Title: Death to Dye
We live in a world of instant gratification with pictures that show up in the blink of an eye, meals that can be fully cooked in less than 90 seconds and hair that can be any shade of the rainbow in a matter of minutes.
I was born a “toe head”. This charming phrase was used to describe children with incredibly blonde hair. Mine was really a shade of white-Christina Aguilera only wishes she had my genes. I loved it. I remember people stopping my mom in train stations to gawk at my brother and I, both of us toe heads. We actually received gifts from two old ladies on one of the trains we took. They made us these intricate star ornaments with crystal beads. One lovely lady made mine predominately purple which was and always will be my favorite color. My brother, well, he got a pink one. At the wonderful age of 3, any gift is a welcomed gift no matter the connotation that follows a color.
As I got older, my eyebrows got darker and my hair became less white and more of a yellow. By the time I was in fourth grade, it was almost brown. In fact, I can’t remember anyone in my grade that had bright blonde hair.
In sixth grade, I got my period. Gross- I know. But any woman will tell you that it is a rite of passage: the bridge to womanhood. At twelve, I cared nothing about being a woman. I was more interested in Hostess products and hitting a baseball further than the boys. My mother, however, gave me much more credit. She gave me the free will of my hair. I had always been able to choose my length and style for my haircuts. And, believe me; I made some spectacular decisions on that front. The “bowl cut” literally was my style for a few years. Then, there was the time that it was neat to wet your bangs and use a fine toothed comb to create a sort of arch in one direction.
This time, my mother allowed me to choose my color. I had been helping my mom highlight and dye her hair for a few years at this point, and I was always intrigued with the process and the exhilarating final product. So, while my mom and I were at the grocery store picking up some “Frost and Glow”, she bought me my very own box. I remember the first time I got my hair dyed. We were in our kitchen, both of us with those silly caps on and strands of our hair sticking out and over our heads as though we were a shower head on full speed. It was fun to bond with my mom that way. We’ve always had a great relationship, but knowing that every 4-6 weeks we’d have a little hair adventure only made us stronger.
I was hooked. From that point on I colored my hair at least every three months. Three was pushing it and I only went that long if I was broke. My friends and I would choose various shades to play and experiment with. Without fail, my hair would always turn out bright yellow.
At sixteen, I got my first professional coloring treatment. And I never used box color again. I’ve been platinum blonde, strawberry blonde, dark brunette and then the horrifying “confused” shade where you can see so many colors in your hair that it’s hard to describe yourself. I’ve had deep red streaks, orange streaks and black undergrowth. The undergrowth dye job was a great decision right before my high school graduation. I mean, it’s not like anyone takes pictures of that event. And no one ever remembers it or creates a shrine in their hallway to commemorate it. Yes, in fact they do. That dye job will haunt me for a lifetime.
So, now that I’m 26, I have spent over half of my life dying my hair. And I can honestly say I’ve never left the salon chair completely satisfied. It has always been a letdown. The shade that I strived for never came to fruition, and yet, I still continued to pay for it every six weeks or so.
This past year, I came to a frustrating halt. I would consult beauticians about my shade of choice without any encouragement: “You can’t be that shade.” or the ever popular “It will take a few tries before we get that one right.” So, I stopped.
I can honestly sit here and type to you that I have not colored my hair in 58 weeks. And I have to admit, God knew what He was doing! I finally have that shade that I’ve always strived for; the one that I saw in magazines or on strangers that I’d encounter and be too embarrassed to ask where they got their hair done. All along, I was taking steps to achieve what had already been given to me. I was so focused on what I wanted that I couldn’t see what I already had.
I’m writing this to you because I feel that we do that a lot in life. Strive for something that we already possess but are too future focused and ignorant to God’s glory for our lives that we don’t see it. Now, hair color isn’t my way of telling you that God loves me. It’s my way of telling you that God knows what is best for us. He planted a shade in my brain for years and I was doing all that I could to achieve it when all it took was for me to sit back and be patient.
