My Questions for God

Hey God! You up?

Of course you're up. You're always up.

First question I'd like to ask is, "Why'd you wake me up? I was sleeping perfectly fine until 2:59 when you decided that the world would be closer to salvation by having me awake. So I lay there staring at the clock in the dark for an hour. Then I used a VERB followed by a PRONOUN, which I'm sure you heard 'cause you're God and all, so please forgive for that if its a sin which I'm not sure it is. Let me know."

As you know, I stood there in the shower for a long time questioning why in the hell you have me up at this hour thinking deep thoughts. I'd much prefer to be dreaming sweet dreams with erotic content. I don't think there's anything wrong with that so I'm not asking for forgiveness. Besides according to the Bible you're the author of dreams anyway and let me say you are a master of creating erotic dreams.

I do want to thank you for the coffee. Hallelujah for coffee! As you know since you were already up, I stumbled naked down the long hallway to hit the "On" button of the coffee pot before standing in the shower. That way it brewed while I thought the deep thoughts in the shower that you obviously woke me up to think about.

Driving back to Tybee Island in the pre-Dawn darkness, I admired your work. The moon is really something and the way you sprinkled stars across the sky ... I just have to say it's some of your best work. I sipped coffee looking at it on the Tybee road in the middle of the marsh. It was worshipful.

I do have a question though.

Why are the cops out hiding in the darkness under Palm Trees? There were tons of them! It makes no sense at this time of night. They should either be home with their lovers, cleaning their guns, surprising criminals in the act or ... I don't know. It makes no sense to me. You obviously led them to do this so I'm just interested in why.

Don't rush on that one. It can wait. I'm just curious.

I want to thank you for Goddess, who as you know, is named after you. She was wagging her tail when I opened the door and flopped around on her back so that I could rub her belly. It was pure love so I lay in the floor scratching her tummy for a while.

Do you like to have your belly rubbed God? I mean I do. Surely you do too ... in an anthropomorphic sort of way. I want to thank you for the gift of belly rubs. Goddess does too.

Now ... as you already know ... I'm sitting on the Beloved Back waiting on you to approve the coming up of the sun. I wish you'd hurry up.

Killing time now ... I pray a little bit, mostly asking you to bless and take care of people who I love. Not questioning your judgement or anything but you do allow crazy shit to happen. I'm sure you've got a master plan but ... it really is some crazy stuff! Heart attacks and floods, unjust firings and unholy Sons-of Bitches who end up in charge, Congress ... I could go on. It's a pretty long list. But I'm just going to trust that you know what you're doing because it makes absolutely no sense to me.

Oh yeah, before I forget. Thank you for inventing communion. I find it really helpful on a daily basis. But you already knew that.

Now back to the questions.

Why is it that my life was rocking and rolling merrily along and you decided to reshuffle the deck? I was pretty content with it all and I really liked the way that you were handling things. Then you apparently got distracted. It could have been Israel which seems to keep you permanently distracted according to Fundamentalists of any kind and most Republicans.

Anyway it's a different life now since you threw the cards of my life against the wall leaving me to pick up the ones I chose. So, let me go ahead and say that while I question your methods, thank you for Sarah, the girls, my children, the Carnival of friends, the college reunion, and not having the faintest notion of what I'm doing. Or how I'm going to pay for it.

Again, and I hate repeating myself, but I'm really counting on this master plan of yours ...

OK, I'm back.

Why did you wake up so many people to get on Face Book at this time of the day? It's crazy! And you're leading them to post really stupid stuff. Seriously? This is in the master plan?

As you already know, it's time for me to go the Breakfast Club. I could use some more coffee. And I want to see what Whitley did last night.

Thanks ... I guess ... for dragging me out of bed at 4 in the morning. I have no idea how this helps anything but you're God and know much more than I do.

We'll talk again soon.

Ummm ... but next time, let me call you.

The Middle of the Road

It is one of those magic mornings when a full sun is rising from a blanket of clouds above an angry ocean and a cold wind. It is red and majestic and seems to say it trumps the unpleasantness choppy seas and biting gusts.

On the other side of the sky is a full moon, holy and white, against a dark blue sky. Having guided us through another dark night, it begins to slowly fade though it remains higher than the sun is at the moment.

In the middle of 15th Street I look at the sun and then at the moon. Inside of the Breakfast Club customers and friends are drinking hot coffee, eating cheese grits and staring at crossword puzzles. I've left them because there are things that must get done ... unpleasant tasks that make me sigh, then suck in air and make me try to tackle them one at a time.

I make it no further than the middle of the road before the rising sun commands my attention as though it's a King ascending to his throne wrapped in white sheets of clouds, throwing light to his subject, bathing me in a golden glow of sanctity. Just as large and beautiful is his Queen the Moon. She is complete throwing off her own loveliness with the confidence of a woman who knows she can take your breath away by just ... being.

In days gone by I would have thought to myself, "Stuck in the middle with ...me."

That is no longer true.

But I am in the middle of the road.

Another song lyric burst into my brain.

Crossing the highway late last night, should have looked left and should have looked right, didn't see the station wagon car, skunk got squashed and there you are ... dead skunk in the middle of the road.

"Hmmm," I think to myself laughing out loud.

I'm very much in the middle of the road ... literally and in every other way too.

Who I was is no longer who I am ... and it's certainly not who I'm becoming.

Yesterday, something I've spent months working on ... blew up. I'd planned on it happening but it's not going to ... at least in the way that I'd planned it. Come to think of it, most things I plan never quite work out the way I imagined.

Oh well.

What do you do?

The Moon throws fading beams on me, patting my back to remind me that I'd done my best. "It's alright," I'll watch over you tonight."

Simultaneously, the sun speaks louder, "Forget about it! That was yesterday. What are you doing today?"

My head turns from one to the other as I recognize that I need both. Consolation and challenge are perfect complements because one desperately needs the other ... and I find myself in desperate need of both.

Blowing a kiss to the moon, I leave the middle of the road ... very much alive and knowing that it's all going to work out alright. Opening the car door I throw a salute to the sun, now yellow and godly, understanding that today I'll make new plans.

Yesterday is gone. I did my best.

