"What am I getting out of this?"
It's not like God's firing blessings out of Heavenly cannons ... at least not the ones I'm waiting at the moment.
It's been a cluster of a morning.
Restringing my guitar before the Nursing Home, I put the strings on wrong, snap one as I'm tuning, replace the broken one, drop my Snark Guitar Tuner breaking it and rush like a Bat out of Hell to get there.
Ten minutes late, I see no one has shown so it's just me playing alone.
Before getting the guitar out of the case a white hair woman kisses me on the lips and tells me she's in love, wants me to perform the ceremony as soon as her beloved can get out of bed.
"Are you sneaking into his bed at night?" I grin.
She grins back. "Yes! Of course."
As soon as I start playing, two residents spill coffee over the table and sit like children mesmerized by the shape the liquid takes as it spreads.
"Dammit I said I want coffee!" an old woman screams!
"Blessed Assurance" isn't going over very well today.
That's when the thought hits ... "This is my story! This is my song!" ... I'd really prefer to be on a warm beach with Sarah in her bikini, with drinks with Umbrellas, listening to Bob Marley songs.
Of course, given such an option I'm sure the Nursing Home inmates would jump on it too.
Oh well, I'm here ... playing an out-of-tune guitar with new strings and not much more to give ... wishing I was somewhere else.
"See you next week?" one legged Jim asks.
"I hope so," I answer packing things away. "I may have to work."
"Hey man," a surprisingly young man says from his wheelchair. "You the Rev?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Randy," he answers shaking my right hand with his left one. "Can you believe it? I had a stroke and ended up here."
"That sucks," I say placing my hand on his shoulder.
"It does suck!" he agrees before wheeling away with one hand.
An old black man in coveralls patiently waits and shakes my hand without speaking ... he grins ... tears fill his eyes and he lays his head on my shoulder.
The last of the breath goes out of me and I'm completely empty.
"Okay God," I say out loud, finally sitting behind the steering wheel, more than ready to leave, "they're yours. I got nothing."
God doesn't answer as I make my way home.
