Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Big Head of Hair...Yeah, That's Me. (Part 1)

I grew up with unmanageable, Italian, thick, curly hair and for some reason or other I had not a haircut from the third grade to the eighth grad. Needless to say, my hair grew long and wild. By eighth grade I was at a complete loss with how to handle this mass growing out of my head. I was getting older and wanted to fit in more in a fashionable sense and to top it off, my sister was getting married. She had asked me to be one of her bride's maids-I knew something had to be done. So, by myself, off to the hair salon I went.

I will never forget the looks I received when I walked in. They were aghast. Horrified. Confused. Even a look of, "Oh, no, please don't let her come to me."  They sent me straight to the back and washed "it." Then sat me down in a chair.

The hair stylist just stood there looking in the mirror at my hair. A look of, "Oh well, that didn't help."  Now I had long, dripping, crazy hair.  The stylist looked at another for help. Now I had two looking at me. They called over the manager. She had nothing. They finally asked, "What can we do for you?"  I simply said, "I'd like a hair cut please."

We talked for awhile about all the things that they couldn't do for me and why. They finally came up with a plan. The plan was, drum role it all off. They explained that shaving it down to nothing would be the best thing for me. It would be clean, manageable, stylish. I trusted them. An hour later I walked out without much hair at all.

Of course it was a horrible mistake and those of you reading this who remember will concur and then laugh. But such was my life. A life of hair issues. Long or short it was a problem. Then and now every time, pregnant or not, my hair falls out by the handfuls in the shower. And yet I come out of the shower, style it and it seems as if I have not lost one single hair. I seem to have a system in place that produces more hair than my head can hold. Growing up with hair like mine I was very self conscience. Then, I met Jesus.

I read, "And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered."
Can you imagine?
Every hair on MY head is numbered? Well, that's how I felt. The very thing that plagued me, and plagued hair stylist, was so adored by Jesus that He knew and knows how many hairs are on my head. Every time a hair or ten falls out He knows the new number. He watches over us, so concerned over the very things in our lives, so involved that He proves it by knowing a number, a number that no one else could possibly know or care about, the number of hairs on our head. that is one intimate God.

God died for us so that we could be in relationship with Him. I remember when I was a new Christian only a few chapters into the book of Matthew and stopping. I sat there and read Matthew 10:30 over and over again. My God loves me. My God really wants to know me. I bet He knows how many freckles, and how many beauty marks as well. I bet He knows when they first popped up on our skin and our reaction to them. I bet He knows how many scars on my skin too. I bet He also knows the when, why, how and the whole story behind each scar. If God so cares for these little details on our body, that we may not care too much about, how much more does He care about the things we DO care about? How much more does He want us to open up to Him and share all the things boxed up in our hearts? Our God cares. He really cares.

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