It Was Never About the Hair
Shocking, I know. But I’ve never been a girly-girl.
Photos like this one, with hair fresh out of curlers and frills on dress sleeves, belie the child who wanted blue instead of pink and chose hand-me-downs from a big brother over those of an older sis.
I played with dolls because we had them, but much preferred building forts and climbing trees in the woods behind our house. When I did play dolls with my sister and her friends, my make-believe role most often permitted me to take my assigned doll with me into the woods, making an occasional appearance just to stay in the game.
My sister had a much better grip on the doll thing. One year she received the coveted Crissy doll, a beautiful girl with stunning red hair. But Crissy also had a mysterious hole in her head and an unsightly button at the small of her back, there by design rather than defect.
The wonder of this doll was her growing hair.
A girl could tug Crissy’s hair, and long locks would emerge from the cavity in her head. Press the button on her back, the hair sucked back into her plastic cranium and she sported a pageboy instead.
Everything else about Crissy was pretty run-of-the-mill doll business. When it came to the Crissy doll, it was all about the hair.
But when it comes to Samson, it was never about the hair.
There. I said it.
I’ve been wanting to say that for months.
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When I lamented Israel’s heartbreaking rebellion-repentance rhythm, it was never about the hair.
And when we saw God pour life into the parched barrenness of the wasteland and you helped me write the ending, it was never about the hair.
When the angel reminded us that there are things too wonderful for us to understand, it was never about the hair.
And when we met Samson as the demanding child of indulgent parents, it was never about the hair.
When we watched Samson miss the point of his ponytail altogether, it was never about the hair.
And when he abused his strength, reminding us of the power of Jesus’ coming under and lifting us to life, it was never about the hair.
When we witnessed Samson choose vengeance over forgiveness over and over until he was consumed, it was never about the hair.
And when God chose to continue to work through Samson after failure upon failure, it was never about the hair.
When Samson ever so briefly recognized the danger of sin and got up from under it, it was never about the hair.
When Samson was so full of himself he didn’t even notice when God’s Spirit left him behind, it was never about the hair.
And when Samson waded too deep into the water, got in over his head and told Delilah it was all about the hair, even then it was never about the hair.
Never. About. The hair.
I plan to reach the end of my life still believing that.
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Bulging biceps and an ill-fated haircut is all I remember about Samson growing up. But from my first reading of Samson’s story this summer through the next hundred or so times until now, I have waited for my chance to say it was never about the hair.
Samson’s joyride did not come to screeching halt because Delilah cut his hair.
Samson’s world collapsed for reasons far more devastating than a bad haircut.
Breaking the Nazirite vow did not cause Samson’s strength to drain away. Knowing the vow did not equate to personal perfection, the Mosaic code provided the means for one who stumbled to be restored and reaffirm his vow.
Samson’s hair was more than a charm or amulet that held all the secrets of his success. But he seemed to think it was. So when Samson let Delilah wear him down and he revealed what he believed to be his big secret, all he really revealed was his weakness.
He thought his power was woven into his braids. And in his exhaustion, he believed the only way to turn off Delilah’s cajoling was to tell her the truth.
He was too weak to cope with his own strength.
And so he gave it away.
He was born to purpose. He was part of a plan God was working.
But He didn’t know God well. And he didn’t trust God.
All he knew was how to flex like Popeye. It always got him just what he wanted.
Surely his pipes wouldn’t fail him again.
But they did.
Samson’s ruin was not about his hair.
It was about how little he loved God, how little he trusted God, and how little he obeyed God.
Daring Delilah to give him a shave — that only showed us just how little.
Delilah did not take Samson’s strength. She only took a little off the sides.
He gave it away.
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Samson, he trusted his hair to give him horsepower. He loved and obeyed only himself.
Trusting in hair, it seems a little silly to me. But do I trust in things that are just as silly?
I do. I know I do.
Do you?
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You’ll love this. Dr. (of psychology) Alana Riss Fine has the real answer to explain Samson’s behavior. Maybe he suffered from Asperger’s disorder. She goes on to note that King Saul may have been bi-polar, Joseph was probably a narcissist.
Thousands of years later and we are still looking for someone or something to blame our sins and shortcomings on. I thought the “everyone’s a victim” syndrome was relatively new but not according to Dr. Fine. I think I like your perspective better and it is manifestly more biblical. God in His infinite wisdom left us with the freedom to sin, and we do. Then we must deal with and face the consequences of the sin, both in the physical earthly realm and more importantly, spiritually. As Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift” (KJV). Christ is there to cover it with His shed blood. That is much more permanent (read eternal) than a diagnosis from a psychologist.
Dad
PS I like the format change. Much easier for these old eyes to read.
2009/10/24 at 11:59 PM
I’ve long thought David was manic, after reading some of the psalms. He swings from one extreme to the other in a matter of just a few words. But mostly I think he was just like a lot of us, only more honest.
Interesting perspective, anyway.
2009/10/25 at 12:54 PM
“It was about how little he loved God, how little he trusted God, and how little he obeyed God….He gave it away.”
These words hit home. I’m not even sure how to put into words how close. When the kids are pushing all my buttons and I loose my cool – I give away my strength. I become weak, showing little love, little trust, and no obedience. It has been a button pushing week and I am left weak because of it.
Now to fall into the presence of the one who “provided the means for one who stumbled to be restored and reaffirm his vow”. To seek and find forgiveness and strength for the journey.
Thank you friend.
2009/10/25 at 7:54 AM
Nancy, I think it was Eleanor Roosevelt who said “no one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” I believe the same applies to you and me — when we get pushed to the limit and lose it, even then we chose it. We are all volunteers in the messes we make of things.
But I’m with you, I want to also volunteer to seek and find that forgiveness and strength.
2009/10/25 at 12:58 PM
Lyla – Just wish I would quit volunteering to contribute to the mess. That I would choose to handle things in a better manner. That is where the forgiveness and strength of the Lord come in – because I obviously can’t do it on my own. Another reason I am so grateful Jesus came to find me, mess that I am! Thanks again for your encouraging words.
2009/10/26 at 9:50 AM
I answer yes, too.
He has a way of re-prioritizing Trust for me. … Right there in His Barber’s chair, I find true strength in my puny weakness.
A great, great post, Lyla. Thank you. I like your new look, too.
2009/10/26 at 1:21 PM
Nancy, “Jesus came to find me.” That is making me sit here and just smile, feeling pretty amazed. He came to find me. Does that not just fill you up?
And Jennifer, I’d not looked at Him giving me the haircut. But I wonder about that. He trims away our manmade strength, leaving us to find “true strength” in Him alone. Thanks for that.
Sure wish sometimes I could get the comments before I post. There’s always another perspective I wish I’d had earlier . . .
2009/10/26 at 5:36 PM
“Delilah did not take Samson’s strength…He gave it away.” Convicting–to think that I give away God’s strength when I choose to rely on something within me or something eternal that’s not God. My silliest? Trusting in Cheerios to start my morning instead of a prayer heavenward. It just doesn’t work.
2009/10/26 at 11:31 PM
Again…Thanks.
Isn’t it amazing how no matter what -we always seem to think things (including ourselves) make us who we are? Instead of God?
I like Jennifer analogy of the barber chair -too. When I am at peace and focusing on Him…I pray that he gives me a trim when and where I need it the most.
2009/10/27 at 5:36 PM
Jennifer, I think Cheerios in combination with a fervent prayer availeth much. Fruit snacks never hurt either.
Julie, I need a haircut.
2009/10/27 at 9:11 PM