Hugs

Sarah and I are hugging in the kitchen. It is one  of those romantic and heartfelt embraces that comes in the middle of a deep conversation. Goddess growls before barking and is watching us intently. Raising her left front paw she scratches the leg of the table. Never taking her eyes off of us she barks again. Her tail is wagging the entire time.

She does this every time we hug. Her beautiful brown golden eyes stare at Sarah then at me. She takes a step back and looks at both of us at the same time.

"What?" we ask, pulling back from one another yet still connected.

She steps closer, wanted to be a part.

Reaching down with one hand, Sarah scratches her rear. Goddess' full attention is on her.

I take a step away and Goddess moves her head so I can rub behind her ears while Sarah continues on her body. Suddenly content, Goddess strolls away to her water bowl before meandering outside to lay in the sun on the beloved back deck.

For seven years she has been my companion. Through major transitions, the worst of times and now, the best of times, she's given her all. I don't know what I will do when her time is up ... I can't fathom it and my eyes grow moist if I dwell on it so I try to just enjoy her now.

She obviously enjoys us. She adores Sarah. She's gleefully excited when the girls get home from school. Should my kids stroll in she leaps with joy. Goddess loves Shirley's sad little holy dock, marsh hens, stopping at our neighbor Art's for treats. And she loves it when Sarah and I hug.

When I write she sits under my feet. She loves laying under the fire in the Chimenia. She and Winston, the little gay dog, love to play and steal one another's food. When visitors arrive she barks when they knock then greets them warmly when its opened. Should the living room be full of company she'll promptly fall asleep in the middle of the floor.

Goddess has never met a pair of socks she didn't want. At night she sleeps in the floor on my side of the bed though when Sarah wakes she rushes over to tell wish her a good morning.

She's a rescued dog having been thrown away when she was born. This has been the only home she's ever known. It is a home full of cluttered joy and she is restfully content.

She meanders back inside and walks close to where I'm perched in the kitchen so I'll rub her as she passes. Then makes her way to where Sarah sits at the desk in the front room and lays down beside her, very much a part of us.

Three years from now ... and beyond

Yesterday, three years ago, I came home from a three day working retreat, excited and looking forward to everything. As soon as I walked inside though, I was told I would soon be divorced. At first I sobbed then slowly settled down to crying and finally to deep sadness. She left for Atlanta.

So life took another unexpected turn as lives often do.

I wallowed in melancholy while trying to work which didn't turn out very well. My status updates were things like "How do you mend a broken heart?" ... "Don't they know it's the end of the world?" and such. My writing was full of loss and brokenness.

The first person to figure it out was Judy O who called and demanded, "What the hell is with all of these sad songs?" and I blurted it out and told her.

Shocked her and I can still her saying, "Well Phooey! That just sucks."

Johnny O showed up a little while later to make sure I was OK. I wasn't so he gathered this carnival of friends with the principal assignment of making certain I had support.

Six months later I left Union Mission though in retrospect I'd started that process a couple of years earlier. I'd tried to plan it right, having a successor and turning the keys over on a sunny day but it didn't work out that way. Everything about everything had changed.

Such things leave scars you may get over though you never forget.

Today, three years later, I am loved. The tears are gone and the sadness hides in dark corners. The once lonely and abandoned house is now filled with activity. I'm helping others and building new things. I'm rolling dice again. Though I still stumble from time to time, my pace is picking up towards the future I desire. If I don't make it ... it won't be for lack of effort.

Throughout this time, I wrote it out every day and put it on Facebook, www.Micheal-Elliott.blogspot.com and in personal communications when people asked me things. Reading them today I was merely letting out the hurt and sadness and was surprised at the number of people who expressed gratitude because they'd gone through similar things.

I then moved on to chronicling my crazy journey to replace love, find new joy and somehow get reborn. The old had passed away. Again, I was overwhelmed at the people who were on the same quest.

As Sarah and I fell in love, this same community of readers and friends celebrated everything with us.

It hasn't been a perfect journey. There are some things I wish I'd done differently. I'm still not doing everything right all of the time. I suspect those keeping up understand there is no such thing as perfect journeys. Surprises, shocks, sudden turns and stumbles happen along the way.

It is where I am today. It's so much better than three years ago. I believe it's nowhere near as good as it's going to be three years from now ... and beyond.  

Just between you and me

There is nothing to do except sit and wait.

It can be hard work waiting on the words to come.

Sometimes they come in the middle of the night and the morning is jump started. Some stories can't wait to be told. Occasionally its a line from a song (always playing in the background of my life), a phrase from a book I'm reading or a Michael Ruffin prayer that bring them to me.

On rare occasions I close my eyes and place my fingers on the keyboard and see what happens.

Then there are days like today. I sit and wait. I've learned to not rush it.

Watching the sun rise I'm surrounded by "the holy host of others" ... Fran and her thousand shades of green ... the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt ... a "Clothing Optional" sign that Conner gave me ... Winston, the little gay dog and Goddess of course.

