I remember a time when I was very little, riding in the car on MLK day with tons of tiny braids in my hair, wondering if it was ok for me as a white kid to be wearing that hairstyle on that day.
Braids are the poor man’s method of crimping your hair, and so as a child of the ’80’s, I grew up having my hair braided and practicing on myself and my sister.
I remember having my mind blown at around age 11 when I learned how to French braid.
I’ve had short hair for most of my adult life, but once I started having curly haired kids, I started braiding again with a vengeance.
It took a while to get the hang of straight parts and pulling hair tight enough to get a nice clean braid, and I’ve still got plenty of room for improvement, but I have gained some confidence. I have three girls, so I’ve gotten a fair amount of practice.
I started feeling a little insecure again when my son grew his hair out and started asking me to braid it. He shows me a photo from the internet that he wants me to copy, then mansplains what I’m looking at, but stops himself when he realizes what he’s doing.
Last week, I posted about how I met my husband. I’m not a superstitious person, but it still sort of felt risky, in a way. When you talk about how good things are, that’s when it typically falls apart, right?
Just days later, shit hit the fan.
I do my cussing sparingly, but there is just no other way to put it.
It kind of amazes me that we could have been living together as teammates and life partners for more than 11 years and hadn’t been able to peel back the layers. Honestly, we hadn’t been forced to. It was easy to assume we could get away with not doing it.
But then we had to.
I’ve talked about trying to fill spiritual holes with physical items. I’ve talked about knowing something in one moment, and trying to stay firm when I no longer feel sure.
I posted about that infernal raincoat, and suggested considering not purchasing any clothes for a year. In fact, I was doing a trial run of it. Then I realized the new pants I got when I was doing the Curated Closet process, I unwittingly purchased before I was done losing the baby weight.
Recently, I was braiding my teenage son’s hair while we watched Rogue One.
The droid said, “Congratulations. You are being rescued. Please do not resist.”
I thought, Boy. That sounds a lot like my faith walk. Let me write that down.
It was a little weird for Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day to fall on the same date this year.
I didn’t grow up observing Lent. Well, I did, but not the way I look at it now. We never talked about giving anything up for Lent at my house. We went every Tuesday during Lent to one of the 6 or so churches in my tiny village, and learned how other people worshiped God. In college, I had friends who observed Lent, but they always gave up things like chocolate, or chapstick, and I didn’t really get it.
As a Catholic by marriage and an adult, Lent looks a little different now. I take my kids to Ash Wednesday prayer. I seriously consider what to commit to or give up during Lent. One year right after having a baby, I committed to exercising every day. Another year I gave up Facebook, and it was wonderful. It may have been the taste of freedom that allowed me to give it up for good.
This year, as I continue through this season of feeling inadequate and overwhelmed too much of the time, I didn’t know what I could do for Lent that I could actually commit to and that would have the desired result – to draw me closer to God.
