My favorite time of year

It's great to be back  in my temperate zone.

Someone's said that you forever lo

ve the weather of the month you were born.

Sarah was born in May and in many ways reflects Spring; the dying of winter, the coming of new blooms, fresh air sweeping out the old and an emerging warming of things once cold.

I was born in July and everything about me shows it.

I love open windows, ceiling fans, lit grills, everything in full bloom at once, and the sun casting thousands of diamonds on the morning sea.

I love beach walks with Sarah, setting up camp in the sand for all the kids, body surfing, searching for shark's teeth and taking one last look from the crosswalk as we make our way home from a day on the beach.

I love music from the Pier at night, sitting on the back deck talking or listening, Palm Trees dancing in the breeze, seagulls squawking and the splash Pelicans make when they hit the water.

I love boat drinks, beer and wine, a constant stream of beach music, live bands, crowds with good vibes and I love to dance with Sarah.

I love watching kids play in the surf, families fish in the waves, boys look at girls and girls look at boys as they troll the beach,

I love Sarah's girls drawing with chalk on the drive way, water fights in the yard, the fact they always miss a spot with the sunscreen and using every single towel in the house when we get home from the beach.

I love shooting stars, the roar of the waves at High Tide, hot dogs with mustard and onion, grilled shrimp and potato chips.

I love Sarah in her bikini.

And I love that tomorrow's a holiday and we get to do it all again because it's summer.

Summer time's here.

My favorite time of year.

Peace, Love & Sandy Toes

Sarah and I are contemplating.

A couple of months ago, we made a decision and I applied for a job that would have radically altered the way we live.

A lot was up in the air ... how to spend time in another state, what to do with Sarah's girls, significant travel, spending time apart ... all tempered with excitement, enthusiasm and passion for the work.

Interviews happened, visits were made and ... alas, it didn't come to pass.

So we had the let down that comes when such things happen.

It was a bummer.

We're both ready and this would have been a great match!

But ... life goes on.

What do you do when you don't get what you want?

We went to the beach.

Literally!

For days we grabbed our chairs, cooler and thoughts and set up camp in the sand dunes to protect ourselves from the wind and for privacy.

And we talked.

We shared.

Opening ourselves up to one another, we processed our disappointment, reviewed our options, made short term plans and dug our toes in the sand.

All that to say ... shit happens.

As a result though, we've have 3 days of peace, love and sandy toes.

And it just doesn't get better than that.

How Different are you?

At the beach, life is different.

Most can only take "different" in small doses, going to the beach for a weekend or a week or two.

They have to manage being "different" while the rest of us embrace it as a complete and total lifestyle.

The beach is a world of extremes.

There's too much contemplation and too many opportunities to have fun.

Living here means you swing both of those ways because you can overdose on too much of either.

As my friend Jane Fishman told me, "On an island everybody is either running to, or from, something."

Plus there's lots of water ... and lots of alcohol.

Both are used for baptisms.

Life moves slower, probably because we're constantly confused about which way we're heading ... contemplation or fun ... to someone or from ... seeking forgiveness or just diving back in for more sins ... sunrise or sunset?

I've got friends on both sides.

The contemplative ones are all involved with the Government, passing laws, making policies and forever sprucing up Paradise.

The fun ones only notice when one of the Government's numerous employees ... policemen and policy enforcers ... pull them over to arrest us, give our dogs a ticket or issue a "Stop Work" order.

I try to slide under both radars, strolling with the dogs and a little Blessing or two, by the Back River, inhaling the smell of the Marsh, listening to the Mussels tick and pop in the mud which naturally makes you think about sex.

It's a different way to live.

My Mom will be the first to tell you I've always been different.

I've been much happier once I accepted it.

I feel really bad for those who haven't and are still trying to fit in.

Which are you?

I want to know who to say prayers for tonight.
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The no longer sad little holy dock

It good be a good economic sign or a bad one.

I don't know yet.

But the sad little holy dock is now a gated community for no one.

Goddess was taking me on a stroll down our street to the marsh where we take a left. Half-a-block later we turn to the left again and there is the dock jutting out into the marsh.

It is not a fine dock by any stretch of the imagination with its warped boards that have pulled the nails out of the beams. The "T" at the end is shaky and sits low in the marsh. The planks are weatherworn and old. There is nothing ornate about it other than seagull droppings. You feel the whole thing will topple over at any moment.

There was a while when it suited me perfectly! Goddess and I would meander aimlessly around the island and end up sitting on the sad little holy dock for hours on end. We were lost in the marsh.

But things changed.

Sarah and I began taking walks and held hands on the sad little holy dock. Sitting with our feet dangling above the green grass and black mud, we shared dreams, kisses and more.

Now when Sarah's girls and I walk the dogs they love to sit on the dock and tell me about school, boyfriends, problems or what's for dinner.

The truth is I no longer visit the dock like I used to because I'm in a hurry to get back home.

Yet it's with interest that I see the gate with a chain blocking entrance to the sad little holy dock.

Personally, I hope Shirley is turning it into a tourist attraction!

