A Little Messy, A Lot Loved

Dear Happy Asses,

“Speak to the good in people, and you help call it forward.” — Unknown

Who knows what makes us do what we do and love how we love? What makes us vote how we vote, or cling to the little quirks that shape who we are? I suspect much of it is wrapped up in the world we grew up in. Maybe some of it is stitched into our souls before we even arrive. One thing I do know: we are diverse, we are lovely, and we are beautifully designed by our Creator.

I’ve realized over the years that many of my little quirks come from happy moments—little echoes of childhood that still make me smile. And one of my quirkiest “Karen things” is this: I like my hair a tiny bit messy. I’ll even play along when well-meaning folks try to tame a stray strand or smooth it down for me, but truth be told, if it’s messy… it’s intentional.

I don’t write about my mother very often, though I should. She was the stable one, the responsible one, the one who held a family together in the middle of alcoholism and all the storms that come with it. She was kind, quietly strong, and surprisingly funny. And she loved to tease me, especially about my messy hair.

As teenage daughters do, the more she commented on it, the more committed I became to the look. It became our inside joke.

Near the end of her life, when I walked into her room, she would smile big and say, “Honey, do you need a comb?” That was her gentle code for “your hair is a mess.” We both knew it wouldn’t change a single thing. It was our sweet, familiar banter.

My mom, Barbara, was colorful and vibrant. She was understanding, generous and gracious. She died at the young age of 62, which means I’ve already lived four years longer than she did. She told me often how wonderful she thought I was, even when I gave her plenty to fuss about. I was an adventurer, a wanderer, and my beautifully decorated bedroom somehow always looked like a cross between a war zone and a frat house. I could lose anything in ten seconds flat. My mom was the exact opposite—but instead of criticizing, she spent her energy pointing out my gifts.

Before she passed away, she told me something that is carved in my heart forever. She said that if she were asked who she admired most in the world, she would say her daughter, Karen. Not because I was perfect—Lord knows I was not—but because she believed I had the kindest, sweetest heart. She reminded me that I was a hard and diligent worker and said she couldn’t imagine what I might accomplish one day.

She never got to see this life I live now. She saw me during the struggling years. She watched me do without. But somehow she still knew—she just knew—that one day it would be different.

So today, when I look in the mirror and see my messy hair, I smile. Because that messy hair reminds me of a mama who always looked for the good. And, because she looked for the good in me, it helped me grow into someone who tries to do the same—messy hair and all.

Loving you deeply,

Karen Key Smith