Hairspray, Meet Gospell

This is my father's hair on a Sunday night, when the hair is at its messiest and my father at his most tired. The last time his hair was this long he was about my age, and thought the long hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and mustache looked good on him. I thank God daily that my mother was able to look past the ridiculous surface and marry him. He would have much preferred another picture, which showed a bit of his face and the Reader's Digest condensed novel he was reading, but hey, it's not his blog to decide. At this point on Sunday night, the radio reports on the Red Sox were still bringing comfort to his weary soul.


About three years ago, my father started a new church. Not a new church in the way of the Rev. Sun Jung Moon, but a plant church to the one he was pastoring at. The original church was in Massachusetts, and seeing the ever growing Chinese population across the border, my father felt called to establish a church in New Hampshire, the first Chinese church in the area.

Now, many moons have passed and it is time for the church to seek a building of its own instead of renting space from a local church. In fact, the church urgently needs a building of its own for growth and for the fact that the space they're using is to be torn down and renovated very, very soon. A few times these past months, they came close to finding their ideal church, but in the end, the deals always fell through. It has been some intense months of prayer for my parents and as a sign to his rather moderate congregation of how serious and committed he is about finding a church building, my father has announced that he is not getting a haircut until his church has a new, permanent home.

Styling tips and prayers welcomed.

Moi: So what do your congregants think about your hair?
Father: They're afraid to comment.