Sarah sleeps and I'm dutiful about checking to make sure she's not interrupted. Her three little girls can wear your ass out.

Staring out the sliding glass doors, these things go in and out of focus. My mind races with images. Brynn Grant and I saw each other yesterday and she sprinkles delight even while pumping gas.

My mentor Ben Barnes, white napkin stuffed under his chin and pants pulled high around his waste, talking to me at lunch about how the older you get the more people forget about you.

Suzanne Mendonsa speaking to Ben and then warmly recognizing me, "Oh Micheal, it's been so long. How are you?" and the way she said it warmed my heart while unleashing many memories of her and her late husband Don.

Watching Sarah's parents meet my son Jeremy for the first time as they crawled out of bed and he and I stood in this kitchen looking like Hippies making each other laugh. Sarah's youngest Cassidy hauls herself out bed, blond hair askew from the pillow, ignores her Mom and grandparents to walk straight to Jeremy and lay her head against his stomach.

Getting a phone call from one of my illegitimate kids, Mary Catherine Berry, yesterday as to tell me that Bill's father had died. My heart broke for Bill, Micah, Kathy and Amber and I drove the car, sailing across the marsh in bright sunshine. I can still hear Mr. Berry on the phone when he discovered it was me, "Mike Yes! You need to talk to Bill. Bill needs to talk to you," and the rustling and excitement until Bill was on the phone.

The glaze washes away from my eyes. They are now moist as I wipe them.

There are no stories today.

No great inspiration.

There are these prayers just between God and me.

Divine Reasons

Sitting at the large oak conference room table on the second floor of Auburn Avenue in Atlanta, Georgia, I stared at the bookshelf and it struck me these were his books. Martin Luther King used to have meetings here and though he was long dead, these were things he held. It was humbling.

I have no recollection of why I was there. A long haired, twenty something, blue jean wearing hippy preacher from Louisville had been invited for some reason so there I sat. The rest of the table was filled with black folks and I remember Joseph Lowery was one.

I also remember quoting Malcolm X a lot though I don't know why. In Seminary I'd become a devotee of Liberation Theology much to the chagrin of the Southern Baptists.  The writings born in third world poverty had led me to Malcolm and, of course, Martin. I'm sure I quoted him arrogantly.

Later I sat in the Ebeneezer Baptist Church and decided to leave the service and explore the building. So I got up from the wooden pew where people flocked to hear Martin Luther King preach and wandered into a hall.

"Hello," said a surprised but incredibly poised Coretta Scott-King.

I'm not certain I said anything though she shook my hand warmly.

A few years later I would be with her again though I have no recollection why. She wore a black dress and we actually talked. I asked her a lot of questions and she smiled at young enthusiasm. I remember her smile.

I don't know why, or how, I've gotten to do so many things in my life. For divine reasons I suppose, I've ended up in the right places at the right times. I spent hours sitting in Will D. Campbell's cabin in Tennessee, in the pulpit of Mack Jones Church in St. Louis, and conducting services with Ron Bobo.

Guy Salyes and I once spent an afternoon in the home of Florence Jordan, wife of Clarence, the only prophet Southern Baptist have ever produced.

Milliard Fuller was a friend of mine.

Every year on this day, these things come to mind. I count myself blessed. I don't know why I got to do these things and be with these people.

"Anybody here, seen my good friend Martin?"

I never did though I walked over hills with friends of his.

And I'll tell you what they've me.

"Red and yellow, black and white, all are precious ..."

What Sundays are for

The sun erupts from the sea as a lone bird sings solo unseen in Fran's thousand shades of green. The ocean breeze has died and it seems warmer than it really is. Staring in prayerful contemplation through the sliding glass doors it is a Silent Morning, Holy Morning ... all is calm, all is bright.

My morning routine has been disrupted though. I swung by and picked up my son Jeremy for coffee at The Breakfast Club. We enjoy hanging out and I view it as a gift when we have the opportunity which grows rarer as life gets in the way. He'll be back in a bit to say goodbye to Sarah and the girls before he heads home to Marie.

Last night we were at my daughter Chelsea's engagement party. It's even rarer that she and I spent time together as she's busy building her own life. "Life's a gift," I'm fond of saying and I'm proud to have been part giver in hers.

Kristen brought Sterling and I'm always mindful when I'm with all of my kids at the same time because it happens less and less.

To make it better, my Mom was there and Jodee and Cheryl and Chelsea's friend Busby whom I love.

Topping it off were oysters, cooked the old fashion way over a fire pit and under a wet croaker sack. Steam was rising while stars winked and laughter bubbled around.

I hide these things in my heart this morning as Sarah still sleeps. Her parents are downstairs visiting from New York and the girls are with them. I'm trying to be quiet out of respect but still am listening to The Pirate out of Key West where my friend Joey Finch lives. It is my Sunday morning tradition and I am warmed on winter days.

I don't know what today holds.

It's a gift that I plan on enjoying.

Goddess wanders in and lays under my bare feet dangling from the table. She sighs loudly which makes me laugh.

