What Prince Charming Can’t Do
“Mommy, remember when we used to play Barbies EVERYDAY together?” Hannah asked me tonight as I tucked her into bed.
“Yeah,” I replied, “You made up lots of great stories!”
“And you were ALWAYS the mean mommy!” Hannah giggled as she reminisced about the plot lines that dominated her preschool play.
“But I’m glad that God can make even MEAN MOMMIES nice,” I reminded my sleepy six-year old with a kiss.
I used to grow tired of being the “Mean Mama” in Hannah’s self-scripted Barbie tales. But several years ago, the Lord used my young daughter’s original drama to give me a much-needed glimpse of His heart…
“Pretend you’re the mean mommy,” four-year-old Hannah directed as she shoved a naked, ratty-haired Barbie doll into my hand and situated herself cross-legged beside me. This was my preschooler’s favorite time of day; the rare moment when nobody else’s needs came first. Soon her baby brother would wake with a hungry cry. Her big brother would request a chauffeur for his evening activities. And her first-grade sister would insert pleas for homework help. But for now, my third-born had me to herself.
Ironically, Hannah’s favorite time of day often left me feeling as frazzled as the bare Barbie. Torn between the demands of keeping house and playing house, I wrestled as I considered the invitation to play.
“Do something productive,” persuaded my voice of practicality.
“But Hannah needs one-on-one time,” countered my mommy-heart.
“Have you seen the filthy bathroom?” the invisible task master demanded. “And what about those cupcakes for the school carnival?”
I glanced at Hannah’s pile of plastic princesses and wished the miniature wand in Fairy Barbie’s hand really worked. I’d be delighted to watch as the toilet scrubbed itself and the cupcakes jumped out of the pan in fully-decorated beauty.
“Are you ready to play?” Hannah asked.
“Yes, honey,” I sighed and whispered King David’s ancient plea; Teach me to number my days, that I might gain a heart of wisdom (Psalm 90: 12). A plastic wand wouldn’t solve my dilemma, but surely the Creator of time could help.
“Mom, your Barbie would be nicer if she knew Jesus,” Hannah declared as Disney’s fairytales merged with Sunday school truths. I stifled a grin and waited for the drama to unfold.
“Make the mean mama push my princess,” Hannah directed. A make-believe scuffle toppled the beautiful protagonist. I held my disheveled diva in anticipation.
“Aren’t you tired of being mean?” Hannah’s Barbie queried as she rose to her feet.
I glanced at the scruffy “mean mama” and wondered how many times I had looked as unsightly on the inside as the old doll appeared on the outside. Indeed, ten years of parenting has taught me that the demands of motherhood can quickly strip me of good humor and grace. Without my eyes fixed on Jesus, I can inadvertently become as “naked” as a Barbie in the buff. When everyone else’s needs clamor for my attention, my depleted soul may expose attitudes I’d rather keep under wraps- bitterness, egocentricity and envy. Before I know it, I am “living in the flesh” as the Apostle Paul termed his classic struggle with selfishness (Romans 7-8:14). The result is an unattractive mama who is stingy with her time as well as her love. When my inside is as frazzled as the Barbie’s exterior, I lose sight of what matters most. Clean toilets become more important than a clean heart, and my own children become a burden rather than a blessing.
“You’d be happier with Jesus in your heart,” Princess Barbie told her maternal tyrant through my daughter’s high-pitched voice. The bold cue invited a response.
“I’m not sure if Jesus loves mamas like me,” I grumbled on behalf of the forlorn Barbie.
“Silly,” Hannah replied with a giggle, “Jesus loves everyone. EVEN mean mommies!”
And so the story ended as all fairytales should, happily ever after. With a little help from me, the mean mama bowed her plastic limbs towards the ground and welcomed Jesus into her heart. And this real mama, who reluctantly recognized a bit of herself in the ratty old doll, breathed a prayer of thanks for timeless truths wrapped in innocent moments of “just pretend.” Disney would have signaled the orchestra as the bedroom drama drew to a close, but my preschooler sang a rock-star rendition of Jesus Loves Me instead.
The baby cried, and I excused myself to retrieve our youngest from his crib. Moments later, Hannah raced into the nursery with the mean mama in hand. The doll’s mishap hair had been carefully combed and adorned with a tiny crown.
“Mommy,” my daughter cried as she held up a miniature gown. “We need to put this dress on the mean mama. Now that she knows Jesus, she is a beautiful princess.”
Delicately, I slipped the plastic arms through a maze of sparkling ruffles and praised God for the poignant picture of His amazing grace. Disney may have perfected Prince Charming, but the Prince of Peace is the only One who can make frazzled mommies (like me) beautiful. And He doesn’t even need a magic wand!
