Working out love

"Do not be anxious about anything," St. Paul writes in his jail cell, "but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your request to God."

I suspect the old Apostle's request to God was "Get me the hell out of here! I'll thank you later!"

And in time, he eventually did get out, though it's unclear how much, if anything, God had to do with it. He'd done his time and they needed the space because it's always brisk in the jail business.

I've known and visited lots of people in jail. I offered housing to many released from prison who had no home to go to so they came to me.

Over time it was easy to see virtually all of them were very religious people.

Faith is easier to find when you're locked up and lonely. With no one else to talk to, they talked to God.

"Please get me out of here," they beg, "and I promise I'll do better next time."

Like the old Saint, they were eventually released too with a chance to start over albeit with the albatross of a criminal record that greatly reduced the opportunities facing them.

Because I have the "REV" in front of my name, they shared their stories with me, made confessions or asked my forgiveness for things I knew nothing about. There was a desperateness to their faith which I've rarely seen in religious institutions of any kind.

At the same time, I've never met anyone who isn't imprisoned by anxieties.  Everyone expects the worst even when they're praying for the best. We worry about most everything, sometimes to the point of becoming completely overwhelmed. The older we grow, the worse it seems to get.

Like the prisoner sitting in his cell, we long to be free too. Free to go somewhere else, be with somebody else, do something else and do these things completely free of fear.

"What's it like?" a friend asked. "I mean you get up every day and do what you want. You live where you wish and with Sarah who works with you. I want to do what you're doing. How do you do it? Aren't you anxious?"

"Sure," I reply. "Of course I am but so far so good. We're not certain how sustainable it is but we're giving it our best and we believe with everything in us that it'll work out in the end."

"There are two basic motivating forces," said the Major Prophet John Lennon, "fear and love. When we're afraid we pull back from life. When we are in love we are open to all that life has to offer with passion, excitement and acceptance."

So I'm doing the things I love and doing them now! I'm afraid to put it off like lots of people do. So I'm going to keep working on the things I love with a belief that love works everything out so I don't have to worry.
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There's one week left to sign up for my writing workshop! You know you want to write your book! Here's your change with personal coaching from me. Give yourself a present and register now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/writingworkshop/

He's got the whole wide world in his hands ...

I'm literally holding a sliver of my whole wide world. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts is my 9th book and it's a funny thing to hold it like a baby, making certain it has all the fingers and toes, is breathing right and has life.

In some ways its like flipping through a photo album, seeing images of good times or bad ones, remembering things that were.

"What's it about?" people ask.

"Me," is the honest response though it's a terrible answer.

Specifically, its about the death of who I used to be and the rebirth of who I am now.

Sarah came up with the title and there really is a Sandy Bottoms though she's not in the cast of characters living in the pages.

What Sarah had in mind after reading the thing is that we all scrape bottom in life and get through somehow with Duct Tape, prayers and dreams holding it together as best as we know how. I think my wife is brilliant so that was the title without discussion.

And that's what the book is about from my point of view, experiences and stories.

It's funny to hold your life in your hands but that's what I'm doing ... at least several years of it.

There are Angels and Assholes in the pages, friends who showed me love when I was unlovely, and Sarah whose the real heroine of the whole thing. I laugh as I read names of people I love and the things we did. I pay homage to Goddess and Winston, the Little Gay Dog, people raised from the dead, and God who wakes me up in the middle of the night to talk.

It's about survival, resurrection, finding inspiration in the weirdest of places and love.

There are parts of it that make me bust out laughing or burst into tears.

It's my life.

I'm sharing it is all.

Lots of folks keep walls around their lives, hoarding secrets and pretending everything's great when it's not. Professing faith when they've lost it, acting life's wonderful when its crumbling or hiding from people and things they detest.

I think it's better to let it all hang out.

So I do.

You can see the scars on my ass and the duct tape around my heart.

I'm doing great and love this life!