"Let it out and let it in," I think, quoting The Beatles.

That's why God made Sundays. Let everything in the past go. Let everything in the now in.

"Amen," I say out loud as I hear little girls whispers down stars.

Kids

My world is full of kids right now.

All of mine will be in the same place at the same time and I'll be there too which is nothing short of a modern day miracle. Friends of Chelsea are throwing her an oyster roast tonight and who doesn't like an oyster roast? The weather is perfect! Jeremy's here for it and the ever illusive Kristen is even attending.

As I age, I'm ever grateful for my kids and the fact that we really do enjoy each other.

There's the girls of course. I went from living alone to having a wife and her three daughters move in with me. Talk about culture shock! Plus Goddess is female, a real bitch! And then Winston, the little gay dog, moved in with us too. It's often overwhelming though I am learning a lot.  I never knew how much toilet paper is actually used in the course of a day. It makes me feel sorry for trees.

It doesn't end there.

There are these other kids.

Ryan and Dani Sadowski have been part of my life their entire lives. I don't know what I would do without them. I don't know what they would do without me. Yesterday I took Ryan a bag of socks. Somehow he's grown up without understanding people need socks. I admire this about him but there are times when socks are necessary.

Last night Mandy Sayles and I were going back and forth on Facebook. I've known Mandy her entire life. She lives and performs in New York City and cracks me up. She's one of the funniest people I know. Her Mother and Father kidnapped me once and forced me to attend Seminary. Years later they realized this was a tragic mistake and have spent the rest of their lives doing penitence.

Mandy has brother named Eliot. Coincidence? I think not though Guy denies I had anything to do with it.

On the other hand, Mandy has claimed that she must be my daughter because we're so much alike to which I say, "I never had relations with that woman."

Hold on, I'm lighting a cigar.

Then there's Micah Berry, son of Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one). I love Micah deeply. He is a famous musician and we share that soul though he got all of the talent. He's also funny as hell though when we have long talks he reminds me a lot of his father and Bill and I are so close that it's not funny.

His sister Amber actually moved to Savannah for a while and though we only saw each other occasionally, it was wonderful to have her near. She's on my mind a lot these days as she's embarked on an unexpected journey and her father has turned into a Hobbit and there's a picture Micah took to prove it.

I love them all.

They enrich my life, make me laugh and keep me young. I gain tremendous joy watching them become them.

Then Micah marries Mary Catherine and Dani marries Peter and the number of kids in my life grows.

Now Chelsea is finally getting around to marrying Sam and ...

it just doesn't get any better.

I love my kids.

Before my funeral

Life is a gift none of us asked for yet each of us share.

Some of us were planned though a lot of us weren't. The fortunate had good parents, a nice place to live, enjoyable friends and a lot of nurturing. More likely had one good parent, a place, friends and there were some good times. Way too many didn't even have these.

Many lives are long while others are tragically short. It's one of the funny things about life ... you never have any certainty whatsoever how long its going to last.

Make the most of it while you've got it. Enjoy the hell out of those you share it with because they're a changing cast of characters.  Other people's lives drop in and out of yours. Some only make camio apperances.

You only get it once so do your best to take advantage of it!

I'm fond of saying these things at funerals.

Funerals are reminders that all good things come to an end. Bad things come to an end too. Nothing last forever and when the funeral is over its best to get on with your life ... and what's left of it.

There is no funeral today.

Sitting on the beloved back deck on an unusually warm mid-January day, my bare feet dangle from the chair at the table under the umbrella. Sarah's inside on the phone. Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, are inside with her. This weekend all of my kids will be in the same at the same time. Sarah's girls are begging me to both take them and pick them up from school because all of their friends think I'm cool. I have a lunch date with friends later. Tonight, I'm grilling dinner because the weather supposed to turn cooler tomorrow so ... I only have today.

We all only have today.

We'll do good things and bad things and things that cannot possibly be explained. We'll get it done or we won't. If we're lucky, we'll laugh a little, cry a little or at least find something to hold onto.

The truth of the matter is I have no clue how ... or why ... I'm still here. Death has kissed me three times in my life though I walked away each time.

There's a reason though.

I'm very grateful today of everything and every one I have in my life. Friends I love, children's laughter, kids who talk to me most every day, and a wife and best friend who I get to spend more time with anyone. I don't deserve it though I can sure as hell make a case that I do.

But I don't.

Life is gift that I didn't ask for and I get to share with an incredible family and wonderful friends.

Before I attend my funeral, I hope to understand why.

Today's News

It's been a couple of years since I've been in the Newspaper. For over twenty years I was mentioned in it almost weekly. They always used old photographs though which is why I never minded doing television interviews because they at least accurately portrayed what I looked like that day.

But today I'm in the newspaper again. I wrote a letter to the editor. It's far easier than it used to be. Back then I'd actually send a letter, a week later someone would call to verify it was me who'd submitted it and a  week later it would be published as "Old News."