God knows I've written enough about it! People want to see it when they visit us.

"Is that the sad little holy dock," they ask?

"Well it was," I answer, "but its not anymore."

It's just an old relic of a past that's no more.
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Summer's gone

The Government has shut down because the idiots we've elected are self serving ideologues.

It says as much about us as it does them.

Having said that ... the skies an incredible deep blue. A brilliant yellow sun blazes on a glassy ocean reflecting white light in every direction. My toes dig in the cool sand and a crisp breeze blows from the north which I don't care for yet it's a pleasant morning. Seagulls squawk Hymns of praise, sand crabs dart into holes and a pod of Dolphins smile as they glide by me. I smile back.

Summer's gone ...

I've read somewhere that your favorite season is when you were born.

It's true for me.

My birthday is July and I love summer with everything in me!

September is a mixed bag full of college football and airplanes crashing into buildings. October is a cozy fire in the Chiminea and ghosts wandering the streets. Thanksgiving bleeds into Christmas, Chanukah or Ramadan throwing us into the New Year which is cold and dark. In the dead of winter we go searching for our hearts again.

My dear friend Mitch Wesley is a Celtic at heart and believes things take root in the cold hard ground. Growth begins in the dark times. Light burst out of emptiness, stones are rolled away and new lives are embraced. It starts when we embrace the darkness and you go from there.

I like the idea but hate the experience.

Give me miles and miles of clear blue skies, rum on ice, lazy days in a Paradise of white sand, aqua water and laundry neatly folded and put away. Days linger into warm nights with blazing stars and a moon dancing across the sky. Fireflies, Dragonflies and Butterflies are Angels spreading happiness and hope.

The Government has initiated the beginning of the dark period ... again. The Church will follow suit. Those who haven't taken sides yet will. Wars and the rumor of wars will increase. Hell will come on earth as it is in ... Hell. Heaven's just a wish for a warm heart on Valentine's Day when the world is cold and bitter.

 But ... today the sun shines down on me, the house is full of love as I work on things I love in bare feet. Dark things are happening but I refuse to be part of them. I love the Sun dancing on green leaves and casting white diamonds on the Sea. I love Home, the cicada songs, squirrels playing in Palm Trees and Pelicans diving into the ocean.

These are the things I will dwell on today.

The Government, the Church and the Powers that be can dwell on other things because I'm not going to be part of that world.

I'm staying where it's always summer.

Book History

My first book came out right after I'd left the place it was about. Sitting on Daytona Beach, I saw "The Society of Salty Saints" for the first time and read about a rag tag, inner city congregation that somehow took off and, because I'd been the "Professional Christian" in charge, a publisher was interested and asked me to write a book.

It did well and I was asked to write a sequel.

So I did.

It pissed the publisher off because I decided to only use quotes from Clarence Jordan's "Cotton Patch Gospels". Clarence is the only prophet Southern Baptist ever produced and translated the New Testament into a modern day southern vernacular. The publisher thought I was compromising the continuing story of the gritty church in the city.

So they dropped me.

By this time I was in Savannah, Georgia and because "Salty Saints" had sold well, another publisher gave me a contract for "Partners In Grace". It was very much like the first book and it did really well so they wanted me to do another. "Why the Homeless Don't Have Homes" is the only thing I've written to win an award and it got me invited to lots of places.

A friend I'd gone to Seminary with was now working for another publisher. He called asking if they could publish my next book and I said, "Sure."

Horrified they read the manuscript of "Running with the Dolphins & other Tybee Tales."

"Um, Micheal," Scott said when he called, "we're a religious publisher. We only do Christian books."

"Lots of people use God's name on Tybee," I replied. "Especially late at night."

When the book came out, it did crazily good and remains my most popular writing.

So Scott was even more horrified when the next book was "Playing Hide & Seek: A non-Church-goers guide to God". Most books have a preface written by someone vouching for it. Nobody would vouch for this one and I actually got hate mail before it was published.

When it did come out, the publisher dropped me.

The next one was "Out from under the Rock", sort of a sequel and I gave all of the money it made to Union Mission. It made lots of money. I didn't get any.

So I decided to write a book that would make me a lot of money. Tour of Homes is a big, ambitious tome that didn't make me any money. It got good reviews though.

Then I got distracted did lots of writing but it wasn't book stuff.

Sarah walked outside one day and, "It's time for a new book. Why don't you write one about Winston, the little gay dog?"

As far as we know nobody's written a book about a gay dog ... so I did.

Then Sarah walked outside and said, "It's time for another book. People have been asking."

"Well I just finished the book on Winston, the little gay dog, yesterday," I replied.

This was received with incredible silence, crossed arms and an "Are you kidding me?" look.

So, Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts (http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/ ) is done and will be out soon.

Winston, the little gay dog, is pissed because he thought his book would be out first. He just stormed out wearing a little sweater with the words "Writers Suck More" while flipping me his middle pad on his paw with nails painted red.

What do you do?

No matter what, I seem to always get under somebody's skin.

Or in this case, fur.

