The Search For Meaning, Or Maybe A Chin

I picked up my wife around 5 last night, hoping for less traffic than the night before and pleasantly surprised; 55 minutes total, right at rush hour. We got to church by 6 to prepare for a 7pm Ash Wednesday service.

It was like pretty much anything along these lines. You get what you bring to it. It was a pretty wonderful night, then.

My affection for this community has only grown over the past few years, even as the congregation has contracted a little. We remain stragglers in an increasingly secular society, gathered around the fire, telling ancient stories, some of them obviously lies, and finding what truth and guidance we can. It feels pretty cool.


It’s been four years since I grew back my beard, preparing to begin filming Winning Dad in the summer. If you’re not a guy, and you’ve never had a beard for any amount of time, here’s the thing: You wonder. I mean, it’s your face. You see it most days, staring back from a mirror. You get curious as to what you look like under all that hair. Which, in my case, is mostly white.

So Lent seemed the season for shorning, somehow. The biggest drawback to this has always been my grandson, who knows only a bearded grandpa. I remember when my daughter was his age and I shaved my beard, and the way she reacted when I walked through the door after work. I was a little concerned. I live a long way from this little boy.

So I taped my cell phone to the bathroom mirror and recorded the whole process. I can probably edit it into a minute of speeded-up video to show him that grandpa is still grandpa.

The pictures below, then, are just screen captures from the video. Not hostage footage.

Not moody, just trying to figure out where to start.
And here we are. Gotta get those glasses fixed.
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