All Types of Radical

Coffee warmed my insides as I sat calm and quiet at my clean kitchen table this morning. After days of constant activity, I've been nesting in the confines of my home. And it's been good.

My stairs are vacuumed; my dresser cleared; and a few random photos hung. Our family is growing and photos need updating - one in particular.

A phone call mid-week last week, left me numb. For a short while.

I had taken Debi's eighty year old mom, Winnie, to lunch to give us both a break from hospice. A severe case of miscommunication led to three restaurant attempts before we settled on a food choice. Hungry and tired, angst settled into satisfaction with each swallow.

Just as a genuine smile returned, my phone rang. Sammy, my 20 yr. old married son, said, "Hey mom, are you free tonight?"

Not sure how I should prioritize my time, I said, "I'm not sure. What time?"

"About eight o'clock."

"Are you coming to my home?"

"No," he replied, "You'd have to come to Atlanta, to our home."

"What's going on?" I blurted.

"Well," he hesitated, "Courtney has struggled with her looks for a long time. And she wants to do something radical. She realized recently that if God called us to missions in a foreign country, she's willing to go, no question. But if God called her to cut her hair, she would cry. When she recognized that she values style and look based acceptance, she wanted to tackle the insecurity. So she decided to shave her head and I'm going to shave mine too to offer support. And you're invited."

Blood drained my face and pooled in my toes. No longer hungry, I stammered, "Are you sure about this, Sam?"

"Yes mom. We're going to do it."

Silence.

I knew right then that there was no changing my son's mind. So I ended the call with,  "I  have a few things to say, but I'm sitting here with an eighty year old woman whose daughter is dying across the street. So I can't really talk about it right now. I'll call you later."

Winne looked at me with big eyes, wondering what the fuss was about. When words finally formed, I explained that I'd just been invited to watch my son and his wife shave their heads that evening. Laughter ensued. Comic relief in the midst of the storm.
 
I called Don. Drove Winnie back to hospice. And then called my oldest son who spoke truth, "Mom, it's harmless. If they want to shave their heads, let them do it." (Not that I had any choice!) "Of all the radical things they could do, this is minor. Let it go."

With much more pressing issues only a short distance away, I called Sam and told him that I loved them with or without hair and promised to support them no matter what they chose.

I was soaking in a hot bath with Epsom salt when they called to tell me the deed was done. Nathan arrived soon after with photographic evidence... evidence I now have permission to share. After fielding a host of questions from her Bible Study gals and spending time in praise and worship with both of their friends, the cutting and buzzing began.

I visited with my niece, Jessica, last Saturday. We swapped stories about suffering since she just arrived home after serving six weeks in Kenya. As she walked out the door, I heard myself say, "You know Jess, we're all radical in our own ways. I just spent a week in hospice. You spent a summer helping missionaries in Kenya. Dad is running for political office at the age of seventy... and Sam and Courtney just shaved their heads to grow deeper in their relationship with Jesus - to risk acceptance on earth for greater acceptance from heaven."

And after spending more time with the shaved heads, I'm super proud of their type of radical. I'll wrap my arms around them any day and claim them as my own. Cause I have a feeling there's more radical to come. And that's just a good thing.

photo credit: danmachold via photopin cc