CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith for the Years of Winter
Art Poovey was the grayest man I ever knew. Every day, he wore a gray suit, gray shirt, gray tie, gray sox, gray shoes. He was a Lutheran theology professor at Wartburg Seminary.
We were at the same lunch table one day, chili day. On the table was a rather large bowl of chili powder. Art took the spoon out of the communal bowl of chili powder and upended said bowl over his own bowl of chili, until the chili was covered by a mound of chili powder.
He saw the rest of us staring at him.
“Oh, this is nothing,” he said. “I pastored a church in San Anotnio when I was young and learned to eat it this way.”
Never assume that just because a man is old and gray, that there is no fire in his belly.