In case anybody who really doesn’t know me is reading this blog, let me tell you a little bit about myself, more specifically about my hair. I have fairly long hair, it’s about a hands length away from my butt. I like to say it’s golden colored, not quite dirty blonde, not quite brown just in the middle. I rarely style my hair with heat, it’s mostly all nat-ur-al and I never in my life have dyed it. You’ll typically find it one of three ways: all down resting on my back and shoulders, in a high ponytail that’s literally on top of my head, or a low Founding Fathers ponytail. My hair isn’t a big deal to me, it’s just kind of there, usually looking messy. It seems insignificant and I’ve taken it for granted up until recently. Never did I think I would be pouring out thanks to the Father for my hair everyday. But like I said during the past several weeks, I often have found myself doing just that, praising Him for my head of hair because it’s literally become a part of my ministry and a very versatile tool.
These days I’m spending most of my time at a primary school serving as a teacher’s aid for a class of twenty three year old South African angels. My interactions with these kids are so sweet all the time; they give frequent hugs and kisses, light up whenever I smile at them or do something goofy like puff out my cheeks and squeeze them releasing a funny sound, burst out giggling when I tickle them, and hold my hands no matter where we walk if it’s five steps or fifty. Everybody wants to hold the teacher’s hands though so more often than not I’ll have ten different kids each holding a different finger of mine. They love me so well and in return, I try my hardest to love them in an overwhelming way.
These kids are in love with my white person hair. At recess I’ll sit criss cross on the play yard and have anywhere from three to twelve kids surround me to yank, twist, braid, tease, dread, and ruffle my hair. Each one will have their own section on my scalp and find great delight in showing me their simple masterpieces with only a strand of hair. Usually they’ll just divide their section of hair in half and twist the two halves together. But once one of them pulls their chunk of hair across my face, right in front of my eyes to show me the twisted knot they’ve made and I beam at them with approval of it, they all will follow, and then I’ll be sitting there with eight sections of my hair being held straight up for me to see resembling octopus tentacles. It never gets old for them though, they would mess with my hair all day if we had the time. It’s a simple toy that God has gifted me with.
So there I am at recess every school day, with all these joyful little angels as they play with my hair, making me look like a crazy person who has a bird’s nest in her hair or some days it’s an entire head of dreadlocks, they all will be conversing in Xhosa or Afrikaans, and I just get to sit there and watch. The Father allows me to sit there in these precious moments with an awareness of all my surroundings. I’ve taken it all in each day. I am content in these moments and bubbling with thanksgiving for the blessing my hair is. I worship Him in these moments, everyday for forty minutes or until one of the teachers rings a cow bell to go back to class, for creating me to have something as insignificant as a head of hair to be able to love His children with.
Julia
