My friend’s hair was shorter than usual, and she confirmed she had recently visited a salon. We were huddled on a porch trying to reestablish warm familiarity, after not seeing each other for many weeks. This was our first meeting following an uncomfortable break in communication. It was chilly and the rain was steadily falling on the metal roof overhead. Conversation was uneven until the awkwardness between us eased. My friend’s hair was damp from the raindrops that fell as we scrambled for cover. I noticed one lock in particular that bore the blunt cut of scissors, and suddenly I was carried back to an unpleasant memory at age 16.

I should have been on guard that day when my aunt invited me to go to the beauty shop with her and did not include my sister. Aunt Lucy had been going to Jackie’s shop for a while and, uncharacteristically, she offered to take me with her for a haircut. I was happily surprised at this gesture of kindness from her and accepted.

The drive was short and pleasant to Jackie’s shop in her home, a large brick house built in the 30s-40s. My mind was shuffling through images of several trendy styles, while my aunt’s hair was being colored and she caught up with her friend on the latest news. I took my turn in the chair with excited anticipation. I had worn a shag haircut through junior high school but wanted something different, now that I was allowed to date, and had finally decided on a pixie style. Jackie’s hands worked quickly while continuing conversation with my aunt. When she eventually turned the chair around so I could see my reflection in the mirror, I was horrified. She had butchered my hair with uneven chops. The cuts showed glaringly on my straight hair, reminiscent of the ugly haircuts my stepmother forced on me as a young child when I was ridiculed at school for looking like a boy. The associated emotions came tumbling into my consciousness with almost unbearable pain. I remained speechless, knowing I would cry if I opened my mouth to speak. Despair settled over me as I studied my hideous hair in the mirror, imagining how my friends would react at school.

Jackie led us outside to a small carriage type building in the backyard, situated on the alley that coursed through the neighborhood. It appeared to be of the same time period as the house. I was confused. Why were we looking at this building? Perhaps she was going to rent it and wanted my aunt’s opinion, as my aunt rented out the extra bedrooms in her house. There were three rooms–a combination living room/bedroom, a kitchen, and a bathroom. The ceiling in the main room was cracked and sagging. The rooms were minimally furnished. My heart almost stopped when I heard my name mentioned. What was going on? I had been in such private distress about my hair that I was not following their words.

My aunt was making arrangements to move me to this dreadful place. Overwhelming rejection consumed me as the true reason was revealed for my aunt’s invitation. She was planning to move me out of her house and had found a place to dump me. It was ugly and cold. My initial shock had now morphed into blinding fear. How would I live? How would I get to school? What would happen to me?

I once again looked at my friend’s hair, remembering the terrible haircut, the lack of love from my aunt, and the hopelessness of my future at that time. My mind returned to the present and I smiled at my friend in response, who was unaware of my jump down memory lane. We parted with warm words and hugs, happy and relieved to be united once again.

Later in the afternoon, I revisited the haircut memory and reviewed God’s work in my life, rejoicing in the healing love of Jesus. Psalm 27:10 says, “Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me.” I recognized the pain of the past and how it had affected me, but now understood this was no longer attached to me. I could identify it and remember it without experiencing the old hurt and negative emotions. Through the love of Scott and his subsequent move to heaven, God has revealed love and acceptance far beyond what I knew was possible. I am eternally grateful for God’s rescue of this once unwanted and unloved daughter. As only He can, He has replaced the pain of my past with the joy of relationship and discovery of Him. He is working continually to transform me into the woman He created me to be, and I embrace His process.