My Favorite Apostle

I like Judas Iscariot.

He's my favorite Apostle.

I know ... it's not a popular thing to say ... but the Dude had a good heart.

Of the Twelve Disciples, he's the Social Worker of the bunch, lobbying money spent on perfume is better used feeding the hungry and I agree with him.

I like a Pedicure as much as anyone and if Mary Magdalene were rubbing my feet with expensive oil, I'd be pretty happy.

Same with the hair.

If Mary Magdalene wanted to wash my hair and put "product" in it ... I'm a happy guy.

Jesus obviously enjoyed it like I would.

Judas cares for the poor though ... "Why didn't we sell this for a lot of dough and helped the poor?"

That takes balls.

Jesus, being Jesus and all, is tired and needs a break and Mary's making him feel good for the first time in forever ... spends all she's made on the man ... and Judas calls her out on Jesus's on beliefs about the poor.

If you would be perfect then go and sell what you have and give it to the poor ... then you'll have treasure in Heaven so ... come on and follow me."

Busted!

Judas' reminding Jesus of things he'd taught the Disciples.

How can you not love that?

I think Judas was still trying to help the poor when he betrayed Jesus.

He did it to raise the money Mary had spent ... perhaps wasted ... on Jesus' feet and hair and I think he was going to live up to the words of his friend and help the poor.

But it didn't work out that way.

The best of intentions rarely do.

A chain of events is kicked off with a kiss ... two men die within minutes of each other ... one by the Government and the other by himself ...and ... the world's never been the same.

I believe Judas has gotten a bum rap through these centuries.

If there was a Disciple that Jesus loved the most ... I think it was Judas.

He was the first who wanted to give it all away ... to the poor ... and actually do the things Jesus talked about.

And in the end, he was the first to give his life for it too.

Missing My Dad

I was really missing my Dad yesterday.

Sarah, the girls and I are taking it easy, playing cards and laughing together after lunch before I retreat to the sofa for a nap.

Later, I turned on the Spring Day football game ... really a practice ... for the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia ... sent text to my son and daughter ... and ...

call my Mom.

She isn't watching the game because she doesn't have the elaborate and more expensive TV package allowing all things College football.

Sarah, indeed, loves me a lot.

"I wish Dad were here," I say to Mom. "He'd love this."

My sister Angi starts posting her feelings about the game online and I imagine she's thinking of Dad too, as she has his ashes and pulls them out for all UGA games, opening a beer beside what's left of him to enjoy.

Jeremy and Chelsea send text.

Sarah rolls her eyes.

"He always loved it when you called to talk about whatever was happening," Mom says and I can see him sitting in his chair in the elegant "Man Cave" she made him, staring at the television and dissecting whatever it is we've seen.

I would have really liked to do that again yesterday.

One of the funny things about working with the dying is how much it reinforces the love of living while you got.

"Let's go for a bike ride and check out Orange Crush," Laurel our 12 year old says.

"The game's not over," I say pointing to the television.

"Aw come on," she coos.

So we pump air into the bicycle tires and glide into the thong of College students, police officers, elected officials monitoring  the situation, frightened white home owners and the unafraid ones too, sitting in their yards instructing kids where to park.

"Dad would love this too," I say out loud.

"What?" Laurel asks.

I smile at the beauty of a 12 year old becoming a woman.

"I said my Dad would've loved you."

She smiles and my eyes grow moist.

Anyway, I missed my Dad yesterday.

Somehow I know that he knows.