"Thank you, but I want to get my exercise," Grampa said. Mommy had invited him to live with us, but he'd insisted on sleeping in a one-room apartment at the foot of the hill so he could walk up the hill every day. He would do the gardening; have meals with the family; take a bath and relax; then go "home" for bed every night. We loved Grampa.
But coming out of the shower one evening, he'd seen my sister's soft-bodied doll. Her 2nd-grade mind had felt the doll needed a haircut and had snipped most of it off, and of course, dolls have implants in polka-dot fashion, so this doll ended up with a head of polka-dot fuzz.
"There's no way you can call that cute, not by any stretch of the imagination," we could hear Grampa muttering.
I'd thought the doll lovable until that moment, when I saw it objectively and realized it was nothing to look at.
And the Holy Spirit seemed to whisper to me that we're nothing to look at either, but God thought we were worth His Son dying for.