Last week, I had lunch with Shirley Sessions (who actually runs most of Chatham County) and Skutch (who is a reporter who looks like an actor in a B-movie playing a reporter). They'd been after me for months to get off the island so I finally relented and met them at the Crystal Beer Parlor. We laughed a lot as we ate.

Sometime during the conversation, Skutch mentioned two articles on homelessness coming out. That used to be my life so I listened as he explained that no one seems able to explain why things are such a mess. Everybody says they're doing the best they can but it's all gotten worse.

On Sunday and Monday, I read his articles and quickly learned I had no idea how worse things have gotten. No one's in charge and it's tough to have a war on homelessness if nobody's in charge.

It's as my friend Father Vernon Robertson once told me.

"Mike, every successful organization needs one Son-of-a-bitch. That's why the Catholic Church has the Pope! He says all of the things we can't do and keeps us in line."

"Uh-huh," replied.

"The problem with you Southern Baptist is that there a hundred thousand Sons-of-bitches all believing they're the one."

That's how it is in Savannah's reactions to homelessness these days.

It broke my heart which has been broken several times over. Nobody remembers the things that worked. Fewer are keeping up with things working elsewhere. People merely seem to be chasing money. I've tried to stay away from it all but felt moved to do something so I wrote a letter.

Letters to the Editor are far easier now. I e-mailed it. The next day it's published. (The online version of the Savannah Morning News sucks! If you stay with it though, you can read the letter if you want at http://savannahnow.com/opinion/2013-01-14/letters-editor-tuesday#.UPVigR083_M )

Skutch did call to verify it was me who had sent it.

Beginning with a Noun followed by a verb he said, "Why don't you tell it like it is son ...?"

I thought he was going to keep going with the Son part but he stopped.

"I did," I answered.

There was silence followed by muffled laughter.

"Yeah," he said drawing the conversation to a conclusion. "We miss that."

Party On Dudes

First we had a Toga party and sure enough everyone showed up wearing one! The last couple to arrive were non-Tybee people and were not dressed in Togas so they felt naked and uncomfortable. The rest of us felt sorry for how silly they looked in long pants and sweaters.

Then we had a Saran Wrap party. Everyone had to wear Saran Wrap though it could be in any way or fashion they chose. Mine had a Christmas theme though Sarah's took the cake.

We've been talking about what to do next.

We went to "Drag Queen Bingo" in Key West so there's the possibility of a replicating such an event at our house. The guys will come dressed as girls and the girls dressed as guys. Johnny O and Judy O have already been trailblazers in this so it would be pretty easy to pull off. The rest of us could simply follow their lead.

Sarah normally comes up with the theme and while she hasn't asked my opinion I normally give it to her anyway. I have a couple of ideas.

I think an "Anything But Clothes" party would be a huge hit. Attendees could wear a box, wrap themselves in feathers, or glue pages from books on them. If they're in a hurry they can merely show up al' natural and still have a good time.

You can see why she doesn't ask my opinion I still give it to her.

Should you all wish to start a write-in campaign for the idea then I encourage you to let her know your support of the A-B-C's or simply click yes to this so I can show her the overwhelming world-wide support for us to host this party.

Though we ran out of time we contemplated hosting a "Burning of the Grievances" party. Everyone would write down the hurts, injustices and bad things that happened to them on a piece of paper. Then we'd all gather, have cocktails and food before burning our grievances in the Chimenia on the beloved back deck.

Then I wrote my list of grievances and it was thirty-seven pages long. The Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainy) is the world's biggest grievance I can think of and it got me to wondering if needed stakes rather than the Chimenia.

This got me to thinking about how long everyone else's list would be. Such a party would have to be hosted by Jodee and Cheryl as they have one of the world's largest fire pits in their backyard. The heat from our collective fire could heat the entire island and the light it would cast would likely draw Wise Men from the East.

It's an inconsistent concept though. It's easy to connect the dots between Togas, Saran Wrap and "Anything But Clothes". There's simply no place for grievances in such parties.

Neither is there in life.

Party on Dudes!

One of those nights

The waves crash onto the shore sounding like an opera.

Fire burns in the Chimenia casting shadows on the wall.

Ocean breezes blow lightly.

Fran's thousand shades of green dance in the dark.

My bare feet dance on the wooden planks of the beloved back deck.

Winston, the little gay dog, prances around my feet.

Goddess snores underneath the fire.

Orion shoots an arrow overhead in a pitch black sky though it is diamonds he is shooting.

Sarah is chasing girls, hair askew, exhausted and ready for bed.

I've just hung up the phone with Jeremy, now back in Athens missing his wife Marie who is in Valdosta so he needed a touch of home.

I'm saying prayers for Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one ... the one who has been so instrumental in me turning into me.

Taking a break from reading my friend Nanci Hartland's book "True Confessions of a Reluctant Giraffe", I ponder a few of the lines.

An old woman tells her, "Nanci dear, when you are old and your mind has quite forgotten the details, the troubles, the pain and even the soup burning on the stove, your heart will always remember love, if you have opened your heart. What has your heart forgotten? What is it you want? Open your heart to it."

