Methodists (Adapted from an essay by Garrison Keillor)

We make fun of Methodists for their blandness, their excessive

calm, their fear of giving offense, their lack of speed and also for their secret fondness for macaroni and cheese.

But nobody sings like them.

If you were to ask an audience in New York City , a relatively Methodistless place, to sing along on the chorus of "Michael Row the Boat Ashore," they will look daggers at you as if you had asked them to strip to their underwear. But if you do this among Methodists, they'd smile and row that boat ashore...and up on the beach...and down the road!

Many Methodists are bred from childhood to sing in four-part harmony, a talent that comes
from sitting on the lap of someone singing alto or tenor or bass and hearing the harmonic intervals by putting your little head against that person's rib cage. It's natural for Methodists to sing in harmony. We are too modest to be soloists, too worldly to sing in unison. When you're singing in the key of C and you slide into the A7th and D7th chords, all two hundred of you, it's an emotionally fulfilling moment. By our joining in harmony, we somehow promise that we will not forsake each other.

I do believe this: People, these Methodists, who love to sing in four-part harmony are the sort of people you could call up when you're in deep distress. If you are dying, they will comfort you. If you are lonely, they'll talk to you. And if you are hungry, they'll give you tuna salad!

Methodists believe in prayer, but would practically die if asked to pray out loud.

Methodists like to sing, except when confronted with a new hymn or a hymn with more than four stanzas.

Methodists believe their pastors will visit them in thehospital, even if they don't notify them that they are there.

Methodists usually follow the official liturgy and will feel it is their way of suffering for their sins.

Methodists believe in miracles and even expect miracles, especially during their stewardship visitation programs or when passing the plate.

Methodists feel that applauding for their children's choirs would make the kids too proud and conceited.

Methodists think that the Bible forbids them from crossing the aisle while passing the peace.

Methodists drink coffee as if it were the Third Sacrament.

Methodists feel guilty for not staying to clean up after their own wedding reception in the Fellowship Hall.

Methodists are willing to pay up to one dollar for a meal at church.

Methodists still serve Jell-O in the proper liturgical color of the season and think that peas in a tuna noodle casserole adds too much color.

Methodists believe that it is OK to poke fun at themselves and never take themselves too seriously.

You know you are a Methodist when: It's 100 degrees, with 90% humidity, and you still have coffee after the service.

You hear something really funny during the sermon and smile as loudly as you can.

Donuts are a line item in the church budget, just like coffee.

When you watch a Star Wars movie and they say, "May the Force be with you," and you respond, "and also with you."

And lastly, it takes ten minutes to say good-bye!

History Repeats Itself.

I just got an email from the girl who followed in my small footsteps at Bradley. She came to Bradley for grad school and studied under the same professor for her master’s degree in biology. And she did a similar hormone study, but on wolves instead of deer.

She emailed me because she did not pass her first attempt at the oral exam, which must be completed before graduation. It is an accumulation of all knowledge a biology student should have acquired through undergrad and grad studies. It’s basically a panel of 3 professors grilling you on anything and everything biology for 4 hours. I, fortunately, got through the ordeal only struggling with 3 or 4 questions. The last question was a stumbling block for me and apparently for her as well.

The question is: how would you respond to someone who believes in creation and not evolution?

I distinctly remember the moment they asked me this. How could they? What bearing did this have on a master’s degree for studying deer poop?

I responded that “current scientific evidence can support the theory of evolution,” as I believe in intelligent design. This concept is that an intelligent being (God) created life and had a hand in it’s development along the way. Microevolution does occur through natural selection, but fish don’t become giraffes, no matter how many millions of years are in between. If humans evolved from apes, why do we still have apes?

Apparently, that is the wrong answer.

My professor, who I had looked up to and respected for 6 years, said that you can NOT “believe” in science. You either “agree or disagree.” “Creation is based only on belief in something that cannot be proved.”

This idea turned my world upside down. But it has only fueled my desire to learn more. And what I have discovered is that it takes much more FAITH to BELIEVE in the claims and theories of evolution, which have holes in them big enough for a galaxy to pass through, than to accept what biological, geological, and archeological science has revealed that lends support to what is written in the bible. The “scientific” community constantly accuses those that believe in creation as being closed-minded. And they are the ones that are unwilling to look at the evidence on the table! It is for this reason that I have lost “faith” in their “science.” How sad that those designated to educate others would have them sacrifice science-based beliefs to support their blind-eyed, hypothetical theories.

