I woke up today and knew it was time.
Actually, I woke up two weeks ago and knew it was time, but since procrastination is one of my spiritual gifts, I put it off until today, when I couldn’t find any more excuses.
I had to get my hair done.
Yes, that’s right. What is, for most women, a pampered day of leisure is a big ol’ headache for me. I like it a little more than going to the dentist. But only a little.
First of all, I’ve moved to a new location. And in my opinion, Debbie—my hairstylist at my previous location—is right up there with Jesus. She rocks. Not only is she an amazing hair stylist, but she’s a great friend. So going to her isn’t at all like going to the dentist. It’s more like a trip to Starbucks with a friend. Only, instead of coffee, we have . . . uh . . . shampoo.
Second, contrary to appearances (no commentary, please) it takes a gosh-awful long time to get me looking presentable. And I don’t typically like to sit still for that long.
I called our local cosmetology school. Because, as I said before, it was time. Two weeks past. And to go anywhere else, I needed to schedule two weeks ago.
I asked for someone with experience in highlights.
“Oh, sure. We’ll getcha somebody good, honey.” The woman put her hand over the phone and said, “Lauren. You ever done highlights? No? Well you’re gonna learn today.”
After a bit more muffled conversation, the woman came back on the line. “Alrighty, then. You’re all set. I’ll see you at noon.”
Noon. It was 9:00 now. I had three hours to bail.
The good news was, my hair already looked like somebody’s late night mug shot. How much worse could it get?
All morning, back and forth, back and forth I debated with myself. Should I go? Should I cancel? I decided to take my chances. Somebody’s gotta be the guinea pig.
Turns out, Miss Lauren was more nervous than I was. Her voice shook as she asked, “How are you today? Follow me.” Her hands shook as she combed out my hair. She asked me what I wanted done, and I told her. Then she left me there while she mixed the color. There was still time. If I made a beeline for the door, I thought I could make it. I could always come back at midnight, incognito, and return the burgundy hair-cut-protection cape thingy . . .
But when Lauren returned, she wasn’t alone. Miss Cindy was with her.
Miss Cindy is the boss. The head honcho. The Mother Superior of the beauty college. And guess what?
Miss Cindy showed Lauren how to do my hair. She’d demonstrate, then stand back and let Lauren work. Then she’d demonstrate again, then observe. I’m happy to report that Lauren proved an apt student, and four hours, a wash and a haircut later, I have supermodel hair.
Now if they could just do something with the rest of me.
I feel bad for being so judgey. I assumed that with Lauren’s inexperience, she’d do a mediocre job at best. But with a little help, she was stellar.
I’ve been guilty of making snap judgments about other people, too. I just assume because of their background or circumstances, they’re not going to measure up. But I forget to factor God into the equation. God is always there, helping those who are willing to accept it. He’s always there to teach, to coach, to encourage.
For some reason, He chooses to use the unlikely people of this world to do great things. I really should know that better than anyone. After all, I’m a big ol’ mess. In spite of my short memory and my disorganization and my tendency to get distracted, He never gives up on me. I hope someday, He’ll say I was an apt student.
In the meantime, at least I have great hair.
“When they saw the courage of Peter and John and realized that they were unschooled, ordinary men, they were astonished and they took note that these men had been with Jesus,” Acts 4:13-14.