#liketoysoldiers

A million toy soldiers in a perfect straight line, waiting to be selected. One behind the other, uniform in the most obvious ways, because we're made of the same stuff. But our Manufacturer knows we're different, for He made us. He may be the only One who knows, but what little boy would want us if he knew our imperfections? So we like it that way. We just want to be chosen. We look so brave; we look so ready to fight. And we are. We want to be strong, but our figures are only plastic.

A lot of little boys come around. And with every new one that walks by, a small glimpse of hope arises that maybe we won't have to stand in line anymore. Most of the little boys leave with something, even if he's compromising his true desires. Perhaps the one he picked isn't the right shade of green, or maybe not the size he wanted. But we don't want to know about that, we're just happy to have been deemed his.

I wish that could be where the story ended. But the truth is that many of us who are taken home are quickly returned. Most of the little boys start immediately in search of a new toy soldier, shamelessly, in plain sight. A few of them just leave. But they'll be back. We all know they'll be back.

I know a toy soldier who went home a few years ago. The little boy who picked her seemed really glad to have her, but I guess that was temporary. Other things became more important to him, and after a while it was more of a hassle to keep her than to bring her back. She doesn't look the same. All of her parts are in tact, but something just isn't right.

Last week another toy soldier was taken out of line, but she is already back. Rumor has it, that little boy was a monster. He took her gun, all of her power, and systematically used it against her. He hurt her on purpose and there wasn't a thing she could do to make it stop. One day he must have decided there wasn't much left to destroy, and here she is. Now she hides at the very end of the line, where she hopes that no little boys will ever notice her. She is resistant to any repair the Manufacturer can offer. But doesn't she know He's the only one skilled enough to fix her.

I went home once. I'd seen this little boy at the factory before. I wasn't there when he picked his first toy soldier, but I certainly saw when he brought her back. i watched him bring another solider back, and still I went with him. I should have known better.

To this day I don't have a clear understanding of what made him return me. Besides the natural wear and tear my armor had suffered, I was okay. But you know, that factory is cold. The temperature seems even lower after being forced back here once we've experienced the warmth of a home. A solider like me couldn't help but run straight to my Manufacturer. He restored me with such a loving gentleness. And I am restored indeed, but I'll never be the same.

I'm back in line again. But none of my hope is in the little boys who come by. All of my faith is in my Manufacturer, and I'm not going anywhere. I found an everlasting warmth in this cold little factory, and I'm going to be fine right where I am.

What about the little boy who returned me? Oh, I watched him pick a new toy soldier. Would you believe she's back too? But he never meant to harm any of us.

What these little boys intend doesn't change the real outcome, nor does it keep us from hurting. We want to be strong, but our figures are just plastic. Yet even when we break, one thing can be sure: we march on.

"Left, left, left-right..." Toy soldiers, we march on.