Something a 3 year old taught me a few weeks ago.

Every four months when I am no longer happy with the length of my hair, I normally go next door, borrow Aaron’s clippers, and give my head the number 3 buzz cut. The following 3 days are spent trying to recognize myself in the mirror. And then I begin to look like me again and all is well until the times comes to do it all over.

Two weeks ago something out of the ordinary happened- I decided that I wanted a haircut from someone who actually knew what they were doing- spray bottle, scissors and all. So I go to this little place on University called pro*cuts. Even though I wanted a professional haircut, I was still going to be cheap about it… dropping a whole 12 bucks on this event. So I walk in, and put my name on the list- I’m the 5th one down.

I take a seat next to an older woman and what seems to be her granddaughter sitting in her lap. When I asked how old she was, the little girl held up three tiny fingers. She was so excited to be out with her Grandma that she couldn’t wipe the smile off of her face.

After about 10 minutes, they called the girl and her Grandmother and told them that it was their turn to sit in the chair and get their haircut. The little girl was up first. Booster chair. Apron. Seat raised high. Grandma says, “She just needs her bangs trimmed so that they are out of her eyes”.  It was easy to see that her haircut had been neglected for quite some time- and I was about to find out why.

As soon as the stylist pulled out scissors, the girl started squirming and flailing and doing anything that she could to get out of that seemingly skyscraper-tall chair. As much as the grandmother tried to calm her, and tried to tell her that it was for her own good- that she would be able to see better when her bangs were shorter, it did no good. This girl was not going to listen to a thing that anyone was going to say. She was convinced that the lady with the scissors was there to steal something from her- to disable her in some way or another- to take what was rightfully hers.

After about 10 minutes and 5 or 6 snips with the scissors, the terror was all over for the little three year old girl. The stylist then took her hand, and led her to the jar of candy to pick out what she wanted. You couldn’t even tell that she had just been through what she must have thought was close to hell. torture. a near-death experience.

The following days, my thoughts kept coming back to the girl and how much she fought that haircut. I couldn’t help but think of how that is me- everyday. Of course I know what is best for me- I always have and always will. But if there just happened to be a time where I was wrong, a time where it was out of my hands and I didn’t actually have all the knowledge and wisdom that I so often think that I have- then I go down kicking and screaming. Just like my little friend at pro*cuts.

I am sometimes so deliriously happy in my own naivety. Blind to the things around me but never knowing the difference.

Everyday I take things into my own hands when in reality I am blinded by my own unwillingness to be changed- to let go. I am so scared that if I do let go, then I will no longer be in control and something that I have no influence on might happen. What this translates to is when I don’t give up and stop fighting the change, the Lord will not move the hair out of my eyes. But if I do, He will guide me and direct me.  And even though it may not always end in me getting arm-deep in the candy jar, I know that the way of the Lord is better. Not easier, but better.

“But everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for it is the light that makes everything visible. This is why it is said: ‘Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead, and let Christ shine on you.’”  -Eph 5:13-14

Brokenness is my prayer. For it is not possible for me to let go completely. But rather, what it is that I hold onto- my plans, my ideals, the things that I value and lust after- it is these things that must be ripped from my grasp. He must become greater and I must become less. Not so that I can be the great, humble, godly man- but so that Christ might extract but even a ray of His glory from my life. So that people would see his light.

-Andrew

p.s. I am in the process of moving into a house for the summer. My truck has a nice garage. I like it here.