I like that.

Sitting down, I prop my feet on the railing and try to take notice of the things God is up to tonight.

It's extremely warm for January and the forecast calls for it to continue for days.

I sip the wine I'm drinking now wondering what Orion is shooting.

Turning, I look inside the house through the sliding glass doors and Sarah blows me kiss as she falls on the sofa.

My open heart catches it and I turn back to God's holy night for a bit more prayer as Winston, the little gay dog, prances, Goddess snores, the fire glows and the ocean sings an opera.

Creating New Things

Three years ago today was my last major accomplishment at Union Mission. Dutch Town Villas, a forty something unit apartment complex was Savannah's initial Housing First program taking people directly from the streets and moving them into their own homes.

I posted a Tweet that I was "off to the opening of the Dutch Town development, a home for the homeless. Not a shelter. Shelters are not the answer!" A home is.


The brand new construction sits on five acres on the city's south side and is beautiful. Hundreds of people showed up for the opening. The Mayor, County Commission Chair, state legislators, were present. Pastor Ricky Temple of Overcoming Faith Church delivered the invocation. The Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainy) was the Master of Ceremonies.

I sat on the second row, off to the right beside a wife who had already made up her mind to leave me for something better. The next time I would see her she'd inform me of our impending divorce.

Also unbeknownst to me was that my trusted Chief Financial Officer was misappropriating hundreds of thousands of dollars. It would be another few weeks before I found that out.

Nor did I know that members of the staff were formulating complaints against me primarily because I was making significant changes to the way the company was running.

A behavioral health collaborative I'd been instrumental in starting had begun to unravel because people were resistant to change, entrenched in politics and greedy to keep things the same. It would soon blow up and be front page news leaving me the bearer of the blame.

I didn't know any of these things sitting there proud of the million dollar development. It was the latest, and last, in a series of grand developments we'd orchestrated. A million dollar hospital for homeless and poor people, a behavioral health center costing the same and now Dutch Town.

I was riding high.

So when all of these things happened in pretty quick succession, my fall was far and fast.

When the air cleared, I walked away from it all. Truth be told, lots of people wanted me to, praying for it and doing anything they could to make it so. At the end, the door slammed shut behind me.

If you've never spent time wandering in the wilderness, it's quite the experience. I bounced between Tybee Island and St. Martin, maintained relationships with a very small group of friends, did some work throughout the country with the International Street Medicine Institute but mostly spent time hurt and wounded on the beloved back deck of my house.

The world I'd happily lived in was no more and I was overwhelmed by the loss.

Today I can still feel some of the feelings. The sudden loss of love, the brutal act of betrayal and the abandonment of people you believed in are things you never completely get over. All of the scars are on the inside.

I got through it though. Actually a lot of little things that got me through it. A tiny collection of friends formed themselves into my personal church, believing in me when I no longer believed in  myself. They strung together little acts of kindness and my healing began to happen. I am forever indebted to them.

Looking at it today in the rear view mirror, I'm proud of it all. Great things are never accomplished without controversy. Some grow to hate if you're more successful than them. Though there is only the slightest tinge of regret, I can't think of much I would have done differently. I gave it all my best.

Today my eyes are ahead, no longer looking back. "It's time to create new things," I used to tell people I worked with, "so go! Create!"

If anyone cares, that's what I've been doing. New love has been born. My family is bigger than it was.The routines are all different. It's a slower life though no less intense. I've held on to places and things I love but they're all different now too. I'm not the same. I've been reborn.

"No one puts new wine in old wine skins ... new wine calls for new" ... things. I'm focused on creating new things, a new me, a better one because "old things are passed away, behold, all things become new."

I like new.

Touching Heaven

"Time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of Time and is forgotten through the lapse of time."

So said Aristotle.

"To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven," says whoever wrote Ecclesiastes.

George Harrison said it better. "All things must pass. None of life's strings can last. So, I must be on my way and face another day."

Over the past several days The Savannah Morning News has reported on the crumbling of the Chatham-Savannah Authority for the Homeless of which I helped conceive and found spending a decade of my life helping to build it into the nations most effective and prestigious community response to homelessness.

Then it started slipping and has now dissolved into a dysfunctional mess.

I spent the better part of twenty-five years helping build Union Mission into the nation's most effective organization. By attacking the root causes in a compassionate yet firm way, people overcame their homelessness. We were the first to embark on such an approach and were emulated throughout the world. When all was said and done we had solved more than half the problem, more than anybody else has accomplished.

Union Mission is now a shell of what it used to be.

It runs in my life I suppose. When I left the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville where I was the "Professional Christian" in charge, the Southern Baptist kicked the church out literally onto the street.

Throw in my failed marriages and I'm really looking good.

You know what?

I wouldn't change it. I've been blessed to be part of incredible things. I've been to mountain tops and, though I was either kicked off or fell, I got to see it all. I've touched heaven a few times and wouldn't trade those experiences for anything. I've also seen hell ... it's not all that.

