Many years ago, when I was a kid—perhaps six or seven years old—my family was on Christmas vacation down in the south with my dad’s family. There were always lots of people around, my dad has a big family. During that vacation time, I noticed that one of my many cousins had a doll that I had seen laying around my grandmother’s house, here and there.
I don’t recall anything particularly unusual or noteworthy about this doll, but for some odd reason…I don’t know why…I cannot explain this strange thing that I’m about to tell you…this doll caught my attention. And I thought to myself, “I’m going to shampoo that doll’s hair.”
Well, there it is. I felt an urge to shampoo the hair of that doll. Go ahead and laugh. Sure, I know, it’s a bit strange. I hasten to tell you that I’ve never felt the urge to shampoo anything ever again. I don’t think I have a deep-seated shampooing addiction. (Although, when I told this story in church today, I did notice that people were looking at me with a mixture of confusion, sadness and pity.) Again, I can’t explain it. I just wanted to shampoo the hair on that doll.
So, I didn’t ask my cousin—in fact, I felt a little embarrassed about wanting to do this—I secretly took the doll and I went into the bathroom. And in the bathroom sink, I shampooed the doll’s hair. I think it was a pretty good job of shampooing, if you don’t mind my saying so.
There weren’t lots of hairdryers in those days, so, I simply took a towel and dried the dolls hair. And then I put the doll back on a bed in one of the bedrooms where I had gotten it and I, sort of, forgot about the whole matter for probably about 10 or 15 minutes. But then, while I was playing, I heard my cousin’s voice from the other room saying, “Who ruined my doll’s hair? Hey, what is this? Who ruined my doll’s hair?”
Pretty soon a couple of adults were involved in asking the question. “What happened to this doll? How did it get wet? Someone was messing around with Donna’s doll, who did this?”
Suddenly I felt very panicked. “Oh no.” I thought, “What did I do?” My mind began searching for excuses, “I just gave the doll a shampoo, that’s all. I didn’t mean to ruin the doll’s hair.”
While questions about the strange condition of the doll continued inside the house, I ran outside, crying, and hid in the forest. I knew that I needed to stay gone for a while, a crime of this magnitude would bring severe consequences. So, I hid in that forest for…oh…probably…I don’t know…like, 9 or 10 days, living on tree bark and swamp water and Hostess Twinkies that grow wild on the trees in that part of the country.
(I’ll admit that my memory is a little bit foggy on this part of the story, but I probably only hid in the forest for about 30 minutes, or so.)
This all happened a long time ago and I no longer remember the details of what happened after this point in the story, but I know this: I’ve never told that story to anyone until I told it as part of a sermon illustration today at church.
For forty-something years, I have held that secret inside and I’ve never confessed that I was, in fact, the one who shampooed that doll’s hair.
But something happened at church, today. When I told that story, it was as if a weight was lifted off my shoulders, a weight that I carried for, lo, these many years. And in that act of confession I felt the warmth and forgiveness and love of my church family and I saw people wiping away tears of joy as they, too, shared in a newfound sense of grace and forgivene…..
Oh, who am I kidding? That’s not what happened. The people at church laughed at my odd little story and after the service a petition was quickly drafted and signed by many, calling for me to seriously look into counseling.
See? They do care about me.
I know, this doll doesn't have
any hair to shampoo. But she
was the only one I could find
who was available for a "photo
shoot" on short notice.
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