GRANDMA'S BARBER SHOP

For more than forty years I've cut hair. Untrained, unlicensed, unpaid, with the warning, “Results guaranteed or your hair back in a bag.” Definitely not a career. Maybe this photo of my “shop” (the kitchen stool in front of the kitchen sink) will confirm my truly amateur status. But it was good enough for my husband, who realized my minimal skills were adequate for his minimal (buzz) hair cut. With the money I saved, we could even eat out for dinner (well, maybe drive-through take-out). And home-brew haircuts worked out great for my son and grandsons, whose busy lives meant trips to the barber were not only expensive but hard to slice into their family's packed lives. A cheap cape and a clipper set kept my clientele coming every few months.

The scenario, of course, wasn't perfect. A couple grandsons are not the perfect haircut models. One hates to have his head handled. A money bribe usually helps. But then his little brother thinks he needs a bribe, too. After all, there's a Lego (c) set he's saving toward. My insistence that they should be paying Grandma seems to float over the top of their financial figuring.

Somehow we get through the quick cuts with their eyebrows reappearing, necks cleaned up and ears still intact. They're fascinated by the amount of hair collected from three little boys and a dad. I offer to bag it up so they can put it out for the birds to build nests. How true that is, I'm not sure, but it is something of consolation for the “I-hate-haircuts” kid who needs an altruistic goal for his trimming.

Just a caution: I do only kitchen-stool family haircuts. No “chemical services” around here. And I see a real hairdresser for myself—an every-two-months cut-only pampering. My hairdresser is great, skilled at the basics and even with the exotic. Last year or so she told me about a call from an out-of-towner who wanted a Cruella DeVill hair dye. If the name doesn't ring a bell, that's the wicked lady in the cartoon “101 Dalmatians” who sported a “do” that was bleached white on one side, and black on the other. Imagine being the hairdresser who achieved that! (My hairdresser did meet the challenge.)

My family “cuts” are pretty simple (besides being free). Easily scheduled, too—often after having a dinner at Grandma's house.

Oh dear, can I pull out a spiritual lesson of all this? Maybe the example of Jesus, who came not to be served, but to serve and to give His life as a ransom (Matthew 20:28). Sometimes God calls us to ordinary tasks—like helping someone with yard work, mending clothes, taking a meal, or sitting down to listen. Or giving a busy family “kitchen stool” haircuts when “not perfect” is okay...and helpful.