Okay, you might think this is a rather random title for a
blog entry of a cross cultural worker in Europe. But read on, and you’ll see that tinfoil, in fact, is an
amazing instrument for bridge building.
It’s time for highlights, as in hair highlights for this 50
something year old who is trying to get beefed up with enough hair color to
last the long, grey, wet, rainy
winter months that lie ahead of us here in Belgium. Over the years, I have gone to hair
stylists in fancy salons, in people’s homes, right across the street or 30
miles away. My favorite hair
stylist in my life??? It’s the one
who’s working on my hair in the moment.
I recently switched to a cheaper salon but the cost wasn’t the factor
that was motivating me the most.
It was, and is, all about relationship building.
Z. is the mom of a young woman who is faithfully learning
how to follow Jesus. Z's daughter
recently made a public statement of her faith by immersion in water, and we
rejoice in seeing God at work in her young life. I had visited Z’s hair salon during the summer, was really
happy with the results, the price was right, and it’s a short jaunt into
Antwerp where the shop was located.
Bummer when I was getting ready to go again, this time to add highlights
to my hair styling requests, when I found out that she no longer was working in
the salon. Good that I’m still
connected to her daughter, because I then received an invitation for a color
and cut in the comfort of her home.
You need to know this one thing about me and my hair: back in my years in Chicago, I had the
best hair stylist ever. Sue was a
childhood friend, and always knew what to do with my hair. She encouraged me to get highlights
early on in those days when my grey hairs started to appear (years ago
already!), and she accompanied me on my wedding day and helped me to be the
elegant bride that every girl dreams of in her lifetime. So I’m the first to admit, I’M
SPOILED!!! I love to get my hair
cut by someone I know and trust, and speaks my first language.
Yet in my years abroad, away from Sue, I have learned from
my colleague Hannah not to stress over my hair. “Be adventurous, Barb.
Hair always grows back and color eventually grows out”. So, for all the times that I’ve trusted
a hairdresser here and letting my hair grow back and color grow out, it was
time to trust Z. with “ashblond”. Once we figured out where we were going with this hair coloring adventure (remember this: both Z and I are using a common language that neither one of us is very good at, so it was a bit scary for me to say "ga maar, je mag beginnen, ik ben klaar", Flemish words for "go on, you can get started, I'm ready!"), she cut tinfoil, as in many squares of tinfoil, to get ready for the fun.
She ended up not using the tinfoil that was so carefully cut
and prepared, but used a plastic cap on my head full of holes (kind of looks
like a bathing cap that I should wear in the public swimming pool!) The end
result: it’s a bit blonder than
what I was planning, but it makes me feel young. And here’s what’s even more important than how my hair looks
in this story: Z. took her time
doing my hair, but she also took her time sharing her life story and her fears
and disappointments, her questions about Jesus and her daughter’s new found
faith. What intense and immense
joy was mine when, as I got ready to leave, we had the chance to pray together,
praying for God’s blessing on her home, for God to give her wisdom in raising her children, and to
pray for Jesus to speak to her heart.
In the end, it really isn’t about the tinfoil!
And for those inquiring minds that want to know, here's what ashblond looks like for now...