Today is here for me to do with what I will. I'll let you know or ... it'll be pretty obvious soon. Or it won't.

Tomorrow though, holds my heart and my promise. I wish the planning was better thought out but it's not ... yet anyway.

Oh well ... at least I'm not in the middle of the road anymore. Stuck or dead.

Hell

I was late but he waited patiently. Not patiently enough to refrain from ordering without me, assuming that I wasn't coming so a plate of fried fish, Cole slaw and baked beans were steaming in front of him as I sat. He smiled as I sat in the booth across the table from him. He looked frail and beaten though his eyes had the sad look of gratefulness that I'd made it ... that anybody had made it ... that anyone cared at all.

I ordered a glass of wine and fried chicken with a smile.

His grey eyebrow raised in condemnation of the wine ... so I ordered a glass of water too.

"Hey Jim," I said, "Don't worry. I'm going try to turn the water into wine and the wine into water. That would be pretty cool."

Shaking his head and laughing, light flickered behind his eyes before they turned sad again.

I know the feeling. He'd been a a very public person who did really good things. Much more religious than I am, he quotes Scripture a lot and begins sentences with "God led me to do this..." or "Then God told me ..."

I've never figured that out. God's never said squat to me ... until after the fact. Looking back on my life's triumphs and tragedies, loves and losses, hurts and happiness, I can see God was involved in these things. I never recognize it until after the fact and I have a hard time trusting people who say that God told them what to do before they did it.

But Jim believes that God tells him what to do first and then he tries to do it. This always worked out fine until the last time God told him to do something.

"There are women and children living on the streets of Savannah," God said. "Help them."

"How Lord," Jim asked?

"Buy an old Bakery and turn it into a home for them."

So as he's always done, Jim listened to God.

Then all hell broke loose!

Apparently God forgot to tell the neighborhood surrounding the Bakery or the Politicians representing them. They rioted calling Jim all manner of evil. Then the people he worked for were instantly converted to popular opinion and they fired him on the spot. The newspaper reported it all so it was a public crucifixion. The providers of Sanctuary ripped his world out from under him not giving a damn and being righteous about it.

And he was left alone, unemployed, unsure of what to do, continuing to wait for God to tell him.

I knew him marginally. Sitting at the counter at the Breakfast Club I'd followed all of this in the Savannah Morning Blues and I felt bad for him. I've been there. He was being purposely hurt for doing his best to go good. It's funny how the Gospel story repeats itself for those who believe. Crucifixions are part of believing and if you haven't been crucified then you probably don't believe.

A mutual friend called me. "He could use you," he'd said. "Will you meet with him?"

It's funny that the mutual friend is the reporter who had covered his crucifixion.

So I called and we were sitting at Johnny Harris' and I reached out and touched his arm. He looked shocked and flinched in recoil. For months he'd been shunned. He was no longer used to being touched ... or wanted.

"Hey listen," I said. "God told me to tell you that you tried. You did your best and She appreciates it."

He shook his head at me referring to God as a woman (though Jesus described God as a hen gathering her brood to protect them. What's the sexual hang up over God? It's God for God's sake and God can be whatever God wants to be).

I squeezed his arm.

"You didn't deserve what they did to you. That Son-of-a-bitch who runs the Church that did you in ... and the politicians whose ass he kissed so that women and children can stay on streets ... they all have reservations in hell."

Diverting his eyes from mine, he smiled as his covered his face with his shoulder.

"You did good," I continued. "God likes good."

He cried.

It made me cry.

"You've been a blessing," he said. "I didn't know what to expect meeting you today but I didn't expect a blessing."

I smiled. "Yeah, I'm not all that," I answered, "I got blessings in my life and I don't mind hell. I've been there. I don't mind going back. Especially if I get my chance with the self righteous Sons-of-Bitches who who did this to you."

He cried again.

I cried again.

We left one another with an embrace.

As I walked out my blood pumped with anger at the Sons-of Bitches who run Savannah ... and the women and children they leave on the streets every night ... and a believer in God who they broke.

Sarah picked me up and I told her about it. I needed healing and she gave it to me. Then I prayed for him so that he gets it too.

God damned he deserves it.

And God damned there are people who deserve hell.

Hope

I've penned almost a thousand of these things now. Since I began a few years ago, I haven't missed a day.

Every morning I sit collecting my thoughts or have them forcibly grab me by the throat. Sometimes I break into my heart while other times it was already broken. There are times when I can't type words fast enough as they rush to get out but then I can sit staring off into space waiting on them to come.

It's a lot like prayer ... except I'm not asking for anything.

Occasionally I go back and revisit them but I have a tendency to not look back very much. I should actually pay more attention to them. There is enough written to comprise three different books.

It's been a while since I've written one.

Tour of Homes was published in 2004 though I actually wrote it a couple of years prior to that. It's big, ending on page 368 and what I remember is that I wanted to write a big book with lots of stories woven together to make one story. I also was determined not to restrict myself so the language is salty, there's plenty of sex and no sugarcoating anybody or anything. I call it "my sex, drugs and rock-and-roll" book.

What it really was though is me working my way out of the world that I'd created. It's a description of what I loved and hated at the time ... the marriage I was in, the heavy burden of an incredibly successful career working with the poor and hurting, the hope for better days ... with an ending where evil wins ... though the very last words are from a mentally ill homeless man ... possessed by demons who are speaking in his head ... as he smiles at the thought of going home again ... wherever that is.

There's no place like home ... sometimes meaning that home is no place.

Dorothy was wrong ... Home is what you make it.

Since then ... the marriage ended, the career abruptly ceased several years after I started trying to leave it, a public life became private and there were hundreds of days when the only thing that I did was write ... and drink.

I believe things happen when they're supposed to. All of these pages were written on Face Book , Blogger.com and in a Word Document. The World Wide Web published them in real time for whoever wanted to read them. Gone are the days of driving to the Book Store or Library to search shelves of what may be interesting reading. Now you can drag the mouse over the first few lines and if they appeal to you, you click more and keep reading.

It's a new world being created. I still love book stores but not as much as I used to.

This morning, lying in bed looking out of the window at an almost full moon and the beauty that surrounds it ... everything I've written came rushing into my head as though children all demanding individual attention at the same time. I watched them as though they were sheep leaving me wide awake.

