Dancing your problems away

"The future belongs to those who prepare for it today."

So said Malcolm X.

Every since I read his autobiography as an impressionable teen I've always liked Malcolm X.

I was at Groves High School as it was being integrated which actually went pretty smoothly in that there were only a couple of riots and I was the cause of one when I asked a black girl to dance at a school function.

All the black kids were dancing and having a good time while all the white kids stood against the gymnasium wall talking about how good they can dance ... if they were going to ... which they weren't.

So I wander across some imaginary line to ask this girl to dance.

It's one of those scenes that is crystal clear in my head.

Wearing a purple gown she sheepishly looks down because every black kid in the Gym have their eyes set on her and I immediately sense the awkwardness of the situation.

Then her large brown eyes look up and she grins so I take her hand and spin her to the dance floor.

All the black kids immediately join in.

All the white kids stood against the wall talking about how good they can dance ... if they were going to dance ... which they weren't.

The next day a riot broke out.

As I walked down the hall to Gretchen Johnson's English class a bunch of white kids beat me up for dancing with a black girl.

There is another moment forever frozen in my mind as they kick the crap out of me.

My best friend Gene Prevatt comes flying through the air like Superman into the middle of the pile to make it a fairer fight.

They kick the crap out of him too.

Later we're both laying in the Nurses office when Gene asks, "Elliott did it never dawn on you that when you danced with that girl it was going to piss some people off?"

"What do people have against dancing?" I retort, wiping blood from my mouth.

Gene ponders this for a moment before answering.

"Well," he begins sitting up on the table and for the first time I see his black eye, "we do live in the South. There are lots of Baptists and they don't like it worth a damn."

"So?" I cleverly reply.

"Just give me some warning next time," he sighs laying back down. "Okay?"

It was sometime before or after this happened that I read "The Autobiography of Malcolm X."

Decades later Denzel Washington made a movie of the book which I watched and was pleased as punch to learn that Malcolm X danced.

It all makes sense now.

If everyone would spend more time dancing there wouldn't be as many problems in the world.

Still Waiting

A year ago today I wrote about how "waiting is the hardest part," quoting Tom Petty.

I also invoked George Harrison's "It's takes so long my Lord."

Like today, it was a cold and rainy morning though the sun battled mightily for supremacy in a clouded sky.

I was in a stuck place, impatiently waiting on others to get back to me.

They weren't and it was really getting under my skin!

I was trying to holy about it, saying prayers and finding hope in the tiniest of things.

A lone bird perched on a wet limb burst out in a Hymn of Praise and I took it as a sign from God that everything was working out.

Well, a year's passed and I'm still waiting on some things.

I feel stuck and it's really getting under my skin though I'm trying to be holy about it all though just now when a bird started singing outside I closed the sliding glass door not wanting to listen.

Impatiently scrolling on Spotify I listen to Tom Petty for the hundredth time in the last several days (the 1985 live version!) so I can commiserate with myself again.

Sarah's not here so I can commiserate with her again.

Besides she's as frustrated as I am.

So it's just me, Tom Petty, the dogs and God.

"Hey God," I say out loud. "Why is this taking so long?"

Laying at my feet Goddess sighs loudly.

"You are not speaking for God," I tell her so she rolls over wanting a belly rub and I give her one.

"Alright," I sigh sitting back down. "Time to get back to work ... waiting."

But somehow ... I don't know why or how ... it feels right ... faith-like ... the assurance of things hoped for ... the conviction of things not seen.

And the sun overcomes the clouds and the world is baptized in light.

Every Little Thing

"You want more coffee?"

Greasy, limp black hair hangs in front of her once cherub face, nods up and down, as she leans forward on the table squinting her eyes because of the rising sun.

I stroll into the kitchen, refill her cup and place it in front of her.

Reaching under her dirty blue stole she retrieves a bottle of bourbon and pours some into the coffee as a halo of smoke appears from the cigarette dangling from her lips.

"You're looking a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you," I say flopping into one of the deck chairs.

She sighs sipping the coffee.

Taking this as a sign she needs mental space, I keep quiet. She's dirty as ever, broken wings are more brown than white and the robe has fallen on her right shoulder.

"I look better huh?" she mutters then spits a loogie over the deck.

"Well, you don't smell," I clarify.

Rolling her eyes she takes a shot of bourbon and chases it with bourbon laced coffee.

"What are you doing here so early?" I ask, cleverly changing the subject. "You normally don't make an epiphany until the bars are open."

As she reaches inside the dirty blue stole again, Winston, the Little Gay Dog, barks and snarls at her which makes her grunt. The evil sound scares the little dog and he darts inside and hides under the bed. Laying at my feet, Goddess opens one eye and watches before sighing heavily and falling back asleep.

My Guardian Angel unfolds a note. It reminds me of the notes Sarah's girls bring home from school, more wadded up than folded. She spreads it out on the patio table which serves as my desk.

"It's from God," she says.

I take my bare feet off the railing and sit up straight. "Really?" I ask.

"Do you want me to give you the damn message or not," she snaps.

I fold my hands on the table prayerfully and wait.

For dramatic effect, she takes another sip from the cup and a long drawl from the cigarette. Finally picking up the crinkled note she reads it slowly.

"Every little thing gonna be alright."

I wait.

She crumples it up and puts it back inside her stole.

"That's it?" I ask.

She sips the bourbon.

"That wasn't God," I say. "That was Bob Marley."

She shrugs her shoulders and stands.

"But," I begin and she immediately cuts me off.

