Thursday, July 23, 2009

No. 53


Beer: Sweetwater 420
Date: July 20th, 2009

Place: Fellini's, Atlanta, GA


Both Matt and Andy spent time where I did out in the Sangre de Chritso mountains in Colorado. Matt did the same year as I; Andy, a year before.

Both are UGA fellows. Both now live in Atlanta. Both are avid beer drinkers, college football appreciators, red pant wearers.

Matt and I were counselors one term of camp together. One of our campers said he thought Matt was the same age as his dad are you? to which I couldn't stop laughing, internally, of course, for we were working at a Christian camp and that would have not been nice, to laugh, and I wasn't laughing at the fact that Matt looked as old as this kid's dad, in particular, but in the fact that when I was a kid I thought everyone looked older and I probably had the same threshold for ages that this kid did, and some people really just grow into their look, like Ronald Regan, who looked old until he was, and then looked boyish again.

Matt was my one friend who I knew in Atlanta when I moved there, and we got together frequently for dinners and I think I probably owe him several as he was working and picked up the check more than once.

We don't talk as much as I'd like, and we see each other less frequently than that, but the four years didn't seem that long as we shared a pitcher.

Andy, on the other hand, I talk to all the time. Part of it is the fact that he is my accountant and the other part is that he and I are much alike.

Whereas Matt and I worked together at this camp, Andy was kicked out the year before. Maybe for drinking. Maybe for cussing. Maybe just because he is a thinker and doesn't accept crap and lives the considered Christian life and if there was one guy who won't just sit around and listen to idle theology or hypocrisy or who thinks Jesus is bigger than religion but who also doesn't cram it down anyone's throat, as someone dying of starvation or AIDS (not that Andy comes into contact with those people daily, but you know) doesn't care about Jesus, as much as they care about food or medical attention, and that's what Jesus calls us to anyways, to care for the widow and orphan, the oppressed.

I was told about Andy at camp (You hear about those guys who got kicked out last year?) and met him the next year as he came to Ole Miss to work in campus ministry and he was the voice I needed as a new Christian who was looking to make sense of it all but still had a bad taste from those who I knew where Christian who lived lives that I can't image were too much like Jesus'.

Andy left the ministry-as-a-paycheck and went back into accounting-as-a-paycheck the month after I left Atlanta, and we hadn't spent any time together in four years, either, but since we talk so frequently it didn't seem like it had been long at all, and I was lucky to be able to sleep on his couch in his loft right above a strip club.

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