Yesterday I cut my son’s hair down to nubs. He has been wanting to have hair like mine for a while and now that Tara’s is also short he pretty much insisted. So I did it and he admires it often, rubbing it, enjoying whiskers for the first time in his life. Today he asked, “Dad, can I have the spaces on top like you have?” He pointed on his head to where my receding hair has created the “spaces” he referred to. “That will come later, son.”
Lewis has no idea that what he asks for. To his little eyes, it seems cool. But he doesn’t see what I’ve paid to have this hair. I was born with certain genes, was weathered with sun and wind, was stressed to provide for my wife and family, and once I had children, I pulled some of it straight out.
The appeal of something could easily be quenched by the cost. The cost of freedom is not for the faint of heart. Some have fled. The appeal of high paying jobs is often quenched by the cost or rigors of the schooling. The appeal of being a good athlete is quenched by the training that is involved.
The road to Godly character is paved with trials. I’ve naively asked for this character over the years, like a child wanting to be like his father. It appeals to me, even though others may see it like a balding head. And now I am being refined in a new way, and it hurts. And if I had counted the cost prior to asking, I may have never asked for it.