Cry My Hand Full

First published February 23, 2009

The Saloon...(Salon)

I couldn't put it off any longer. I was beginning to look like a sheepdog. I needed a haircut. Last month, our family met a friend at the Nile Hilton. While we were there, I noticed that they had a salon. I inquired as to their services and their rates and decided that this would be a good spot to start a new haircare regimen.

Thursday, I called and made an appointment for Aria and me. I began to get a bit excited because this was so normal. A haircut...how gloriously boring. 

After 6 weeks of nothing routine, this was highly anticipated.

 I woke up Saturday thinking we could make a day of it. We'll go a little early, get some lunch, get a haircut and look around the shops. Yes, a happy day.

John walked over to me and said, "If you don't mind, I'm going to beg off today. I'd like to brush up on my Arabic. I'd just be sitting in the lobby waiting for you anyway."



Under different circumstances, this would have been perfectly fine. Afterall, I had never in 21 years of marriage asked him to accompany me to a haircut before. But this was different. I told him that would be fine and unbelievably he believed it and walked back to his desk.

I closed the door to our bedroom and stood there. Soon tears were welling up in my eyes as I wondered what in the world was wrong with me. I sat on the bed and cried some more. 

My grandma used to look at me when I was crying, hold out her hand and say, "Cry my hand full." I would lay my cheek against her hand and have a good cry. I needed someone to say that to me now. What was my problem? I began to create a list:

1. I do not know where the Nile Hilton is.
2. I can't tell my taxi driver how to get there.
3. What if my taxi driver gets lost?
4. What if he's a cranky taxi driver who just stares darts at you in the rearview mirror the whole way?
5. What if I get a bad haircut?
6. What if I can't find my way back from the Hilton?
7. What if I get into an argument with the taxi driver about the amount to be paid?
8. Why would my husband choose Arabic over the mental well-being of his wife?
9. Why is he letting me bawl my eyes out and not coming in to check on me?
10. Why did God think that I could even do this?



Wash and Rinse

With each thought and question, I cried some more. Finally I got a hold of myself and asked John to talk with me. I used to wait until he "felt" or "sensed" that something was actually wrong, but I didn't have hours (or days) to wait or the energy to give obvious, but secret signals.

I explained to him all the varied emotions I was having. (The pieces of shredded Kleenex on my face were a MAJOR clue...) Immediately, he wrapped his arms around me and assured me that he would be more than happy to go with me. Then I felt ashamed at being so weak. He smiled and told me that it wasn't weakness to feel this way and that if I were a bit fragile then he'd do whatever was necessary to help me. 

Yes, he's an amazing man. 

He promptly went downstairs and got small bills for the taxi ride. He packed his laptop and his earbuds so he could study while he waited for us. He hailed a taxi and we arrived at the front door of the Nile Hilton just as planned.



We ate lunch together and then he went on to the lobby while the girls and I headed to the salon.

A woman greeted us and gestured for us to go upstairs. A man in his fifties was waiting for us. (This is a major bummer since I was hoping for a woman.) He washed, cut and styled Aria's hair first. She just got a trim so she had minimal potential for disaster. He meticulously blowdryed her hair into bouncy fullness.

Bint Gameela (Beautiful Girl)

I came next since Emileigh decided that she didn't want a cut. He gave me the same shampoo treatment and then proceeded to work on the cut. He pulled up fairly large amount of hair and lopped it off with something slightly smaller than hedge trimmers. I thought, "Well, this is just the first trim. He'll come back with a smaller more precise pair of scissors for texturing and such."

Lop. Lop. Lop. Hair was flying and he kept looking at me for reassurance. What could I say? "I love the way you're cutting large amounts of my hair in no particular pattern." I smiled and waited.

The large scissors were put away and he reached for the blowdryer. Blowdryer? We're done? No little snips here and there?

He did a quick all over dry and then pulled out some little hair clips. He deftly clipped sections of my hair up on my head so he could easily access the lower layers of my new cut. He dried and dried and dried. He'd remove a clip and dry some more.

Finally he had everything just the way he wanted it. He pulled the blowdryer out one more time and did an all over shot and made my hair look like it went through a wind tunnel.

He pushed and pulled and flicked my hair until it was just as he wanted it. He sprayed it with hairspray and asked me how I liked it.

I looked in the mirror and smiled. "Kwy-ees," I said meekly. It was "good." Good in the fact that I wasn't bald and good in the fact that I still had bangs.

I thanked him and made my way downstairs to pay. I shot the girls a look and they were doing everything they could to keep from laughing.

I paid the lady and promptly asked the girls to lead me to the nearest restroom. We went inside and I asked them what they thought. Emileigh answered, "You remember Julie Andrews when she was in

Julie Andrews?

'The Sound of Music'?"

Aria said, "It's like a pixie cut."

Just when I thought I would burst into tears, they both piped up..."It makes you look younger. I don't know why, but it does."

Call me "shallow," but it worked. I looked at my reflection and decided I could work with what was left of my hair.

We met John out in the lobby. He was still working on his Arabic so we left him to seek out a consolation pastry. We shared a dessert and decided it was time to go home.

We piled into the taxi and made our way home uneventfully. Something so easy became something so large and unmanageable to me. It shook me up. But as I sit and type this at the end of the day I realize that I shouldn't seek "normal" or "easy." When something is "normal" and "easy" I immediately default to self-reliance and self-sufficiency. Only when something is obviously beyond my ability, control or foresight do I genuinely depend on the Lord.

So for now...I'm good again. My hair is cut. My husband is awesome and Jesus offers His hand to me and allows me to rest my face in His palm and cry.