My memories are still quite fresh.
Spencer was the only man I knew who didn’t have a hair preference other than COMBED. 😂 He met me with long hair that I kept plaited and pinned unless I got braids. I’m pretty sure the first time he ever saw me with my hair combed fully was on a Mother’s Day some 20 years ago. I had to sing somewhere. He took me.
The negro was too stunned to speak! 😂😂😂😂
I think it was the first time he was able to mark me as a church girl—cuz one thing I do? Is “CHUCH.” You can take me to just about any religious gathering and I can fall into line like I been doing it my whole life.
It’s a kind of weird mimicry I got going on. 🤷🏾♀️
Anyway. I had on a suit, heels, slip, stockings—the whole 9. I’m pretty sure he decided to take me off the market that day immediately. Cuz desire the fullness of my natural state of sin in that time in my life (I wasn’t crucifying my flesh a-TALL), I looked the part without a problem.
20 years and many uncomfortable suits later, I had begun to pull away from looking the part. In so many spaces I’d have to pretend to be something that did not fit me for sake of…everything that mattered to me. Not too much, but church for the sake of ministry had taken its toil. Being the wife of a preacher, pastor, whatever whatnot is no joke. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I enjoy serving, find honor in serving the Lord and others but BABY—people gone PEOPLE. So many times so many things were just out of order across the board and still I stood there “looking the part. My hair became an immediate rebellion against the excessive standards at every stage of my life at that point. It became my argument against folks always talking about the outward appearance.
I cut it all off. Died it every color in the wind—sometimes 2 or 3 colors at a time. I was natural and then? I WAS NATURAL. 🤣 I got braids, shaved the sides, wore boy cuts, let it lock at one point before cutting it again. I wore head wraps. Bandannas. Skullies. 🙄 Cut it off AGAIN. Worked crochet. Got sew ins. Let it grow back.
Then the wigs. 🙄
And you know what?
Spencer loved them all. Except the bald fade. Even then, he’d grab my head and massage my scalp with one big hand while scrolling his Facebook with the other. I think as old as he was, he understood that I was looking for myself in years of “acting like”. Messing with my hair kept me peaceful…not throwing my hands up and walking off from the Pharisees and Sadducee’s all around me who could fuss but not teach to belief and deliverance. Who picked on women for their clothes and curves but couldn’t rightly divide the word of truth. Who had a lot to say about sex and sexiness but rarely studied to show themselves approved. That could condemn you for having g hips but didn’t have enough power to pray for your healing.
When I wore THIS wig, he smiled, and said, “I always like your long hair but this. I always liked it when you cut it like this.” Part of my birthday this year was supposed to be a nose ring and a haircut that he promised me. I did it without him here. I broke my own heart and freed myself up at the same time.
This picture reminded me of how much we had evolved from playing the part to embracing the individuality of each other. Roads be long and roads be hard but once you start walking? It’s not so bad when you agree.
My agreement left me, y’all.
But it’s okay. Or at least it’s more manageable. I am not falling fully apart all the time anymore. The hard parts are still ahead of me but I am fully invested in the whatsoevers, working it out.
He loved this hair, the dress, the fascinator, the shoe combo… this was a Mother’s Day moment that he loved. He made me get up and sing in that hiphugger—which I only wore because he loved it. I was tooo through cuz I wanted it black. 🤣I would often send him photos of dresses and he’d choose which one he liked or tell me “ewwwww”. He chose the pink.
I ain’t super religious like my clothes got to be Uber “holy”, but LAWD. 🤦🏾♀️ He was grinning from ear to ear. 🥴
I miss him just the same as the day he left me.