What I thought about was they all make up three different stories. The first is of love lost, betrayals of the worst kind and what survival looks like. Second is a manual to putting a broken heart back together and how you can never quite get it right again. The last are examples that faith, hope and love abide ... and the greatest of these is love.

The funny thing is the people who kept up and who read these things. Sometimes they comment. Sometimes they don't. I wonder if I stopped would anyone notice? Who knows? It's my way of praying anyway.

When I die and if my kids have any interest left in me, there are books, blogs and notes that they can visit anytime if I'm missed. The same goes for my friends who are now a tight and small Carnival of people. I've had audiences before and they may still be there but I have no need to satisfy them anymore.

When my world crumbled around me, Herb McKenzie told me "With your ability to communicate ... to speak and to write ... you'll do fine," spoken as though it were Pilate himself washing his hands.

So today I'm doing fine. I'm deeply in love. I'm working but in a completely different way. I'm out of the public eye and actually like it, enjoying helping others be in the public eye. I've raised millions of dollars helping my work and now do it to help others do theirs. I speak in Bar Church and ... I write.

I know lots about yesterday, last year and before that too. They're just a bunch of stories.

What is much more interesting is tomorrow.

I've always had faith.

I have love again.

But let me tell you about the hope of what's coming.

It's pretty Kick-Ass!

These Days

What I remember about last year's Super Bowl is that it was depressing as hell. It wasn't that Green Bay won the game, but that I was home alone watching it.

I'm uncertain why I did this but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Except it wasn't.

Super Bowls are family and friends, chips and dips, chicken wings and pizza, wine and beer. There is the game of course, and the funniest commercial to be on the look-out for, and a half-time show that may or may not be memorable. That was always the way it had been.

Then two years ago I can't even remember the Super Bowl. I was suddenly single and likely wasted out-of-my-mind. The other day Maddie was telling me about the 2009 game and I had no recollection of it what-so-ever (sorry Stacy Jennings). I remember listening to ten year old Maddie tell me about something that I know far more about than she does.

I knew nothing.

Yesterday was so different.

Starting at Bar Church, where we were all spotting a Samuel Adams in recovery from surgery, we rocked! The vibe was good, the music soared and the Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven. I preached but was immediately forgiven by the congregation of Bikers, Bar-flies, those rising from the deaths that occurred on Saturday night, a former politician and a current member of the Methodist Church who is quitting them to join us.

(God is leading us to have a transfer of membership service where anybody who wants to quit the Steeple they've been attending can do so. We will send a scroll to aforementioned Steeple demanding their letter of membership or we be coming after your booty Mate! Especially the fine booty in the Soprano and Alto Section of your choir! AAARRRGGG-MEN! Then Methodist, Baptists, Presbyterians and other known sinners will show up with the transfer of membership letters and ... we'll burn them. Cause we really don't give a shit about things like that.)

Anyway, then I went to a little girl's birthday party in the park. It was almost 80 degrees on island in February and life was good. We ate cake, washed it down with PBR and played in the playground. We played in the cemetery until we were ran out for waking up the dead.

Then it was time for the Super Bowl.

And the house was full of love and celebration. We watched, ate, laughed, snuggled and ... enjoyed it.

This morning I stumbled into the Breakfast Club where once again I lost the Super Bowl Pool. Then I came back home with an incredible sense of expectation and joy. The weather has turned windy and somehow 20 degrees vanished overnight.

So I may as well ... work. I've got plenty to do. People from everywhere all seem to be wanting something at once. My list of things to do is ridiculously long and complicated.

But unlike last year, the Super Bowl was fun last night.

As was Ava's party in the park ...

As was Bar Church ...

As is everything these days.

Way Back When ...

Way back when I was in Seminary School

There was a person there

who put forth the proposition

that you can petition the Lord with prayer

Petition the Lord with prayer

Petition the Lord with prayer

YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER!

So says Jim Morrison of The Doors in their classic song The Soft Parade, a crazed psychedelically jazzed explosion of different tempos thrown together into one song.

Growing up in Port Wentworth, Georgia ... a tiny Mill town with with a mill, Mr. Cowart's Drug Store, Frank Daughtery's gas station and an abandoned saw mill in the woods that we magically transformed into a fort ...

Jerry Rogers at WSGA introduced me to the world. Jerry was (and remains) the greatest DJ ever and now runs his own independent station which is the one I listen to most these days.

I first met him at a High School dance at the Starland Dairy in Pooler, Georiga. He showed up with hair down to his shoulders, stacks of records a microphone and just dripped of coolness. He may as well have been one of The Beatles.

Growing up in Southern Baptist land which was still coming to terms with the reality that black people are equal, you couldn't drink on Sundays and sex was something never discussed and rarely achieved ...

Jerry Rogers represented the outside world of rock-and-roll. New ideas and ways of thinking were exploding and Jerry delivered them personally to my house in a Mill Town.

Later, I remember him introducing the bands that played at the Savannah Civic Center. We all flocked to see The James Gang, Emerson Lake & Palmer, Grand Fund Railroad, Eric Clapton and ... The Osmond Brothers, Olivia Newton-John and The Carpenters. Jerry was the Master of Ceremonies and he was bringing the world to us.

Then he did this FM station and the music got better and deeper.

I remember sitting in my bedroom for hours listening to him introduce me ... everything.

And I specifically remember hearing The Doors do The Soft Parade which begins with this little sermon that was contrary to everything I'd ever been taught at the First Baptist Church of Port Wentworth. "Way back when I was in Seminary School ..."

The funny thing is that now I can say that and mean it. Way back when I was in Seminary School with Guy Sayles, Mitch Wesley and Bill Berry, I heard lots of talk about petitioning the Lord with prayer.

Ask and it shall be given.

Sometimes that's true.

Most times its not.

Or if it is, then not in the way that I asked for it.

I've asked for a lot of things and have gotten many.

Other times God said "No", "HELL NO!" or "Maybe later."

It's OK.

God's awful busy.

Today, I live on Tybee which is one of the affirmatively answered prayers, around the corner from Jerry Rogers who remains a hero and an icon, and later this morning I'm playing guitar in Samuel Adam's Bar Church Band ... where the Lord will be petitioned with prayer.

