Tonight I decided to dye my hair back to its natural dark brunette color. Never mind the fact that my hair was already brown – I was just desperately in need of a touch-up to my highlights and too lazy (and frugal?) to do anything about it.
Stick with me. There is a point to this, I promise.
Quite a few years ago I started getting highlights – whether they be red or blonde, they tend to work wonders for my fine, thin hair as far as texture and body goes. But I’ll confess to being absolutely horrific about maintaining them, and honestly have a hard time justifying the cost of upkeep. (Although I have a fantastic hairdresser and friend who does a great job for a great price, I must say!) So I have a track record of waiting for months with no touch-up job … and then picking up an at-home kit and to cover it all up. Somewhere amidst all the highlights, lowlights and such, I lost sight of what my real hair color was, and when I picked up a kit, it was always a medium brunette.
But this weekend as I was cleaning off an old computer and looking through pictures, I remembered (realized?) that my hair was once no “medium” brunette. It was a deep, dark brunette. So today as I was running errands, I picked up an at-home kit in a vibrant, dark brunette.
I don’t know what I expected. Perhaps I expected to let the dye sit for awhile and then after rinsing it out, look in the mirror and say, “A-ha! THERE you are!” You know – almost like I’ve been lost all this time and have magically reappeared.
Suffice it to say, that’s not what happened.
I rinsed the dye out and managed to avoid the mirror while I dried off, dressed, and combed through my hair … and then I looked. And the person staring back at me was a stranger.
Intensely dark hair. Wrinkles around the eyes. Freckles getting darker. Too much fat and too many pounds. Bags under the eyes. And did I mention deeply dark brunette hair?
I’m hoping I am not the only one who has those moments – those moments where suddenly you look in the mirror and don’t know how you got to that point or even who you are anymore, inside or out.
That’s because our identity doesn’t rest in the mirror.
Our identity rests in Christ and in Him alone. We have been adopted by, chosen by, and saved by Him. He adores us – and He defines us. Unless we are seeking Him daily and offering ourselves to His Master’s Hands for molding and shaping, we are bound to feel a little lost, to look in the mirror only to see a stranger staring back at us.
It’s hard most days to remember that. The world screams at us that we are defined in so many other ways. Age. Weight. Fitness level. Career. Marriage status. Income. The list goes on and on, and sometimes we flounder, wanting to be worthy, to be accepted, to be loved.
My friend, we are. You are. I am. Rest in this truth for awhile today: In Christ, we are made worthy, we are accepted, and we are loved. Outrageously.
(Just in case you’re still wondering, I remain uncertain whether or not I picked the right color – I’m thinking somewhere between the medium and dark brunette might have been just right. But there’s not much I can do about it either – so I am just going to make the best of it! And, who knows? Perhaps it’ll end up being wonderful.)