hog heaven

Despite his size and snorting, I had no idea he was behind me until he clamped down on my right butt cheek. I screamed, he squealed, and my Papa broke down laughing. I was five years old, and the hogs on my grandfather’s farm in central Texas were at least twice my size. So when one of them snuck up behind me and took a bite out of my behind, I was terrorized for life.

Still on the farm twenty-five years later, I remembered the horror as I walked across the back pasture at sunset and saw what I thought was a pack of stray dogs in the distance. Then the pack turned and started running towards me. As they closed in I started to hear the telltale sounds of snorting and squealing, and quickly realized the “stray dogs” were really wild feral hogs. My feet never touched the ground.

No, I don’t like pigs biting my pants, but I do like them on my plate. The smell of bacon in the morning. Sausage and biscuits. Honey baked ham at Christmas. My father saying, “I can’t eat pork, it’s against my religion,” every time he reaches for another strip, patty or link.

Pigs can be pets, the main character in children's books, breakfast, or in my case at five they can even be terrorists. But the one I have never understood is pig as a mascot. Well, I guess I’ll have to get used to it, because we’re moving to Arkansas!

That’s right, we’re moving to Fayetteville, Arkansas… home of the University of Arkansas Razorbacks. Go hogs. Woo pig.

Actually, we really are excited. Jenn and I both graduate in May, and in July we will pack up and leave our old Kentucky home. I will be working at the Wesley Foundation at the University of Arkansas as an Associate Director. For those of you who don’t know, the Wesley Foundation is the Methodist Church’s college campus ministry. They have a great program down there, with a great staff and some awesome students. As we get closer to moving I’ll fill you in on more of the details.

Until then, pray for us as we wrap up this season here and prepare to begin a new one in Arkansas. And pray for Jenn, too. She’ll be looking for a job once we’re there.

So until next time: Salaam, Shalom, Peace… and Woo Pig Sooie.