"I have an appointment with Congressman Thomas," I lie the first time I did it.
"I'm sorry sir," I don't see your name scheduled the fresh face intern with pimples confirms.
"No, No," I explain, "He just told me in the hall that he needs five minutes with me before his next meeting. We go to the same church back home."
"OH!" she squeals ... taking a pencil and inserting my name into a calendar with no room for anything else.
The Chamber of Commerce group in three piece suits bearing gifts of hats, local produce and tee shirts for Lindsay Thomas give me the death stare.
"Right this way Rev. Elliott," a prettier intern with less pimples says, guiding me into his office in the Cannon Office Building.
"Who in the Hell let you in?" Lindsay exclaims.
The pretty intern with less pimples almost pees her pants.
"I just need a second," I smile.
He sighs as I throw my arm around him and start talking ... funding for people with AIDS, housing for the homeless, money for preventive heath care ... I really don't remember but it was one of those.
Decades later, I'm riding the escalator in Regan International ... tired, lonely, burned out and sad but still doing it ... somehow ... when an arm's slung around my shoulder and I see a grin only elected officials in high places have.
No longer a Congressman, Lindsay's with the U.S. Chamber of Commerce and, as always his smile looks like several million dollars.
"You look terrible," he says with the whitest teeth ever.
"Thanks," I sigh.
"Remember the time you got passed all my spies ..." he giggles.
I laugh and for a moment the sadness breaks and ... I love Lindsay Thomas.
He gives me his card saying, "Call me if I can help. I don't know what I can do but I'll try."
Salt water fills my eyes and he hugs me as he rushes to his cab and I rush to mine.
That was a long time ago.
I don't rush much anywhere anymore.
I rush to make Sarah's coffee or to see whatever she's wearing but ... that's about it.
I rush to the beach as often as I get around to it ... normally Sarah's second Laurel's involved these days.
But I know I have it in me to do these things.
"I can't wait for you to find your passion again," Sarah tells me sometimes. "You're incredible to watch when you're on fire."
I'm on fire I think to myself ... it's just the slow, smoldering kind ... intensely burning for her, my kids, the girls, a church in a Bar, a Spirit trying to soar above an island and a quiet commune full of dogs, a cat, a Palm Tree with a face, choirs of cicada, salt in the air and an incredible collection of people who love us.
It's all going to blow up again.
I know this and am doing the best I can to get ready.
It's time.
Though I do love this slow, smoldering time we've been blessed with.