Showers in the Rain

I haven't taken an indoor shower since March.

I love my outdoor shower!

Every morning I give Sarah a squeeze and crawl out of bed leaving her sleeping to stumble down the staircase, through the porch that leads to the wooden walkway to the outdoor shower.

This is no small feat as I live with 4 girls, Goddess who is a girl and Winston, the little gay dog. Luckily the girls are asleep so they don't see me. Goddess doesn't care because she knows the routine though Winston, the little gay dog, prances down the stairs behind me goggling at me.

The Cat Lady next door is quiet though she leaves her lights on all night. As the day dawns they still burn but the house is silent and still.

It's a real burst to my self-esteem when choirs of birds burst into song as I stumble outside. It just makes me feel good about myself. I don't even suck my stomach in or anything. They love me just as I am.

On the wooden shower door is a yellow sun wearing sunglasses and smiling. Written below reads ...

Showers - $1

To Watch - $2

With me - $5

Inside I turn the water on and look towards the beach. Through Fran's thousand shades of green I surmise what kind of day its going to be. The shower rains down upon me as Cicadas sing their song and I take my time lathering up and waking up.

It started when I was in St. Martin. There I stumble from the bed to the Bay to fall face forward into the teal blue waters. If the Trade Winds are high, I open the kitchen door and take an outdoor shower. It's a completely different culture there so others are standing under their outdoor showers at the same time I am.

"It's a wonder a wonderful shower in the neighborhood, a wonderful day for a neighbor!" sang the person showering in the tiny studio beside the one I was staying.

Returning to Tybee Island I resolved to perfect my outdoor shower so I could continue the practice and have never looked back!

So ... I tell you that so I can tell you this.

It's Friday!

Get Naked!

Have a party!

Showers On Dude!

My Ministry

"What everyone wants to know," explains the very famous Dr. Jim Withers, "is how you possibly defied the laws of physics and social expectations to live the life that you're living?"

"Hold on," I say into the receiver.

His question constitutes a beer. I walk inside to the fridge and grab one and stroll back to the Beloved back deck and pick the phone back up.

I'd called Jim, the founder of the International Street Medicine Movement, because Dr. Andrew Chapya in Africa had reached out to me for help. After talking about Jim for a few minutes we'd moved on to catching each other up on our personal lives.

"We missed you at the Flotilla," I'd said.

A few years ago I'd convinced Jim he needed a break for the world and there is no better place to leave the real world than Tybee Island.

"Sarah looked good," he replied. "I saw the pictures."

"Yep," I answered, "you should have joined us."

Then he paused and asked me his physics question.

"Beats me," I answered.

"Me too," he replied.

We hung up and I plop down in my chair and prop my bare feet on the railing. My feet are a golden brown, in no small part, because I work mostly naked on the Beloved Back deck everyday. I think about his question.

It is true that I am a technologically advanced minister-at-large with a world wide congregation that never gets together.

My study is my back deck and my secretary is a Palm Tree with oyster eyes, a coconut bra and a grass skirt.

The sanctuary is the beach which was created by God in the first place and, unlike other ministers, I see no reason to try to make improvements on the design.

There is no dress code in this church so there is little pretentiousness that comes with decided what to wear when worshipping God.

Getting here was most interesting and I wouldn't wish the things I've been through on anybody. (That's not true. There are some people I wish it on.) Nevertheless, here I am.

Sipping the beer, I notice how hot it is and decide to go baptize myself.

It's got to be the Seventh Day somewhere.

That's a day of rest.

I give myself the rest of the day off.

It's good work if you can get it.

Beachin'

Yesterday Dave Buck, who is a successful doctor with the unfortunate luck to live and practice in Houston, Texas sent me a Facebook message asking if I would recommend a breach for he and his girlfriend to spent some time at.

FINALLY! We get to a subject that I dearly love and am more than happy to share my immense expertise.

My family and friends know that I live at the beach and my vacation destination of choice are other beaches. I do not know why I have the incredible good fortune of God making me this way but it's who I am.

Immediately I wrote Dave back seeking to narrow his search by asking what kind of beach accommodations is he looking for. He responds something with a couple thousand rooms that's quiet.

Not recognizing the bizarre Houston humor, I told him Myrtle Beach.

He writes back something a little more off the beaten path is preferable.

There are already enough people on Tybee Island this time of year so I opt to not tell him where I live.

I do recommend either the Outer Banks of North Carolina or the Florida Keys, though personally I would choose the later because the latitudes are smaller and that is my temperate zone. In my study of beaches I have discovered that the further north you go, the more likely clothes are involved at least with more regularity through the course of the year. That's just not the best way to take full advantage of whatever beach. Less is beautiful and nothing is sublime, if you know what I mean.

He hasn't written me back yet. I suppose he's trying to save somebody in Houston or something.

It's alright. I just finished my run on the beach and have big plans for this afternoon! While Sarah's girls were getting ready for school this morning, I suggested we all go to the beach when they get home!

I think its best to have your day organized and am trying to teach them this lesson.

After all, it is true, that life really is ... a beach.