Every so often I get to give my husband a haircut. I've always loved his hair and I don't want any other woman running her fingers through it anyway.
My thrifty mom and mom-in-law both taught me to cut my family's hair to save money, not that I'm any good at it. But they're pretty easy-going. Mike says "Any haircut you can walk away from is a good haircut," so that mostly lets me off the hook when I've gotten distracted and grabbed the 1/4-inch guard instead of the 1/2-inch.
Or that one time when I got carried away and mowed the electric clippers too far up the crown and I'm not going to lie, unfair comparisons were made to Alfalfa from The Little Rascals
Easy going? Scratch that. Mike's a saint.
I do enjoy it, so that's something. I love to cut Dan's hair, although it's so curly and full of cowlicks that there's not much to be done to it. Natalie's stick-straight hair is simple to cut as well, although now she prefers going to the salon with Mommy and a special girls-only time.
Mike's is pretty straightforward. Clean-shaven neck, up off the ears, short sideburns, long on top so he can comb it to the side. It's straight and thick and between you and me, my friend, I linger a little over that haircut. Seventeen years in and it still has the power to make me sigh like a love-sick teenager.
But I never fail to notice there's a few more gray hairs than there were the time before.
Now, for a woman, that follicular transition can be rough. I take after my paternal grandpa and have had precisely one gray (actually white--oh dear, what does THAT mean?) hair so far, and I watch for others with a peculiar zeal. I've already been warned I cannot continue to summarily pluck out the next ones like I did the first.
Inexplicably, the silver in Mike's hair is only the more endearing.
It's not uncommon for the scissors come to a halt as I blink to clear my vision so I can continue.
I love that gray hair. LOVE it. It doesn't bother me at all. I would never change it.
Each haircut, you see, is a privilege.
This man chose to spend his youth and now his prime with me. He chooses to grow old with me. It is a choice, though he doesn't see it as one, and it takes my breath away that each and every day his answer is still yes.
For love of this man I am brought to my knees in profound thankfulness to the God Who thought it would be funny to put these two together and see what happened. His divine "experiment" has been the honor of my life, an unexpected miracle of mercy. I hope we make Him smile when He sees us, this crazy partnership that somehow makes sense and leaves us both (I hope) better together than we were alone.
Did you know there's verses in the Bible about silver hair? And they are overwhelmingly positive. Proverbs 16:31 says, "A gray head is a crown of glory; It is found in the way of righteousness." And Proverbs 3: 1-2 shares the reason why: "My son, do not forget my teaching, but keep my commands in your heart, for they will prolong your life many years and bring you peace and prosperity."
So, no. You can show me Grecian Formula and Just For Men commercials all day long and it won't change my mind. I wouldn't let Mike do that to himself even if he wanted to.
I fiercely love those grays and everything they stand for. I know how he got them all. Well, except those couple he had before we met (I'll have to ask him about those).