It's all good Karma.

So today is the day that the Lord has made ...

Let's rock and roll!

What's Next for me (and Mitch)

Mitch Welsey got in touch with me yesterday because he wants us to start our own morning radio show. We'd play really good music, Mitch would fill listeners in on everything that nobody knows about the song or the band. I'd make fun of politicians, current events and religious hypocrisy.

There is no doubt in our minds that the morning show would be incredibly popular while being very politically in-correct yet still drawing the wrath of most anyone of significance in music, politics, current events and religion.

The fact that no radio station, owner, or programmer has given us any thought whatsoever is totally insignificant. Mitch and I attended both college and then Seminary together so God is overriding the decision makers while calling Mitch and I to do this.

At the same time, Mitch retired recently and has a lot of time on his hands.

He also lives in Milledgeville, Georgia and unless you're enthralled by one of the largest strip malls in America, there's not a lot to hold your attention there.

There is a college and a closed mental health facility but the people of Milledgeville kept confusing the two. Instead of diplomas, graduates got prescriptions for Zanax while patients received graduate degrees in Political Science (which explains the leadership of the Southern Baptist Convention, half the population of Atlanta, Jerry Rainy and Congress).

Nevertheless, I love Mitch and if he wants to give this a shot then I'm in.

I've already started writing the political commentary. Mayor Edna Jackson of Savannah would be portrayed as Weezy on the Jeffersons. County Commission Chairman Pete Liakakis is Jack Lalanne with a side job selling diet pills and "Hair Care for Men" products. Governor Nathan Deal is the Unknown Comic and Newt Gringrich is the Pillsbury Doe Boy. Mitt Romney was named after catcher's glove that kept dropping the ball. President Obama would be the reincarnation of Calvin Coolege as a black man.

Certainly you are beginning to glimpse how zany and funny we're going to be.

This isn't all though.

Mitch knows everything about music so he will enlighten listeners with useless information ... like the Ronettes classic Da do run run is really about a drug bust.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow was written after the Lion, the Tin Man and Dorothy smoked the Scarecrow having found that he wasn't stuffed with hay after all.

And the old gospel hymn Victory in Jesus was initially conceived while Eugene Monroe Bartlett watched two girls wrestle in a pool filled with Jello (he was for the girl in the blue bikini who obviously won).

We'll have special guests on the show. Mark Wood has nothing to do so he is going to come on every day and inform listeners how to transform their porches and decks into international corporate headquarters and other decorating tips.

Dedra Shuman will ... I'm not certain what she will do. I'm never certain what she will do. Hell, I'm never certain what she does. But she'll do something.

Micheal Guido died several years ago and we are after the incredibly famous Sr. Guy Salyes to take his place with little 30 second devotionals that will leave people crying, scratching their heads, or planting gardens (see above reference to the Scarecrow being smoked).

Bill Berry (not the former drummer for R.E.M. but the other one who went to Seminary with Mitch and me) will ... probably never show up.

Johnny O will deliver the news every half hour.

Judy O will deliver the news every fifteen minutes correcting everything that Johnny O got wrong on the half hour.

The Samuel Adams Band who play damn good live music on Tybee Island will be the house band and Bar Church will be broadcast live every Sunday morning during cocktails and on Wednesday nights at eleven.

The Breakfast Club caters all Micheal & Mitch events (billing is separate).

I have to go.

Wen is taking photographs of Sarah in a bikini for promotional purposes only. Seriously! They are for promotional purposes only!

Seriously!

I gotta go.

The Tybee Bomb

"I love this island," she exclaimed as we stood around the pool table in Bennie's for the afternoon gathering of "The Bored."

"Tybee is just one great island," she gushed on. "The ocean, the breeze, the Palm Trees ... the laid back way of it ... and everyone is just so friendly and accepting."

"Uh, huh," several of us muttered as we either (a) sipped our libation (b) ordered another round (c) watched whoever was taking the next shot at the pool table (d) took the next shot at the pool table or ... was doing what I was doing which was watching girls walk down the sidewalk in bikinis.

"The only thing that I don't understand," she went on in an exasperated and exaggerated way "is why y'all can't decide on a speed limit."

Everyone in the place stopped what they were doing at the same time and looked at her.

Well ... everyone except me.

I was incredibly focused.

"What?" Johnny O asked.

She placed her hands on her hips. Wearing shorts and and an air-brushed tee shirt with a colorful painting of a pirate driving a stock car into a sunset over the ocean. Her fingernails were painted blue with designer streaks in them and her toenails were matching. The earrings were silver dolphins dangling. The sandals were Birkenstocks ... with black socks. She was pretty enough in a non-matching sort of way.

"What I mean is," she said looking at Johnny O as though he were a fifth grader, "is why in the hell does your speed limit keep changing? I mean one second it's 30 miles an hour and the next second it's 29. Then it changes again for God's sake! Then it's 32 and then it's 30 again."

The entire crowd gathered at Bennie's burst into explosive laughter as though the Tybee Bomb had finally gone off. Turning my head from the girls in bikinis, I saw Johnny O's mischievous grin and the woman's confused look as to why everyone in the whole damn bar was laughing their heads off.

Johnny O leaned his pool stick against the table and put his arm around her. He looked like a missionary who had found a lost person in the woods of Africa. She looked up at him like a lost person in a bar on Tybee Island.

"Honey," he said with words soaked in honest sarcasm, "have you ever seen a speed detector?"

Appearing confused yet confident she replied, "No sir but I seen signs all up and down the expressway that speeds in Georgia are detected by detection devices."

The Tybee Bomb went off a second time. Bennie's exploded in laughter. Girls in bikinis wandered inside to see what was going on. Because I was standing by the door, I grabbed a stool and pretended to be the bouncer and asked for their ID's to get inside, which they obviously had to search for.

It was a good day.

Johnny O was still giving the missionary smile.

"Honey," he said, "its a machine that lets you know how fast you're driving so you know if you're going over the speed limit or going under it. It's a public service."

"Oh," she said in that embarrassed sort of way.

