Just before 4 p.m. each day she would turn the gold-beveled knob to Channel 12 on her 1980s wood-framed Mitsubishi television. At age eight, the girl with deep brown eyes had already known great shame and sadness, but for an hour a day she was captured and enthralled by a world that seemed too good to be true: Walnut Grove.
Little House on the Prairie was one of the most consistent parts of her world that was often shaken by fury, a place where she could fantasize about tipping back her bonnet and breathing in the beauty and smell of wildflowers. This was a place where Pa affectionately referred to Laura as “Half Pint” and she proclaimed, “Home is the nicest word there is.”
As the little girl watched, she longed for a home that was similarly warm and tender, where there was a sense of togetherness in even the worst of tragedies. With each episode, the tears flowed freely, whether for the typhus outbreak that nearly took Mr. Edwards’s life, the scarlet fever that stole Mary’s vision, or the beauty of the family’s enduring affection and commitment during every hardship that hit their prairie life.
The eight-year-old dreamed of being one of the Ingalls. Though she had known considerable pain, her heart was yet soft and hopeful. She was not afraid to dream.
“Though Eden is lost
it’s loveliness
remains in the heart
and the imagination.”
-Mary Oliver
Thirty years later, a woman with brown eyes is meeting with the business director of a large ob/gyn practice who is dressed in a fashionable green suit. I’m trying to make sense of why they are suddenly denying my insurance, having previously accepted it.
I am expressing my disappointment with some level of assertiveness, as my 19-month old and four-year-old open drawers in the director’s large executive desk and play with the cords on her mini-blinds. I scramble for a fruit snack or sippy cup to try to diffuse the chaos, and attempt to find the words to express my desire to have the same midwife who delivered our last child for our next birth.
“She is like an artist when it comes to bringing babies in the world,” I plead, realizing that my language feels out of sync in a conversation about deductibles and global billing. The tears start to flow.
I begin sliding into an abyss of shame, feeling awkward, weak, overly emotional. My words seem to lack credibility and professionalism. “You’re way too sensitive,” I hear from a familiar childhood recording.
As my embarrassment over feeling clumsy and undone are mounting, my tears seem to turn the conversation. My earlier assertiveness evaporates. Suddenly, the cool, calm, and collected woman sitting across from me has the upper hand, and I feel vulnerable to harm.
Rationally, I know she is simply communicating office policies. She has even offered my children Nutter Butter cookies to help ease their restlessness and offered to work with me through a payment plan.
As I struggle with feelings of helplessness and weakness, I am aware that this is much more than just a battle with insurance.
Like for many, my disdain of weakness is a hard-wired response, to fend off attacks. We would prefer to keep our hearts a bit distant and aloof rather than face the possibility of contempt or rejection.
Several days after the appointment, as I am recalling the encounter, an image of a little brown haired girl dressed in a Christmas nightcap and nightgown pops into my head—the Little House on the Prairie viewer whose heart was tender and whose deep brown eyes were filled with the hope of heroic protection and fierce, tenacious love.
“Tend to her,” I hear, as if God is beckoning me to engage with this younger part of myself. I look at the soft lines on her face and put my hands on her rosy cheeks.
“Forgive me little one, for shaming your precious tears, dishonoring your weakness, and mocking your hope for many, many years,” I whisper.
The problem with walling off our soft, childlike hearts to keep them from harm is that it also shields our ability to receive love. I find it breathtaking when I’m in conversations with a dear friend or a counseling client, and I catch a glimpse of a small vulnerable child in their eyes. It can be in a moment of acknowledged insecurity or uncertainty, a courageous plea for help, or a timid and risky expression of hope or longing.
Such innocence and vulnerability is beautiful, pointing to the love of Jesus, who came as an infant, a foster child in the borrowed womb of a teenage virgin. He would be rejected and beaten, enduring contempt to the point of death in the name of His perfect love, humiliated on our behalf to bestow His innocence on us.
Again, I picture the little girl and affirm her childhood dream that a bigger love exists, that there is a place her softness and innocence can rest, play, and receive. I tell her that there is a Pa who tenderly loves her, and a Home that is the nicest place there is.
