Oh, what's next... combat boots?

Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,

It is getting harder and harder to be cordial with you, sir, when you are so obviously my archnemesis.  You are touring me through dark recesses and catapulting me into deep valleys.  I have found that if I forget to saturate my mind with His promises for one day, I easily lose sight of His goodness and soon plead Psalm 31:22, "I had said in my alarm, 'I am cut off from Your sight.'"  As soon as I catch myself feeling frantic for His hand, I then remember the second part of that verse: "But you heard the voice of my pleas for mercy when I cried to You for help."  Over and over again, my God's Word reassures overwrought souls like mine with verses like, "God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved" more often that not.  Sir, you know how to toy with my emotions, but my God is not so easily swayed by your influential devices.  Ha, Mr. Hodgkin's, my God even scoffs at your attempts knowing full-well your threats will come to naught.  Victory is a surname for my Lord and He will subjugate any arrows thrown against me.  I've said this before, but I will say it again: you have been warned, my friend.

Why so vicious today, you ask?  You have attacked and taken a precious thing this past week; thus, forgive my lack of fondness towards you, sir.  Thankfully, what you meant for harm has not hurt my confidence or rattled my spirit.  Instead, I am amazed at the consolation of my God who speaks tenderly to my heart and reminds me of the feminine beauty He has engrained in my very being.  Am I getting ahead of myself?  Sorry, it's just very clear to me I'm made to tell of His wonderful deeds, and sometimes I can't contain my outbursts... but I will try to slow down.

Like I have recently shared, particularly this past weekend, I noticed more strands of my red hair collecting on my brush than normal.  However, it was getting to the point where I would pull out my hair binder, and in doing so, would take a handful of my hair with it.  Gross.  One thing you may not know about me, sir, is I very much dislike loose hair.  What do I mean?  There are some that fearfully jump away from slimy reptiles out of disgust, and there are some that see a loose strand of hair and gag a little.  I am the latter.  To what extent?  I have a hard time swallowing angel hair spaghetti because of the close representation.  Simply stated, unattached hair grosses me out... more than the average person.  So when my locks started to disengage from my head, drastic measures needed to be taken... as soon as possible. 

A couple weeks ago at my oh-so-awesome church, a sweet, generous woman by the name of Dana Widman approached me about an interesting idea.  A friend of her's who had breast cancer started losing her hair, and instead of painfully dealing with this evident loss each day, she just shaved her head.  But here's the best part: instead of seeing this as a somber time, she instead saw this as an opportunity to celebrate.  To jubilate the obvious fact that chemo is working and invited her closest girlfriends to rejoice in this very reality.  Dana is a very skilled photographer and offered to capture my story if I chose to do something like this.  Hmmmm.  I decided to let this sink in for a few days, not sure if my friends would be into the idea or if it would just freak them out.  I got an answer the next day.

I was out to coffee enjoying BOGO day at Caribou with the thoughtful Jamie Francis and the congenial Rachel Otterness when I shared that my hair was starting to fall out.  I watched their reactions closely and was surprised to see Jamie look at Rach and say as if it was obvious, "Well, tell us when you shave it because we need to be there."  I wasn't planning on that kind of response and spoke back, "Really? You guys want to see that?"  Without a pause, Rach said, "Well, duh. We're your peeps, in this with you all the way."  After that conversation, done deal... I mean, when in Rome, right? 

So within days, a shaving party was planned: invites were sent out, activities were organized, and the RSVP's came flooding in.  I have to pause and tell you how great my friends are.  With just a couple days notice, 10 of my closest girlfriends rearranged their schedules, came with sweet notes and gifts, and acted like this party was nothing out of the ordinary.  Haha, never in my life would I have imagined myself hosting a shaving party.  Never would I have dreamed at age 23 my friends and I were to celebrate chemo.  I mean, seriously.  What does the Lord have in store by this bizarre path I have found myself traveling down?  Something beautiful, that's what.