I hope you are too!
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There's one week left to sign up for my writing workshop! You know you want to write your book! Here's your change with personal coaching from me. Give yourself a present and register now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/writingworkshop/

Writing my dream!

"You always wanted to be a writer," Mom says as I pick dead leafs out of flower pots on the Back Deck where the laptop is open on the picnic table and my notes are scattered. My I-Phone and pens serve as paperweights as a light ocean breeze occasionally rearrange the papers.

I'd called her needing a break from writing.

I have no recollection when I wanted to become a writer though I do recall the first time I said it publically. I'd resigned my job as my first book was released. It was time to become a full time writer so I explained this was the reason I was leaving.

The Society of Salty Saints got great reviews and had multiple printings. The publisher was interested in what else I had though I had nothing.  It was time for me get intense and give it my all. I relocated to a small barrier island perfect for inspiration and new stories and dove in the deep end of the pool.

A short time later I was broke.

While Salty Saints sold a lot of copies, I didn't make much money from it.

So I got a job to finance my writing habit. What I believed would be a short term position turned into a 23 year career. I'd been hired as a leader and both the company and my stature rose significantly, in no small part because I continued to write.

Seven more books were published during this time and one received a "Book of the Year" award. I penned numerous articles, diversified into grant writing, cultivated vignette story telling for the company newsletter and wrote countless speeches I gave.

"You could make math problems interesting," someone once quipped about me.

Though the job still paid the bills and not the writing.

The books, articles, newsletters and speeches actually marketed the company and my reputation. The company received millions of dollars and I achieved notoriety. The first skill I looked for when hiring was the ability to write.

"I'd like to see a sample of your writing," I asked one applicant. She got a pen and paper and wrote exactly what I'd said then proudly showed it to me.

"I write pretty well," she beamed.

Though her penmanship was terrific, she wasn't hired.

Over the decades I learned writing is a passion that consumes completely. A lucky few make a living at it but most keep at it for other reasons.

Every day for the past five years, I've written. Technology advancements allow me to publish it immediately which I find invigorating. Daily blogs lead to dialogue and discussion in real time. Feedback is instant. Thousands of pages are mined for potential and cultivation and Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts, my first book written just for me, is now available.

Through these years, writing was my major coping mechanism. Navigating a complete life change, the daily musings and their immediate release, were my therapy. Anger, loss, kindness, faith, surprises, friendship, self-discovery, joy in little things and discovering new capacities to love are the constant themes. I would never have survived without writing.

I'm finally a full time writer ... at least for now. Every day, it is the core of my work. The pays not as good as the job had been but I'm living my dream. I try to help others live theirs too. It's as exhilarating as it is scary! As rebellious as it is rewarding! A fulfilling sacrifice!

"Alright Mom," I excitedly say, "I've got to get back to work."

"It'll be great," she says as she always has.

I know it will be for me ... just like it has been for so long.
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There is still time to register for my Writing Workshop beginning in November! Let the stories you're holding inside come to the light of day and share them with the world. Register at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/writingworkshop/

You are Great!

The eight year old boy shuffles into the kitchen wiping snot from his nose and crying. He'd been playing in the vacant lot when a fight broke out and he ended up on the wrong side of the bigger boys who knocked him to the ground and kicked him.

"What's wrong?" his mother asks, dropping the dish rag she's holding in front of the kitchen sink. Dropping to one knee, she embraces him at his level, blue eyes blazing into his wet ones.

Eventually, he explains and blames himself for being too small, not smart enough nor quick enough to outrun them.

She picks him up and sets him on the kitchen table, dirty bare feet dangling in the air. Cupping his face in her hands, staring fiercely in his eyes so he has no choice but to stare back, she says, "You are going to be great? Do you understand that? You are the greatest!"

He stops crying, sucks snot back up his nose and nods his head.

"You are going to be great," she repeats before hugging him and cleaning his face.

In the years that follow, she does it again and again. They were always alone and she grabs him setting him on the kitchen table, cups his chin with blue eyes blazing into blue eyes, "You ... are ... going to be ... great!"

