The most beautiful story that can be told is about a heart that has been lifted and restored. Redemption. Salvation. Freedom. Healing. Hope. From the lowest darkness, entering the purest of light. From hopelessly lost, to being lovingly found. Beauty from brokenness. Love from loss.
Friends, let me tell you one such story…
It was a chilly twenty-third of December in Middle Tennessee, but the sun was shining and my two sons and I were anxious to get out of the house. Since all three of us enjoy the outdoors, we decided on hiking at a nearby state park. Some of the trails there wind through forested hills and offer scenic views of the Western Highland Rim and Old Hickory Lake. Our plan was to spend a few hours hiking before going to a local restaurant for lunch. So, after donning hiking boots and warm coats, we grabbed our walking sticks and headed out for the day.
We had been to this park several times and were quite familiar with the trails. After walking our favorite 2.6-mile circle, we came to an area along the lake where a short observation boardwalk jutted out over the water, providing a place to sit and watch ducks and little fish.
On this day, the water level was quite low around the boardwalk, leaving only mud, woodland debris, and some half-frozen puddles to observe. Still, my eyes lazily scanned the muddy estuary as if hoping to discover something interesting in the silt and leaves. Long minutes passed, and the lads were soon ready to complete our hike.
As we sauntered back across the boardwalk, I caught sight of something in the mud that caused an abrupt halt—a face. At first, I thought the shadows of sticks and leaves were playing a trick on my eyes. Upon closer inspection, however, I saw it was indeed a little, smiling face staring back at me from the muck.
I pointed this out to one of my sons who was still with me on the boardwalk, and he verified what I was seeing. Then, we visually traced an outline and discovered that the face belonged to a little doll.
“Well, that’s creepy,” I said, and my son agreed. I took a photo because it looked so unusual. The cropped picture really does not do the scene justice, though. Observing the smiling doll within the larger mud flat, surrounded by bare trees, dead leaves, ice, and a cold breeze made it an almost eerie sight at the time.
We walked on, and eventually I forgot about the doll.
Almost two months later, I decided to go hiking at the same park by myself to clear my head and do a little introspection. I believe that communing with God alone in nature is one of the holiest experiences you can have, and this day was to be no exception.
I took my usual route along the trails and eventually came to the observation boardwalk. This time, the water level had risen, so I decided to spend a few moments there surveying the estuary now that it was filled.
Looking down at the mud under the clear water, I was reminded of the smiling doll. Was it still down there? I scanned the area where I had discovered the face back in December but saw nothing. Maybe the water pushed it closer to the shore, I thought. I walked back toward the water’s edge and searched again, but there was no sign of it.
Something happened to me then. I can’t explain why, but during my search curiosity about that doll turned into feeling compelled to find out what happened to it. So, I spent some time visually searching all along the waterline. Nothing was there but the usual shoreline debris.
Maybe the water pulled it further out, I decided. I went to the end of the boardwalk to see if that might be true. Nothing but mud, leaves, sticks, and litter. Tiny fish swam in the two-feet of cold water, dodging around piles of muck, but no sign of—wait! One of those piles of mud looked different.
I leaned over the old, wood railing to get a better view and, sure enough, the little doll was there, pulled five or six feet away from where I had first seen it. This time, it was on its side, so the face was not visible.
Well, mystery solved, I thought. The doll is still there. Let’s get to the coffee shop and get a hot latte to warm up.
I left, but something about my search—about knowing the doll was still there—had unsettled me. I pulled out my phone and found the photo I took back in December. She was smiling. She was a mess, but she was smiling. Buried in muck, discarded or abandoned. Now, tossed by the waters, flipped over, buried deeper, and unrecognizable to everyone but the one who first saw her.
There was a symbolism I could not deny. A story that I could relate to. A story I had to tell. First, though, there was a rescue to perform.
As I drove home, I thought hard about how I could recover the doll. The boardwalk stood at least five feet above two feet of frigid water. Could I find a seven-foot pole and try to get her out with that? I certainly was not going to wade out there. Who knows how deep that muck would be? The idea of fishing then came to me, and I devised a plan to use my walking stick, some twine, and a large storage hook to literally fish her out.
After collecting the necessary supplies from home, I returned to the park and hoped no one would be using the boardwalk. Though I was ready to explain what I was doing, I was still not sure why I was doing it. The challenge of seeing if I could actually fish this doll out of the estuary drove me. What I would do after that was anyone’s guess.
Well, I guess I’ll see if I can clean her up, I thought.
“Why?” my mind wondered. “Why this sudden obsession?”
Not an obsession, I countered. A mission.
