Sometimes being a clergyman hurt. One day I was playing with my children in the yard between the church and parsonage. A big logging truck roared by. The driver honked his horn and gave me an obscene gesture. It bothered me—deeply. Who was I that I should get that kind of abuse? The guy didn’t know me. He just saw a pastor and gave me his load of anger and resentment. Then one day when I was jogging, I stopped to talk to a farmer on his tractor. He was part of the church, and we had an interesting conversation. As I jogged off, he yelled, “If you had a real job, you wouldn’t need to run around like that!” I knew he was teasing, but beneath all humor lies some truth. Who am I to him? I wondered. My daily walk to the post office took on added meaning.