Rachel Blackston loves all things beautiful…rich conversations over a hot cup of lemon ginger tea, watching her two little girls twirl around in tutus, and Florida sunrises on her morning walks. She resides in Orlando with her lanky, marathon running husband and her precious daughters, priceless gifts after several years of infertility. Rachel and her husband Michael cofounded Redeemer Counseling. As a therapist, Rachel considers it an honor to walk with women in their stories of harm, beauty and redemption.
Through the books of Laura Ingalls Wilder, I imagined a home and Pa so different from my reality on the east side of Detroit. I would spend as much time as possible in the library (ironically called the Laura Ingalls Wilder Branch of the Detroit Public Library); the building and books a refuge from chaos. Thank you for the reminder of my tender heart.
Wow Madeline! I can’t believe your spent time in the“Laura Ingalls Wilder Branch”of the public library reading her books and dreaming of a tender home and father. I love how children aren’t afraid to dream of the good, true and the beautiful. Thanks for taking the time to read. So glad it was good for your heart.
“Forgive me little one, for shaming your precious tears, dishonoring your weakness, and mocking your hope for many, many years.” This brought me to tears… I too have always equated tears with weakness and fought vulnerability. This is so beautiful and now married with kids I wish that I hadn’t trained myself to hide my emotions and cover them with silence and anger. I wish that I could be vulnerable with my words when talking to my husband rather than shutting down. Thank you for this gentle reminder that in order to receive love we can’t wall ourselves off, that it’s never too late, and there is always redemption.
What a responsive heart you have. Thank you for being so vulnerable in your comment and yes, “there is always redemption.” Good news! I totally relate to wishing that I didn’t have quite so many self-protective strategies in my marriage and yet I’m moved by your desire to be “seen” more deeply in your vulnerable parts. May you be very kind to yourself in the process… terrifying and so worth it. Thank you for your words and for taking the time to read.
Rachel – Thank you for such a beautifully expressed story from your heart. Books and movies have a way of transporting us and even offering us hope amidst our own realities. Your reaching out to the little girl inside of you and to not feel shame for her vulnerability or sensitivity were words I, too, need to hear. Being the “overly” sensitive one in a family of six children was not welcomed, accepted, or received well. I’m learning that perhaps God needs us sensitive ones to counteract the harder ones. A balance. Your picture was beautiful. Such a precious little girl you were.
Barbara, yes, that is so well-said…“books and movies can transport us and offer us hope amidst our own realities.” There must have been many times that you felt lonely being “the sensitive one” in your family of 6. I love that you are learning to see the gift and beauty in your tenderness. Thank you for taking the time to read. I’m so glad it was good for your heart and good to know I’m not alone in being named the “sensitive one.” I’m slowly learning to delight in this name.
Beautiful Rachel – both young and grown – thank you for sharing your heart, for risking being vulnerable and inviting others to do the same. Yes, you are wholly loved indeed!
Kristie, thank you so very much friend. Your words are kind. You have been such a champion for my healing journey over the years and for that I am deeply grateful.
Tenderly written and so engaging. I love the kindness and love expressed to your little girl. I love the hope you give to her. Thank you!
Mary Jane, thank you so much for your comment and for taking the time to read. Your encouragement is such a gift to me.
Oh, Rachel! I am loving and crying for this little girl, for you. Yes! Tend to her. Such kind words that allow that space to grow. I am so, so glad that you found the Ingalls and that they live on in your imagination. I hear you in my heart.
Yes, Sue…so well said! The Ingalls live in my imagination and have brought so much hope over the years. Thank you for your kindness and for being a woman that has gone ahead of me in the journey of tending to your little girl.
Lovely, touching, healing story of bravery, Rachel.
Thank you for your powerful words Marcia.
I love the reminder of “tend to her” as we so often do NOT. Such a tender reminder and an offer of bold encouragement to all of us who need to do just that. Thank you for sharing this – and that you too longed for an experience of childhood more like what Laura Ingalls may have had. Thank you for your vulnerability – it is as beautiful as the little girl in the picture and the beautiful woman you are today.
Candy, I’m so glad that this was a “tender reminder” for you to care for that precious girl in you. Thank you for you generous words.