"Don't worry about it," Johnny O said putting his arm around her. "It's not for you."

"What?" she asked with tears welling up in her eyes.

"Hell no," Johnny O said still hugging her.

"What's it for?" she asked wiping snot off of nose with her arm.

"The Tybee Island Police Department," he explained.

"Thank you," she said wiping more snot off her nose with the other arm.

"Sure thing Hon," Johnny O continued. "Next we'll teach you about Parking Services."

The Tybee Bomb went off yet again.

The Lives I've lived

I've lived a bunch of different lives so far and the next one is being born now.

Growing up in Port Wentworth was a wonderful thing. Riding cardboard boxes down the bank of the viaduct, being part of a fleet of bicycles to Mr. Cowart's Drug Store, stealing all of the flags from the Elementary School, playing army in the woods, and having my first kiss in an empty baptismal pool in the First Baptist Church listening to Tommy James and the Shondells (because the church was always unlocked and had a really good sound system).

In High School I became someone else ... A long haired football player who really wanted to play guitar. It seemed that I started to get in trouble a lot while getting affirmed for the things that I was getting in trouble about at the same time. It lead to a conclusion that trouble leads to affirmation.

Where do I begin?

I danced with a black girl at a segregated dance and was beaten up by the white guys the next day (thank you Gene Prevatt for trying to help that day). Afterwards, I was an honorary member of the black community, no small feat in Garden City Georgia in those days.

At college I fell into this group of crazy people who were all Baptist (we all still gather today for reunion tours and I'm sure the Public Broadcasting System will do a show on us soon for one of their fundraisers before we all die. Mitch Wesley will be the surprised guest.). I still had long hair, played football for the Baptist Student Union, occasionally went to class because I also played guitar, and learned about birth control. Jeremy was born and changed everything about everything.

When college threw me out, God "called me" to go to Seminary ... meaning Guy Sayles called me one night and asked me to come. So I did. Then everything really started going crazy!

I became Pastor of an inner city church, found fame and groupies, learned that I still didn't know anything about birth control and Kristen was born and stole my heart. I learned to love the underworld of homelessness, hookers, addicts, and the people thrown away by everybody else. I became part of this crazy radical community sprinkled throughout the US ... Jim Lowder, A.B. Short, Will D. Campbell, Ken Sehested, Bill Bowling, Cindy Weber and ... most of all Father Vernon Robertson.

So when the Baptist threw me out, Jimmy Buffett called me home.

We moved to Tybee Island which remains home. While I've imagined leaving, I've never really been able too. On island, I've become a Beach Bum who's also juggled a nutty career that has taken me around the world. Chelsea was born here reminding me that I still don't know anything about birth control but ... her heart is filled with sand just like mine and we've logged more hours in the sun together than anybody.

Then the kids all moved into their lives and left me here with this one. We all remain incredibly tight in a non-controlled sort of way but then again ... they were raised to not believe in control.

Afterwards, everything about the way I lived changed and I became a full time Beach Bum. I'm not sure that I ever want to leave it, though I am doing interesting stuff here and there while not really understanding what I'm doing at all. Yet after spending a couple of years with a dog in an empty house ... life is changing again.

Sarah came home and brought home back with her. She also brought three little girls. According to Jeremy, we're becoming the Brady Bunch. That alright ... my life would make a pretty interesting television show anyway. Sure, there are some things that I would do differently if I had the chance, but I wouldn't change anything.

So the sun's up and Chelsea's waiting for me at the Breakfast Club. Sam's studying for something. Chels and I are not certain about Kristen who has never seen the sun actually rise. Jeremy's traveling to Valdosta for Marie's birthday. Three little girls are re-arranging the house.

But you know what?

The sun is blazing, the air is warm and I'm barefoot.

Those other lives were great.

Ah ... but this one!

It's time to dive in.

Close your eyes and hear the splash.

Being who you're supposed to be

I logged on to Delta.com seeing for the first time in a decade that I didn't have a plane ticket for anywhere.

It gave me pause ... I had nowhere to go ... no place to be other than here ... no one was expecting anything of me.

I'd just been divorced and had left a career but old habits die hard and I'm not sure why on that day but I whipped out the I-phone and hit the Flight Status app and ... I didn't have one.

It was a very cathartic moment.

Wandering outside to the Beloved Back deck, I sat and pondered. Work no longer defined who I am. The relationship I'd given myself to had cashed in the chips and took them with her. For decades I was a very public figure, always in the news, giving speeches, writing books and fielding request to do something or the other.

Now the phone didn't ring, there were no invitations in the mail and many, many people who used to want something from me had moved on to wanting it from somebody else.

I was feeling pretty rotten about it all.

On a warm winter day I poured myself a glass of wine, meandered out to the back deck and propped my bare brown feet on the rail.

Holding my I-phone to my lips, I felt it rise from deep inside of me somewhere. Then it all happened quickly.

I hit Delta.com and booked for St. Martin ... twice! It was time to move.

Then I booked a flight to Pittsburgh on the suspicion that something might be there. There was an old invitation to go to Dallas so I bought that ticket too. Then an email came asking if I could be in St. Paul? Impulsively I bought that ticket too.

I was burning through the bank account but it felt right somehow.

Godly almost. "Hey Abram, you old man," God yelled, "get off thine ass as go! ... It'll be great!"

And the old man was foolish enough to listen.

It worked out for him so I figured it may work for me ... and it did.

I spent a month on an island that I love and was loved dearly by it and friends who had vague notions of what I'd done for a living or who I'd been with. Pittsburgh led to a contract that took me from Alaska to San Juan, Santa Barbara to Cleveland ... and others I don't remember anymore. It ended up being a terrific spring, summer and fall.

So yesterday I did it again. There were no outstanding obligations to go anywhere. I did have stuff to do but was itching for adventures.

Firing up the computer we went to Delta.com. and am returning to St. Martin soon. Then it's off to Washington state for a wedding I'd promised to do for Conner (and I'd do anything for Conner), now it may be Mexico (sounds so sweet that I just got to go). Oh yeah ... a presentation in Philadelphia is in there.

So I'm burning through what's left in the bank account but ... it's time to go.

It'll all work out. It always does. May as well have fun while its making its way to working out.

