No one would ever accuse me of having big hair.
Does that make it little? Grumpy people call it thin. Baby-fine is another good word; sounds sweet and wispy.
Of course I could wear a wig or have some extensions put in. But the actual hair, the protein sprouting out of holes in my scalp—no amount of homeopathic pill-popping or nightly brushing or schmancy-poo will change it.
My mum tells a story, “When I was a teenager this girl whispered to her friend behind me at church, loudly so I could hear, ‘Look at her hair! It’s so thin and full of split-ends.’” There is still emotion in her voice.
I look at photographs of my stunning mother and wonder why she even noticed her hair, everything about her being completely gorgeous. But she still got the tattoo with a red heart that read AWESOME HAIR. Since I was her biggest fan I ordered up a similar one, along with a few originals of my own. I used to say, When I get to heaven, I’ll have long, thick, gorgeous hair, and sweet shoe-advertisement-worthy toes, and skin that tans golden without burning.
I’m sure that’s what Jesus had in mind when he said that he was going to prepare a place for me. (more…)