Chapter One
the search
Leslie:Bittersweet Memories
A little girl with bright, sparkling eyes and long brown hair
runs happily through the grass barefoot, wearing a flowing pink
gown that used to be a lady's negligee. Now the billowing, lacy
garment has been transformed into nothing less than a "princess"
robe, filling this young girl's mind with glorious dreams and fantasies
of faraway castles and knights in shining armor. Suddenly
she laughs, a pure sound of delight, and in her voice there is an
innocence, a carefree, childlike spirit. Her name is Leslie. She is
only eight. And to her, the world is full of endless possibilities.
* * *
As the television displays our family home video, the frame
wobbles to indicate that the videographer (aka my dad) is changing
positions. I smile. My dad is a great sport. He never failed in
his fatherly duty to either be busy with the video camera, the
lawnmower, or the barbecue on hot summer Saturday afternoons.
The scene shifts and I catch a glimpse of two excited little
boys, ages two and four, one in a cowboy hat and the other an
Indian headdress. The "cameraman" struggles to keep them in the
frame as they tirelessly bounce and squirm as only little boys can.
Their hands and clothes are speckled with caked-on dirt and
blotches of cherry-flavored Kool-Aid as they fervently dig for
worms and buried treasure in the plastic green turtle-shaped
sandbox. And there is my mother, holding their two empty "sippy
cups" with plastic lids. One of the boys suddenly lets out a yelp
of indignation, but before a battle can erupt, she gently bends
down and, speaking in her calm, soothing tone, helps the grumbling
cowboy and frustrated Indian make a peace treaty in only
ten seconds. Then she notices the video camera and laughingly
tries to motion it away.
I shake my head in wonder as I watch this vivid picture
from the past that floods me with memories. Could I ever have
been that young, that innocent, that carefree? Could I ever
have known, as I floated through the grass in my pink satin
gown, all the uncertainty and confusion that life would soon
throw at me?
At eight years old, I knew without a doubt that someday my
life would bring me a "happily ever after" ending. One of my
favorite pastimes was sitting in our downstairs toy room on a
bright yellow rug, listening with bated breath to various fairy
tales (via my little orange Mattel record player) and following
intently along with the brightly colored picture book that accompanied
each romantic story. I had Rapunzel, Cinderella, and Snow
White memorized, and I was currently working on Sleeping
Beauty. Without exception, every fairy tale ended with "happily
ever after," and I was sure that someday mine would be no different.
I was still young, but it didn't stop me from dreaming of
my own Prince Charming.
Not that my standards were high or anything! I simply
looked at the men in my life to help me picture what a knight in
shining armor was supposed to be like. First, there was my
dad-as handsome as any movie star on TV, stronger than the
Incredible Hulk, wiser than old Owl from Pooh Corner, and the
most gentle and kind member of the male species my young eyes
had ever beheld. He was everything I wanted in a man.
Then there was good ol' Ken, who always sat contentedly
next to his gorgeous blond date in her hot pink plastic Corvette
while I zoomed them around my bedroom at full speed. Ken
didn't say much, but his bright eyes and constant smile made a
lasting impression on me. And if a girl as great as Barbie liked
him, then so did I!
And last, I evaluated the heroes from my Mattel record
player fairy tales-gallant, noble, and brave, even in the face of
ferocious dragons and vicious warlords. I knew I would never
settle for less in a man. I wanted someone who was a combination
of my dad, Ken, and Cinderella's Prince Charming. At the
age of eight, I didn't think that was too much to ask. I knew he
was out there somewhere. I knew someday he would rescue me
at just the right moment, and we would ride off together into the
sunset. (Of course, I had also decided that my favorite dolls
would be the guests of honor at our wedding and that my wonderful
mommy and daddy would accompany my groom and me
on our honeymoon!)
One night I had snuggled in between my parents on our
mossy green couch to watch a movie. It was a love story. As it
ended, I was less than impressed with the hero's qualities.
"He didn't even sweep her off her feet!" I complained loudly.
"He's not good enough for her. I can't believe she settled for a guy
like that!"
I still remember my dad's fond chuckle as he scooped me up
into his arms and said, "Leslie, one thing's for sure: It's going to
take a very special man to win your heart."
He had no idea how right he was. It wouldn't be too many
years later that I would embark upon a journey to find true love.
But the "happily ever after" ending I'd always imagined wouldn't
be as easy to come by as I once thought.
* * *
Ah, memories in the form of wobbly home videos! Viewing
them has become somewhat of a love/hate activity for me. I
spend half the evening just trying to decipher the hastily
scrawled handwriting on the label. I struggle to decide if the tape
I'm holding contains Uncle Harold's fifty-sixth anniversary
hayride or little David's two-and-a-half hour soccer game, which
was filmed so far from the field that all the players came out
looking like little black dots. (Either of these two options could
easily win the prize for America's Most Boring Home Video.)
Once I finally select a tape to watch, I am usually forced to
spend another large chunk of time fast-forwarding through a TV
special that my mom has accidentally recorded in the middle of
the video. After enjoying a muted, high-speed version of How the
Grinch Stole Christmas, I finally arrive at little Johnny's spaceship-theme
birthday party and realize this was not the video I wanted
after all.
But there are moments when I stumble upon a scene from
the past that grips my heart and floods me with emotion. As I
watch little Leslie merrily dance around the backyard in her pigtails
and bare feet, I experience such a moment.
I can almost smell the freshly cut grass and hear the shrill
echoes of my little brothers' voices as they excitedly play out a
duel to the death between their little green plastic army men. I
can hear the distant tinkling music-box sound of the ice cream
truck circling the subdivision, its high-pitched melody mingling
with the dull hum of Mr. Harrison's weed eater zapping
loudly a block away.
I can feel the soft satin of my "princess" robe and remember
for a moment what it felt like to be there, young and secure. I
can imagine my dad teasing my mother, attempting to get her on
camera. I can picture her shaking her head and laughing as she
gestures wildly to him and turns her face away. All the fun and
love that surrounded my childhood comes back to me in a rush.
And as I sit here, gazing at the television, I can only wonder, If I
had known the road ahead, would I have taken those years of innocence
for granted? Would I have clung to my childhood fairy-tale
dreams? I am suddenly filled with a desire to freeze the video
screen and get that little girl's attention. I have an urgent longing
to warn her.
Leslie, be careful with your innocence; guard it with everything in
you. You can't understand now the cost of giving it away. Treasure
your family. Cherish what God has given you. Hold on to your
dreams. There will come a day when they will seem foolish. But they
aren't. This world wants to steal your heart away and damage your
precious innocence. But there's something more God has for you. Be
careful. Please, be careful.
And yet I can't go back in time. I can't warn that innocent
little girl of the traps that lie ahead and the romantic disillusionment
that threatens to shatter her dreams. I can only remember
back through the drama of my life-all the many moments, both
good and bad, that were not captured on a video but were forever
impressed upon my heart and mind. My fairy tale was a
little more complicated than those entertaining stories on my
Mattel record player. Yet the end goal was the same: a happily-ever-after
story. But, like I said, it wasn't quite so simple.
I don't need a home video to remind me of every experience
that shaped me, or of all the valleys and mountaintops along the
way. I had a God who knew my every desire. He also knew how
I would fall. And yet He was waiting on the other side of my failure
and my shattered dreams with some dreams of His own .
(Continues.)
