When My Hair Grew Wild and God Said It Was Good

Welcome, friend.

Pull up a seat at the table. This space is for wandering stories and the quiet courage it takes to be human. If this resonates, I invite you to subscribe and stay awhile.

When My Hair Grew Wild and God Said It Was Good

In 2020, I started growing my hair out.

That same year, I switched to wearing almost exclusively black clothing—earth-conscious, sustainable pieces that felt like armor and softness at the same time.

I didn’t have the language then, but I was in mourning.

The world felt upside down.

And I needed something—anything—I could control.

So I turned inward.

And the only thing I had full agency over was my body. My outer self.

So I said yes to the divine whisper I felt pressing on me: Don’t cut your hair.

I didn’t know what that meant.

I just knew I had to do it.

To grow it wild.

To let it become the journal pages of whatever came next—trauma and beauty, death and new life.

I passed through every awkward stage imaginable. Some days, it was Afro-fabulous. Other days, I looked like Frederick Douglass met a thunderstorm. It felt strangely appropriate for the season we were in.

The streets were aching.

COVID-19 was sweeping the world.

George Floyd.

Breonna Taylor.

Ahmaud Arbery.

The cries for justice and dignity rang loud—and often went ignored by those with the loudest pulpits.

And in the middle of it all, I had people in my life—white and white-centered Christians, mostly—saying things like:

“You look sloppy. Messy. Why do you want to be that kind of Black person?”

Or the classic: “You’re a pastor. You need to look professional.”

For a while, those words cut deep.

I felt like the imago Dei in me wasn’t enough.

Because it didn’t look like the version of imago Dei they wanted to see.

I was embarrassed by my own reflection.

But I still couldn’t cut it.

God had told me to grow it wild.

And so I did.

What I didn’t expect was what came next.

My hair started to lock.

Not intentionally.

Not because I planned it.

But one day I woke up and my Frederick Douglass had become a Bob Marley.

My curls began to twist into story.

Each lock, a living chapter.

Pain.

Suffering.

Loss.

Moments of unrelenting heaviness.

But also—

Travel.

Joy.

Brotherhood.

Becoming a father.

Becoming me.

My hair was there through it all.

Every interview. Every heartbreak. Every sermon. Every protest. Every laugh around the table.

Earlier this year, I felt a quiet release from God.

You can cut it if you want.

I sat with that.

I shaved my beard.

But the locks?

I’m keeping them.

They remind me of God.

Of a God who called me to grow wild when I wanted to shrink back.

Of a God who met me in grief and called it holy ground.

Of a God who said over me what was once only said at the dawn of creation:

It is very good.

Let’s Sit Together Here

Maybe you’ve grown something wild in your life too. Something others misunderstood but God asked of you anyway.

Maybe you’re in an awkward stage right now. Embarrassed, unsure, but still moving.

Or maybe you just needed to hear that you are altogether beautiful. No flaw in you.

Wherever you are, you’re not alone.

When You Have A Moment

1. Has God ever asked you to grow something wild—physically, emotionally, spiritually?

2. When have you felt misunderstood for being your true self?

3. What’s one thing you carry—like a lock of hair—that holds your story?

Thanks for sitting at the table with me. If this reflection stirred something in you, feel free to share it with someone who might need a soft place to land too.