Hair Raising Times

Last week I purchased an extra packet of Panadol, you know, just in case. Because I can. I did. As I placed the packet on the counter, I considered the Mother who does not have the power to purchase Panadol, who has no safety net and I was conflicted.

I expect this won’t be the last time I will feel conflicted.

I’ve decided not to be outraged at people protecting their right to wipe their butt with toilet paper or stockpiling pasta to ensure said butt wiping is infrequent, or at least pretend that somehow, I’m above that. Because I’m not.

Perhaps I could pretend that my stockpile of razors is a public service, or at least a service to my family because being in isolation is hair raising enough without my hairy legs adding to the anguish.

I can justify my choices. Perhaps because I’ve just lived through my son enduring a life threatening respiratory infection, or perhaps because my parents are in the vulnerable category, I can find a way to justify being close fisted and putting my family first.

Or perhaps because I’ve spent my whole life justifying my choices while others live in desperation, fear and vulnerability. I’m good at it.

I’m not sure why I thought that I would suddenly transform, that this would be my Mother Theresa moment.

I mean I’m practiced at acts of kindness that don’t cost me anything, but this tidal wave that is approaching brings with it some challenges. Challenges of conviction. Challenges of faith. Challenges of love.

It’s going to cost.

And I’m not practiced at cost.

Fortunately, I follow someone who is practiced at cost. Jesus. And while I do follow him, I can’t pretend that I am like him.

I’m pretty sure he had hairy legs.

But while I am buying razors like a selfish twat, he is loving me.

He is loving me, but also calling me out of the supermarket aisle and into a life of freedom. There is still danger, there is still fear. But he is calling me to a life of love and generosity. Because there is freedom in following Jesus, freedom to let our hairs grow and our facades drop, to unclench our fist, to love and be generous in the knowledge that whatever our circumstances, he is with us.