Besides, it's Biblical.

Get off thine ass and go ... be who you're supposed to be.

Why Not?

The sun is moving from the left side of the sliding glass doors to the right ... meaning that it's glaring directly in my eyes. Normally in the winter it rises behind Fran's thousand shades of green and muted sunshine makes the kitchen glow with a coolness that's cozy. In the summer, it rises behind the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt giving it's hairdo fawns a golden crown. Today it rises between the two and is blazing directly in my eyes.

I could turn in the other direction but it would make my computer screen go white and I wouldn't be able to see anything that I'm doing. I could go in another room but I like looking outside to see what the day's throwing my way. Besides, in just a little bit, it'll rise above the umbrella on the Beloved Back Deck and I'll see things fine.

I've never minded the sunshine. Lying on the beach for so many years, I love the way the blazing sun sprinkles diamonds on the ocean. I love the warmth that makes me feel loved. I love the light that drives the darkness from my heart. I love the slow red glow that begins behind the ocean and slowly rises until the sea bubbles then a new day is born that's just as holy as Jesus rising from the dead.

Every single day, the sun reminds me that I have the chance to begin again. Regardless of how sleepless the night was with worry, fitfulness or hopelessness, the rising sun greets me with a chipper, "Good Morning. Thank God that's over! Let's start again."

And we either do or we don't.

Yesterday was a long day for me. It began with great expectations, good work, lots of things accomplished with a crescendo around mid-after noon. With everything going on, I knew that somebody had my back!

Then as the sun set, the curve balls came everywhere. The rules I'd been playing by were suddenly changed. Much of the work that I'd completed now had to be re-worked. Emails were flying at me from across the country ripping the dusk into the day and welcoming the demons of the night.

I sighed leaning against the kitchen sink as the sliding glass doors were now painted in black.

I responded to the emails and they responded back. My stomach started growling. I poured a glass of wine.

"I always appreciate your optimism," an email informed me ... and it gave me pause.

Indeed, I am an optimist. Regardless of the moment, and how bad it is or how much it hurts or sucks, I am somehow in an optimum state. It'll be alright.

The major prophet Bob Marley runs through my head. "Everything's gonna be alright. Everything's gonna be alright. Everything's gonna be alright! Everything's gonna be alright. No woman, No Cry."

What is amazing to me is how so many people need my optimism shot into their lives. So many seem to just assume the worst and almost welcome it. I think they're nuts.

Looking back over my career, the commodity that I sold sold the most of was hope. "What do you mean we can't do this?" was the first question I asked. "Why not?"

I think "Why not?" is the most important question anyone can ask ... EVER!

Last night, while a lot of people were worrying and depressed about the way the day had ended, I lay in bed full of anticipation of the coming day. Sure I was awake in the middle of the night, in a bed full of hope and love, pondering ...the things that I am hoping for.

"There is always a way," is one of my mantras, so I lay there breathing in the scents of love ... figuring out the way.

"Now faith is the evidence of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen" ... but they are sure as hell felt! They are dreamed! They are known somehow even though they are far from real at the moment. Who cares? Believe in them anyway.

So last night I held my hopes tightly to my chest as though a pillow I hugged. The darkness had a light to it as I pondered the roadblocks, realities and realistic circumstances that I find myself in. But I wasn't focused on them as much as I lay there contemplating how to overcome them ... because I will.

Why not?

Just as sure as I was that the sun was going to rise ... and I'm watching it do an amazing job of it this morning.

"Oh Lord," I pray out loud, "Let me be like the sun today. I'm gonna rise above all of this darkness."

Amen.

Self Titled

Rene asked me the other day night why all of my status updates are songs. Actually they're all song titles though lately I've been throwing in some of the lyrics too. Every single update I've posted as had a song title in it.

When I found myself Suddenly Single I was posting things like "Micheal wants to know how do you mend a broken heart? As I continue to be mystified by the things most every elected official does it would be "Micheal asks And they call this democracy?" As I came out of a funk, "Micheal was sitting on the dock and Here comes the sun! As Sarah came around it was "Micheal says Love me Do!"

You get the idea.

It's fun and challenging as I try to never repeat the same song title. I also try to make it fit in with whatever I'm feeling, doing or thinking that day. Sometimes I choose obscure things just to see if there is a song that Mitch Wesley doesn't know (he's freaking amazing).

It all goes back to the days when I was a "Professional Christian" at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, Kentucky. A "Professional Christian" is one who get paid for what everybody else is asked to do for free. So as Pastor of the Chapel (and I use the term lightly) I had to write and deliver a sermon every Sunday. I was pretty good at the writing and delivering part. I really sucked at the naming part.

If I'd had my way I'd just name them Sermon I, Sermon II, Sermon III ... or just date them or something.

That didn't go over very well with the little old ladies, homeless people and radical Seminary students who made up the congregation. They demanded to know what the sermon was about before they fell asleep asleep, did drugs or walked out.

So I took to naming sermons after song titles. My examination of Noah and the Flood was called Riders on the Storm.

The lessons of John the Baptist was One Tin Soilder. Looking at promises of life after death was Don't fear the Reaper. Scripture from Revelation was It's the end of the world as we know it. And of course on Easter Sunday was Always look on the bright side of life.

The little old ladies didn't always get it but everybody else thought it was pretty funny.

So I kept at it.

Then God invented Mark Zuckerberg to invent Face Book, I resumed the practice with status updates.

I still struggle with titles ... I've only named half of the eight books that I've written. The first four the publisher thought my title sucked. They over rode me and picked something they liked better. The Society of Salty Saints, Community of the Abandoned, Partners in Grace, and Why the Homeless Don't Have Homes were all titles I had nothing to do with.

I got better at it. Running with the Dolphins, Playing Hide and Seek with God, Out From Under the Rock and Tour of Homes were all things I actually thought of and they weren't rejected.

But I like the whole using song title thing. I mean all of these great artists, writers and singers have already come up with the greatest titles in the world. Why not recycle them if they work for you?

So my Mom's been after me to get a haircut lately so yesterday it was Mama told me not to come ... but I did anyway. I had a great Sunday at Bar Church, with Sarah and unexpected and lucrative business opportunities dropped in my lap making me feel like everything is getting ready to happen at once I've got a feeling ... a feeling deep inside.

