The Crack of the Curling Iron

I got the message, God.

This morning I strove into the office to tell my husband about a fad – sure I would enlighten him with my social awareness and position on the subject. There is this crazy new trend of Blow Dry Bars, where women go and spend hundreds of dollars to have someone else blow dry their hair. Sure – somewhere along the way that someone else probably adds flumph (yes – that’s my own word) and airiness, and uses products and various irons and rollers – but the draw is the blow dry.

I judged. I rolled my eyes. I didn’t understand this self-serving trend. I thought it was an asinine way to spend money and time. That woman on TV who felt addicted to the trend and then stopped – and saved herself Enough money to buy a house.

Yes – that is some blow drying trend. It all blew my mind.

After enlightening my husband (who dutifully arched an eyebrow and offered a barely audible grunt or groan – I’m not sure which it qualified as), I sashayed back into my bathroom and picked up my curling iron, still thinking to myself of how ridiculous I found it that someone would pay someone else to use a blow dryer for them.

I think I probably even smirked a little in the mirror at the thought, as I picked up my heated piece of equipment that I intended to use to manage my own self blow-dried hair.

And then I got your message, God.

God Speaks in Mysterious Ways
God Speaks in Mysterious Ways

My trusty, essential curling iron that I use to straighten the curls I find annoying and demand certain strands of hair to flip in other directions – It broke in two in my hand – burning my ear and pulling out a few of those unruly strands.

There was no warning creak or hint of a looming break.  Just yesterday we were a happy pair, me relying as I do almost every morning on that extra-large iron (except for those ponytail days) to convince my hair to cooperate.

Now I was shocked and unbalanced. You see – the left side of my hair had been straightened, but I was only a fraction of my way through taming the right side of natural curls when this horror struck. Let’s not even talk about the back of my head, where the cowlicks dance and tease me with their unruliness.

7 seconds of sheer panic settled in my lungs as my heart and brain raced.

  • How will I ever finish my hair?
  • How will I hide this hideous, unbalanced tousle?
  • What in the world just happened?

And then I heard you, God.

I heard that voice you sent me, saying

Calm it down a few notches.
Weren’t you the one just complaining about the craziness of a hair fashion trend?
Weren’t you the one just so worried about how other women spend their time and money on their hair?
Weren’t you the one who just spent the only 2.5 minutes you got with your husband in the middle of the morning chaos to talk about hair styling?
Time to roll your eyes at yourself.

And why not? – I was standing in front of a mirror, after all.

So I rolled my eyes at me. I laughed at my uneven mess, and then took stock of the situation.

There are women battling cancer who would give anything to stare at unruly, unbalanced locks of hair on their heads.

There are women who struggle to raise their kids on their own and the last thing they have time for each morning is to straighten their hair, as they rush to fill lunch boxes and hustle themselves to work.

There are women who live in countries where the mere thought of using precious electricity to style hair is nonsensical, impractical, and crazier than 3 blow dry bars built for a society of bald men.

There are women who would love to have 2.5 minutes to talk with their husbands about something that mattered. And probably a few husbands who would appreciate the same.

I heard you, God.

I also learned that just as I have natural curl, I have a natural tendency to run my fingers through my hair when I am stressed, overwhelmed, concentrating, planning, or just about any activity that requires emotion. So by the end of the day as a homeschool mom, work-at-home mom, jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none mom, my hair is about as straight as it would be if that curling iron was still in a single, working piece.

But if that curling iron remained my steadfast friend, I wouldn’t have heard you so clearly, God.

It’s time to

  • Judge a little less,
  • Appreciate the natural things you have given me a little more
  • Appreciate more so the women of the world for who they are, where they are (blow dry bars and all)
  • Appreciate my husband enough to know he just wouldn’t care to spend those 2.5 minutes listening about hair.

Thanks for the message, God.

Now can you help me find my ponytail holders? Please?

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