Once, when I was sick, I was sitting in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. To be more precise, it was a pediatrician, despite the fact that I was about a sophomore in high school. Growing bored, as is a common experience at the doctors, I spotted a short children’s book on the table. “There’s a Louse in my House,” it read. Jokingly, I picked it up and pushed it towards my mom, who again, was there despite my age. My mom had always had a deep fear of lice. So much so, in fact, that when there were lice outbreaks in my school, she would prophylacticly spray my sister and I with lice treatment every morning, followed by her tightly braiding our hair to ensure lice could not sneak in. It became a ritual. A way of life.
As we giggled over the silly children’s book that colorfully illustrated our biggest fear, we send praises to Heaven for dodging the bullet that was and is lice.
So, you can imagine my crippling fear when I discovered that there was a lice outbreak on my squad and my utter horror when I discovered I was among those who had it. There was a louse in my house.
Tears may or may not have been shed as my mind was filled with all of the tragic realities this fate might bring. Growing up, my fear of lice mainly stemmed from the dread of bagging up all my stuffed animals, but today, it was fear of the task of throwing everything I had with me in big plastic bags, cleaning gear, and of course facing the challenge of removing said lice from my hair while in another country with limited resources. I was convinced God was punishing me.
However, much to my surprise, my squad is blessed to have a number of self proclaimed (and me approved) lice experts who assumed leadership roles in the process of the eradication. And in the process of bagging, treating, and picking, lice made me bold.
Since I was a freshman in college, I’ve been collecting bracelets. It’s been my thing. After years of buying bracelets from various cities and countries, my arm was covered with more than material objects. They had become memories, and an extension of myself. So much so, that my left arm was two-toned, tanned from the sun up to the first bracelet, which covered significantly paler skin that hadn’t seen the light of day for five years. The bracelets have survived my travels, the daily wear-and-tear of life, and even a wedding (I was IN). Those who know me also know my bracelets.
I sat, resenting everything, with the lice treatment soaking into my hair. When I was told that it was possible that lice eggs were buried in the material of my bracelets, I almost lost it. I was told that it would be wise to remove my bracelets – something I hadn’t done in five years. Needless to say, it was hard, but it was surprisingly hard. Harder than I expected. As I rolled each bracelet off my wrist, it sunk in a little further how difficult it was to remove them. Then I came to the bracelet I bought when I studied abroad in Heidelberg. It was held together by a singular thread, and as I struggled to lift it above my knuckles, it popped. Some of the bracelets I had to cut to remove. I reached the final bracelet. The bracelet that had begun my collection at the start of my freshman year of college. It then hit me. I questioned why it had been so incredibly challenging to remove my bracelets. The bracelets contributed to my image, and my identity. The bracelets symbolized the things in my life I am still desperately clinging onto this year. My independence, my freedom, who I am. Although I had thought I renounced these things in weeks prior, I was again reminded of this familiar lesson.
What am I willing to leave behind this year for the sake of Christ? The things that are easy? The things that are hard? Am I willing to renounce even the things that defined who I was? That afternoon, prompted by my disgust of lice and my attempt to stay far away from it in the future, I cut my hair. I no longer felt fearful of being unhappy with the result, because who cares if I was? I realized placing value in image is a layer of our lives we are called to shed. 1 Timothy 2:10 states that those devoted to the Lord should make themselves attractive not by outer appearance, but by “the good things they do.”
Although I proclaim this as a lesson learned, I am fully aware that this will be a continual struggle as I grapple with its practicality.
Side note: My bracelets symbolize surrender. However, after the lice burn from the rays of the scorching Argentinian sun, they will be returning to my arm, now as a visual reminder of surrender.
Who knew I could ever be thankful for lice?
Photo evidence of my short hair and emotional goodbye to bracelets
Expectation of world race vs reality of world race
also the first photo is how you get lice. Featuring three girls on the squad who got lice