It took me about twenty minutes to fish her out of the water. Fortunately, no one came by until after I had left the boardwalk, so I didn’t have to explain why I was using a makeshift fishing pole to retrieve a ruined dolly.
The park’s campground was right across the way, so I shoved the muddy mess into a trash bag that I had brought and headed there to see if I could find some water to rinse her off. Luckily, I immediately happened upon a hand water pump, where I quickly went to work on cleaning the worst of the muck and debris from her. The water was freezing, and it didn’t take long for my fingers to go numb. With the bulk of the stuff removed, I retreated to the public restroom, which was heated, clean, and had sinks with warm water and soap.
At this point, I did not care if anyone walked in. After the initial rinsing outside, I saw…potential. Oh, she was still a frightful mess, but now I was beginning to see what she probably looked like before her trauma. Brown and black mud was giving way to peach skin, light brown hair, and a yellow dress. Could this doll ever look good again? She must have been down there for a long time. Could she be restored?
The symbolism became clearer at each stage of my project. There was a reason for this, I just needed to keep going.
I spent at least forty-five minutes in that restroom getting the rest of the surface dirt off her. Soap was pointless since there were so many layers of gunk. That would have to wait until I got home. So, I rinsed and rinsed until I felt she was ready for travel.
Fortunately, the rinsing I did outside with the hand pump had removed most of the big stuff. The sink strainer prevented anything larger than dirt from going down the drain, so that made it easy to clean up after myself. I also used soap and made sure to wipe everything down to leave it all tidy.
Once back home, the real work began, and so did the life lesson.
The story hit me as I prepared a bucket, warm water, and laundry soap: A heart lifted and restored.
At first, she was a happy girl, loved by someone. Cared for. But something went wrong. Had she been carelessly thrown away? Or taken for granted and then tossed aside? Maybe she wandered away herself, going so far—so buried under and hidden from sight—that no one could find her. A fall from grace? Or perhaps her lostness was accidental and no one’s fault at all. Whatever the cause, she was now forgotten. Smiling behind a mask. Unseen. Dirty. Hopeless.
Until…
“He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand” (Psalm 40:2).
But this verse from the Bible refers to God.
“Is this what it is like for you, God?” I asked.
Lift…and restore.
I lifted the smiling doll from the garbage bag and placed her in a sudsy bucket of water. Soak, scrub, rinse, wring. This I did four times, and each time brought both clarity and tears as I imagined God working on one of His children.
The soak was at first warm and comforting, but the water was soon cooled and clouded with filth.
“Leave me in,” she said. “I am cleaner now. I will never be more.”
Lift…and restore.
I lifted her from the dirty water and began to scrub.
“It hurts!” she protested. “Leave my layers. They have become my shield—my protection.”
The warm, clean water flowed, and I lifted her into it, rinsing away the layers of darkness. Lies. Veils. Masks. False armor.
“I will drown!” she declared. “It is enough. I shall keep what remains.”
I would not stop until all the dirt was gone. The water flowing back out of her must be clear. So, I began to wring, first with the areas that would hurt the least. But then, her head.
“You are crushing me! Destroying me!” she yelled. “My head cannot take this!”
Her dress rinsed clean first. She would be outwardly presentable now. But the dirt in her head required three more cycles of soak, scrub, rinse, and wring.
Lift…and restore.
“This will never end,” she decided. “I will never be rid of the filth in my head.”
After the final cycle, I allowed her to rest and dry. She was wet and worn down, but the water had run clean. There was no more dirt on her. No more dirt in her head. No marks at all, save a few tiny stains on her yellow dress.
Two days later, I brushed out her matted dress, buffed her skin, and fluffed up her flattened hair. In those two days, as she rested, her colors became more vibrant. She smelled of fragrant flowers and no longer of swamp muck. She was soft again, not hard and slimy. And her smile…it was no longer a mask, but real.
Lifted…and restored.
Psalm 103:1-5 says:
“Bless the LORD, O my soul; And all that is within me, bless His holy name. Bless the LORD, O my soul, And forget none of His benefits; Who pardons all your iniquities; Who heals all your diseases; Who redeems your life from the pit; Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion; Who satisfies your years with good things, So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.”
God lifts and restores. When we are cast aside, forgotten, and lost, He still sees us. He searches for us until He finds us. And loving us through the pain of being restored, He makes us new again.
I saw this truth with fresh, tear-filled eyes as I brought the smiling doll back to life. She may always have a few small stains on her because of her trauma. Or, over time, even those might be removed. But if a few marks do remain, it is only a reminder of how far she has come. Today, she is lifted and restored.
If you need that in your life, God is only a simple prayer away. Let Him lift you. Let Him restore you. Because you, dear friend, are that loved.
