After growing her hair out for almost three years, Jordan decided to get it cut last week at a hair cutting training salon, that works with Wigs for Kids. She signed a consent form when we walked in, and then told me as we sat down that she basically agreed to have her hair cut by someone who didn't know how to cut hair. We laughed about that, and then she noticed that the music seemed kind of loud. “Maybe that's to cover up the screams of dissatisfied customers,” she said. “And we haven't seen anyone leave,” I observed. “Maybe people have to exit from a back door so that those in the waiting area don't see what their hair looks like.”
The girl assigned to cut Jordan's hair seemed hesitant and lacking in confidence, so I felt relieved when her supervisor stepped on the scene to offer some tips. I felt even better when the supervisor took the scissors herself. This woman knows hair, I could tell. She popped by several times to add her own snips and clips, and Jordan's hair ended up looking great.
I had my blood drawn yesterday at my doctor's appointment. It's one of my least favorite activities in the whole world, and it didn't help when the nurse kept telling me, “Your veins are so tiny. They're so deep. They keep wanting to run and hide.”
Does she know what she's doing? I wondered as I lay on the examining table with my eyes closed.
She told me as she was going in for her third stick that she was going to stop after three if that one didn't work because she would lose her confidence.
“I think I might have you go to an outside lab. I'm sorry,” she told me as she put a cotton ball on the third failed attempt.
“Is there anyone else who could come in and try?” I asked, really not wanting to go somewhere else to endure more torture.
“There is one other person who's pretty good. He's the best after me. I'll call him in.”
I was hoping he would prove to be a true Master at Blood Drawing. And he did find a vein in my hand, willing to share a bit of blood, on his second try. I was thoroughly relieved that he was able to get enough and we were done.
Because my veins are usually not very cooperative, I really want to have confidence in the skill of the person who is sticking me with a needle.
People had confidence in Jesus. When He came down from the Mount of Transfiguration with Peter, James, and John, a large crowd was waiting.
A man in the crowd called out, “Teacher, I beg you to look at my son, for he is my only child. A spirit seizes him and he suddenly screams; it throws him into convulsions so that he foams at the mouth. It scarcely ever leaves him and is destroying him. I begged your disciples to drive it out, but they could not.”
“O unbelieving and perverse generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you and put up with you? Bring your son here.”
Even while the boy was coming, the demon threw him to the ground in a convulsion. But Jesus rebuked the evil spirit, healed the boy and gave him back to his father. And they were all amazed at the greatness of God.
But not long after, the Master was seized and taken away by men with swords and clubs.
He was mocked and beaten.
He was nailed to a cross.
And his broken body was taken down after he had breathed his last.
It appeared that the Master—whom they believed to be the Son of God—was defeated.
And both the land and the hearts of those living in it were engulfed in darkness.
Their Master—who had healed with a simple touch or a word, who had brought the dead back to life, who had fed the hungry, and who had taught them about a new kingdom...
Their King—who had slipped through every crowd that had tried to kill him, who had brilliantly turned religious leaders' attempts to trap him back on themselves, and who had won the respect and following of his disciples...
They waited for the Master they trusted and believed in to step up. And take control.
But He didn't.
And they were all amazed at the apparent weakness of God.
Until the third day.