The Injury

My boss and I have a sarcastic Michael-Dwight relationship. If you haven’t seen “The Office,” you have not tasted true jubilation. Michael is the moronic, self-absorbed Regional Manager with no tact, but is a self-proclaimed comic and improv actor. Dwight is the Assistant “to the” Regional Manager who would do anything to impress Michael. He’s overdramatic and over-the-top ALL the time. While my boss is not Michael-esque at all, there have been a few situations here that have been so similar, it’s scary.

For instance, there was time that he called me into the conference room, closed the door and asked me to have a seat. He then said, “Radio Shack fires people over email, but I have the dignity to do it in person.” He was kidding. He told me I was “awesome.”

Whenever I make a helpful suggestion that would increase efficiency in our claims-handling process, he responds, “Thanks, Dwight,” and kiddingly dismisses it. Michael does this all the time because it wasn’t his idea.

Yesterday took the cake though. As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed he had parked right next to the front door in the handicapped spot. In the next moment I saw him hobbling to the door on crutches. First thought: He cooked his foot in a Foreman Grill while making attempting to “wake up to the smell of crackling bacon.” I seriously laughed out loud in my car.
However, ‘twas not so. When I saw his foot was in a cast and not bubble wrap and packaging tape, I figured it was more serious. It turns out he fell off a ladder and broke one foot and bruised the other one. He was pretty grumpy about it so I waited until this afternoon to tell him what I assumed had happened. I asked him if he’d like some chocolate pudding.

I’m just glad he didn’t fall between the toilet and the bathroom wall and yell for help.

Thanksgiving Penguin.

I was staring at my wall today wondering why it was that the turkey has become a national target for one day of the year. I'm sure we were all taught in grade school that the Wampanoag Indians and the Pilgrims shared a feast and turkey was the main course. I wonder if Indians fried turkeys? Any way, I decided to delve into this poultry-persecuting holiday to unearth the truth.

The first Thanksgiving was celebrated in 1621 to commemorate the Pilgrim's harvest after a harsh winter. It turns out that a letter written by pilgrim, Edward Winslow, notes that the Governor William Bradford sent out 4 men out to gather food for a feast. They came back with "fowl" (presumably ducks, geese, and turkeys, which were common in the area). There is no written history of turkeys actually being served at the first Thanksgiving- it is just speculation.

So what if they actually ate something different. What if they had crow, sparrow, or woodpecker? Maybe peacock, blue jay, and owl? My point is (if I have one) that if 265 million turkeys are meeting their maker in the name of Thanksgiving each year, shouldn't we be sure it isn't the pigeon we're after?! I'm just saying the streets would be a cleaner place.

no catchy title today.

I saw this on post secret and thought it was funny.

First Season.

It was an exciting weekend!
I shot 30-40 deer.

with my camera.

0 with a gun.

I did see one monster buck, but I didn't have a shot at him. Maybe next season...9 days away.

The video from this year is going to be sweet. I got some great footage!

21 hours and counting...

At this time tomorrow I will be sitting in a tree (I guess it's better than hanging from one).

Deer Season '06, here I come!

I've now been at work 16 minutes. I'll try to hold out another 44 before leaving, "sick." I have a ton of stuff to do at the house before I pack up and head to camp this afternoon.

If possible, I'll update over the weekend. Catch ya on the flip side!

True.

I got the following in an email this morning. The highlighted points are all too sadly, my reality.

YOU MIGHT BE IN THE INSURANCE INDUSTRY IF.....
1. You sat at the same desk for 4 years and worked for 3 different managers.
2. Your resume is on a diskette in your pocket.
3. When someone asks you what you do for a living, you lie.
4. You get really excited about a 2% pay increase.
5. Your biggest loss from a systems crash is that you lose your best jokes.
6. You sit in a cubicle smaller than your bedroom closet.
7. It's dark on your drive to and from work.
8. Fun is when "claims" are assigned to someone else.
9. Communication is something your "group" is having problems with.
10. You see a good-looking person and know it is a visitor.
11. Free food left over from meetings is your main staple.
12. Art involves a white board.
13. All real work is done prior to 9:00 am and after 5:00 PM
14. You're already late on the assignment you just received.
15. Dilbert is your favorite cartoon.
16. Your boss's favorite lines are...."When you get a few minutes""In your spare time""I have an opportunity for you"
17. Less than 10% of the people in your company know what you do.
18. Vacation is something you roll-over to next year or a check you get every January.
19. Change is the norm.
20. You read this entire list and understand it.

