“‘I tell you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body and after that can do no more. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear him who, after the killing of the body, has power to throw you into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him. Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.'”
My wife and daughter informed me last week I badly needed a haircut. They told me how thin my hair was getting and how when it gets long it looks like I am trying to do one of those comb-over things. Not only did they tell me was it time to get a haircut, they told me that the day was soon coming when the only acceptable haircut would be a total buzz.
You have to understand something about me — I do not care about my hair. The only opinion I have about my hair is that I don’t like getting a buzz because I just look so severe with one. But I don’t like having to comb my hair. And I would never even attempt a comb-over. It would require effort and I do not want to put forth any effort when it comes to my hair.
Now I’m not trying to judge someone who puts forth the time to have a good comb-over. In fact, I am still amazed by this dude with a comb-over that I saw in 1998. I was on my way to Panama and was rushing to get a quick lunch with some fellow travellers at the airport in Houston. When we got in line at the airport Wendy’s we all just stood there speechless. We found ourselves in the presence of the most elaborate comb-over ever devised.
The dude sporting said comb-over must have been an architect or else he consulted one before contructing the do. The entire rest of the trip we speculated about “that dude from Wendy’s with the hair.” How much time must he devote to his hair each day? How much money does he spend per week on hair product? What would he look like after a good gust of wind? When he gets in the shower does the hair drag the bottom of the tub?
I’m telling you, this was such a spectacular coiffure that several friends and I still regularly work this memory into everyday conversation.
So I did get my hair cut last week. It wasn’t a buzz, just a good close cut at Clubhouse Barbers. And as I left I remembered that Jesus told me God cares more about my hair than I do. God has the very hairs of my head numbered. And Jesus told me of God’s interest in my hair so that I would know not to fear. What should I fear? After all, God knows all about my hair. There is nothing that can separate me from His love.