My sister has great hair. Thick, healthy, lovely. Lucky girl! When we were kids we would brush, braid, or even just run our fingers through each other's hair. It was an act of service, a demonstration of affection, and a reminder of love.
When my alopecia started rapidly progressing again several years ago, she found ways to brush my hair anyway. When I had short, patchy hair, she bought me a super soft brush and brushed what was still there. When it fell out completely, she started giving me a head massage through a softy hat or right on my bald head, depending what I was wearing that day.
No matter how much I long to have hair, and even on days when envy gremlins climb into my mind and try to cause trouble, I will always, always run a brush through hers.
Sometimes even simple acts of love and service can be a little uncomfortable. Honestly, I imagine rubbing someone's bald head has to feel a little weird to her. She does it anyway. Running my fingers through luxurious locks that I can only dream of feels a little weird to me. I do it anyway.
This is a tangible reminder to me that sometimes love involves the willingness to be uncomfortable and prioritizing someone else's needs over our own. It makes me wonder who else's hair I should be brushing (figuratively speaking) in the crowds of humanity surrounding me. God, give me eyes to see them and the willingness to reach out and serve.
Who has been brushing your hair lately? Who needs you to pick up a brush?
Hugs today,
Lindsay