On one hand it's sad to watch glorious things you were part of crumble. I suppose its because the right people are no longer in the right place nor is it the right time.

Yet I've been blessed because on multiple occasions to have been with the right people doing the right things in the right place at the right time.

It's a lot like sex ... you want it again.

These days I stand with a tiny group of friends on a beach and look at the burning cities and the ominous clouds throwing lightening on the mountain tops. The sea is calm, the Palm Trees smile, choirs of mussels sing and things still bloom. After years of battling in the darkness it's nice to be quiet in the light.

But I'll tell you one more thing.

There's another mountain or two for me to climb.

And you can bet your ass I'm touching heaven again.

Happinesss

"Are you as happy as you seem or do you find happiness in what's dealt?"

The question came out of the blue and caused me pause. Staring out of the window of McDonald's, waiting on Sarah to pick me up, I watched hungry people order at the Drive-In window being impatient, digging for change and appearing as they really needed coffee.

"I think it's both," I finally typed into my Netbook.

There was time to kill as I'd drop one girl off at school and then my car at the repair shop. Sarah would arrive an hour later after she'd dropped the other two girls off.

"I tend to take the 'find' Avenue," came the response.

"I am very happy," I wrote, "but I also seek it in what I have in my life right now ... I think if you stop looking then you stop finding but that has to be balanced with appreciating what you've got when you've got it."

That was pretty much the conversation.

She wrote that she wished there was an APP on her computer so she could push it and I'd be thumped on the head because of things I write,

I'm glad there's no such APP. My head would be blue on black from the constant thumping people want to give me.

Like everyone, "I've had good days and bad days and going half mad days."  Happy days far exceed hopeless ones. I try to learn from the bad days and just do my best to get through the going half mad times.

I count my blessings a lot. I try to find joy in the people I'm with, in our home and on the clump of sand we live on. Daily I celebrate Palm Trees, ocean breezes, the smell of the Marsh and the choirs of birds. Sometimes I can't comprehend why I deserve this or even how I'm still here but its a gift I worry about losing but can't stop appreciating.

I pray Thanksgiving for the love in my life, the opportunities that remain and the fact that most people still take my phone calls. Sometimes they want to meet for lunch or a drink and its always nice to be wanted. I try to enjoy these times.

Happiness is a lot of little things, I think, and in some ways its like holding sand. If you're not always replenishing it, pretty soon you're only left with a minuscule amount. Afterwards there's just the memories and the desire for more.

I woke up happy today in spite of the happiness I've lost but am determine to celebrate that which I do have and then my best to grow it like the Hibiscus plants on the beloved back deck. And I'll keep looking for more because if you stop renewing it ... then it's gone. 

Happy Day Everyone!

A Political Prayer for Congress

If you've never been to Congress to actually see how pompous our legislators are, you haven't missed much.

They're all terrible!

I know many of you think your particular Senator or Congressperson is the exception to the rule and is honest and helps when you call. Individually they are probably nice people. Collectively they are arrogant investors into themselves and their reelection. It's all they really care about.

I've spent lots of time in Congress rushing past the permanently placed News stations so that every damn one of them can get on television to explain why they know what's best.

I've sat in their tiny waiting room, staffed by interns, and learned the place is really like Baskin Robbins. You take your number, wait your turn and the benevolent member of the Elect bestows upon you your request. Then ... you go to the back of the line. (A Congressman actually explained it to me this way!)

I've sat at $500 a plate breakfast meeting (mine was paid by someone else) for bacon and eggs and the privilege of being one of twenty to have audience with the Senator as he briefed us on what's wrong with the opposing party and how he knows best.

I was invited to their "Faith Based Summits" which is a grandiose philandering of votes and endorsements of religious leaders who gladly prostitute themselves in the name of the Lord and political favors.

Like the rest of us, I've spent the past several days watching them create a fiscal cliff (there was no such thing a few short months ago), broker deals to break them, and position themselves as Saviors on crosses they built themselves.

It's just disgusting.

Those people we keep electing are disgusting.

After almost thirty years of regularly playing on Capitol Hill, the last few have been spent on more important things ... love, children, celebrating with friends who really are good, music and simple prayers.

The biggest political controversy on Tybee Island are some coyotes running around. Half the island thinks they're cute and the other really doesn't care.

But right after Joe, Mitch and John finished screwing each other behind close doors and then gleefully announcing they'd saved us yet again, it switched to the local news.

And there was local Councilman Bill talking about how dangerous the coyote problem has become and how they city is going to address the issue.

Turning the television off, there's was nothing to do but one more prayer and go to bed.

"God, my ass hurts. Please make them stop."

Better days

I'm not big on New Year's resolutions.

You do the best you can.

If you're not doing the best you can then shame on you. You're just screwing yourself. If you are doing the best you can, then you're doing alright.

Sarah and I ended last year enjoying one another, hooking up with the Carnival of Friends, listening to Sam Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, but coming home early to rest in each others arms.

It's been a long few years.

