Everywhere I travel I meet them–little helpers, eager to “Bless the Minister”. They mean well, but sometimes what they are offering to do is better left undone.
You ought to let me cut and highlight your hair.” I heard the voice over my shoulder. When I turned around, my eyes had to look down about two feet to find the source of the offer, one that came with a long, Southern drawl.
“Hi, my name is Hepsiba. (That’s in the Bible.) I do hair. I do pastor’s hair, associate minister Calvin’s hair and administrator-apostle Johnson’s hair. Now he’s actually bald, but I put a thick, all-natural beeswax with Retin-Aâ„¢ on his hair, and then I pull it through a rice paper sorta hat.