Learnings from the Lice Prayer

My kindergartner’s teacher shared in a newsletter before winter break that there were cases of lice in the classroom. (You just scratched your head, didn’t you?) I checked my kid’s head regularly, and he held out. Until March. That was when I ran the fine-tooth comb through my own thick, wavy hair, and in the fourth section, found it: a full-grown louse. And with it came the flashback.

It was fall of 2017 when we still lived in rural Tennessee. I was 12 weeks pregnant with my last baby. The OBGYN who had seen me through my first two pregnancies had moved so I had recently found a new doctor. But the abundance of Christian imagery at the clinic where she practiced gave me pause—calendars featuring KJV scripture, booklets printed on cheap paper with evangelical meditations for each month of pregnancy, and a large picture on the wall captioned, ‘Jesus Guides the Doctor’s Hands’ with a slightly-glowing Jesus with beard and robes, holding the hands of a white male surgeon operating on a patient. While I didn’t love these overtly (white) Christian materials in the doctors’ office, it all felt predictable for rural Tennessee. 

And at least the doctor didn’t peddle her Christianity to me, perhaps because she knew that my husband Ben and I are both Episcopal priests. Our souls were already saved, so our conversations were happily limited to my health. 

At my monthly appointment in November, I mentioned that my head was really itchy. She assured me it was a common pregnancy symptom, but I wasn’t convinced. ‘I didn’t have this with either of my other pregnancies,’ I told her. ‘And my 6-year-old’s school sent a letter home last week saying there was an outbreak of lice. Do you think it could be that?’

‘No, no. It’s a really common pregnancy symptom. You don’t have lice,’ she said.

She didn’t look at my head, though. Not even at my December and January appointments when I had the same complaint. ‘Get yourself some fragrance-free shampoo; you’ll be fine,’ she said. 

But when my daughter’s daycare called one morning in mid-January asking me to come pick her up because she had lice, I knew I did, too. I was 20 weeks pregnant by then. My mother shared her concerns that the chemicals in the lice treatments might harm the baby, so while Ben shampooed the kids’ hair, I called my doctor’s office and left messages that went unanswered. Finally, I called a friend who was also an OBGYN, and she told me to stop worrying about the baby and get rid of the bugs. Two weeks later, the kids were lice-free, but Ben kept finding nits in my hair. With pregnancy hormones raging and the laundry piling up, I was losing my mind.

My February doctor’s appointment included an early scan of the baby, so Ben accompanied me. When the nurse came in to take my vitals, she noted on my chart that lice was an ongoing issue.  But when the doctor finally arrived, she casually asked how things were going.

‘Um… didn’t you read my chart?’ I asked. ‘I’ve had lice the past three months! It’s been driving me crazy. I left you messages about it.’

‘Oh really?’ she replied, as though it was the first she heard of the problem. She pulled out her phone, ‘I don’t know much about lice treatments; let me see what I can find out about their safety for pregnancy.’

‘No!’ I half-yelled. I could feel the tears pricking the corners of my eyes. ‘I’ve already been treating it. I am just really frustrated that I haven’t had your support.’

‘Oh.’ She paused. There was an awkward silence. And then she said, ‘You seem really upset. Can I pray with you about this?’

I was so taken aback by her suggestion that I couldn’t find my voice. I was about to reply with an ‘absolutely not,’ when my husband, who had until then been sitting silently in his chair, piped up, ‘That would be lovely.’

I glared at him, but it was too late. The doctor had already closed her eyes and launched into prayer:

‘Lord Jesus, we just ask you to come down and take these lice away from Leyla. Lord, we know your power for healing, and we just pray that you come into this situation, Jesus, and just make it so much better. Please, Lord, just take these lice away and help Leyla to know your power. We just thank you Lord Jesus. Amen.’

Ben repeated the ‘Amen’ after her with a smile on the edges of his mouth, while I remained in horrified silence. I changed doctors the next day. 

That whole experience came flooding to the forefront of my mind when I pulled out that one louse a few weeks ago—the horror, the itchiness, the laundry, and definitely, the prayer. Fortunately, we now live in a big city. By 9:00 that same evening, everyone in our home had been professionally treated and were guaranteed to be lice-free for at least the next 40 days. 

Though I’ve stopped itching, I continue thinking about the doctor’s lice prayer. I was furious at the time, but looking back, there’s something I envy about her obvious faith. After all, the Bible tells us, ‘Even the hairs of your head are all counted. Do not be afraid’ (Luke 12:7). The doctor clearly took that verse to heart (and head!). She believed that God’s power is all-encompassing not just in the big-picture suffering of our world but in the minutiae of our lives, down to the lice that might be crawling on our heads. And there’s something profoundly comforting in that.

I often think there are more important things for God to worry about than what’s happening to me personally. Children are being starved in Gaza right now. Chaos and violence reign in Haiti. Russia’s missiles still cloud the skies of Ukraine. And we haven’t even begun talking about what’s happening on our own streets, in our own neighborhoods, the disasters that happen unexpectedly, the disasters we create from the evil in our hearts. Surely, I think, God doesn’t have time to worry about lice.

But the doctor’s lice prayer challenges my conceptions of the smallness of God’s power. I still don’t believe that she could have prayed my lice away, but maybe her prayer reveals another truth: God’s concern for us is limitless. God’s heart can grieve the huge tragedies of our world and my suffering because of lice. God cares about children being killed and starved and traumatized and the rush-hour traffic that leads to you to start every work-day angry. God longs for an end to violence and injustice in our streets and our systems and for each of our individual flourishing. Indeed, God’s love is big enough, eternal enough, powerful enough, to encompass all these things. 

And in these trying times, that’s a comforting reminder of our faith. I’m glad to be rid of the lice. I’m gladder still to know that God’s love knows no bounds.