It is a warm and pleasant December evening. Stars blaze in the pitch black sky above the vast dark ocean with its waves singing in the night. We pull into the parking lot on Izlar Street which is just off the "Combat Zone" of Tybee Island. One block away, the highest concentration of bars and tee shirt shops lay in wait for party people but here on this little quiet lane there is a sanctuary from the craziness of night time beach living.
Reaching inside of the car I pull out my guitar. At one time I was pretty good. Then I took a thirty year vacation from it. When my friend Mitch Wesley showed up last year, he shammed me into retrieving it from the back of the closet where it rested. We played old songs and my fingers were so sore.
Then Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee along with Gordon Hill, insisted that God had told him to tell me to start playing at Bar Church. I think God talks to Sam more than She does the rest of us. She's forever telling him to not play that verse, add a solo where there hadn't been one before or invite me to say something on the spot. Of course, God doesn't tell the rest of us any of this, so ... we just try to follow Samuel.
This has been going on for weeks now. Ever since the beloved Dawgs of Georgia were slayed by the Philistines of Louisiana, we've been pretty steady in Bar Church. And we've been in the band! My fingers have now calloused over and every week they seem to remember things that they used to do.
God had told Sam to tell the rest of us to do something that we'd never done before ... practice.
So we all showed up at his house. God also told Sam to take a shower before we got there and he evidently enjoyed it so much he remained until the hot water ran out ... leaving us pounding on the door. He had sofas on his porch so I was pretty cool about it all. I sat on the couch and waited. You can't rush God ... or Sam.
Eventually he let us in. Dedra immediately disappeared into back to participate in some holy smoke. There's a lot of holy stuff in Sam's house. We tuned guitars and put music in order. Sarah searched for her notes. As soon as we started playing, Sean and Wren showed up with cupcakes. You can't have a religious service without the breaking of the bread.
God had told Sam to tell Sean to play bass in the band. Sean had no choice. {Mitch Wesley, on the other hand, doesn't listen to God since he retired.}
As soon as we started to play, Davy the drummer rushed in screaming and scaring the Holy Ghost right out of all of us. Nevertheless, the band was assembled for its first practice. Well ... except for Gordon ... and Joe ... and Jean-Marie who obviously opted out of listening to God.
Then we launched into the first song, which will be the last song at Bar Church tomorrow. As soon as we started, God started telling Sam stuff and Sam actually passed it on to the rest of us. "Start here. End there. Everybody sing this." So we listened and the first time we did it like God had told Sam for us to do it ... it was magic.
We recognized it as it was happening. I looked at Sean who was looking at me and smiled. Sarah and I exchanged winks. Davy pounded away. Nobody was certain what Dedra was doing. Sam was smiling as he played with his eyes closed apparently still in conversation with God about the order of the service.
God suddenly told Sam to tell us to take a break. So we did. Sam went to the computer and started transferring money. I told myself to bring Sam my stock investments so that God could tell him to tell me what to do to maximize those babies.
It was back to practice after the money-changers had finished. Though Davy either had spontaneously combusted playing the drums or been called to heaven. Either way, he wasn't there anymore. Then it was cupcake time which was followed by a carnivore's delight.
We came home happy, fully prepared and knowing what we're going to do in Bar Church tomorrow.
Well ... until God tells Sam to tell us what we're really going to do.
