maria dossett

my mom bought me a playhouse once

of yellow felt and red curtains

there was a post office side, a grocery store side

a theatre side, and a wide-open door

i spilled my stories inside, unafraid of who was around

some days i was a girl living in the forest,

hiding in her cabin

other days i was a tiger cub, living in a cave in the jungle

sometimes i was working in a grocery store or a post office

but my dreams flew much farther than that

when i came out of the playhouse each night, 

there was dinner on the table

a mom and dad to hug when they came home from work,

a brother to share my playtime with,

and a nana who helped fill out our home to its fullest

our home had big couches to flop on,

room to run around in our yard,

i had my own room, piled high with books and toys,

decorated like a garden, with flowers & bugs dancing around

i lived in my own worlds,

playhouse and home, 

protected from anything that made me feel

unsafe or less than or alone

one day the playhouse was put away in a closet

as my dreams continued to soar far past its walls

i dreamed of a city

of sparkling lights and spontaneous trips

of loft apartments and chaotic nights

of friends who would make me feel seen and heard

and that dream took me captive

distracted me from people at school who were mean

took me away from my family, broken by the loss of my nana

and i flew and i flew and i flew

i have a home in the city now

there are bright windows and colorful plants

my family comes to visit and my friends fill the space in between

but now that i am here,

there is no where else to run

i don’t have enough space to store it all

the lost feeling i had before i moved,

the hurt from everything that got me here,

the lost friends and the dying family,

my faith and my self chiseled away

in the process of following my dreams

so during another Marian conference,

two years after my last, 

one pandemic and college degree older,

Jesus gave me my playhouse back

i see it in the living room,

light shining in from the back door and kitchen window,

it sounds like an early saturday morning,

and i see the green, plaid couches from my childhood

and pictures of my family on the shelf by the door

before we got any older, before we changed any more

“it’s so bright isn’t it?” He whispers,

i peer inside the playhouse, pulling the red curtain back from the opening

Jesus sits with little me, smiling

listening to every story i make up, holding all of my toys,

and He is happy to be there

He is so happy to be here

He is so happy to see me

and i haven’t trusted Him in so long

and i thought He wanted me to change a long time ago

but no, 

He delights in the daughter He created

He is not afraid of what has happened since i last played here

i just hope i can join Him again

i hope i can learn to share my stories again,

i hope He will see me with as much tenderness as He did before

He loves me in the same tender way as He always has

and i will let Him take me home

while making me a new one all at once