Hair is way over-rated.
But then look at me, my head specifically.
What can I know?
When Jesus promised that God knows the number of hairs on your head, I am in the express line—20 items or less.
I have friends who wear someone else’s hair.
Or, get their scalp plugged like it’s a lawn.
I’m not interested.
When I look at my bald head, I see my Granddaddy Greene, my mother’s father. It’s his head I see.
What hair I do have—my halo, as I call it—looks exactly like his did. Even more so now that mine is gray.
You see, I’m good with looking in the mirror and seeing his hairline.
He was a remarkable man.
Imperfect for sure. Definitely flawed. Made plenty of mistakes. Committed more than his fair share of sins.
All of which made him remarkable because knowing all of these miserable facts about himself, he trusted God with his work and life.
He farmed his entire life. An agricultural entrepreneur. Depended on his best efforts with the good Lord’s help being enough to counteract the unpredictable whims of weather to provide a reasonable living for his family.
Ran a country store with Grandma’s help. Hoop cheese under glass. Sticks of bologna. Saltine crackers. Jacks cookies in huge, glass jars. And the coldest Pepsi Cola in glass bottles anywhere around.
He was the Sunday School Superintendent of the little Baptist church his parents helped start. Sunday after Sunday, he led the opening assembly; preaching a homily that made more sense to me most of the time than the preacher’s sermon.
He died being owed more money by more people than most of us make in a year. A neighbor needed heating oil. A baby crying for milk. A farmhand’s children had to have school shoes. None of them able to pay it back. They knew when they asked. He knew when he handed them the cash.
Maybe hair isn’t so over-rated after all.
When I look in the mirror each morning to shave, it’s his head I see. It’s a God-loyal life I remember.
And I pray I can be half the man he was, marked by the gray hair of Godly distinction.
Dr. Joey Faucette