When Bed-head is Beautiful

I’d forgotten I was sporting a rumpled crown of bed-head until Maggie put on a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses and shimmied right up to the couch where I was sitting.

I got a glimpse of myself in the silver lenses, my hair standing straight up on end and my eyes rung with smudges from yesterday’s faded mascara.

 But I shot myself a smile in my little girl’s spangled specs and pulled a toddler onto my lap up on that couch cluttered with stuffed animals and action figures.

 My hair was in disarray, but my whole world felt right. 

My friend sat cross-legged on the cushion next to mine, her thread-bare yoga-pants hiked up to her ankles, her hair swept up in a disheveled ponytail. Her white t-shirt was spotted with a spit-up stain or two. For all I knew, she’d slept in that stretched-out shirt with the red-letters, but her eyes were wide awake, sparkling radiant with laughter as we watched our rock-stars groove across the dusty hardwood floor.

And in that moment with saggy-diapered toddlers and pirouetting preschoolers, with the breakfast dishes piled high on the kitchen table and toys scattered afar across the room, the tears welled unexpectedly in my throat and I thanked God for a friend who was willing to linger with me in the mess. 

 A friend who was willing to accept me despite my mess. 

 We leaned in close to each other, raising our voices to talk above the concert unfolding in the room all around us, and she asked those hard questions that only good friends can ask–the ones about marriage and motherhood, about daring to dream and walking by faith.  

The baby cried and the rock-star kicked her back-up singer. 

We shushed and reprimanded and mediated.

We refilled coffee cups and swapped stories. Exchanged prayer requests and started and stopped a thousand conversations.

We’d learned long ago that we don’t need to have it all together to enjoy being together. 

There is beauty in the bedlam and glory in the grit. 

And when you’re in the presence of a true friend, there’s nothing to hide.

Friends don’t need guises, just  grace.

Friends don’t play charades; they just share life.

So, when I was tempted to tidy up my tale, to answer with a touch of fiction rather than truth, I reminded myself that she’s not afraid of the real me. 

She knows that sometimes I yell at my kids as we stumble out the door to school. She knows that I lose library books and some days I feel like I’m losing my mind.

 She knows that I’m always late, always talk too much, and always wish I’d listened more.

She knows that I dream of writing a book, that I let my kids eat candy before breakfast, and that I wish I were a better wife. 

She knows that my biggest fear is to one day realize I’ve lived a lifetime but missed real life. 

And she tells me I’m ok, because I’ve got a Savior who is the I Am. 

A good friend knows the worst in us, but continues to call out our best.

My rock-star had found a pink boa to accessorize her purple nightgown, and she danced right up to me and gave me a near-choking hug.

You look beautiful, Mommy! She proclaimed with a twirl and a curtsey as she blew me a kiss and strummed on her air-guitar.

I patted my crazy tufts of uncombed hair and  wondered if bed-head looked different through those spangled heart-shaped shades.

Kind of like looking at ourselves through the eyes of a friend. 

Written with love for Amanda. I miss sharing our messes face to face!

And for EVERY bed-head friend God has graced me with over the years.  I’m thankful for each one of you. Thanks for doing REAL LIFE with me.

Joining Lisa-Jo and a growing community of beautiful friends for Five-Minute Friday today.