What would seem to be a normal bi-monthly event turned into much more today. I have a bad habit of forgetting to make hair appointments. After months full of split-ends and frustrating frizz, the day came when I decided to be a big girl and get myself a haircut. For a few months now I have been musing over the adorable 60s style cut of Zooey Deschanel; a sweet frame for a face with big eyes and a sweet smile. I could do it. Some nice blunt bangs and a bit of a trim on the length would be no deal. With the encouragement of my best friend and caution of my momma ringing in my ears, I stepped through the salon doors. With each minute that passed, I saw inches of brunette hair fall to the ground. I kept asking if the length was being affected and she assured me it wasn't. My stomach churned as the scissors continued to snip my hair.
It was done. Nothing I could say or do would make the hair grow. About four inches shorter than when I walked in, I walked out. A myriad of emotions flooded my heart and head over the following hour. It was cute. It was different. It was nice. Through all of these thoughts, only one seemed to stand out; it was short. I cannot explain why a simple haircut stirred so much. What makes us carry such fleeting things so close to our hearts? All hair grows back. My life was not over nor tainted in any manor. Time. That is the answer for many things. One of the hardest lessons in life is the one that takes the most time. I doubt patience is something that I can perfect, but maybe with a lifetime filled with practice God will give me the grace to get a bit better at it.
His grace is sufficient.
Currently Listening: "Peace of Mind" by Mindy Smith