God, Mr. Funnyman

During my basic training at Fort Lewis, Wash., in November 1970, we had the privilege of riding in cattle cars to and from different parts of the post. On this one cold and rainy morning, like every morning, we were off to the rifle range. We shot in the upright and the leaning position. When it came to the prone, all I could see is this big puddle of ice-cold water waiting for me. Laying in this puddle, not wanting to cuss God, suddenly the sun appears. I thought to myself, there is a God and he is good. Then it started to snow; again I thought, God has a sense of humor. I qualified as a sharpshooter that day.

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