Thank you for putting words to this. I engaged with your image of the Lord Ingalls Wilder story. I too found solace in those books and ironically married to Wilder. As a midwife, I really under your desire to be with the same midwife and the words you spoke about her craft and the journey you shared together. I respect that you tried to communicate that to the system, which is harsh and can often seem uncaring. So then it caught me by surprise The tenderness as you ended your tale. So grateful that you engage your little girl with such kindness.
Laura. 🙂
Oh how I love midwives…thank you for the way you honor women in bringing forth life. I meant what I said in the office that day…pure artistry. I’m so glad that is piece was impactful for you and can’t believe you married a Wilder!
I love your description of the continued growth in grace to love and embrace this little girl. So beautifully written!
Thank you Cathy. You have been a huge part of that journey. Deeply grateful for you.
“I look at the soft lines on her face and put my hands on her rosy cheeks.” Wow I love this part! To reach out and physically touch the little girl. This really spoke to me. For me the little girl who longed and longs for physical connection but fears it because of the self protection and fear of vulnerability. Thank you for sharing such a deep part of your story with us.
Aubrey, thank you for offering such kind words and allowing your heart to be impacted. You are a gift to me friend.
This was an honor to peek into your past and present thoughtful, caring and God centered heart. It reminds me that being ok with vulnerability is like watering a garden. It seems small and sometimes I can’t even see the immediate results, but is imperative to yield healthy fruit.
Thanks for writing this!
Lizzie, what a powerful notion that embracing vulnerability is like watering a garden…yes, it softens the soil for beauty to bud forth. Thank you for taking the time to read!
Your writing is magnificent and a reflection of the Creator God in you. Truly. I am challenged, healed, and drawn in deeper by your words. Thank you.
Wow, I am stunned by your words. Thank you. Thank you.
Rachel, thank you so much for this beautiful and vulnerable post. I love the picture of you tending to your sweet little-girl self, honoring her and delighting in her dreams. Laura Ingalls always had grit; the hours I spent with her on the floor of the public library and curled up in little cubby spaces I would find for myself to read in showed me time and again what courage could look like in a half-pint sized girl. I would wonder why I wasn’t that brave, without reckoning that I didn’t have a doting Pa or an relentlessly empathetic Ma. Your picture of how old shame snakes its way into our current struggles, bringing its friend self-contempt along for the ride, reminded me once again of the power of self-compassion in the healing journey. Thank you, lovely brown-eyed woman for being the kind of mother who faces down insurance companies for the sake of her growing family and reminds me that I can be that kind of Ma, too — fiercely loving the younger versions of me that still reside inside my heart.
Debbie, oh my, your words are so beautifully articulated. You named it so well. Laura’s bravery, and spunkiness flourished in a family with a “doting Pa” and “relentlessly empathetic Ma.” I love that the Ingalls stirred up longing for your little girl too as you snuggled in the cubby of the public library. Oh, I can just picture it Debbie. I love your heart… “I can be that kind of Ma, too-fiercely loving the younger versions of me that still reside inside my heart.” Yes!!
What a vulnerable and very encouraging read Rachel! Loved your words to the little girl Rachel in the picture. Your girls are so blessed to have you as their role model!
Your words make me smile Abby. Thank you.
Rachel, thanks for sharing a portion of your beautiful story. I “stumbled” upon your post after reading another post on Red Tent Living. I thought, is that Rachel Blackston….from Orlando! I love the picture of you as a young child. I have been blessed to learn from you in the past and love your encouragement to be kind to the brown eyed little girl. Your brave words touched me. Thanks!
Jean, thank you for “stumbling” upon this piece and taking the time to read it. You are a blessing and a lifelong learner! You inspire me. Thanks for naming my words as brave. It has been scary to put them out there but so good for my heart to know they are helping others to be kind to their younger parts.
What beautiful insight you have into the hearts of so many women! Thankful for your vulnerability and wisdom! We love you guys…and that picture looks exactly like your first-born!
Miriam, thank you for your encouraging comment! It is wild to see our own faces in our children, isn’t it? Beautiful and vulnerable for sure…
How I love this post. You named a beautiful part of yourself and carried to her armfuls of worth. As a witness, I got tears in my eyes. For my heart, you reminded me of the time the Father called me “Half-pint” and how like Laura I am. Bless you, Rachel. May your Pa beckon you daily with his delight in you.
OH! And the picture you chose is a perfect picture of attunement. Father, let me love this way.