You can't see me...I am wearing camo...well, I guess I have a bright orange hat on so you can see me.

I was born in a small town. I grew up in small town. Believe or not, I now live in an even SMALLER town. I love it. I didn't know if I would miss having the conveniences of life in the city. For the most part I am adjusted to paying $5465 for a gallon of milk at the only gas station in town and walking across the street without taking my life into my hands. There are lots of things I like about small town life. But I haven't learned to shoot things yet.

It might come as a surprise, but just because you grew up in Iowa does not automatically make you an Outdoorsman. In general, I try to avoid being outside as much as possible. If I have to go outside, I prefer to do so in the comfort of my automobile so I can look at nature without actually having to be in it. I am the ultimate Indoorsman you might say. Needless to say I was surprised last fall to find a deer carcass hanging from the tree in my neighbors tree, the carcass being processed before my very eyes. My dog was fascinated. She also eats rabbit poop. I was kind of grossed out. But, when it came time to fight over deer jerky at Fellowship Time, I was the first in line.

Its not that I am against eating animals. They taste good. And it is not that I am against people who hunt animals. Better a rifle kill a deer than my Toyota. I just don't know that I could do it. I have no bo staff or nun-chuck skills. I am very impatient and would either get too engrossed in my book or fall asleep in a deer stand. And as I found out in Mr. Hupke's P.E. class, I am a terrible shot. Add to the fact that hunting happens outside (I mean, if I could shoot things from helicopters, it might be different), I just am not too interested. But I like camo.

It started as a way to fit in. The local Sportsman's Club opens itself to civilians on Sunday nights for some of the best pizza north of the South River. Jenn and I hate to miss it. But every time we walk in, I feel a little intimidated by all the animals on the wall and also by the general fact that everyone is wearing camo. It makes sense. Most people in my small town enjoying being outdoors and that is just what they wear. It is only natural that I wanted to fit in...so I got the idea in my head that I should get some camo, too.

My problem was trying to find the right kind of attire. I chose a hat because I like hats. I have a lot of them. And if I could get a camo hat, that would be perfect. Sorting the through the selection at my local Wal-Mart, I had a dilemma. Most of the hats featured logos for gun manufacturers or auto manufactures. Needless to say, Toyota did not feel the need to sign off on making camo hats. I hemmed and hawed until I finally found it...the perfect hat!

There in the back was a hat with a big number 3 on the front. No weapons, no cars, just a number. I thought, wow...that could be like 3 for the Trinity, or 3 for the number worn by ex-Broncos kicker Rich Karlis. Kidding...I know 3 stood for the car driven by Dale Earnhardt. I also knew that...well, Dale is no longer with us. Understanding that wearing the number 3 is a powerful statement about one's affinity for motorsports, I also knew that he wouldn't be driving anymore so I wouldn't have to pretend like I knew anything about how he finished in the last race. I had found my hat.

Oh man, was I excited to wear it to pizza. Jenn looked at me and laughed. "You look like you are from Hartford," she said between giggles. I got some laughs when I walked in the door. I also got an offer to go skeet-shooting. So win-win.

I am addicted to camo. I have since bought another hat (to wear at the Miller Farm). Now...we need to get Jenn some camo. Black and pink? Perfect for a Mary Kay lady from Hartford!

Angry Chair

Well, I haven't kept up with my own enthusiasm for writing. I had promised that I was going to commit to this blog, and try my best to keep it current. Well, there were some bumps on the road, some obstacles in the way, some Decepticons raining on my parade. Anyway, I found out something about myself this last month or so...something profoundly true. I am tired of being angry.

Yes, I am tired of all this anger. I know there are a lot of people who come home and vent about their jobs. They might be mad at the boss, at a co-worker, or whoever. Well, imagine being mad about something that happened hundreds of miles away in another 'branch' of your office. Imagine this happens two or three times a week. It is kind of silly to be mad, as it doesn't directly affect you. But inevitably it is all anyone wants to talk about. Such is life in the Presbyterian Church.

Well, I won't go into detail. That would violate my 'no-anger' policy. Let me simply say that I am tired of having peoeple try to force other people to think, pray, act, live, worship, and serve as they do. I am tired of being told that justice is this or that the gospel is that and that if I don't agree with 'X' I am part of the 'lunatic fringe' (a term one of my seminary professors used to describe people who didn't agree with her theological perspective). I am just tired of seeing the word 'embarrassing' and 'Presbyterian' used in the same sentence.

So, I will abide by the old rule of 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all'. Or maybe in my mind, it is more 'if you can't state your opinion nicely, then maybe you should be quiet until you can find a nice way to say it.' I like that better. Because, you know...I am a nice guy.