No one wants to look older than they really are. No one. Let’s face it—the world tells us gray hair is a sign of old age. It’s not associated with being young and beautiful. And we go to great extremes to stop this unavoidable path.
I was only twenty-two when I spotted my first white hair. Yes, white! No gradual grays for me. I was horrified. And I’m pretty sure that very day I went to the salon.
I hid behind hair dye from that day on. I felt plagued. Every few months I applied harsh chemicals to my hair hoping to distract everyone from the reality. I was determined to remain looking young and beautiful.
I chose dark, mahogany brown. No one would suspect the evidence of age as it leaked into the strands of my hair. For a while it worked.
But over the years it became impossible to cover up the truth. It would’ve required a box or two of dye every three or four weeks. My hair was incredibly dry and damaged. It was then—after some prideful, youthful tears—I decided to stop the madness.
I decided I would embrace it.
Be bold—go gray, I told myself, muttering through the pride I still felt. I chopped off my hair and waited patiently for all the damage to grow out.
And there it was. Ash brown with softly highlighted white and grays like a macadam road.
Now, I can sit here and feel self-conscious—because I’m only in my mid-thirties—or I can look at my hair and the smile wrinkles around my eyes and be proud.
Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life.
I can feel embarrassed or I can feel privileged. Gray hair is not just a sign of achievement of age; it’s proof. It’s proof that I am living a life and maturing in it (I hope!).
I can thank God that He’s blessed me with a long enough life to achieve my macadam highlights and even grateful that I’ve been able to smile enough times to achieve my smile wrinkles.
Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
So, I refuse to see it as a curse of color (or lack thereof) but a crown of glory.