HAIR TODAY AND GONE TOMORROW

I learned two lessons when we arrived in Paris on Saturday for our week-long stay:
(1) We truly are always one decision away from joy.
(2) I truly do have a love affair with hairspray.

I should have prepared myself during our check-in at the Houston airport. Continental Airlines had just experienced a power outage, and attendants were manually checking bags while the lines of passengers all over the airport grew longer and longer. (Manually is the key word.)

When Mike, Lia and I arrived in Paris, the scene was almost comical. After Mike collected three of our four suitcases, we stood around with about 50 other passengers and stared intently at an empty conveyer belt. I don’t remember how long it was before Mike finally said, “I don’t think the other suitcase is coming.” Every single passenger was in denial. Not one of us believed we were actually dealing with LOST LUGGAGE. But Mike, ever the seasoned traveler, wisely sent me over to the lost luggage counter so I would be first in line JUST IN CASE.

The verdict was in. Our fourth suitcase was still in Houston. As Mike and Lia inventoried our bags so we could fill out a claim form, the horrified looks on their faces revealed the awful truth: the fourth suitcase was MINE!

It wasn’t the toothbrush (I knew the hotel was good for an extra one). It wasn’t even the makeup (I knew I could rummage through Lia’s supply and do a legitimate, even if more subdued, makeover). It was the HAIRSPRAY! I was mortified to think that I would do Paris with a flat head of hair! It’s just something this Southern and now Texan woman would never dream of having to endure! Why, last summer I managed to spend a week in London with a 220V hairdryer that barely whispered, and a week in Honduras with hair that had to be scrunched rather than do’ed, but with an arsenal of hairspray I still managed to keep my dignity properly pouffed!

So, there we stood at Charles de Gaulle airport, contemplating our lot in life. Mike solemnly confessed he would have given up his suitcase for mine if he could have. Lia offered up her clothes, pajamas, and even her prized Northface jacket. I wanted to pout. Or scream. Or just throw a genuine tantrum. Instead, I chose joy.

It was easy. I simply had to get over myself. The trip was, after all, about more than me. I had seven glorious days to spend with my generous husband and very funny daughter. We had arrived safely. We were all healthy. And Paris beckoned.

Not that it was easy. I had to constantly remind myself that it really wasn’t about me. When I donned Lia’s sweat pants (the only “big” enough clothes she could find in her luggage to fit me) and almost resorted to trying perfume (I mean, it’s sticky, isn’t it?) to get a little vavoom

in my flat-as-a-pancake hair, I had to try extra hard to keep smiling and I had to pray extra hard for a heavenly perspective. But it worked…I honestly forgot about myself or what I looked like. Later that evening, when we embarked on an amazing boat ride on the Seine River, I was actually giddy at the prospect of allowing my hair to blow in the breeze without having to give a thought to preserving my hairdo. And then, on our walk back to our hotel, it began to sprinkle rain, and I felt as free as a bird, walking without an umbrella without having to worry about my hair getting sticky with wet hairspray!

When my suitcase finally arrived the next evening, I had learned a lot about joy. It’s found outside ourselves. When we consider others first. When we look at our circumstances with an eternal perspective, meaning hardly anything we think is important matters as much as we think it does (the rule still stands: will it make a difference five years from now? If not, then it doesn’t really matter.)

This life really is about a whole lot more than having things go our way. At some point I think I finally began to get it...

"For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit." (Romans 14:17)

When I get my eyes off myself and focus on Christ, everything changes. Not necessarily my circumstances, but always my desires and many times my attitude. A bad hair day may be way down on the list of things that matter, but it can be a wonderful exercise in remembering the things that DO matter. When I turn my eyes on Jesus, the things on this earth really do grow dim. He matters. Relationships matter. Everything else will be gone one day. Including my mega can of hairspray.