After a while, he knew it to be true.

And I went on to do great things having a long career selling homelessness, AIDS, addiction and health care to those who could afford to eradicate such things. I raised millions of dollars from people and Governments who really didn't care about homeless people, people with AIDS, addicts and the uninsured. I became an award winning author, sought after speaker and renown expert.

I also learned to blow my nose without help.

Many people think I've retired and am living the good life at the beach with Sarah my wife.

It's true Sarah and I are living a good life at the beach but we're also working hard doing the things I've always done. Instead of exclusively giving hope and success to the sick and the poor, I'm now helping everyone! I write daily blogs that inspire, books that challenge, online classes transform lives and personally coach helping to meet goals and achieve dreams.

"I would have never left had it not been for you," a retired teacher says. "I'd settled for a life I didn't want with a man I didn't love. Now I'm doing what I want and loving it!"

"One month in your class," a minister writes, "was more productive than paying for years in therapy."

"Thanks for helping me become a speaker and writer," a successful musician explains. "I had to get out the bars! Now I'm playing and speaking throughout the southeast in places I really want to be."

I'm too busy to retire because right now I'm looking you in the eye ... my blue eyes on you ... affirming the things you desire ... and I have something to tell you ... "You're great! Do you understand that? You're the greatest!"
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You can register for upcoming on line classes at  http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/onlineclass/

Order your copy of my new book at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

My life as a Writer

Sitting in silence.

I do it a lot.

Of course I do it in my own unique way.

There is always music.

Every day, after kisses, coffee, driving Maddie and her friend Noah to school, returning home to watch Sarah prepare Laurel and Cassidy for their own trip there ... Goddess, Winston, the little gay dog, and I make our way to the Beloved Back Deck where I fire up the computer at the table under the umbrella.

The first thing I do is find the right music.

"I haven't got a song to fit me mood," John Lennon thoughtfully said before launching into "GOD," one of his masterpieces.

Once I find it, right now it's "Deep Cuts" from albums recorded in the 1960s, I take my shirt off and get to work.

The normal routine is to update my Facebook status with a song title, Tweet, check LinkedIn, read the headlines from "The Onion" which make me laugh then "The Atlanta Journal Constitution" which makes me sad and then ... Sarah's rushing Laurel and Cass to the car so I get up to kiss her again, remind her to be "Be safe," tell the girls bye though they don't care because they're in too big a hurry to get this day started.

Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, wait on my return. They don't bother getting up to say bye to the girls.

Sitting back down, I start "losing laundry" ... meaning more clothes come off.

Resuming my seat ... I sit ... and wait... in silence ... with Jethro Tull's excellent song "Up to Me" blaring away from the computer which I intend to write on ... while I watch the sun rise ... listen to the Cicada sing ... feel the ocean breeze ... watch the leaves dance ... hear the world come to life with the rest of us.

Then something happens.

Inspiration hits. God says something. My fingers take on lives of their own. Whacking away at the keyboard, I lose everything happening around me ... there's no music ... no Cicada ... no ocean breeze ... no dancing leaves ...

I am one with the words.

I whisper them as they come to life ... making them prayer ... transcending everything around me.

An hour or lifetime later, Sarah returns home and I jump up to get another kiss to two ... or more.

Most of the time she's ready to get to work at the quiet end of the house.

She doesn't like my music playing while she works.

Unless she has something to say. Then she says it until she's satisfied I've heard it regardless of whether or not I heard it the first time.

When this happens, I've learned it's best to keep quiet.

Even if I say something like, "Oh, I know Babes," ... that just convinces her I haven't heard a damn thing she's said so she says it all over again ... and again.

When she finishes, she gets to work in silence and I may not see or hear from her again for hours.

I return to the Back Deck where Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, are waiting and grooving to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young confess they "Almost Cut my hair. It happened just the other day."

But now the words are waiting ... drawing me back into another world ... where it is silent ... and Godly things spark from my fingertips as I lapse into prayer.

That is my day.

Every day.