Lots Of Locks For Locks Of Love

It all started when I got off an elevator on the wrong floor to visit Lew. My friend was in the hospital for one of his many bouts in the fight against Cystic Fybrosis. I'd visit him and take him sports pages and such. Lew was in college studying to write sports pages when he went Home.

I got off a floor too early at Children's Hospital...a really good one in Birmingham. I wasn't paying attention to the floor indicator and followed the others off, and turned left to go to Lew's room. I knew I was on the wrong floor when I saw bald girls walking down that hall with IV connections rolling along with them. Some were happy. Some were sad. Some were just there. Ages from 4 to about 12. Guys, too. But they were all bald. Chemotherapy'll do that, apparently.

The boys got away with baseball caps.

The girls had some cute hats, too. But it seemed to be a bigger deal that nothing was underneath them. To me it did, anyway.

And I saw a brochure for an organization called Locks of Love. I picked it up. Seems they understand that it's a bigger deal to girls, too. They get people to grow their hair out, cut it off, and donate it to them. They make wigs out of it. Non-profit deal, too, so chain salons cut it for free, shape up your hair for free and then ship it off to the fine folks at Locks of Love.

I made a mental note to promote this organization, but my hair wasn't long enough to get involved. Plus, being in youth ministry in the Deep South didn't really give me the freedom to grow it out, either. Not without consequences, anyway. Dire professional ones. Such is life under legalistic expectations.

(Side note: Legalism actually does the reverse of what those that practice such things want to accomplish. It kills and enslaves rather than giving life and freedom.)

Flash forward to my current situation. About seven years ago I had a student who told me of a story involving Locks of Love. She gave as often as she could...she'd been through it herself. I decided to grow my hair out since several people have told me my hair color is pretty (usually followed by a question on how to get that color and and what store).

That was in 1999. It really was that simple. I simply started growing it out after that conversation.

The first time I grew it out and got it cut three years later, the lady that cut it told me she wanted to cut it differently than normal for Locks of Love because blonde highlights were all the rage among teen girls and if she took more than normal, they could use it to be highlights in many wigs instead of it being just one wig. For some reason, this made me happier, so I rolled with it. That was in 2003.

Well, yesterday, it was time for another cut. The lady cutting it didn't offer me that option this time. Maybe the trend is over. Maybe she didn't know about it. Mabye the other lady was misinformed. Either way, here's how I started on Saturday:



Here's how it looked about 20 minutes later:



Here's what will be going into the wig:



Now, I'm not telling you this to blow my own horn. That'd ruin the gesture. I tell you all this (and showed you all this) because...

...I want everyone to know about Locks of Love.

...I want to make some little girl who is going through a rough stretch have a little easier time of it. Even it means I wind up looking like George Washington on the dollar bill for a month or so, just knowing there's a kid out there who got one small break in the midst of the suck...well, those kids on that hall broke my heart (not by intent, mind you. They seemed to be troopers) and it's nothing to me to do this.

...I want to remind everyone that the ponytailed youth minister is a tired image anyway. I'm not given to using my head as a sign of rebellion nor using it as any type of political statement. Sometimes, the top of your head is a service project. So relax. Yes, I've read Corinthians.

Anyway, Locks of Love, you rock my whole hair right off. May your compassionate organization make little girls going through a rough stretch have a tiny something to smile about.