So that's the story behind the status.

I don't know if anybody cares or not but it's fun for me.

And sometimes you just got to do stuff just for you.

OK, I got to get to work. Back on the Chain Gang.

A Shitty Wedding

My friend Wen told me this one after I'd told the story of Henrietta throwing the bread into Johnny O's brand new truck in the parking lot at Fannie's-On-The-Beach. Seagulls came from everywhere and soon the truck was covered in their shit and scratched up with the claws of their feet. Inside we'd watched all of this and laughed ourselves silly.

We were all at Wen's birthday party, drinking beers and telling stories while children ran like crazy around the deck at Huck-A-Poo's or The Poo, as it is known by the regulars.

Wen and her husband Sean and their family recently moved to Tybee and were immediately adopted into the Carnival of Friends or maybe they adopted us ... who knows? ... but now we are all one.

Wen is an incredible photographer, Sean does film and their kids give great hugs while being hilarious at the same time. Sean is now in the Bar Church Band ... though God told Sam to tell us to inexplicably take the day off today. You can never figure out God and Sam.

Anyway, Wen was shooting a wedding on the beach.

It was a gorgeous beach day ... the bride was beautiful ... the groom was beautiful ... their families were beautiful ... the rings were beautiful ... the trash produced by the gathering was beautiful ... the cigarette butts thrown into the powdery white sand were beautiful ... the ugliest person there had just passed the bar for beauty so everybody was beautiful ... THIS WAS ONE BEAUTIFUL WEDDING!

The beautiful bride and the beautiful groom decided to have Butterflies released as they became a beautiful wife and a beautiful husband because it would be ... BEAUTIFUL!

So the beautiful gathering held boxes with a butterfly inside.

No one could hear a damn thing because the trapped Butterflies were trying to break out of their captivity so it was a hundred boxes held by beautiful hands shaking, thumping and making a lot of noise.

Then the beautiful new wife kissed the beautiful new husband and the beautiful people opened the boxes.

The Butterflies flew towards heaven.

Everyone clapped.

It was gloriously beautiful.

Especially for the Seagulls.

They took flight and devoured every single Butterfly over the heads of the beautiful gathering.

Of course they also did what Seagulls do ... they shit!

... all over the beautiful wife, the beautiful husband, their beautiful families and the beautiful gathering ...

It was one shitty wedding!

But Wen's got pictures!

So, given a choice between Butterflies and Seagulls at your next wedding, I suggest opting for the Seagulls if you're at the beach.

Coming Together

I didn't wear underwear or socks.

I didn't wear a coat and tie either.

I did have a beautiful woman with me.

And I was surrounded by friends that I haven't seen in a year.

There were lots of hugs and kisses. A lot of people told me how good I look ... how happy I seem. Plans were made. Invitations were extended. Promises sealed.

There were lots of congratulations to Sarah that were both personal (You're with him?) and professional (Thank God you got out of that clown ass place!).

She also had lots of funny questions ... "How are things at the Starfish Cafe? ..."What do you do?" and "Have you lost your mind?"

There were lots of questions of me ... "Tell me more about Bar Church?" ... "What the heck is Street Medicine? ... "How do I get in touch with you?"

Making it funnier is that we were at a political function in Atlanta, at the Old Rainroad Depot, with a thousand people mostly from Savannah. The politicians were lightly sprinkled last night so it was the Savannah crowd enjoying one another. It was easy to talk to everyone at once. There were oysters, shrimp and bar-b-que. Alcohol flowed freely.

People that we used to work with came up and gave us hugs. Others that we used to work with saw us ... and ran.

But it was a magical night.

Love, affirmation and expextations of the future rained upon us.

Afterwards, we walked the streets of Atlanta holding hands and laughing.

At the Hard Rock Cafe we reviewed the surprises of the evening and made plans for a Full Moon Party.

I'm glad we came but I'm ready to get back home.

But I feel things I haven't felt in a long time. Things are getting ready to explode. People are anticipating it. Many asks for it. After a couple of years of unraveling, everything is now coming together.

That was clear last night.

This morning, it is hard not to smile and just know ... how special this is all going to be.

My Life As An Influence Peddler

If Mitt Romney were here, he would call me an "influence peddler" just like he did Newt Gingrich. I wouldn't like it ... not because it's true but I don't want to be associated with Newt ... or with Mitt.

I prefer to hang around people with regular names like John, Judy, Joe, Cheryl, Mark or Mitch.

The truth of the matter is I also hang around people with political names like Dedra and Whitley.

And it is also true that throughout my career I've been an influence peddler.

"Let me make this perfectly clear, I've never been a lobbyist," said Newt, and as much as I dislike him, I have to agree.

I never actually registered as a lobbyist but I sure spent hundreds of hours in Savannah, Atlanta, and Washington D.C. pushing for things I believe in. The end result was Union Mission got millions of dollars to help the poor, several policy changes were implemented either because I asked for them or because the member of the elect were so horrified at what I was asking for that they passed laws to do the opposite.

It's crazy work.

If I were writing Wickipedia, I would define lobbyist as "ass kisser with chapped lips with a skin tone that leans towards brown."

Of course, I would define politician as "someone who likes to have their ass perpetually kissed and is willing to endure most anything to have this pleasurable experience continue including selling their soul, lying, stepping on most anyone and defining it as public service."

Sure there are some exceptions.

They weren't re-elected.

So I tell you that to tell you this.

I'm getting ready to drive to Atlanta (which thinks its the Center of the Universe) to go to Lobby-Fest otherwise known as Savannah Day in Atlanta, a giant cocktail (oh, the things I could do with that word in this context) party with seafood and bar-b-que and ass kissing of major proportions.

Over the past twenty-five years, I think I've missed one. It was all work related until last year when I no longer represented Union Mission or anything else except me.

"What are you doing here?" Sonny Dixon asked me. "You don't have to be here anymore."

"Because I want to be," I replied. "I can ask the question that everyone wants to ask but can't ... Governor Deal, just how in the hell did you get elected?"

I never got to ask it though.

