The Pagan with the Pen

Guy Sayles, Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) and I spent a night in a cabin outside of Dublin, Georgia once. Three good friends who had been instrumental in each others lives were taking a break from it all to be together.

We'd all ended up working in Georgia at the same time. Guy was the Pastor of the Baptist Church in Lagrange, Bill was working for the Home Mission Board in Atlanta and I'd left the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville for Union Mission in Savannah.

I remember that I was the one who suggested we gather having not all been together since we were in Seminary. Bill was the one who secured the cabin as it was owned by his good friend Bill Black's family. Guy agreed to do the cooking, which we insisted on, because he's a great cook!

We all rendezvoused at the Wendy's in Metter then found our way to the cabin. It was rustic, tin roofed and light shone through the wall in spots. Bill loved it. Guy was appalled. I was along for the ride.

Sitting around a large bonfire throughout most of the night, we smoked cigars, drank beer, argued theology and talked about what we wanted out of our lives. Our true personalities came out as we freely and openly shared in the safe zone that only the deepest of friendships can trust.

"We're averaging a beer every twenty minutes," Guy said.

"Do you have a point?" I replied as I opened another one.

Throwing another log on the fire, Bill asked, "Are you saying we need more beer?"

Shaking his head I could tell that while Guy is no more religious than we are, he approaches it with a seriousness that Bill and I lack. I do recall that  he got in the car with us as we drove to the Beer store and return to the firs pit. I think he even drove though I'm fuzzy on that.

We stayed up most of the night "just having a chance to hang around and lie there by the fire ... and talk of Poems, prayers and promises and things that we believe in ..."

It was a defining retreat for each of us. Guy was determined that his life was to be lived out within the church which is exactly what he's done. He remains the best I've ever heard so Google him or become his Facebook friend so can see for yourself. Plus he probably still believes he can beat me in racquetball, which he can't, though I haven't played in years.

Bill has been around the world several times over looking for God and love which he found ... and he lost ... more than once. He works now, behind the scenes, giving life to those who would otherwise be dead. Now skiddish to put himself completely out there, he's tough to track down these days. He remains himself though, believing in ways that Guy and I could never match.

And I'm the Pagan with the pen. I remember these things because I love them so much and I wouldn't be me without them. Occasionally I go to Bar Church these days but spend more time worshiping on the Beloved Back Deck or on the beach ... or calling God's name when I'm with Sarah.

Last night I sat by a fire and remembered that weekend. I sipped wine instead of beer. I no longer care for cigars. Waves crashed in the distance as I read Guy's latest post and said prayers of thanks that Bill and I were together a couple of weeks ago.

"And what about tomorrow? And what about our dreams? And all the memories that we share?"

Then I toasted my glass towards heaven and called you both by name as the waves crashed, the fire crackled and the stars danced.