A couple of weeks ago, I shared photos of the men from our small group at church shaving their heads in support of our eight year old friend JW, who was diagnosed a few months ago with leukemia.
Throughout the course of the last few weeks, I have been so blessed to watch the men & boys who participated, and to hear the stories of the conversations their haircuts have opened the doors to.
(And because I live across the street from JW and his family, I have just loved watching these four brothers come out to play baseball in their front yard with their matching haircuts.)
So, in general, those round fuzzy heads have given me a whole lot of warm fuzzy feelings lately.
But at the time of the Big Shave (and in the days following), Drew showed no interest in joining his daddy and the other members of the "No-Hair Club For Men". And I didn't push it. At four years old, it seemed to me that he just didn't understand the reason behind the gesture, and I really wanted him to do it only if he understood WHY he was doing it.
Yesterday, as several of my in-lawed family members were hanging out at our house, my brother-in-law offered to shave down my hubby's head again. They set up shop out in the garage, and as the clippers hummed to life, I noticed a strange smile spread across my little one's face.
"I wanna do it, Mommy!" he whispered.
"I wanna shave my head, too! I want to! Can I? Can I?"
"Of course you can!" I responded immediately. Wanting to ensure that he understood the WHY, I got down on his level and asked him a few questions, ending with "Do you know why you want to do this?"
"For JW.." he responded, emphatically.
With Daddy's permission, too, Drew made his way to the plastic green chair sitting on the garage floor. The men talked it over for a few minutes and decided that a scissor-cut was in order first, considering the sheer volume of hair resting atop my preschooler's head.
I went inside to grab scissors, a comb, and a camera, and felt a flutter of hesitation. I was so surprised. I thought, really thought, that as long as he understood his decision, I would be fully supportive, excited even. But walking through the house, gathering the tools to take all that hair away, I hesitated.
I thought about those beautiful blonde locks. The haircut I'd just paid for only 3 days earlier when I'd adamantly insisted that the barber take "NOTHING" off the top. I thought about all those mornings of mousse and hairspray and watching him thoughtfully decide how he was going to "do" his "do". Oh, that gorgeous hair.
That gorgeous hair that would grow back. I gave myself a quick "talkin' to". After all, I want nothing more for my son than to understand the beauty of this type of comraderie in Christ.
So, scissors in hand, I held my breath... and, moments later, a handful of thick golden locks.
Now, my son is pretty much back to looking like a little clone of his daddy. And I have a second & constant reminder to pray for our friend JW.
Because every time I rub one of those soft bald heads, I think about the medicine that is capable of causing hair loss and healing.
And I'm reminded to pray.
Please join me in praying for our friend. Tomorrow is another big day for treatment, and all his counts need to be high enough for the doctors to administer another dose of chemo.
I'll leave you today with that request.. oh, and this picture... of two of the most beautiful round heads I have ever set my eyes upon. I love these guys!