The Back-up Hairbrush

Sweetgirl sat still (SHE SAT STILL!) while I brushed her hair the other night.

She had come to me, moments before, clutching her beloved purple hairbrush. The one with the gigantic, princess-sized, colorful gems glued to the back. The one I bought her on a whim. No wrapping paper adorned it. She didn’t request it. It was one of those “Sweetgirl would love this!” purchases.

And, oh, how she did!

This sweet child of mine, so girly in her ways, so foreign to my own, adores this brush with every strand of her fine golden hair. Each time she asks me to “Brush, please, mama!” I stop mid-whatever and sink down to do it. Each brush stroke another fleeting moment spent with this cherished girl child that hardly ever holds still long enough to allow me this gift of time.

As she walked over to me, this particular night, the brush slipped out of her hand. I dove, volleyball style, to get my hand underneath and break the impact.

I’ve still got it, because I surely did save that brush from destruction.

Immediately, I thought, “I need to buy a back-up brush!”

And, why?

What if she drops it and breaks it and we can’t fix it and she’s inconsolable.

Yeah. That.

I resolved to head back to the store where I bought it as soon as possible and pick up another one. The next morning, I had a quick hour of freedom and made a break for it!

But, a funny thing happened on the way to the store.

God got a hold of my human capacity for worst-case scenario planning. He whispered into the midst of it, “There is no plan for death. Save, mine.”

And I heard it.

But, I didn’t understand it. Not really.

So, I kept driving.

Broken_Hairbrushes_Missindeedy

Pulling into the parking space in front of the store, I felt this check in my heart. A nudge to just sit still, like my Sweetgirl did, and soak in some valuable moments of listening.

You already know where this is going, don’t you?

“You can’t save her from heartbreak. I couldn’t save my Son from the very same.”

I was listening. God’s Holiest whisper finally penetrated my human understanding. “I gave you this little one not so that you could save her, but so that I could. Show her that I can save her. Show her that broken hairbrushes will not break her.

Oh, y’all. I’m crying as I’m typing because… I needed to hear that so very badly.

Do you, too?

I want to take each circumstance in her life and Sweetboy’s life and control it and maneuver it and make it right and straight and copacetic and pain-free.

But, I can’t, can I.

And, that’s not even my job.

I’ve been trying to do Someone else’s job.

Clarity can be startling. It surely was, for me, in that moment.

I may have put the car in park, but it was my mind that God needed to pull over. I’m so thankful that He did.

I’m never more aware of my continual need for His grace than when He’s whispering a lesson into my heart that He’s only had to teach me eleventy times over.

Indeed.

I didn’t end up going in to buy the back-up hairbrush.

She doesn’t need it.

I don’t need it.

Gemstones may crack. We may crack.

But, He’ll put us back together in exactly the way only He can.

I’ll just keep showing her.

And He’ll keep showing me.

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14 thoughts on “The Back-up Hairbrush

  1. Missy, you have no idea how much this has reached the depth of this mama’s heart. This is something that God has been telling me but it was louder than ever today. Thank you so much for allowing God to teach you this so than in turn you teach us!

    Side note: yup and I cried as I read it 😭😭😭😭

    • Sharon, yours and mine both, friend. Thank you for reading and reminding me that we all walk this road together – tissues and all!

  2. The joy of the simplicity of God’s truth is wonderfully freeing, isn’t it?!
    They are His, not ours, these little ones. But He loans them to us knowing we are still learning ourselves. We are all His children. ❤️

  3. Oh Missy, this is beautiful and so tender. Brings back memories of my daughter and how, when they were younger, I would brush their hair. I love how God teaches us through the simplest, every day things.

    • Thank you so much Barbie. I only wish He didn’t have to keep repeating the same lessons to this 40-something. Grace…

  4. This is, like, a super number 1 important parenting lesson. Of course, I always couched it in “Well, they need to learn to deal with disappointment”. I like your approach waaaaaay better.

    • I couldn’t agree more about the importance of this. God’s clearly still working on it, with me. Hoping my lil’ bit takes FAR less long to learn it!

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