All my life I’ve had black hair. I have the photographic evidence dating as far back as the day I was born. It’s part of my trademark. Something about a woman identifies intrinsically with her hair. So most women are very particular about who does their hair or how their hair is done.
I trust Michelle with my hair. She knows my quirks, and she knows that I also have this little life-threatening sensitivity issue. So when I decided to start covering up my whites (because that’s what they are on a black-headed person), she chose my formula with fear and trepidation. Each time she does my hair, she asks continually, “Are you okay? How do you feel?” And when she’s done, it’s my hair, just minus the whites.
But Michelle was sick – horribly, miserably sick. So I entrusted myself to another lady in her shop, whose skill became readily apparent.
Once the developer was rinsed off my hair, however, I noticed something different.
“Mary, is that red around my roots?” I observed a little nervously.
“I used the formula Michelle told me to use,” Mary said with certainty.
“Natural black?” I asked.
Mary ducked into the back room. A moment later, she peeked her head around the corner. “Chocolate raspberry?” she sheepishly asked. Funny thing is, I loathe raspberries.
But despite myself, I burst out laughing. All my life I had envied redheads – I even spent $90 as a young woman trying to get red highlights – and look who was seeing red now!
As if on cue, Michelle – perpetually paranoid that I’ll go into anaphylaxis – called to see how my color was going. Poor Mary, mortified and confused, handed me the phone.
“Uh, Michelle, when you get well and get back to work, you need to change my card in your file.”
“What do you mean?” Michelle asked, fear in her voice.
“You need to change my color to natural black,” I chided.
“YOU’RE NOT SHERRY WITH AN S! YOU’RE THE OTHER CHERI!” Michelle shouted into the phone.
At this point, I was seriously concerned that the stress would send Michelle back to the hospital, but I couldn’t help but laugh. I wanted my hair back, mind you, but I kept laughing. (For the record, I’m back in black.)
A name is a pretty important thing. Jesus drove that point home with his disciples when He asked them who people said He was.
“Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets,” they replied.
“But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say that I am?”
Simon Peter answered, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” (See Matthew 16:13-16.)
That’s one question for which we all need to be prepared to give an answer. It’s the most important question in all the world. It’s not enough just to believe in God.
“You believe that there is one God,” James 2:19 begins. “Even the demons believe that – and shudder.” See, no one has to persuade the demons to believe in God. They can’t help but believe. But acknowledging Him as God and worshiping Him as Lord are two very different things.
And the Bible makes it clear that the God of the Bible donned human flesh and walked among us so that He might show us the way of salvation.
John 1:1-14 paints a beautiful word portrait of this Jesus that Peter proclaimed as the Christ. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it. There came a man who was sent from God; his name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all men might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God– children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. “
Who do you say Jesus is? I don’t mind if you forget my name, even if it does result in anaphylaxis. But please don’t forget His.
So, so true. A great post. Happy your hair is back to normal. I ended up with a near mullet about this time last year. Fortunately it grew out pretty quickly!!
Teryl
Oh, I wish I could have seen that, Teryl! Did you ever post a picture? Yes, I’m back to normal – that is, back in black. All is right in my world.