Wool socks are not something you might include on your packing list for a summer sailboat cruise. Lucky for me, I was knitting a pair when we started our summer on the boat. Just as it was becoming rainy and cold at our anchorage in New York, I finished my socks.
This photo was to commemorate my first pair of knitted socks. Here I am, the happy First Mate.
My socks however, are not the point of this blog. It’s my hair. Sort of.
This photo shows my hair during the early-middle of June, since then it has been blown by the wind, baked by the sun, and sprayed by salt air. It’s been more than two months since a professional touched a strand of hair on my head. My hair needed help.
More than that, I needed help: a little pampering, a soothing shampoo with lots of hot water, a trim and whatever other secrets I might indulge in at a salon. (Wisely, I am not showing you a photo of my hair at this desperate point.)
Yesterday the Captain and I prayed before breakfast (as is our habit) for the Lord to guide and order our day. And for me the day was going to include a hair salon!
So as soon as we left Boston,  set sail and arrived at our new port, I picked up my “smart phone”, looked up a hair salon within walking distance, and made an appointment. Wearing my favorite “going to town” outfit, I even dabbed on a little make up and set off for my make over.
“May I help you?” the salon owner asked as I walked through the door.
Every face in the room turned to look at me.
Despite my cruisers’ tan, I was the palest person there. I was a white woman at a hair salon that catered to black customers.

Charlie, the owner, assured me he could handle my appointment. And of course he did, and I love how he did my hair! (Sorry I don’t have an “after” photo.)
But even better than that, were the people I met. Two beautiful young boys showed off their new Mohawks for me. Their grandfather and I chatted. I learned lots about Charlie.
And I met Adama. Born in West Africa, she moved to the States over a decade ago. She’s the mother of three beautiful children, now raising them on her own. When her husband started beating her she determined she and her kids were not going to settle for that. (Amen, sister!)
Adama and I laughed together, shared our stories, compared notes on hair, and talked about faith and God. It was probably the best time I’ve ever had while getting my hair done. Her beautiful face was open and receptive as I told her, “I’m going to pray for you, Adama.” She seemed to soak in that comment and the love behind it.
When I left and we said our goodbye’s she said in her beautiful French accent, “Remember to pray for me, you said you would.”
“I did and I will.”
I loved meeting her. She was the highlight of my week. (Maybe you could join me and say a prayer for her, too.)
When we ask the Lord to guide our steps and order our days, He will. It isn’t too much to ask of the One who hung the stars in the sky and created you and me. And how special when we so clearly experience His answers to our prayers; even the wrong hair salon can turn out to be the right place to be.