When I was little, God gave me beautiful strawberry blonde hair. As I have aged, God removed His hand of blessing from my scalp, and left me with sort of a dingy brown color. Yesterday, I tried to get my former glory back, by enlisting the help of my hairdresser. "Make it brighter," I requested. Apparently, there are different and varying degrees of brightness. There is a sort of sun kissed touch, a bleach bottle shine, and what I now know to be the"somebody didn't get their pool chemicals right" radioactive glow.
As long as I can remember, I have had this sort of tomenting spirit, that since it cannot gain access to my mind, has attached itself to my hair. I have had more outer cranium tragedies than you can count. I went to my first piano recital at age 7 with hair the golden girls would have been embarrassed to wear. Never get your hair done in a salon where they offer you Ensure instead of water, or where there is a crash cart next to the hair dryers. My hair was curled and poofed in true Barbara Bush style. My piano teacher didn't even recognize me under the hair, and I really don't think she placed who I was until I started playing the piano.
I have had such tragic hair cuts, that the stylist has actually "remembered" a coupon that entitles the holder to a free haircut. A "Get Out of Jail Free Card" if you will. I, of course, was imprisoned by that haircut for 6 weeks, and on probation for another four weeks, waiting for rough edges to even out.
I have had haircuts by stylists not allowed to use the curling irons, and highlights by stylists not allowed to use the foil. I am not kidding. It's like hiring a chauffeur that can't drive at night, or a Chef that's not allowed to use the stove. Why do I stay in these situations and not just leave to find more qualified professionals? Fear. I don't want to offend them or insult them. I want everybody to feel good.. even the hair stylist who sent me home in the middle of winter with a wet head because she needed time to fix her own hair before she got off work. I hope she had a great evening while I was home nursing my cold.
So here I am... Jennifer the blonde. I feel ridiculous. My daughter informed me the minute the foil fell from my golden locks that I was in serious trouble. She informed the hairdresser the color was all wrong. Goldilocks was getting a little nervous about meeting Papa Bear at home. When I beheld my image in the mirrir I knew I would be finding out just how good baby bear's bed slept that night. I got in the car and thought I left the dome light on-it was my hair brightening the whole car. I wonder if being able to save on the electric bill would be a good selling point for my husband.
And now tomorrow, I must go to church. I might wear a hat, and call it a trial run for Easter. I wonder if I could possibly get by with the "Moses Motif" and wear a veil hiding the overwhelming glory of God radiating from my hair.
There are a few mistakes we cannot hide from anyone, hair-tastrophes being one. Everyone is going to know my dilemma when I emerge from the vehicle in the church parking lot in the morning. Most will say nothing because they will not know if my hair was intentional or tragic, planned or a surprise. Sort of the way it was when I started showing when I was pregnant with my third child in 3 years. Only the most bold will comment on my poor choices and only the most godly will rejoice with me in my new season of life-regardless of how I got here. (I might add my family was not near as godly as I had hoped.)
And so I wait. I endure the looks. I avoid the mirrors. And I wait. Someday it will fade, or grow out, or possibly fall out. But it will pass.
I think we all desire to be full of God's glory, or to bear marks of His glory- but when it comes from a bottle and not His Spirit- it's just tacky. It draws the wrong attention, and does little for His cause. You cannot manufacture God's Glory. I have never seen an Easter Pageant-no matter how many millions of dollars were spent- that could truly capture God's Glory on Resurrection Morning. Man-made effects can never duplicate supernatural Glory! We might get a little tingle from man's exhaustive efforts to mirror God's Glory, but God's Glory at just a minute glimpse, takes man's breath away, causes mountains to crumble, stones to cry out with deafening worship, and graves to bursts forth with life.
I don't want a cheap imitation of God's Glory in my life. Give me the real deal! The latest bestseller, the newest worship tape, the most magnetic preaching cannot bring the change about. It can fuel the desire for it, and even reveal a path to it... but ultimately it is a one on One experience. The Potter and the clay. His feet, your Alabaster Box. Your grave, HIS LIFE!
I don't know where you are today. I know I have learned that in the most innocent of decisions I am still human and carnal flesh. I cannot escape it. I can only learn from it, and grow through it, and hope to emerge changed for the better on the other side. I really feel from the depths of my soul, that God can teach us through every circumstance in our lives- every event however small or massive can bear His fingerprints. When life leaves you stunned- strive to become a stunning display of His faithfulness. When life leaves you broken- break out in song and worship! Even the smallest of burdens can be made into monuments of God's Grace and Glory.
What a thrill when I can enter a dwelling and have people say, " What's different about you?", and know it goes beyond the hair, to a deeper level- God's Glory radiating from within.
2 Cor. 3:18 "But we all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of the Lord are changed into the same image from glory to glory even as by the Spirit of the Lord."
Change me God from Glory to Glory!
Tomorrow I will head to church. I know the hairs of my head are numbered in Heaven, and I am assuming the color is also documented, I only hope the records in Heaven have been successfully changed. I would hate for Heaven not to recognize me, like my piano teacher.
I can picture myself hitting the alter, broken over situations in my life, and Heaven's choirs' rejoicing in the new soul coming home as the Father says...
"Never mind... it's just Jennifer.. get me recordkeeping on line 1."