In 1990 or 1991, I suffered from anorexia and was somewhat unwillingly checked into a rehab/mental hospital where I spent a little over a month. I weighed close to 80 lbs, which for someone who is 5’8″, is extremely thin. I was starting to have problems with organ functioning. And yet, I truly believed I was grossly overweight. Ironically, the psychologist who was supposed to help me did little, but a kind nutritionist and my fellow patients-drug addicts, suicidal folks, schizophrenics, etc. changed my life for the better. My roommate was an old Hispanic lady who didn’t speak any English. I didn’t speak Spanish. Despite our inability to communicate with words, we offered each other comfort through just being next to one another and smiling at each other. When it was time for me to leave, she gave me this little doll, which I’ve carried with me for the next 20+ years. It has always functioned as a reminder of hope, healing and fellowship. When I was in Mexico this past week, I saw similar dolls in markets. It turns out this is called a “worry doll.” You are supposed to tell the doll all your troubles, place it under your pillow and the doll will carry them away at night. It’s curious how I didn’t understand the purpose for this little doll all those years, but the way in which it was given to me, it worked its magic regardless.