daily java

Daily Java:

And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. (Matthew 10:30)

Well, it is official. After this second chemo-therapy I am losing my hair.

I took my shower Wednesday night and after drying my hair, the towel was full of free-range follicles. In fact, not only the towel, but also the tub and later, my hair brush.

About a year ago, I began to grow my hair out longer. I have had a burr for a long time, but I thought I would try longer hair. Maybe relive my hippy days when I had a lot of hair. In the interim, I have had two small haircuts to make it grow in the direction I wanted, but it is still basically getting longer and longer. I liked it.

I have always been kind of vain about my hair, I guess. My hair was always thick and full and wavy and dark brown with auburn tints. It would even go into an afro if I really wanted it to. In fact it would do most anything but the beach boy look that I was desperate for back in the 1960’s. It was unique hair and it was always big.

It started thinning a couple of years ago, but never has gone away like my father or my maternal grandfather. I figured it would, but it didn’t. So I sat back in my ease and said “Grow, wave and be long.”

Then the cancer and the chemo-therapy. I have been told that the second one is the one that will kill your hair. And sure enough. Bang. Not a big BANG! mind you, but just a whimper. One minute luxurious tresses, the next a handful of hair.

It is no real problem for me though, much as I may whine. I can get a burr and look like half the guys on the street (more handsome, of course). So in the next week I shall.

And the hair falls. Since my mustache will probably drop hairs too, I am going to end up hairless. A long, thin, skeleton. (BTW, I have lost 85 official pounds since I came here in November).

With the hair gone, and the extreme weight loss, I would imagine my own mother would not recognize me, I look that different.

And every time I look in the mirror, I see a different person than I have ever known, thinner, with cheekbones (I have never had visible cheekbones). My eyes look bigger. It is a bit startling.

I thought of people I have known who have come into contact with the grace of God with such a dynamic power that it changed them completely. They were almost physically unrecognizable afterwards. It was that strong a change. You could see his power on them like you can see the tiredness of the cancer on me. And you could see them grow like you see me lose weight and hair.

But no matter how much weight I lose, or how much hair I lose, or how many wrinkles I have or anything else: God always recognizes me. And he does so to such an extent that he can look at me and say, Hey, Johnny! I think he probably calls me Johnny like all the people I knew before 1974. That was when I came into contact with him.

But at least, I make it easier. He doesn’t have to work nearly as hard to count my hair now.