A bad hair day leads to a revelation

I was having a bad hair day. No matter how much gel, goop, and glop I added, it refused to cooperate. My flip had flopped, my bounce had boomeranged, and neither curling iron nor straight iron made a difference. Since I would be giving a speech in a few hours to a large group of cancer survivors in Hesston, Kansas, this was not the day to have my hair misbehave. My job was to "encourage the women and make them laugh." I never intended the comedic part to come from my hair.

It was their annual conference, and as a professional speaker, I wanted to look...well, professional.

I didn't.

I finally gave up, hoping my tie-dyed skirt would divert the ladies' attention. Too bad my mouth isn't attached to my knees, I told myself.

As I entered the conference center, I was met by Gwen, a woman in her late 50's, who would be my "helper" for the two-day event. She was to make sure I had all my needs met. Professional conferences make this assignment, but I am always uncomfortable with someone waiting on me. Gwen was different; she and I bonded immediately. A sincere smile, an affectionate hug, and an enthusiastic greeting made me realize why she was given the "helper" role. My new friend led me to my table to get settled and then left to get me a glass of water.

I looked around the room, watching this group of women, all clad in their "Puttin' On The Glitz" t-shirts, buzzing with news about their lives since the last conference. But soon one thing became obvious--several wore turbans on their heads. A few had buzz-cuts. Chemotherapy had done its damage.

And the message to me was clear.

Lord, forgive me, I prayed.

That wasn't my only lesson last weekend. The weightier one was to come. I had been hired to encourage these women, but the opposite happened. Especially through Gwen. Her unceasing smile and joy and confidence were contagious. When we had a few quiet moments, I asked her story. From 1975 to 2007, she dealt with six bouts with cancers...one cervical, one bladder, and four colo-rectals. Gwen has a permanent colostomy, yet she glowed as she spoke of how she had felt God's presence each time the doctor had mouthed the word "cancer" or the prognosis was worse than had been expected.

It was at the time of her final diagnosis that her soul-mate, her husband, became ill. He needed bypass surgery. When the surgeon opened him up, he, too, was filled with cancer. He died a week later. Gwen gave me a copy of the pamphlet that she wrote about her journey with this dreaded disease. An italicized comment follows each of her trials: "Thank you, Lord, for holding my hand." Her faith is real and comes through on each page.

On my last talk, as I was speaking about how God isn't finished with any of us yet (Thank you, Lord), I referred to Gwen and what I had learned from her. I couldn't help but notice the nods of so many who knew her personally and had been ministered to by this faithful woman of God.

I'm not sure what I gave those ladies last weekend, but I do know that I was blessed beyond measure.

On Saturday I had a much better hair day. It settled down and cooperated and did what it was supposed to do.

Not surprisingly, by then I didn't even care.