When I began going gray at 29, I decided NOT to dye my hair. Because I’m blonde, my gray hair wasn’t that noticeable, except when it stuck straight up like a loose wire on a sculpted porcupine. Add to that my natural laziness and the desire to NOT add one more thing on my list of “Things To Do that Need To Be Done Over and Over” it was a no-brainer decision.
I have run into several complications. My own Mother has lighter hair color than I do. She winters in Arizona, so six months of sunshine does wonders for her blonde hair. I live in the PNW where we only dream that somewhere over the rainbow, there is sunshine. It occurred to me early on that I could end up looking like my mother’s mother instead of my mother’s daughter.
The other complication? Nobody warned me that gray hair doesn’t always grow in evenly, or all at once. I have a streak down the left side of my head. It’s not even in a place where I can spread the joy onto the other side of my head, like a woman’s version of the Comb-Over. I have new hair growing in on the underside that is wavy and slightly reddish-blondish, but more reddish than blondish. When my hair is wet and those stubborn curly red on the underside and wire-straight gray hairs on the top are protruding through the still-wet naturally blonde hair, I have this vile look like a dark poodle is trying to grow on my scalp.
My girls keep saying, “M –ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-m, just blow dry your hair then flat iron it. It will look SO nice.”
(You know, the longer it takes them to say your name is the measure of either how frustrated they are or how much money it is going to cost you when they finally finish saying your name and ask for what they want.)
But, what they are asking sounds like the worst form of torture to me. Spend time blow-drying my hair and then, basically, ironing it? Why? So I can look like them? No Way! The only thing worse than a mom acting like a teenager is a mom trying to look like a teenager. I may stoop to acting like one, but I will not look like one.
So, when I see this verse, I am reminded that the gray is really good. You see, this mess on my head, that is slowly turning a teensy bit more gray with each trial, trauma and year etched in my soul, is a reflection of something I cherish deep in my heart. My choice to not dye my hair isn’t just because of time and money, even though that plays a part. I choose to not dye my hair because it is a reflection of a spiritual desire to earn the gray. It can be a crown of glory if “it be found in the way of righteousness.”
Just because you are old doesn’t mean you are wise and just because you are gray doesn’t mean you are righteous. There are plenty of old, gray fools that lead unrighteous lives, and sad to say, some are in the body of believers.
As each situation arises that would stress my soul and bring on the gray, I purpose to trust in the Lord, rest in the Lord and cling to His Word and His promises, so that I learn wisdom as I age. At the end of my life I want to be found in the way of righteousness, so stuff on top is not just a frizzled, spiky sign of being on earth a long, long, long time, but is a crown of glory.
I also decided to stop pulling those random gray strands that wave good morning in the mirror.
I gotta stop messing with the crown in progress.