Let Her Hair Down

Yesterday got off to a bit of a rocky start. I missed my opportunity to shower because I slept in until the girls woke up, which means my tired self was jolted out of bed by loud joyful noises and the lights flipped on to full brightness. I started off feeling behind and overwhelmed. I needed a shower, but Russ had to leave for work earlier than expected. I had forgotten to get the way past due laundry folded so the girls didn't have any clothes to wear. I missed my chance to get my make up on folding clothes. Strike two against the home team. I threw on some running shorts that were more snug in the hips than I remembered and a t-shirt that wasn't quite baggy enough to hide the remnants that child bearing has left on my tummy. The girls and I struggled and wrestled through our morning.

Seriously, it was a bumpy morning.

With the girls dresses, hair braided, laundry put up, and a determination to redeem the morning with a little fun and productivity I told the girls to go put dance skirts on and handed them spay bottles and rags so that we could all clean together.

And then in a stroke of brilliance I downloaded "Shake" by Mercy Me and started dancing and cleaning like a complete fool; I don't even thing the term reckless abandonment covers it.

Then I almost lost it.

I my glance fell on Lily just as she had pulled her hair tie out of her freshly french braided hair.

What are doing? I just got your hair fixed? Why in the world are you taking it down?

Ugh. The words just flooded out. She looked at me a little confused and a little hurt that I would ask such a question.

I tried a again a little more calmly this time.

Lilybug why did you do that when we just got it fixed.

Because you looked beautiful dancing and I wanted my hair to swing too.

She thought I looked beautiful. She thought my hair that hadn't even seen a brush looked beautiful.

She thought letting my hair down and dancing around with all the freedom in my soul made me look beautiful.

Later when everyone was asleep for nap I couldn't help but have some deep reflection about how my little girls see me and how it effects them when I tear myself down. Or even when I don't say a word but I treat myself like I wasn't knit by my creators hands.

She saw the beautiful that God intended. The kind I could never see reflected back from my critical and static mirror and she wanted to be the same.

Lord please help me to become the kind of woman I hope she will become. Help me blaze a trail of freedom and courage for my girls in the way God meant for me to lead them.