Haircuts, onions, and buildings

I had a weird dream this morning. In the dream, I was trying to get ready for church, I think, and a strange lady suddenly came to our door. There wasn't anything strange about how the lady looked or talked (because she was poised and beautiful) other than the fact that she seemed extremely interested in a bird that was living in a tree in our front yard. My sister and I were the only ones at home, so we interacted with this lady. (I think this was the same house where we lived when I was age 9-15, but in the dream we were living there as adults.)

So, the lady was gushing about how wonderful the bird was, and I think she really wanted to take it home with her. (It was just a regular-looking bird, kind of like a mockingbird but less impressive-looking.) I think it crawled around my neck, and I held it in my hand and asked if it would poop on me. The lady said that it probably would. My sister entertained this lady while I scrambled to get ready for my meeting -- sorting through a mess of clothes in the bathroom.

I think I was frustrated because this lady randomly showed up at our door at an inopportune time and bothered us about a random subject that was really none of her business. I think towards the end of the dream, the lady had finally left, and I told my sister, "You're just like Mama (the cool, have-it-all-together one). You don't say what you really mean." My sister was about to make fun of me for being just like Daddy (the nerdy, socially awkward, weird one) when I woke up.

Sometimes when I have vivid dreams like that, I ask God if they meant anything. Usually, He says something like, "It means you were sleepy." (In other words, it was just a random dream.) But this time, He gladly showed me that this dream really did mean something: The strange birdophile lady was the devil, and the bird in our front yard was lost people.

Hmm. If I had known that that was what the dream meant, maybe I would have stayed asleep long enough to kick the lady out of our house and tell her to leave our bird alone.

So, when you grow up in a home that's that messed up, you kind of have a ton of issues to sort through. And I've been discovering that that process kind of takes a while.

 

I was raised by a hairdresser, so I always got my hair done for free. Actually, there was a cost to it: I didn't really have much of a choice in what kind of 'do I would get or how it would get done. Mom was the boss. From what I understand, she suffers from dementia now, but about 20+ years ago, I wonder if perhaps we were getting the first clues about her condition.

During my senior year in high school, Mom would color my hair red. (Not sure why. I'm Scotch-Irish, so I already have bits of natural reddish highlights in my hair.) On the night before she was supposed to drive me to college, to move me into the dorm in August, she colored my hair because she wouldn't be seeing me again until Thanksgiving. So, I was minding my own business, getting my hair done, and then suddenly my cool, have-it-all-together Mom had a hint of panic in her voice and told me to go wash my hair out. So, I nonchalantly went and took a shower, as was my usual routine. When I finished and looked in the mirror, to my horror I saw that my hair wasn't red -- it was yellow.

Of course, I was ticked off. Mom said matter-of-factly that she would fix it. So, she colored my hair again with a brown color that was supposed to cover up the yellow. What got lost in translation were some very important hair-care instructions: When you color your hair, you're supposed to wash it with special shampoo that won't strip the color off every time you wash it. Instead of using some of this special type of shampoo, I used Pert Plus, a shampoo/conditioner combo that we had already purchased along with the rest of my college/dorm supplies. So, while I was away at college, the brown cover-up color washed off rather quickly, letting the yellow color shine through quite brightly.

I'm not sure if I was extra naïve or just extra excited about starting college, but I barely noticed the yellow until my black roots had really begun to show sometime in October or November. (Several paragraphs up is a snapshot of those roots at the homecoming bonfire from my freshman year.) So, every few months, Mom had to color my hair with that brown cover-up color until all of the yellow finally grew out -- right before I started my last semester of college. It took three years for that mistake to grow out.

I have never let anyone color my hair ever again. To this day, I am vehemently opposed to the idea, and I only want my natural color to adorn my head. (I'm actually kind of disappointed that I haven't had any new white/gray hairs sprout on my head in about five or six years.)

So, my college hair-color catastrophe wasn't a quick fix. But every time Mom would cut or trim my hair during that growing-out time, my look was one step closer to being what it needed to be.

