With God, all things are good

Tales from the front pew

With apologies to poet Robert Burns, “The best laid plans of mice and men (and daughters) often go awry.” I added the daughter part because my daughter, Val, recently had one of those “best laid plans” experiences.

A former hair stylist, Val has never been shy when it comes to cutting, curling and coloring.

A few months ago, she applied a deep cherry red dye to her natural dark blonde hair; but was less than pleased with the results.

This led to a decision to make a considerably more drastic change.

“I’m going to bleach my hair,” Val told us. “I’ve decided I want to be blonde.”

“Are you sure, honey?” I asked her. “It’s really pretty right now.”

Typically, Val’s dad was more to the point. “That’s an awful idea,” he told her. “It looks just fine like it is. You should leave it alone.”

I should probably note here that telling Val to leave something alone is akin to expecting a bull to ignore a red cape. Not gonna happen.

And so, Val headed to the drugstore and purchased a box of “Bleach Head” or “Pigment-be-gone” or whatever, came home and disappeared into the bathroom.

When she emerged half an hour later, we had to admit she’d made a good choice. The cherry red had been replaced by a more natural looking red with golden undertones that was very flattering to her complexion.

“Val, that color looks gorgeous on you,” I told her.

Even Bob agreed. “Your mom’s right,” he said. “I like this color better than before. Now, for heaven’s sake, leave it alone!”

Oops. Time to drag out that red cape again.

“But it’s not what I wanted,” she sulked. “I want to be blonde. Not strawberry blonde or reddish-blonde, but ‘bombshell blonde!'”

“I don’t know, Val,” I told her. “That red looks pretty explosive to me.”

Fast-forward to drugstore trip number two, where Val located a box of “Moonlit Mongoose” or “Albino-in-a-snowstorm” or something like that.

“This will be perfect,” Val said.

“You know, Val, too much bleach can be damaging,” I told her.

Bob, of course, was more direct. “All your hair is going to fall out if you keep putting that stuff on it.”

She didn’t listen. A few hours later I heard a panicked, “Mom, come look at this!”

I must admit that “bombshell” wasn’t the first thing that came to mind, however, her hair did resemble an explosion … of color.

There were patches of yellow, hot pink, deep purple and neon tangerine. She looked like a human fruit salad. Of course, only a truly insensitive person would tell her that.

“Val, your hair looks like a fruit salad!” I gasped. (So much for sensitivity.)

I have to give Bob credit, though. He refrained from saying, “I told you so,” but I suspect it wasn’t easy.

The following Sunday, Val went to church and found herself the center of attention … in a good way. Everybody loved her new look! Who’d have guessed?

The Bible tells us that all things work together for good to them that love God. Even fruit salad hair.

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