Curlz, Cuts by Us, & Other Connects

During my beloved’s layoff, my hair turned dark brunette, via oil-of-avocado pour, shake, and squeeze colorant. Today my husband returns from a Texas work trip. His earnings are steady. Our pantry bulges. And my gray hairs vigorously emerge.

The week we closed on our new house I thought I’d get those aged curls hid. I couldn’t go to the fancy place my dear realtor recommended. Still in a cheap, home-sick grumpy funk, I drove to one nearest our new home, aptly named, “Cuts by Us.” Fast cut franchises hurry harried customers through. Mary, however, took the time to talk with me and examine my hair.

“You don’t have that much gray,” she observed. “Why don’t you let your natural color grow back, before I put highlights on?”

I shrugged. She snipped.

My sisters will cringe when they see my bangs next month at Cutie Patootie’s first birthday soiree. Doesn’t matter. Three time zones from well-meaning siblings, 600 miles from friends, God let me release pent up thoughts. In the barber chair I got real about life, the move, my melancholy.

Two stylists,with no customers, overheard and told me how nice “livin’” was in a small town. They left the traffic and crime of big cities. Mary, however, never lived anywhere else. She longed for the franchise to move her from the town I did not want to move to.

Mary and me, blonde and brunette, rural, suburban, we connected. And it was good.

Though my beloved had employment, my two kids still needed jobs with assistance. We tried Google and phonebooks. Buddy’s Ohio MRDD counselor tried, yet failed find out where to send the records. Each state in America has peculiar bureaucracies that use peculiar acronyms. I finally determined that MRDD services in Ohio are really DDMR services in Georgia. No wonder we couldn’t find a Google link!

Mary didn’t know her state’s acronyms. But she told for whom she stayed put: a grown special needs sibling with an aging parent as guardian.

On her card she scribbled the names of two local places that served special persons. Through one of those places we received the papers needed to work with the right agency. And when Buddy’s flustered counselor called me, I could give him the name and contact number.

Ever dream for the weekend on a hard Wednesday? Ever dream of the southland when the cold season hits? Ever pray to escape this tragic world for a better one...?
I could curse my melancholic makeup. But the One who made me blesses through it. At the right time in what I consider the wrong place, He ever reminds me, “I will show you how much I love you and those you love... here and now.”

His poet assures us...wherever we are,

“Since ancient times no one has heard,
no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you,
who acts on behalf of those who wait for him... (Isaiah 64:4)

As for my ancient curls (to be continued)...

Deep South Eco-Spiritual

Three weeks and one day ago, I sat on the marble fireplace stoop, the only chair in a vacated house. Sunlight blushed the beige walls peach. From this perch I viewed three chandeliers, antiqued bronze with four, five, and nine lights around the fixtures. Each singular metal curl held a cup that cradled a frosted, glass shade?greater elegance with less frou-frou.

Three weeks and one day ago Buddy and his sister's voices echoed from the master bedroom. On the Frieze carpet my twenty-something, adult progeny scratched pencils and notepads to nail killer Colonel Mustard in the dining room with the wrench.

I expressed shock and laughed. Central air chased the humidity from my skin. I tossed my sandals off so I could wiggle my toes on the faux oak flooring. Except for spider webs and dust bunnies, the house looked squeaky-clean empty.

As I sat my in-laws called from vacation to say how they "thoroughly enjoyed Crater Lake." In Northwest America, the Maker formed this lake by hurling a meteorite into the mountain, carving out a space, deep and empty. In that emptied space heaven's rains filled with peaceful waters that nurtured firs, plants, and wildlife. It's become a place of supernatural elegance.

Week four in our Deep South abode, we've filled the emptied home with furniture and decor, attempting to do more with less. We came with Pods of stuff. But as we packed, we took a hard look at what not to bring.

Sure I'll still window shop any day I can; it's my kind of exercise. In the lean jobless months, however, I've learned to hone the art of shopping. I pray God's help to spend less gas and money on things. Even this second September week we continue to donate what we oddly considered "treasures" to keep.

You don't need to be green or buy green to turn a home into an ecological haven. Our house has homeowners' association covenants we must abide by to live here. The true Owner has greater covenants upon us: to steward, diligently care for what He gifted to us.Neglect and trashing are not part of the agreement. The earth and all in it belong to the Only One who can save it.

My hope is to allow this deep Southern space to be sanctified, uncluttered, a place of peace and heaps of love.

What's your heart's desire for your given spaces (house, apartment, farm, ranch, business, or hut)?

Lord, anoint our given spaces, that they be eco-spiritual. Carve them of selfishness and stuff. Instead, let our places become open and airy, where the Holy One breathes, where love resides, where Grace overflows to touch a world of needy people. So be it.

"For the earth is the Lord's and everything in it." 1 Corinthians 10:26