"Who is the man that fears the Lord? Him shall He teach in the way He chooses." (Psalm 25:12)

At my church's Freedom ministry department (and probably at lots of other churches), the process of internal healing is often compared to peeling an onion. There are often many layers that need to be pulled back and discarded before you finally get to the heart of an issue. (And you tend to shed some tears along the way.)

But for me, my healing process hasn't really been that much of a layer-shedding one. It's been more of a layer-growing one.

Today, I ventured out to a local mall. OH, MY GOSH, IT WAS CROWDED. Kind of an introvert's nightmare. But I did manage to finally find a blouse that I thought was worth standing in line to purchase. I just didn't realize that I would be standing in line for about 20-30 minutes. I've never seen anything like that at a mall. All of the store's 9 or 10 registers were open, but the line still curved around like a giant snake all the way back to the men's department. I'm used to seeing people get frustrated, set their merchandise down, and leave a store because of an enormous wait time. But everybody just stood in line with minimal complaining, as if standing in the biggest secular retail line I've ever seen was a normal, everyday activity. (I didn't realize Burlington Coat Factory was that popular around here.)

So, while I was standing in line, I felt like God told me something to the effect of, "I wanted you to see how patient you've become."

Hmm. Life can do that to you, if you let it.

"My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing." (James 1:2-4)

I used to be one of those uptight, impatient people who would abandon their merchandise and leave the store just to avoid waiting in line. (Not that there isn't a time and a place to do that. Sometimes enough is enough.) Today, I figured I didn't really have to be anywhere else, so I had time to stand in line. (And I almost bought some snacks, too, because I had the munchies, and there was food just staring me right in the face. Those retail people are marketing geniuses.) The lady behind me kept bumping into my ankles with her fun-kid shopping cart, and I tried to be as gracious to her as possible during the entire 20-30 minute wait.

That was God. Not me.

"Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it; unless the Lord guards the city, the watchman stays awake in vain." (Psalm 127:1)

I'm not the first person to notice this, but Jesus was a Carpenter, so it isn't an accident that there are references to "building" stuff throughout the Bible. I think that's cool.

Last month, shortly after I got new glasses, I realized that they were too tight behind my ears. So, I went back to the eye doctor to get my glasses adjusted. Now they fit me just right. In a few short seconds, an expert corrected something that had been causing me a couple of days' worth of pain.

During that time, while I was talking to God about my situation (cuz that's how I roll), He said, "There's no shame in getting an adjustment." That was very profound, because I know He wasn't just talking about a pair of glasses.

Sometimes God can fix stuff in our lives in a few quick, miraculous seconds. But other times, after He prunes stuff away John-15 style, we have to wait until the new stuff grows.

I recently watched a YouTube video of my church choir from 2012. I was kind of amazed to see video footage of me standing there politely holding my hands together during a song that we were singing. But that ain't how I express myself on a worship platform anymore. Now I punch the air with my fist (sometimes upwards, sometimes as if I were stabbing myself in the side). I have kind of a battle stance with one foot in front of the other. I often have a rather scary look on my face. At least, I hope the demons are scared (instead of the innocent bystanders who I'm trying to lead into worship). Nobody has complained about my style/expression of worship, so hopefully I'm doing it right.

But changing my style/expression wasn't a five-second adjustment. It was about a five-year journey of growth.

2012 was an interesting year. I was leading a small group at my church, and stuff was going on behind the scenes that I couldn't openly talk about. So, I had to be reserved. At the end of that year, I stepped down from that leadership role and moved into a smaller apartment. While I was processing my life, I soon began to fight some pretty serious (literal and metaphorical) demons. During the next several years, I developed some major survival skills, and I became very rough around the edges.

I think God liked how I developed, because He ended up promoting me to more responsibility on the worship platform. Now the entire church gets to watch me rip my gloves off and kick the stuff out of the spiritual forces that used to try to eat me for breakfast.

As long as a strange lady (or the devil) doesn't try to steal any birds (or people) from my front yard, and as long as I don't let her (or him) do it, I think that would be mission accomplished.

I want to let the Master Carpenter tear down and/or build whatever He wants inside me, even though the construction process can be a long one, and even though the paint can take a long time to dry. There ain't no shame in that.