Lots of things happened ... not all of them good ... some of them were really bad ... but we start this year together ... and good things are happening ... good friends surround us ... life is different ... and life is damn good.

Sure (Sarah's favorite word), I don't have a clue about a lot of things but I'm doing the best I can ... and that's alright with me.

We were sitting at the Tybee Island Social Club last night, listening to a blond haired dregs singer, talking about the things that are coming.

"I haven't been this excited ..." I excitedly told her, clutching her hand, eyes dancing with glee, a broad smile painted on my face and my heart pumping with enthusiasm.

That's how this year begins.

Last year has sailed away. It's just a boat load of memories anyway.

But ... I'm looking just the horizon. To moonbeams, sunsets, zebras and butterflies. To better days.

Winston, the little gay dog, is a criminal.

Winston, the little gay dog, suddenly has aggression issues. He'll be tenderly laying there with his paws limped over beside Sarah, seemingly sound asleep, when he starts growling and then menacingly barking at Goddess.

I think the little fellow is showing signs of stress because of his impending court date. He's got a lawyer, there have been no additional complaints, and the Tybee Island Police Department actually seem to be fighting crime (when they're not  eating at the Breakfast Club or Sundae Cafe where they don't have pay full price).

The neighbor across the street who normally gardens in her underwear, which caused the dogs to bark violently, has taken to wearing sweatpants while gardening in the rain.

The other neighbor who complained, the one who rarely comes outside, hasn't been seen in days. (There is suspicion she runs a Meth Lab on the island but the Tybee Island Police Department have too busy to investigate because of Marlin Monroe's annual Christmas Oyster Roast Police payoff dinners they've been attending over the past few weeks.)

Still, Winston, the little gay dog, is traumatized by the entire episode.

On the other hand, Goddess doesn't seem to care, laying there with empty pipe bowls clutched in her yellow tip stained paws.

Sarah is sick about the entire thing and now refuses to get out of bed.

The other day, I couldn't take Winston, the little gay dog's, growling any more so I slapped him.

"Act like a man," I said.

"Meow," he replied.

Goddess stumbled outside shaking her head, apparently retrieving her stash.

"Don't hit him," Sarah whimpered from her bed ... so I put his new Christmas sweater on him ... it says "I shit rainbows" ... and put him outside with Goddess in hopes that she would mellow him out a little.

I don't know what else to do. Crime is big on Tybee and the Tybee Island Police Department is convinced that Winston, the little gay dog, and Goddess are the root of it all.

"Please", said our friend Jen the other night. "The Tybee Island Police Department came to my house, banged on my door and informed me they were giving me a citation because of my barking dog."

We stared at her in disbelief that another family was experiencing the profiling we are.

"You mean the one that died of a heart attack in my lap three months ago," she asked?

"Yes," the Tybee Island Police Department answered as they handed her the citation.

One thing I'll say about living on Tybee Island ... somebody is always on top of things.

Miracles of Grace

"Long years have taught me that most of us will experience more than one type of calling," says E. Glenn Hinson, my former and still beloved Seminary professor in his excellent autobiography "A MIRACLE OF GRACE."

Were I still in his class, I'd be sitting there nodding my head while raising my hand to ask, "Dr. Hinson why did God have to change mine with so many severe cases of whiplash?"

The powerful little man, strong at so many broken places, would flash that smirk he has when he's devilish, and likely say something like, "Mike it's because you always seem to be going in the wrong direction. God is merely trying to keep you on track."

Then he would move on with the lecture but let his eyes catch mine to let me know he enjoyed the question.

I took a lot of classes under Glenn, most dealing in the spiritual side of faith, the contemplative side, the place where prayer is the language and God is experienced. His ear always cocked to one side so he could hear, his jagged way of speaking, left me in wonder of the eminent power of a broken little man with the humblest of beginnings could so move me? 

He led me to the great classics of seekers after mature faiths and he laughed when I wrote a paper claiming that Bruce Springsteen was one.

Reading of his life now, I find myself connecting with him again in so many different ways and he again makes me think. I've been called in and out of too many marriages (never a good thing for a minister), work as a Professional Christian, then decades spent with the sick and the poor, as an author, into a very public life, all leaving me ... standing on the beach as a seeker.

Great teachers never stop and their lessons remain in your heart, not so deeply buried. In spite of my jagged little journey, the things I learned from Glenn have served me well.

His life really has been A MIRACLE OF GRACE. Years ago I wrote a book, PARTNERS IN GRACE, and all these years later ... long after its publication and much longer since Seminary ... this miracle of a man still touches me so deeply reminding me that whiplash is merely one of God's many mysterious ways of working in my life, as a partner.

Dancing Ghosts

"The game of life is hard to play, I'm going to lose it anyway. The losing card I'll someday lay; that is all I have to say."

Ghosts danced under the Christmas Tree. Laying there in a fidgety night, eyes opened as much as closed, I watch them parade through the dark spaces under the bright lights. Some I can call by name while others are unresolved feelings and emotions. My body achs for sleep but my mind remains focused so I dose to dream of past things that were never real and wake to ponder a future that isn't completely certain.

