A Wild Hair

I was once yelled at by a stranger. Right there in a gas station restroom. All due to my unruly hair.

My hair is indeed wild. It has been producing tangles and ponytail headaches since I was a child.

It’s been known to occupy the space between car and car door on windy days. It once caused a fender bender by obscuring my view when I turned my head to look both ways, and it is all over the place, leaving feral strays. 

So, there I was, blonde ripples to the wind, blindly fighting to enter a Texas convenience store. The wind was whipping, my bladder was busting, as I struggled to push open that glass door. 

Washing my hands afterwards, I bravely glanced at the disheveled woman in the mirror and then smiled at a lady exiting a stall. What came next was more shocking than my reflection, however. Forget the outside wind; I was now in the midst of an indoor squall.

I stood like a stunned deer in headlights, trying to comprehend the insults being hurled my way. At some point during the tirade, an “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you” was all I could manage to say.

I left that angry woman in the restroom, but the unnerving encounter followed me. It settled into the heavy weight I was carrying. It ate at me bitterly.

Didn’t she know she was yelling at someone who already had their fair share, someone on her way to a courtroom where she was living a real-life nightmare?

Didn’t she know she was pouring salt on a tumor biopsy’s wound, as a young, newly single mom waited for results, with a pending surgery presumed?

Didn’t she consider the possibility that I simply didn’t see her behind me as I walked through the door? Didn’t she know I was a nice person who would never intentionally disregard or ignore?

No, she didn’t know. How could she? Circumstances could have also been shielding her eyes so she couldn’t see. 

She could have been carrying fear, loss, and grief also. She could have just received a diagnosis that was hard to swallow. 

Wind cannot be seen, but it can most certainly be felt. We don’t know what someone could be going through; we can’t see the crummy hand they could have been dealt.

So, I often think of that moment from years ago, when the winds of injustice start to blow. How easy it is to allow the cancer of bitterness to grow, with tangles, mats, and snares in tow. 

It’s hard to be the calm breeze, gentle and warm, to someone’s cold, harsh, unreasonable storm.

It’s hard to have a wild hair and do the opposite of what instinct brings, to instead choose grace and joy and let go of those negative things.

But with God, who sees it all, there’s strength for that wild hair. May we strive to use his loving eyes to view others with care. 

And may we always be wise. May we take advantage of all the available supplies. And wear baseball caps, barrettes, and hair ties when those heavy winds arise.

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