Thoughts on Going Silver

There's an adage that says you shouldn't grow out your natural hair color until you're ready to look your age. The truth is I've colored my hair for so long that when I started to think about growing it out, I didn't even know what my natural hair color was. I knew it wasn't the golden brown with two tones of blonde highlights that I'd been wearing, but my silver roots always seemed like a problem to take care of, not something I'd let flow out of my scalp.

Then I turned 65 and reality checked in with me. It pointed out that my silver roots were a clue to the color of my hair without dye. So obvious, right? I began to see that having totally silver hair might be really lovely and freeing.

I have a friend, Jenny MacLaggan, who is probably ten years younger than I am. She's lively, has great style, is in shape, and lots of fun. She cut her hair short and grew out her color, which turned out to be salt and pepper with a swath of white in front. It looks fabulous! And what about Michelle Abrams? She grew hers out and looks like she has relaxed into the fullness of her amazingly artistic, creative, intellectual self.

I also looked at my mom who has been complimented on her naturally platinum hair for as long as I can remember. She tells me things like, "A man at the restaurant today stopped to ask me if my hair color is natural, that it looks so beautiful." She's turning 93, so having white hair isn't totally unexpected, but it does look beautiful. So, I told myself, "Self, your hair might look gorgeous like your mom's if you give it a chance!" And while I don't want to look like my mom (since she's almost 93), and having men stop to talk about my hair in restaurants sounds awkward, I do admire her hair color.

I decided to give it a go. I looked at it as a midlife (if I live to be 130) opportunity for change. This would be a daring transformation that would cost me less than nothing. And if I didn't like it after I grew it out, my hair stylist would be thrilled to welcome me back to the coloring chair.

Six months ago I started the adventure and I'm so glad I did. It's true that I look my age, which is actually a relief because now I can embrace the years I've earned. Good for me that I'm 65! People say you're only as old as you feel, and I feel 65 - in the nicest possible way. I'm glad I no long have the pressure of trying to look like I'm younger than I am. I feel free to be my age and enjoy it, whatever that might look like.

Here are some thoughts to share with you on going silver. Ponder the wisdom, dear friends. Your roots might be trying to talk to you!

1.  Call your new hair color silver, not grey.
2.  Notice women with attractive silver hair and talk to them about it.
3.  Believe the fact that going silver is a trend, because it is!
4.  Don't give up until your color is all the way grown out; a short haircut helps.
5.  Enjoy not having roots! Yea!
6.  Buy clothes and makeup in colors that go with your new look.
7.  Rejoice over the time you're saving by not going to the salon every three weeks.
8.  Open a savings account for the money you're saving by not coloring your hair.
9.  Embrace the idea that you earned your silver hair.
10. Gather compliments by pointing out your silver hair to everyone in your life.
11. Have fun on your hair adventure!

Finding Words When Our Friends Were Murdered

Last month I was asked to say a few words at a luncheon for 200 women. The event took place just six days after a neighborhood couple, known and loved by many of us in the room, was murdered. Most of those who didn't know the two personally knew their extended family, so we all felt connected in heartbreaking ways with the family's tragedy.

I had a couple of days to prepare for the short talk but everything I thought of saying sounded trite and cliche and naive. Over the years I've had four close friends die of cancer. With each one there was time to reminisce, laugh, cry, and ultimately say goodbye. But murder has no process. It's shockingly sudden, senseless, lawless, and cruel.

As I struggled to find words, I wondered if what the group needed most was a safe place to sit together as a community and be sad. We needed a time and place to stop asking questions, speculating, analyzing - and grieve instead.

When I walked up to the podium the room fell silent. I can only describe the atmosphere as something like a . . . holy hush. It felt like God was infusing the room with comfort and peace. I think we were all hoping for someone to say something, anything, that would make us okay. Looking back, I'm not sure my simple words mattered as much as our collective tears and love.

I asked the family's permission to share my talk here, and I replaced their names with "friends" and "family". I hope this message will help someone who needs to know that in the worst of the worst of circumstances, life finds a way.

* * * * * * * * * *

We have a big Jacaranda tree in our patio with outstretched branches that create a purple canopy in the spring and summer. And sometimes, when I beg Morgan not to sweep, a beautiful purple carpet appears around its base.

I love our Jacaranda, but over the years its roots have made the patio uneven and dangerous to walk on. So a couple of weeks ago we called a stone mason to replace some of the bricks.

The first day the mason was at our house he called me outside to show me a section of Jacaranda root he had uncovered. It looked like the root had been growing along, as roots do, when it ran into a brick roadblock.

Maybe it stopped growing, or slowed for a while, but then it detoured around and through the tiny spaces between the bricks, and made its way back onto the main road again.

The root grew thick and strong after the roadblock, so strong that it made bricks pop up out of its way. I admired that, but at the same time I knew the sharply bent places that now dented the root would never be straight again. They would always be there - a reminder of the tight, squeezing detour the root had gone through.

I believe that by God’s amazing grace, our friend's family members are going to live through the excruciating nightmare of their loved ones' deaths, and all that will follow. But some remnant of the bent places in their hearts and souls will always remain.

As friends of the family, I hope three things:

That we will find ways to patiently respect the bent places in their lives (and in their extended families' lives), on their terms.

That we will hold onto the hope of rejoicing with them when places in their lives start to bloom again.

And that the heartbreak we feel today will lead us to love each of them in new and life-giving ways in days, weeks, months, and years ahead.

Henri Nouwen, the Dutch author and Catholic priest, wrote this:

“When we honestly ask ourselves which people in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.

The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing, and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.”

Our friends were members of our neighborhood Catholic church, and so I thought they might like me to read this to you, from St. Paul’s letter to the church in Rome:

"I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Let's pray together –

Heavenly Father,

We feel overwhelmed with sadness and confusion at our friends' deaths. Please now overwhelm us with Your grace and mercy and love.

Please bring beauty and wholeness out of the pain and death that the family is experiencing. 

And please teach us to love the bent places in each other’s lives.

In Jesus’ name,
Amen