The night before, I realized this was going to be the last time I would shower with my long hair (at least for this temporal season).  As I poured an overwhelming amount of shampoo in my hand (hey, it was my last time- had to live it up), I lathered up my hair with suds and paused.  I looked upwards, filled with a heavy wistfulness I've never before experienced and consumed with a deep longing for different measures, a different future.  Those who know me remember last summer when I chopped my hair to an assymetrical bob... big mistake.  As I've stated before, I'm a girl who loves side-swept braids and long wind-blown hair, so this was a very traumatic move.  I cried when I saw pictures of my old locks and resolved to again grow my hair out to the deep lengths it once was.  So much for that.  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and told the Lord I would trust Him.  He is good to me, sir.  You tempt me to get lost into a sad perspective of the present, when I am set on remembering His plans to prosper me with hope and a good future.  That's what faith is, sir.  Trusting not what is seen, but what is unseen... "being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" (Hebrews 11:1). I don't know why you scoff, mister; you just wait and see.

So Monday night, I celebrated like it was 1999 (such a great year, don't you concur?).  Dana came early to photograph some "before" shots and I strutted around like the model I've always dreamed to be.  She said, "Does it feel weird?  I'm going to be your paparazzi tonight."  I laughed back and joked, "You have no idea how awesome this is.  I keep telling my 3rd floor co-workers that I was made for the spotlight."  My mom rolled her eyes as she gave me one of her endearing looks (she knows it's true... I've always been pretty dramatic.  That's why my parents signed me up for dance as a child; I lived for the recitals and settled for nothing but the front row).  Soon, my dear friends showed up, and as we dug into the glorious $5 Pizza, these girls started to write letters that are marked for me to read each Monday I deal with chemo (kudos to Rach). 

Surrounded by some of my closest friends and family, I decided to do it and just stated, "Let's shave this thing."  With that, Cherie set up a chair, a gown, and her razor while I pulled out Psalm 91.  There is a background with this psalm, but overall, it's my victory cry, sir.  It's what I have read before my hospital visits, doctor's appointments, and it's what I read in the darkest of nights when fears overwhelm my soul.  As I read promises of His complete protection and claimed Him as my Defender and Guard, tears dropped on the already-crinkled pages.  Not because I was sad, sir, but because here in these pages, my God promises to answer me, to rescue me, to honor me, to guard me in all my ways.  How could that not stir my heart?  After I read the last line, my friends surrounded me and the fun began.  We turned up some Justin Bieber and a little Flo Rida and decided to experiment a bit before the complete shave.  I now know what I look like with a mohawk and as a "Pink-look-alike".... and let's just say, never going back.  However, much to my surprise, I saw that I could rock a pixie-cut and plan to do that as soon as my precious red hair grows to that length.  Finally, the time came... As the last pieces of my hair fell to the floor, I looked up to my God and the words of Hillsong sang throughout every fiber of my being: "Now unto the Lamb, who sits on the throne, be glory and honor and praise."  What's done is done... and it is surely done.  I looked back at my friends and heard words that still make my face wrinkle up as I try to keep in my tears: "Heidi! You are so beautiful. Your eyes are like...wow.  I'm so proud of you, girl. Your beauty is strong and evident."  I even got a few, "Man, you have a really nice-shaped head. You could totally rock the bald look."  Yeah... combat boots, too? Oh, yes... really pretty, girls.  Later, with their help, I learned how to put on a wig, and when I saw what volume I would soon have, I broke out in a huge grin (fine-hair girl problems... you wouldn't understand).  We ended the night making bracelets that would bond us together in rememberance to pray for me and against you.  If you want to experience the night through Dana's BEYOND-SKILLED photographs, feel free:

http://video214.com/play/OMBJQB3MWp5lJTyoFMjw0w/s/dark.

Let me tell you though, in the entirety of this night, Mr. Hodgkin's, my God held me as sure as a rock and His hands around me were more comforting than any cup of coffee ever would be (which is a big thing to say).  I did not break down.  Heck, I did not even shed a tear.  I embraced it and celebrated that chemo was killing you.  You will not last, sir.  This home you have made in my neck will soon be demolished and destroyed to bits.  When that happens, my friend, there will be no empathy from me.  There will only be further celebration.  My God has trained "my hands for war, my fingers for battle" (Psalm 144:1), and in this season, my attacks are aimed at you, Mr. Hodgkin's.  Let me end with the same word Courtney from The Bachelor used against Emily (please also hear it in the same tone), "Winning."  See, I knew there'd be real life application from that show.

Yours Truly,
Heid