On The Island Of Misfit Toys

No one sets out to live there. Yet it’s a place that, sooner or later, so many of us seem meant to come to.

Before there was Toy Story, there was Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and his unexpected friends on the Island of Misfit Toys. They are probably the most famous castaways this side of Gilligan – and for many of us, a lot more real. They’re the toys left out in the faraway cold, and the smiling memory of them is cherished by people all over the world who know, all too well, the feelings that come with being unappreciated, forgotten, ignored.

Because we’ve always watched their story at Christmas, and in their moment of deliverance, we tend to forget that the teary doll, the polka-dot elephant, the square-wheeled choo-choo, and the obnoxious-voiced Charlie-in-a-box have lived on that island for a long, long time. Yearning, each and all, for a child of their own … but having, for what’s surely seemed an endless stretch, only each other for company.

Each other. With each other’s curious eccentricities and complaints, lonely dreams and fading hopes. On a little island where, as for for too long in Narnia, 'tis “always winter, and never Christmas.”

The one who finds them has his own troubles. Rudolph begins his adventures by running away from a situation he has no idea how to deal with … from “all of the other reindeer,” who have been so casually cruel and needlessly insulting. He is thinking less of where he is going than of getting away from a place he finds increasingly uncomfortable.

His escape – as escapes so often do – leads him to new friends and adventures. But the thing he’s really fleeing is as plain as … well, as the nose on his face. The nose comes with him, and in time, proves a danger to himself, and to all of those he cares about. Rudolph’s story isn’t about how he whups the mean reindeer, or even the Abominable; it’s about how he, and his closest friends, come to terms with the painful, red-nosed restlessness within themselves.

And in doing so, are able to brighten the world for so many hurting others.

Unspoken – unspeakable – is everyone’s disappointment in Santa. In this story, he is not the jolly leader of the elves, but an irritable pragmatist more interested in new toys than old ones, in weather conditions rather than anyone’s wounded feelings. Misfits are misfits because someone else has decided what’s fitting. And because too many others won’t stand to challenge that.

We want so much for our leaders to be worthy of our allegiance. And so few of them, sadly, really are. Rudolph’s snarling coach plays favorites. Herbie finds reasoning with his boss is harder than pulling teeth.

Rudolph knows he doesn’t have Santa’s authority or good graces – he doesn’t even have Yukon’s boldness or Herbie’s clear assurance of what he wants to do. But he does feel compassion, and a willingness to serve. He does his best. And his best proves more than enough.

For in the end, the toys don’t need a seat in Santa’s sleigh as much as a place in Rudolph’s giving heart. Even Santa, it turns out, depends not only on Rudolph’s nose – but his forgiveness.

Things come together, as things usually do, because Rudolph faces his fears and bears with the faults of those around him. It goes against his grain, which is always to just move on. When the other deer bully him, he flees. When Santa dismisses him, he runs away. When he thinks he’s endangering his friends, he leaves. What will happen, one wonders, if Rudolph ever tires of having to work Christmas Eve?

We marvel, reading the Scriptures, at the flurry of promises that seem to fill every page. His presence. His protection. His wisdom. His sufficiency. The direction we long for. The words we can’t find. The strength we need, as the old hymn says, “day by day, and with each passing moment.”

But so often, standing on the promises requires standing on the premises. Being willing to take up the fight, where we are. To stand, not with the cool kids – the people empowered, the leaders oblivious, the so many so afraid – but with the misfits.

Sooner or later, escaping has to end. Moses has to come back to Egypt. Nehemiah is needed in Jerusalem. Mary and Joseph head home to Nazareth. And Rudolph comes back to the island.

You know the moment. Another lonely Christmas Eve, and the misfit toys sit sadly by the fire, their hopes going down for the last time. And then …

… a faint, distant jingling.

A tiny, shining dot of red against the starry sky.

It’s such a beautiful thing, when one who has been redeemed recognizes other souls in need of redemption. In need of friendship. In need of someone to stand for them. Or just beside them.

At Christmas, yes. But also in September, with the spring so far away.