I almost said no. Luke had a fever and it was Friday night. But J said he’d watch the boys so Gracie and I could go together. So my almost teenager (as she refers to herself now, even though she won’t turn 13 until November) and I loaded in the car. We drove down Main Street and over the railroad tracks. We pulled into the familiar salon that offers shiny silver foils to cover up the gray. We walked through the dark parking lot, lit up only by one dim street light. And opening the door, it surprisingly didn’t smell of fruity shampoo or squirts of expensive hairspray. Instead of the usual hustle and bustle, where women vie for time under the dryer, there were chairs gathered in a large circle and ladies chatting and laughing. The email said it would be a prayer time, an hour praying for our small town. I saw two familiar faces from the newspaper and a handful of others.
I was a little hesitant to go. Maybe it was because I knew each Sunday morning; we all went in different directions. Our cars would pull into different churches. It was a group of different denominations.
I didn’t know what Friday night would look like.
But God did.
In this salon, where baskets of magazines boast the newest hair styles, women bowed their heads.
And we read from the same Bible that sits on my nightstand.
And we sang the same songs our family hums through the week.
To spite our differences, prayers were lifted up for our community and its leaders and the schools. A challenge was given to love more, not through words, but through action. And a picture was drawn of what that could look like in our quaint NC town.
I’ve left that salon many times feeling better and changed. Friday night was no different.