"Listen," she replies. "I've known both for a long time and Bob will be the first to tell you that it was God who gave him the idea. That's not the point though. You and Sarah have a lot going on. You're in the creation process remaking your lives as they should be. God likes that. Life is always about creation. If you're not changing, taking risks, transforming, walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and all that shit, then you're not living. You're just existing which is nothing more than dying slowly. God likes creation people. You two have made the A List."

I've never heard her say so much and am taken aback.

"So," she continues, "every little thing's gonna be alright."

"Alright," I say and she instantly disappears and just as she does, I hear three little birds sing.
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Kissing Paradise Goodbye

And you can see them there, on Sunday morning
They stand up and sing about, what it's like up there
They call it Paradise, I don't know why
Call someplace Paradise, kiss it goodbye

I'd listen to "the Eagles" every Sunday morning before leaving the Pastor's Office for the Sanctuary ready to deliver God's message to those who came.

We were a rag-tag congregation of little old ladies, homeless people, prisoners, idealistic Seminary Students, kids from the Projects and the occasional normal person.

The students were a talented and giving bunch bringing good music, enthusiasm, commitment and joy balancing the sadness of the homeless people and the prisoners. The kids brought a greedy lust for snacks and a better place to play. The little old ladies watched it all suspiciously believing the house of cards would fall at any moment.

I was their Minister, having taken the job because no else wanted it and I liked the little old ladies and they liked me.

My first sermon was a "fire and brimstone" affair extolling my flock that we were going to do great things together. Resembling a coach's halftime speech when his team's losing badly, I let faith fly in the face of facts. The ladies quietly smiled having heard it all before.

Over time the place was reborn. A tired old building became a sanctuary where Sunday School rooms turned into apartments and the Baptismal Pool a bathtub. The "Fellowship Hall" morphed into the neighborhood's living room and the institutional kitchen became a "Coffee Shop" that never closed. The roof became a gathering place where we'd sit under the stars breathing the smell of death from the nearby stockyards and listening to the city cry.

The only time we resembled an actual church was during the Sunday morning service when I delivered the message. I grew fond of telling stories rather than preach which seemed to go over well. And I learned how to pray because people were constantly asking me to and I didn't want to say "No."

I was there for eight years and for a while it was a magical, holy, place of joy in one of the seediest parts of the city.

Towards the end, I had a hard time holding it all together. While the little old ladies were in Sunday School, the homeless people and prisoners sadly heard the "Good News" from enthusiastic Seminarians and the kids stuffed their mouths and pockets with everything they could ... I'd sit in my office listening to "The Eagles."

For a while, it really was Paradise.

I'm preaching today for the first time in a long while and it's got me thinking about old things. Under a tent on an island surrounded by vacationing Pirates and real life Beach Bums, I'll deliver God's message. They'll be good music, enthusiastic believers and those recovering from last night's celebrations. It'll be Paradise, at least for a little while.
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Enjoy ... or not.

We were one stressed out lot of students and we must have looked it. Dr. Davis had taken her position at the lectern launching into her lesson when she suddenly stops and stares. Of course we stare back uncertain of what's happening ... or we're collectively sleepwalking through her class ... it could have been either.

"You all look tired," she says. "It has been a grueling semester."

It was the beginning of spring and after a long, cold, dreary winter, the sun's shinning outside. It's still freezing but the sun's reminding us that the tired cold will eventually go away.

"I tell you what," the short, plumb, brilliant professor says, slamming her hand on the podium flashing an evil grin, "to hell with it today."

She immediately got our attention because it isn't something you often hear in Seminary.

"I want you to leave here now and go find something that makes you happy. Do whatever it is the rest of the day. You can tell me about it tomorrow."

And she throws her notes in her briefcase, shoots the "Professor" stare, and walks out of the room.

"Holy Shit!" we collectively say in a prayerful, Christian sort of way.

And we leave.

The following afternoon, Dr. Davis again takes her position behind the lectern. Smiling, she begins, "I truly hope everyone had a fantastic day yesterday. I prayed for you too. Now today, I want to hear all about it. Everyone is going to share what you did."

Looking at the first student in the first row to her right (Baptists don't do left), she says, "Jimmy you start."

Startled, Jimmy sits bolt upright in his seat. Tall, thin, with a helmet haircut, he looks lost in his flannel shirt. In a deep southern drawl (he helped put the "southern" in Southern Baptists), he reports, "Well mam ... the truth of the matter is ... ummm ... I drank hot apple cider, ate peanut butter crackers and ... ummm... watched "Rocky and Bullwinkle."

I've never seen a distinguished Professor lose it so quickly and laugh so hard.

The room is a spontaneously combustion of laughter.

"Love it!" Dr. Davis said. "I watched Andy and Barney."

The room howls.

One by one we confess. Some went to work, the Library or launched into catching up. Others took walks, naps or the chance to be with their baby. A few prayed in the Chapel. A couple of students had no idea what to do with unstructured time so they did nothing.

I drank beer listening to the new Jimmy Buffett album.

"Of course you did," Dr. Davis sighs.

It was one the most impressionable things that occurred during my Seminary career.

Ann Davis dispensed grace which is always unexpected and shocking.

"It's OK," is how it comes across. "You can go ... you're free ... liberated ... forgiven ...released ... in fact, go do anything you want ... and try to not screw it up."

All these years later, I end conversations by saying, "Enjoy!"

Because we just have this one life and we either will or we won't.

Today ... I hope you enjoy!

That's what I'm going to do.
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