This afternoon I’m sitting behind Roy. He is the pastor of a small church in a small town. Today we are at an annual conference we both attend. Roy is now in his sixties and he is winding down his ministry journey. Sitting directly behind him I notice the back of Roy’s head; he appears to be in need of a haircut. I’ve noticed that, as I age, my hairline recedes and hair sprouts from new places elsewhere on my head. I have come to the conclusion that maturing men don’t actually lose their hair; it simply migrates back into the scalp to later reappear in the regions of the ears and nostrils. Roy’s hair seems to have been doing a lot of migrating lately. I suffer from the same fate. I know Roy because my first year at this retreat I was his roommate. I was randomly placed with Roy in a two-bed room. Roy was in his late forties; me in my late twenties. I was new to this Pastoring thing but had big aspirations. While rooming with Roy for a few days I learned that his ministry