And I'd like to add:
20. Approximately 90% of your phone conversations involve the words "vomit, diarrhea, pay me, and/or lawyer."
21. Everywhere you go, all you see is potential safety hazards.
22. People send you partially chewed or digested items found in their 99cent sandwiches on a daily basis.

Deer Camp

4 days. It begins.

The anticipation is building.

Friday is the opening day of shotgun deer season in Illinois. For seven days of the year, hunters in our state pour into the woods in hopes of bagging a big, corn-fed Whitetail. It is something I eagerly look forward to, not because I enjoy killing animals, but because of the relationships that surround the event and for the time spent away from the rest of the world. When you are hunting, you are miles away from reality. It's just you, the trees, the wind, the wildlife, and God. I love it.

Traditionally, the hunters in our party gather at "Deer Camp" the Thursday night before opening day for a feast. It is held in a 30x60' shop with a heated concrete floor, full kitchen, bathroom, and loft. It even has a hot tub to relax in after a long day in the cold. My dad and Bernie (the owner of the shop) invite a bunch of their customers and other hunters over to dine on a variety of wild game dishes. I usually have a showing of the previous years Wild Boar and Deer Hunting DVD's I film and produce.

Then it's off to bed (if sleep is possible). We roll out of bed around 4:30-5am every day, inhale breakfast, pile on layers of insulation, and head out to the stands before daylight.

I can already feel the crisp air in my lungs, see the forest come alive as daylight creeps through the branches, hear hooves gently plodding through fallen leaves, smell the gunpowder...

4 more days...

highlights-not in my hair.

Some highlights from the past few days of my exciting life:

A lady filed a claim for being stung by a bee (apparently we're supposed to be able to control them).

I fell down the last few stairs at my house. Shaggy carpet is slippery.

I learned that Cougar becomes a ravenous, growling beast if you give him a porkchop and then try to take it away to cut it into smaller pieces so he can actually swallow it. Apparently he thinks he's an anaconda.

I am now doing the work of two claims examiners, as we are 4 people short this week.

I ate breakfast sausage for supper. Delicious.

Blockbuster Total Access has drastically changed my life.

I paid a man $40 for ripping his pants on a bench.

I spend more time looking for a new job while at work than actually working at my job. And no one notices.

I have nearly cleaned out all the random food items from my cupboards and freezer since I've been broke since last friday. Necessity is the mother of all invention-and strange meal combinations (see previous sausage example).

I wore a bathrobe to work.

Actually, I did not wear a bathrobe to work. But it would be fun.

My Matrix.

There is a concept my mind has been chewing on. I have become aware that I am a part of several communities that I interact with on a daily basis, but which I am totally disconnected with. These “Matrix Communities,” as I call them, occur where people are gathered in close proximity, but not necessarily in social settings. Maybe it’s a coffee shop… a doctor’s waiting room…a bus for the morning commute. They are everywhere.

Think about it. How many distinct groups of people are you around every day? Groups of individuals that you recognize, yet know nothing about? Maybe you have already assumed personalities or life stories for these people. You may know everything about them-in your mind. But it’s all an illusion. This is the Matrix.

For example, I workout at a particular gym at a particular time of the day, several days a week. So do approximately 100-200 other people. These are the people in my Matrix. I don’t know them. But when members of my community are absent, I notice. When there are new people, I notice. There is a subconscious connection with these strangers. I enjoy being in their company. Why?

I think it has to do with another “Matrix” concept: ignorance is bliss. When we bounce from one community to the next, we only see the surface of each member’s life. We come to our own conclusions about what is underneath. And in my communities, everyone is happy-their lives are free from pain and worry. I have decided this for them. My Matrix is comforting and I can share in their illusion.

It’s easy to go through life this way-not caring to go deeper than the surface. Not marring the complexion of our Matrix communities by crossing over the line into the reality of each member’s life.

With reality comes pain, but through pain you find love. Break the Matrix.

More to come…

Sugarfeast.

I had a GREAT and bountiful Halloween! What I don't understand is why all the children who rang my doorbell went away upset (some even in tears).

Halloween is a holiday of generosity, correct? You are to give freely of what you have to bring joy to others and yourself. I thought I had this nailed down. Apparently, I was wrong.

Here's the scenario:

Doorbell rings.

I answer it as I normally would when a Girlscout, Amway Lady, or other salesperson visits.

However, on this night of the year, the visitors greated me with arms outstretched and bags or buckets overflowing with sweet delights. I was overcome with the spirit of the holiday and reacted in the only way that is natural:

I scooped handfulls of candy out of their stockpiles and into my bowl and shut the door.

Happy Halloween!

just kidding.