"Mike's watching an elderly show," Cassidy explained to her father on the phone earlier in the evening.

I suppose it's true that M*A*S*H is now that but to this day when I'm flipping channels and come across Hawkeye, B.J. Hot Lips, Radar, Col. Potter and the others, I stop and watch. Episodes I've seen a hundred times still speak to me. I continue to deeply care about each character though their lives have been been canceled.

And I love the song. "The sword of time will pierce our skins, it doesn't hurt when it begins, but as it works its way on in, the pain grows stronger watch it grin ..."

It's funny because the show is about surviving and doing your best to help others live in the darkest of places. The song with the haunting melody focuses on the hopelessness of survival. No matter how much you live, one day you're going to die.

Over Christmas I found myself drawn to the Gospel of Mark, my favorite, and one of the two that doesn't mention the birth of Jesus. Mark jumps right to the important stuff. John the Baptist dips Jesus in the river and the shit starts hitting the fan. Things rock-and-roll quickly and Jesus is crucified.

The following Sabbath his mother, girlfriend and another friend go to pay their respects to the dead Savior. When they arrive, the stone is rolled away and the tomb is empty. And that's where the story ends in the original version.

"The only way to win is cheat and lay it down before I'm beat ..." which seems to be the point of Mark. Jesus refused to take it laying down and there was an empty tomb. Mark never explains what happened next, just that there was no body as sunshine poured into the cave.

Tired of watching the ghosts dance, I look again at the lights of the tree before sleeping in heavenly peace.

A Beach Bum Christmas

A grey fog hangs in the air shading Fran's thousand shades of green on a warm Christmas morning. There is no ocean breeze so the leaves hang as though still sleeping. My bare feet dangle from the high top chair on the beloved back deck tenderly rubbing Goddess' hair. The Hibiscus blooms are closed but still look like ornaments on a tree.

I contemplate building a fire but there is no chill.

Squirrels dart along the wires hanging overhead. A woodpecker is drilling wood. The ocean sings in the distance. The pungent aroma of the marsh smells like sex in the tropics.

I've gotten what I wanted for Christmas. I'm a beach bum. For years this has been my aspiration but I could never quite figure out how to finance it so I worked and the work always came first. I was a beach bum in my spare time.

No more.

It's the other way around now. I am a full time beach bum who works hard when I'm working but takes time every day appreciate the things going on around me.

I celebrate my friends who either sustained me or keep raising themselves from the dead bring tidings of comfort and joy. A Carnival keeps breaking out for no apparent reason scattering smiles and laughter.

Sarah is sleeping as quiet as a mouse.

So it's just Goddess and me for the moment.

It makes me think back for a moment. I've gotten everything I've asked for this Christmas. Sure there are other things I need but I've got the things I want. Healthy and happy children. The wife I love is sleeping peacefully. I love where I live and the people who live near me. I'm doing the things I really want to do.

I'm having myself a merry little Christmas.

Well ... at least until the girls get home in a few hours then all holy hell will break loose.

Happy Christmas all.

The Setting Sun

The setting sun glistened off the aqua waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Standing under a juggler sitting on a ten feet tall unicycle, we listened to a dark skinned Hispanic guitar player crucifying Jimmy Buffett. To our back a guy wrapped in a straight jacket, then in chains, balanced himself on a board resting on top of a barrel screaming at the crowd to watch him and not the impending sunset.

There's nothing quite like the nightly celebration on Mallory Square in Key West.

Several hundred of us were gathered, representing most every nationality, religion, political persuasion and sexual orientation. It felt like what Church should be rather than what it is.

"Excuse me," the plumb woman said as she tapped me on the shoulder.

We were already squeezed tightly together where Sarah and I stood surrounded by Asian and Latino families with their feet dangling off the concrete pier.

"Sure," I signed twisting to one side so she could pass.

Her hand hand was held behind her plump ass holding onto a boy, perhaps fourteen, wearing a helmet, mouth agape with drool. His white spiny leg difficultly lifted itself onto the pier as he moved in slow motion.

His mother beamed with excitement as she hurriedly described the miracle of a setting sun. Sitting down on his knees, his dull brown eyes looked at the Latino families eating Oreo's while shooting words shot out of their mouths as though they were machine guns. He yawned.

His mother waved in our direction asking that her husband join them. He stood behind us with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans looking tired.

"It's warmer here," I said and he laughed for the briefest of moments and remained with us.

The performers stopped performing as the bottom of the sun hit the top of the ocean. The crowd applauded and holding its collective breath as the ancient order of the day's ending leads to the birth of a night.

The excited mother clapped as she described everything to the boy. He looked at it for the briefest of moments then covered his eyes as mine grew moist.

The ocean swallowed the sun and the crowd cheered.

"IT'S OVER!" the performers all yelled. "WATCH ME!"

And I lost him in the crowd.

"Did you see ..." Sarah began to ask but then she saw the ocean in my eyes and knew that I had.