When I was a little girl I hated to get my hair brushed. My mom and sister's would do it for me and be sure to get out all the tangles, but that came at the price of having my hair constantly pulled by their lack of gentleness, so I quickly learned how to comb my own hair. The only thing bad about that was I wasn't nearly as good as them with getting tangles out. You see, I was afraid of the pain of picking and pulling at my snarls, so I just avoided them. That seemed like such a great plan too, right up until the moment I discovered that if I just put my hair straight into a pony tail the moment I got up that I wouldn't have to brush it at all!
So for weeks, as a little girl, I went around with a bumpy pony tail on the back of my head that probably would have been cute if not for the fact that it was hiding a deep dark secret. You see for all the effort I put into not hurting myself while coming my hair, I was rewarded with a nice big, completely twisted snarl that just grew bigger and bigger. I knew if I told my mom I would be in trouble and she would immediately go back to combing my hair for me, so I didn't say anything. I just hid it in my messy pony tail until I couldn't hide it anymore.
That day came much sooner than I was hoping for when one summer afternoon my mom piled us all into the family station wagon and took us down to supercuts to get our pre-vacation hair cuts. To say I was terrified would be an understatement. I remember thinking that maybe the best course of action would be to just cut out the knot before we left, but in my attempt to do so I realised I would be cutting a huge chunk of my hair out, making it extremely obvious I did something wrong. So instead I chose to say nothing and pretending like everything was perfectly fine, right up to the hair dresser apologized to my mother and said she would not cut my hair until we worked out the matted mess I had going on back there. Six hours later, after having my head doused in detangler and constantly pulled and picked at while my mom worked out the knot, I finally had normal hair again (and a new appreciation for my mother's ability to put up with my ridiculousness!).
You'd think an experience like that at such a young age would be a constant reminder to me to not only NOT try to avoid pain, but also to admit my sin and get help the minute I sense a problem. Sadly, that's just not the case. So often I avoid the snarly parts of life. I push things off, important things like repentance, because I'm afraid of people seeing my sin. It's like I forget that every knot eventually shows it's self and that although it's painful coming out, it's always for my betterment. As I walk out my faith, I want to remember to walk in the light.....to not be afraid of the discipline of God or the correction of others. I want to be willing to admit my sin and know that I serve a God who can work out even the biggest knots I can twist....one snarl at a time.