A lesson on blind spots from a good hair day

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Today is a good hair day.

I was so convinced of this fact, that this morning I took a selfie to prove it. My bangs, which I recently cut and can sometimes be unruly, were sitting just how I wanted them to be.

I went to bed with wet hair last night, and woke up with a pretty crazy mop. But it the straightening iron and the wetting down to re-blowdry seemed to do just what I hoped it would. I was pretty pleased with myself. 

(You see where this is going, don't you?)

I went to a morning meeting, feeling professional and put together. I went to the Apple Store to get a long-time computer problem fixed, sure I looked cool enough to be in a hip place.

Then, on my way out of the mall, I got sidetracked by a sale rack at a store and ended up in the fitting room. At which point I finally caught a glimpse at the BACK of my head.

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This picture was taken after I got home, and had actually done a little bit to fix it. I promise you the back of my hair looked worse than this picture... the ENTIRE morning...

I was horrified. 

How did I forget to look at the back? Wouldn't that be an obvious place to check for potential bedhead?  

There was a time in my life when a revelation like this would have filled me with shame, regret, and possibly tears.

But today I laughed. 

I laughed because in all the work I have done, in therapy, in enneagram, and in prayer, I have learned some things. I have learned to be honest. I can face my mistakes and blindspots with the knowledge I am loved. I have also learned to give myself grace. I know there are idiosyncrasies about who I am and how I operate that will always be more obvious to other people than to myself, and that is ok. 

I laughed knowing this is true for all of us. I was blind to my bedhead. Someone else might be blind to the toilet paper on their shoe. Neither are better or worse. They are just things that are hard for us to see. 

I also laughed in gratitude for the people in my life who have the courage to point out the bedhead, and the grace to love me well in the midst of it. 

May we all learn to love ourselves and each other with honest grace. 

 

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Look at these treasures! I love them!

My son lost himself in the quest, not noticing how much time was slipping away as the sun lowered on the horizon. 

While others were busy swimming or laying on the dock, enjoying the goodness of July temperatures in the north, he was looking down. My son's eyes were scanning the bottom of the lake, searching for the perfect rocks to add to his collection. 

When he asked me to help, I instictively asked why he wasn't collecting shells instead. "Look at this one," I observed, "It has such a lovely swirl and beautiful coloring." He looked up for a moment, uninterested but respectful, and told me we were looking for rocks. 

"Look at this one!" He yelled, as he lifted a stone the size of his fist from the bottom. It was gray, and rough, nothing spectacular in my opinion.  

"Wow," I responded, only half-looking at the ordinary piece of rubble he was turning over in his fingers. 

"Isn't it great!" He exclaimed, with his typical enthusiasm, "It's perfect for my collection!" 

As I kept scouring the bottom for one rock I deemed worthy of the word, "beautiful," he continued to pick up stone after stone, declaring them perfect. 

I stuck with him for a few more minutes of searching, finding two rocks I thought were good enough to collect. He kept at it much longer, delighting in the process as much as the outcome. 

At the end of the day, my son marched his bag of run-of-the-mill stones through the house and declared them to be a treasure he loved as much as Cam Bear, his most beloved stuffed animal.

These rocks were valuable to him because he declared them to be so. He loved them becasue he delighted in his search for them. He loved them because he found joy in their very existence. He loved them because of their similarities and distinctions, their smooth spots and sharp edges, their lightness and their weight. 

In his innocence, he adored them for being exactly the way they were, and he declared them to be his treasures.

Oh, how much children have to teach us.

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"He set me down in a safe place; He saved me to His delight; He took joy in me." - Psalm 18:19 (The Voice)

God delights in you. God delights in me. God delights in us.

God does not love us with an obligatory and dry, "I guess I should love them because they are my family" kind of love. God does not love us with a conditional, "I guess I should love them because they are beautiful and special and hardworking" kind of love.

No. 

God loves us with delight. He takes joy in our very existence.  

He shouts about us to the cosmos with the innocent glee of a small child, "Look at these treasures! I love them!" 

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