I am often writing about how God spends our relationship straight trolling me to get me to act like I have some sense and God’s Spirit living in me. God got me on obedience and trust and money. Here is the story of how God pressed me into patience through the struggle of combing hair.
Anyways, if you know anything at all about me, you know for FACTS that I am no girly girl. I avoid beauty counters. I never learned to braid. In fact, somebody has been combing my hair my whole life. I just learned to style my own permed hair in my mid-20’s when money was scarce. And even now, I will cut my now natural hair down to absolutely nada rather than comb it myself.
But then God straight trolled me by giving me not one but TWO little girls. Hoooooooomahgawd.
So, you will note that there are 3 female entities in my household–all with natural hair, all with different types of natural hair. Mine is the weirdest. I have every texture on the chart. My eldest daughter’s is the most fragile; on top of having alopecia areata, her hair is fine and soft and hard to style because it’s so smooth and silky. But the youngest? Glory to God in the highest, her hair is thick, coarse, and long. Beautiful, but dry. Long, but shrinkage. Healthy, but Jeeeeeeeeeesus! So red and dusty and moisture sucking.
My time is blood and her hair is a vampire.
I have struggled. God knows I have struggled. I have taught myself through prayer, Youtube videos, and natural hair blogs how to keep us all presentable. I have learned to slay. And yet, wash days for Ashleigh’s hair continue to simultaneously make me cuss and cry. So much hair. Soooooo many Saturdays lost. Soooooo many angry epitaphs. She even got the nerve to be tenderheaded, yo. My natural distaste for hair combing and her tears and sorrow at the mere mention of combing it make me want to give her a bald fade. I would get so frustrated that I would become angry, making the entire situation worse. She would cry even more, and I’d get even angrier.
Not a good look.
So I had to change my approach. Because when I am not combing it, I love her hair. It is really a jewel of blackness and who can be mad about that? I had to address my own feelings of inadequacy in dealing with it. Reality is that I was always afraid that she would look unkempt because I didn’t know how to care for her hair. Then I had to admit that the process took wayyyyyy longer than the time I was giving to it. Short of perming or straightening it (big fact NOPE), it takes more time to wash, condition, detangle, and style it. So trying to “hurry up” and do it when I had 1,000 things to do was not the lick. Try detangling that stuff with only a couple of hours to get it done. Shooooo. Never. I was yanking and pulling; she was crying and hating my guts and her own hair.
Not the goal AT ALL.
- I had to make it a priority and a pleasure for us both. So more Youtube videos, better products, and a calm hand. I learned how to detangle first. I learned how to finger comb. I learned what her hair loved and hated. I learned to be at peace with however it looked. I carved out the time for her hair, family schedule be damned. This IS on the schedule. We taking ALL. MORNING. So nawl, we not going nowhere today. Today is hair combing day.
And God bless it, it worked! She relaxed. I relaxed. The process became smoother. Her hair didn’t become more manageable but my feelings about it did.
And then God said, “Seeee. Add to your temperance patience, Kisha.” God is really the only ‘i told you so’ that I accept, lolz. I found my square to stand on and patience is doing her perfect work. Imagine that! Meanwhile, my vain little girl loves her coily hair and it is well with my soul.
I promise you, if you stop throwing tantrums in life for a minute, you can see all the ways that God uses where you are in life to build up who God sees you to be. You just have to be willing to pay attention.