The little Hallie that took that stuffed doll my mom made to school mattered. She had value and worth just as much as anyone else. While a few 3rd grade classmates made me feel a lot less worth, that didn’t mean I actually was worth less. These years of teasing and bullying would grow me into an adult who looks for the outsider, outcast, or downtrodden. I vowed I would be anyone’s friend.
2. When you have to wait for something you really want, you appreciate it more. I have reflected on that often as an adult, especially when I hit times when I really desired a particular outcome. Elizabeth, by green eyed, bald preemie Cabbage Patch Kid was played with lovingly, dressed in something different each day (my mom made her clothes), and had a clean face, hands and feet. I valued her because I had to wait for her.
3. Lastly, desire, envy and anger can drive you to things that aren’t so lovely, aren’t so kind. (I will get to that ugly part of the story in a minute).

A number of years ago, our old church held an all-church garage sale to raise money for our annual Mexico mission trip. I was working the women’s clothing area because I was the Pastor of Women’s Ministry. Prepping for the sale was a wonderful time to hang out with women in the congregation. The ladies worked a two hour shift and then rotated out for a new few volunteers.

A woman I had never met before approached me. She seemed a little shy. She introduced herself as Christina and said she was pretty new to the church. She had on a baseball cap and her glasses were dark. We chatted some and when the day ended, we parted ways. Occasionally, I would see her from a distance at church. A few years passed and we found ourselves working together again at the all-church garage sale. This time, we chatted more. I got to know her a little bit better.

On a Tuesday morning Bible Study not too long after that, I shared in a mini-sermon, a little bit about my Cabbage Patch story. I shared about Mrs. Upstill’s class but I also told the women about a that friend I had, Julie. And I shared a not-so-great (ok, it’s bad) story about myself.

Before I was the proud owner of a CPK, Julie and I were bouncing on her trampoline in her large back yard, and a surge of that envy and anger shot through me. Before I knew what I was doing: my arms reached out and pushed her. Hard. In the back. I don’t recall if she said anything that caused the anger. She may have. But as I have recollected on this memory as an adult, I only remember my own actions, Julie seemed like a very innocent victim to my aggression. That envy of her mixed with the hurt of the girls in my class teasing me, exploded like a volcano on an innocent person.

I was a shy, very docile, rule following kid. But in this moment, I was anything but docile. I watched in what appeared to be slow motion as Julie flew off the trampoline and landed with a crack on the ground. Her arm hung off her in a weird angle that didn’t look good at all. I immediately hopped down on the ground to be next to her. I felt a deep shame growing and filling my body.

With tears in her eyes she asked me why I pushed her. Here’s the next layer of my sinful, envious little heart: I spit out a huge, fat lie trying to cover for myself: “I didn’t! I promise!” Good grief, how did I think that was going to fly? How else would she have been sent directly off the trampoline to hit the ground with that crack? I am guessing Julie and her mom knew I was lying, but they never said anything about it. She had a large, white plaster cast for awhile.

I shared this ugly story from my past as a sermon illustration about sin. How it creeps in, builds up and then what comes out is pretty messy. And can hurt others. I told the story cautiously, due to a fear that the women would judge me for my actions as a kid. Or at least be wary of getting anywhere near a trampoline with me.

But I want to share the reaction of one woman with you. Christina shared about a crazy moment she had. At that last garage sale, she had walked past a table near the kids toys and saw several Cabbage Patch Kids there. She felt the Spirit say to her, “Get a Cabbage Patch Kid for Hallie.” She shook the thought away. But it came again and it was really loud. She felt a little silly. How would an adult woman she barely knew react if she brought her a Cabbage Patch Kid? So she walked on, not getting one of the dolls for me.

Well, when she heard me tell this story, at Bible Study, it clicked. The Holy Spirit was leading her that day to buy me that Cabbage Patch Kid. He had a message for me, and He was asking Christina to deliver it.

He wanted to remind me of His love for me, despite my mess, despite my sin. How did he choose to show this love to me? Though a woman I barely knew who had been told to give a 47 year old woman she didn’t know very well a Cabbage Patch Kid.

While Christina regretted not just following through with the Spirit’s nudging, I assured her that I got the message from Jesus just the same. He loved me in a very unique and intimate way. He can take the moments of our lives that we feel the most shame about and He can bring redemption into them.

I have sat and pondered this moment many times. I felt so known by the God of the universe. Other than my family, He was the only one who knew the depth of that little timid Hallie and her desires and her pain. And in fact, He knew her better than anyone. He didn’t miss my feelings and he didn’t miss my sin. But He wanted to lavish me in His love. Through a Cabbage Patch Kid.

While we are yet messy and sinning, he loves us. He loves us on both sides of repentance.

I have been the one who has been hurt, and I am the one who has hurt. And so you are. In the mix of all of it is Jesus. The only one who has the true and best way to meet us and mold us. Do we trust Him to do that work in us? And possibly even harder: do we trust Him to do that work in those who have hurt us? That thought is one that I will touch on again in a different post.

Since that day when Christina told me what God wanted her to do, she has done something amazing. When she has a thought or a leading to share with me, she does it. She stops what she’s doing and sends me a voice message, a text, or a Marco Polo. Sometimes she shows up with a little gift. She is leaning into the Spirit’s leading in a tangible way. It’s a beautiful thing and she is a beautiful friend.

Be a Christina: Send the text, drop off the gift, and surprise those in your life with the gift of presence. It binds up brokenness to have someone willing to not only step into your mess, but be willing to sit with you in it.

–Sidenote: I have searched for Julie several times as an adult. I would love to apologize for my actions. I moved from this neighborhood between 4th and 5th grade, and Julie moved into a different area too. We never crossed paths again. If you know a woman named Julie who broke her arm in 4th grade, send her my way. I have some repair work to do.

(Below: Christmas in 6th grade. Elizabeth and Andy (Cabbage Patch Kids) on my lap and Chippy the monkey front and center, Middle: my 3rd grade school picture, Far right: Christina)