We all have things we hope for. Some of these hopes are Jesus inspired… some of them aren’t.
My hair is a bit of a mystery. Although my mother and her two sisters both have curls, when I wake up in the morning I more closely resemble Don King than any of my relatives. The curly hair genetic factor seemed to get exponentially magnified when it was passed down to me. But that’s not really the mysterious element to my hair. The real mystery is the fact that it doesn’t grow past an arbitrarily short length. I’ve never had a hair cut in my whole life. And this means three things:
(1) I always win when I play the game “Two Truths and a Lie” with strangers;
(2) I’ve been told again and again that I’ve saved a lot of money over the years by not requiring haircuts; and
(3) I have always stood out. I guess a 4th interesting point is that my head often gets petted by strangers who are curious about the phenomenon that is my hair.
In elementary and middle school, I was regularly teased for my fascinatingly different locks. But, to be honest, my classmates’ pokes and prods rarely bothered me. I didn’t mind it when someone shaped my hair into spikes so that I looked like the Statue of Liberty – I simply extended one hand to the sky as though holding a torch and wrapped the other hand around as though embracing a tablet, and pronounced freedom and welcome to everyone around me. I didn’t mind it when I went swimming, and my friends (and sometimes strangers) asked me to flip my hair forward so that it piled on top of my head and came to a thick curl in the front with an uncanny likeness to Elvis Presley. Rather than get upset, I joined in the fun by belting out a round of “You Ain’t Nothin’ But A Hound Dog” while performing my best hip swivel. I was perplexed, but not dismayed, when I took a mission trip to Nigeria, and dozens of Africans followed me down the street to tell me in their beautifully lilting English, “Sister, come home. Come home to Africa.” They thought I was albino African and treated me as though I was a mystical unicorn or the Pied Piper. And I didn’t get annoyed when I spent my summers throughout college working at a Christian camp for children with special needs, and some of the counselors took to calling me “Fro-Wheezy” – a rather spastic blend of my last name (or at least the first three letters of my last name) and my hair's appearance. Even though I thought this nickname sounded like an asthmatic character from a 1970’s sitcom, I figured at least these new friends would probably remember me long after the summer ended.
If anything, throughout my life it has created an instantaneous connection and conversation piece. To this day, it is not unusual to be standing in line at the grocery store and have someone I’ve never met before ask me what my heritage is and then follow that question with, “Can I touch your hair?” While living in Asia, I was asked on a nearly daily basis if my hair had a perm. And when I explained that it was completely natural, I was rarely, if ever, believed. Asians love curly hair (since theirs all grow stick straight), so knowing where to get a good perm is valuable information. So the Asian women (and sometimes men) who asked me about my hair would then beg to know where I had it done – as though I was holding out on telling them a magnificent secret.
What I didn’t like about my hair was the lack of changeability. With hair that grows long, there seems to be (from my “outside looking in” opinion) endless options and possibilities. Long-hair-ers can choose to cut their hair at any moment into a vast variety of styles, shapes, and creative concoctions. They can curl their hair, straighten their hair, perm their hair, and color their hair. And since their hair grows, if some dastardly mistake is made, then no harm, no foul (or at least “low” harm, “less” foul) – because wait a few months, and that horrific haircut or bangs-chopping poor judgment call can just grow right on out.
But not for me. I’ve always feared dying my hair or using any sort of harsh chemical product – because if I destroyed my fro then I’d have to painstakingly wait for each strand to slowly replace itself with a new one. And so growing up, I struggled with the boredom of having hair that in essence is unchangeable.
Therefore, as a young child, I would occasionally (actually, consistently) pray for a miraculous change in my follicle future. I prayed that one day I would wake up and look just like Rapunzel – be able to throw down a bushel-full of hair. I prayed that all of my missed-out-on hair growth would miraculously happen in one fell swoop so that I, too, would suddenly have the options of a bob, a pixie, or a pony. I would sometimes dream of getting struck by lightning. As a 4 or 5 year old, I rationalized that if getting struck by lightning always fried people’s hair (as portrayed in cartoons), then since my hair already looked like it had been electrocuted, perhaps getting hit with a bolt of pure energy would cause my hair to grow straight and flowing. But, much to my young heart’s disappointment, no amount of prayer or hair product ever changed my hair’s status quo. And since I find wigs hot and horrifically uncomfortable (the few times I’ve worn them to costume parties), I’ve had to just settle in and accept my hair as is.
“Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.” (Proverbs 13:12)
We’ve all had hopes that have, until now, remained unfulfilled. For me, my childhood hope for long hair ended in disappointment, but as an adult, I don’t mind my hair so much. In fact, the unusualness that sits on top of my head gives me a strange ability to blend into multiple cultures. No one knows where I’m from (except that I’m obviously not Pygmy - this girl be TALL). Am I white? Am I African American? African? Mixed? Other? This “blending” has been nothing but beneficial in my work overseas because it has helped me to ebb and flow and be embraced and accepted by people of various colors and ethnicities. So, even when I didn’t understand it, God had a plan – for me and for my hair.
However, as an adult, I’ve had very real and deep hopes and desires that have not yet come to fruition. These are hopes that I have prayed for constantly – for years. For decades even. And I’m still… waiting.
While living overseas, whenever things were difficult, a friend of mine would regularly tell me to “do battle for my heart.” What she meant was don’t shut down. Don’t walk away from the processes of life OR the processes that your heart and emotions go through while in the throes of life. Don’t shut out the emotions – whether they be joy or disappointment, happiness or pain, but rather fight – to remain engaged with those around you AND with the Lord. I think the wisdom behind “doing battle for your heart” is that hopelessness is incredibly destructive. Hopelessness makes people either desperate and act in ways otherwise unfathomable, or it makes people despondent and not act when action is most needed.
I love how Proverbs 13 does NOT say that “not getting what you hoped for makes the heart grow sick” – because that’s not the case. Sometimes not getting what you hoped for is the best thing, the absolute biggest blessing that the Lord could grant you, me, or us. When I look back over my life, there are some stand-out things that I prayed and fasted for years over, that, when I reflect, I cannot thank God enough for not giving them to me. It is when we lose hope that things start to slide into the abyss.
Losing hope in something is just another word for distrust, I think. If I lose hope in an object, I start to distrust it – I distrust that it works or that it’s safe. If I lose hope in a person, I start to distrust in that person’s ability, in their care for me, in their consistency or dependability. So, if I lose hope in God, lose hope in His desire and ability to answer my prayers, to bless me in great and glorious ways, to listen to and care about even the tiniest places of my heart, and to do what’s best for me, then I start to distrust in my Creator. That means I start to try and take over and take control. I walk away from God, while at the same time try to become God. And I will always fail when I try to be the Almighty. All the while, my heart gradually will become more and more disgruntled with Jesus, increasingly bitter, exhausted, disillusioned, angry, disparaging, anxious, frustrated, aloof, distant, cut off, and… sick. There is this miraculous connection between hope and joy – the joy that comes from knowing and truly believing that there are better days ahead (even if those days won’t happen until Eternity), that Someone has your back, and that you are not forgotten. It’s like my friend said, "The heart is worth fighting for." Having hope so that your heart does not grow sick is worth doing battle over.
We all have that "one thing." That one thing that we are still waiting on. Maybe that one thing is a totally God-given desire. Maybe it’s not. My desiring long hair as a child was based on vanity, insecurity, and comparison (and boredom I suppose). Having long hair probably wouldn’t have drawn me closer to my King, and might have even distracted me away from Him. So, I use that example to encourage you to take your hopes back to Jesus. Ask Him what your hopes should be. Ask Him if your hopes are glorifying to Him, if they are what are best for you, and if they will help you to fall more in love with Him. Because there is absolutely nothing more satisfying, more encouraging to our hearts, or more energizing to our lives than being more and more in love with Him. And if your heart has grown a little “sick,” then do battle over it. Fight for hope.
Remember that if there is any area of your life where you are feeling hopeless, then that is an area of your life where the enemy has spoken a lie to you, and you are currently believing that lie. Because our God is nothing but hope. He is all about hope. He commands hope and is hope itself, and is the giver of hope. Don’t agree with the lies our enemy has placed in your mind, heart, and soul. Fight for your heart. Do battle for HOPE!
Amanda Wherry serves as Children's Therapy TEAM's Faith-Based Program Coordinator. She is a local and international advocate for individuals with disabilities and their families. She spent nearly 7 years in a remote area in central Asia developing a hospital pediatric therapy program with teaching in physical, occupational and speech therapy as well as NICU therapy. read more