The grass is always browner

            Yes, those are UPS socks. My brown socks on my brown floor. The offical sock of choice for summer UPS drivers. From that obscure year that I wore The Browns, that unforgotten four quarters that I quarterbacked from the packed brown package Packer. Including two full Christmas seasons for the international non-Cleveland Browns, the ace rolling QB’s of box launching. Two Decembers that my wife barely saw me, often getting home near 10. When you pass a UPS truck after 7pm, tip your hat to the driver. They wish they were out of their brown truck, on their way home.

Here’s an excerpt from my upcoming book about an incident that happened during that brief dead-leaf colored season in my life. A time when I sat in my truck, sporting a pair of those short socks, next to a guy who I felt should have been tipping his hat to me. A time when our Heavenly Dispatcher clearly spoke to me.  From the chapter entitled “A sudden smack from Above”, a section about times we find out God hears our thoughts from a’near, that He’s not as afar as we think:

****************************************************

     Yes, I drove for UPS. I think there’s some kind of law in America that everyone, at some point in their life, has to work for UPS, or at least support them financially. If you don’t, you get shipped back. To wherever. And they’ll send you via snail mail.
For one year, I donned the browns, delivering out of the standard package car you see everywhere. Even bought the short brown UPS socks. Many of my co-browners liked the job, but it wasn’t for me. Besides, my nature is to be dissatisfied, to complain quietly on my insides. The silent grumble rumble.

Now, don’t tell me you never silently rumble a grumble; we all live within a step or two of the Universal Complaint Department. I drove for UPS, and delivered to the UCD. Daily. But no one was ever at the desk to hear my grousing. Odd.
So one late spring morning, I’m sitting in my browniform at a traffic light on NJ Route 46, brown truck idling, doors open. In my heart, I’m at the UCD window, complaining to the person who’s not at the desk about how I’d like to have a different job. My internal grumble was rumbling louder than my brown idling engine.

A brand new European car pulls up, with some soft looking guy in a tailored suit, window down, right next to me. I start thinking how easy he’s got it. 10:30 a.m. and not even at work yet; cushy job, rich car, probably has it made. The UCD desk window is about to crack from my rumble.
As I’m sitting there envying my fellow red light idler, he turns to me and says, “You UPS guys got it made! You get to drive around all day with the doors wide open!” The light turns green and he guns it, eurocar’s off, dissatisfied with his life, envying my brown one.
Another midthought Godsmack. Hurt almost as much as that yellow jackwhack (the coming book will explain that one–Authorperson). God slammed the UCD window closed right on my fussing fingers. I sighed, loosened my gripe grip enough to put the truck in gear, and decided to have a good day after all. I mean, all us believers got it made, you know? Regardless of what truck we’re driving. Because our loving Heavenly Dispatcher knows right where He’s shipping us.

*****************************************************

So, have you ever driven for the Browns, or the Purple and Oranges, or any other professional package passers? Or do you support them as a professional online shopper? Are you tired of hanging out at the Univeral Complaint Department? And has our Heavenly Dispatcher ever answered your thoughts from a’near? Tell me about it! Maybe I’ll send you a pair of my retired brown QB socks.