When we connect with who we really are and our inherent worthiness, something beautiful happens--not just to us. The more safe and secure we become in our own self-expression, the more readily we can create safety and security for others to vulnerably and authentically express themselves too.~Dr. Nicole LePera (From How To Be The Love You Seek)

I couldn't wait. My twenty-year-old sister said she had a present for me--said she would give it to me when she returned from work. I tried all afternoon to imagine what the gift might be. A bike maybe? No, she probably couldn't afford that. A hula-hoop? I hoped not, because I could never keep those hoops going around my sturdy six-year-old body. Probably a book. Yes. that was it! I'd just learned to read and she was studying to be a librarian. Finally, she arrived home and set a slim, rectangular box down on the dining table. The box was decorated with drawings of various women. Very beautiful women. "Go ahead. Open the box. It's a Barbie doll. You know, everyone's talking about Barbie. Don't some of your friends have a Barbie doll now?"  I did have one friend who brought her Barbie to school. My friend had a blonde ponytail and so did her Barbie. I carefully opened the box. My Barbie was a brunette with short hair. She wore a black and white striped swimsuit. She had breasts. And she wore the tiniest black high heels. My sister urged, "Take her out of the box." I can still see my small hands, indented with dimples at the knuckles. I gingerly took my Barbie out of the box. Her feet were contoured to accommodate the high heels, so she needed a stand to stay upright. I clipped the stand to her torso and there she stood. I'd never had a doll like her before. She was beautiful with her cherry-red lips and Maybelline blue eyeshadow. But she wasn't soft like my other dolls. I displayed Barbie on my dresser. I liked her, but  I didn't know how I would play with her. She didn't seem to be a doll to play with. "Well, what do you think?" my sister asked. "I don't know," I said.

Eventually, I got a shiny plastic case that said "Barbie" written in cursive on the front. When I opened the case, there was a narrow area on the left for Barbie to fit inside. Then on the right, a slender pole was attached with tiny coat hangers for all her clothes. Underneath the clothes rack was an area to store Barbie's accessories--all those tiny shoes that kept getting lost. They usually could only be found when I stepped on one and hurt my foot. My aunt sewed a wardrobe for Barbie. My favorite outfit was a vermilion evening gown with a black cape embedded with delicate white seed pearls. As much as I enjoyed dressing my Barbie, there wasn't much else for me to do with her. At six, I preferred my Baby Dear, a soft doll that I slept with and held close to my chest. I think really I felt I was supposed to like to play with my new Barbie with the beautiful lips and the breasts. I didn't ever think I could be like her when I grew up. I was very round.

Then came the Barbie movie and the song written by Billie Eilish and her brother Finneas, What Was I Made For? The first time I heard it, I was captivated with the bittersweet, simple melody, the plaintive lyrics. When Billie sings the song in that iconic whisper, her voice seems to contain the longing of the ages. Don't we all ask, "What am I made for?" Don't we all want to know and understand what we are made for?

I believe God created us to find our most authentic connection with Him. He who created us. He who so desires for us to find freedom in our inherent worthiness as His son or daughter. He who made us for something. Perhaps my beautiful Barbie was a substitute for what I truly craved as a child. I longed for something soft, something tender. God knows we do. Listen here to this beautiful song. What Was I Made For?