Hair

I’m sure I fretted about my hair when I was in high school, but I don’t much remember it. I had a basic style, parted on the side, tucked behind my ears, and teased a bit on the top and back, probably lots of hair spray! In college, I let it grow long. After that, somewhere along the way I adopted a kind of page-boy with a side part, and that was my hair style for a long, long time. I didn’t fuss with it, just wash and dry, regular trims, no big deal. Then I had to have chemo, and suddenly my hair – or its impending loss -- seemed like a very big deal. When it started to come out, my friend shaved my head. I got a wig, but mostly I wore scarves that the women at my church taught me to tie. When my hair grew back, I left it short. And after a second round of chemo a dozen years after the first, it stayed short, a basic wash-and-go style. 

For all of my lack of expertise with hair-styling, I’ve had some notable experiences over the years. When they were in high school, two of my young friends asked me to do their hair for prom, and it turned out fine (miracle of miracles!). One of those young women later asked me to do her hair for her wedding day. We practiced in advance, and I was able to do what she wanted. And then, she got her hair cut before the wedding. My heart was in my throat as I was figuring out what to do, but it all worked out somehow. She was beautiful, and she would have been beautiful regardless of what I did with her hair! 

Several months ago, I started “fixing” Mama’s hair after she shampooed it. As I got more practice and was doing okay with it, I felt a little more confidence. And then she could not make her last salon appointment, so I got out my good fabric scissors and cut it. It isn’t perfect, but it isn’t awful either. 

I am mindful of her hair and thankful that I can help her with it. And I am thankful, too, that Jesus is also mindful of it. “Even the hairs of your head are all counted,” he says, and it comforts me to know that he is paying even more attention to her hair than I am!

 

Funeral Procession

I officiated at a funeral last week. The drive from the funeral home to the cemetery was almost 30 miles, and we slowly drove. It was a lovely day, driving by corn fields and blueberry farms, small churches, general stores, and crossroads. There is a custom here -- and maybe elsewhere, too -- that drivers meeting a funeral procession pull over and stop. Not everyone does that, but many do. On Friday as we made our way to the cemetery, people driving tractors, work trucks, cars, and pickups pulled over until we passed. This little tribute is very moving to me, total strangers pausing to honor the dead. Maybe it is an acknowledgement, too, that we will all end our days, and that we would hope for others to stop and honor our lives. And I was reminded of some lines of poetry: 

Because I could not stop for Death – 

He kindly stopped for me – 

The Carriage held but just Ourselves – 

And Immortality. 

We slowly drove –  He knew no haste 

And I had put away 

My labor and my leisure too, 

For His Civility – 

 … 

Emily Dickinson