I need a haircut. I like it short, and so does my husband. I’m a wash’n’go kinda girl. My daughters, on the other hand, had been begging me to let it grow out. They liked it better long. Back in March, we all went to get our hair did, and I had them choose the “right look” for me.
Surprisingly, they both agreed with my husband and selected a cute little do that was short but not too boyish. The one they decided on was not the one I ended up with. We had printed out pictures of the cuts we wanted and took them to Great Clips.
Both of them got pretty much what they wanted, but the lady who got ahold of me seemed more interested in talking my ear off than in getting my cut right. She glanced at the picture a time or two, all the while snipping away. Before she was done, I hated it.
I think when I said “I’d like it to look like this picture” she heard me say “I don’t want it to look anything like this picture, and as a matter of fact, if you could make it look more like you took a weedeater to it, that’d be great.” At least I didn’t pay full price. I think I’d have cried if not for the coupon.
Babydaddy hated my hair short. He said I look too much like my brother. We do, in fact, look a lot alike, except that he’s more than a foot taller than me, doesn’t fill out double d cups, and wears a size 13 shoe. Yep, we’re practically identical.
Then again, we all bear a strong family resemblance. Every friend or acquaintance of my parents I’ve ever met has commented that they knew right away who I belong to. That kinda makes it hard for me not to claim my relatives or for them not to claim me.
What if I bore that strong a resemblance to Christ? If people just knew right away “that there’s a child of God, no doubt about it”, wouldn’t that be wonderful? I have to admit that too often it’s not that obvious.
I am ever so thankful that He still claims me as His own, bad hair days and all.