My friend Terry Ball showed up and we sat and caught. Terry and I did a lot of good things together and it was more important to spend good time with him. I remember a lot of people coming up and giving me hugs and asking me what I was doing now, why I left Union Mission and if I could help with this or that.

I told them that I was working on my tan, Union Mission had left me and I was no longer an influence peddler.

Then the Union Mission people showed up, saw me and left so I got another ... cocktail.

But the truth of the matter is ... I am and influence peddler.

I'm going back today for a lot of reasons.

First, my beautify daughter Chelsea has an apartment on the Georgia Tech campus and she just graduated from the University of Georgia and this cracks me up. Oh the irony of what love can do to you!

Second, I hope to see Terry Ball again. I miss him.

Third, over those decades I made a lot of friends whom I haven't seen in year. What's a $100 ticket, the cost of gas to Atlanta and an overpriced hotel room to (a) see a lot of people I really like (b) ignore people I really don't like (c) have steamed oysters and bar-b-que and (d) see an ass kissing festival (rivaled only by the Southern Baptist Convention)?

Fourth, Sarah and I are making it a road trip!

Anyway ... I have to go find my brown shoes.

I haven't worn them in a year.

Next time you're with any member of The Elect (meaning they got themselves elected) look at their shoes.

If they're brown ... well you know why.

If they're black ... they've been in office WAY TOO LONG.

Come to think of it ... I'm wearing Flip-Flops tonight.

I think they will have more influence.

The Real Life Version of Jeapordy

Mark and I are sipping coffee at the Breakfast Club, talking to Franklin (who is brown), waiting on Dedra (who is late), and solving all of the problems in the lives of our friends. We figure out Dee's future; what Mitch should do; why Franklin should actually date younger women instead of cougars , and what happens if you put Republicans and Democrats together --- YOU GET CONGRESS! --- Let's separate those bastards!

Perhaps Mark and I will get around to sharing this information. For the moment are opting to keep it to ourselves.

In our real life version of Jeopardy, we've got the answers.

Eventually someone will have the questions.

Isn't it funny?

That's the way life is.

Things are often out of order.

Answers present themselves before any questions are asked.

Mark and I went to college together a thousand years ago. His wife Gyni was there with us. Dedra is older than the rest of us so she overlapped for a while. Mitch was Mark's roommate. Franklin (who is brown) wasn't born yet ... come to think of it, neither was the Breakfast Club.

We graduated and went our own ways and twenty more years slipped away.

Then God decreed from on high that Mark Zuckerberg be born and, either invent or steal the creation of Facebook so that Dedra, Mark, Mitch and I could all find one another again. We had been scattered to and fro on the face of ... Georgia. Summer before last we had a reunion at my house and realized that we are still as youthful, clever, funny and downright beautiful as we were in college.

And God looked over what She'd made and said, "It is good."

Since then, it's like we're all in college again without the unpleasant burden of actually attending class (thank you Judy O'Neill) ... come to think of it, Dedra, Mark and Mitch actually attended class in college while I made occasional appearances.

We all communicate daily and are heavily invested in each others lives. Last night, having dinner at A J's and Sarah and I were talking dates, Mark's ripped out his phone to put it on his calendar while Dedra rolled her eyes. Then Dedra fell asleep in her food. Just like when we were in college. Mitch wasn't with us so naturally he was talked about most.

"Then God looked down and decreed, Tybee Island needs a bass player, get thine ass down there more often."

The four of us looked towards the heavens listening to this ... Dedra had mayonnaise on her face ... then realized that God was talking to Mitch and not us. We promised to tell him. Once he gets around to asking the question. He's busy right now and his wife Linda is preparing taxes for other people from morning until night and you know how Caesar is about taxes.

But we've been struck by the things that have happened since summer before last. All four of our lives have been radically altered. Dedra now lives on Tybee and is unemployed (like half the island). Mitch left the Pharaohs of the Southern Baptist Convention and is wandering around the wilderness of Milledgeville, GA. Mark is going on interviews. Linda's doing other people's taxes. Gyni refuses to be associated with the rest of us and only sends private messages. And my whole world blew up!

Answers presented themselves way before we asked any questions.

But I think that the way that life really is.

The answers come first.

If we're smart, we get around to asking the question.

Then it all makes sense.

My New World

When your world blows up it's never really put back together again though that is obviously the first thing you wish for and try to make happen. Why can't it be like it used to be? But it never really is. It's funny how much time we spend trying to put Humpty Dumpty together again. But damn we try!

The planet Krypton blew up and Superman spent the rest of his days on the run. He was forever running to a new world that he could call home.

Or ... Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath where the Joads set out for California because there's nothing left in Oklahoma except dust and they believe there's got to be something better than dust to live for.

Or ... Moses wandering around in the Wilderness for forty years looking for a Promised Land because the alternative was hopeless slavery.

Or ... ME!

A couple of years ago, my whole world blew up. Shockingly, I found myself suddenly single (thank you Bill Shearouse), remaining on the island of St. Martin by myself taking long beach walks, losing weight while eating fish with Oliver, getting darker than I've ever been (please appreciate the double entrendre), and pouring it all out in writing on the World Wide Web. I didn't want to go back to a world that used to be so I stayed on the run.

I was on the run because it's hard to say who you are these days, but you run on anyway don't you baby? You keep running for another place to find that saving grace (Tom Petty). Most of what had defined who I was wasn't there anymore. At least that's what I believed. Of course you remain in a state of shock for a while when worlds blow up.

When I finally came home, some things remain. It was akin to Tornado or Hurricane victims returning to their blown apart and water soaked home to see what they can salvage. Back on Tybee, I found the house was intact but the home was gone. The sun still rose but the reasons to get up in the morning were nowhere to be found. Empty nails that hung pictures survived but their reason for being there were missing. Empty closets came from nowhere.

There were incredible discoveries during the salvage operation. My children were still with me. So were a small handful of people who love me for who I am and not for what I can do for them. Tybee, which means salt in Euchee Indian, served as a preservative and soothed a broken soul. Dead friends came back to life. Goddess remained steadfast.

Most importantly, though it took a long time, I found me again.

One of the things that has come to me over the past couple of years is the conviction that we are left to build ourselves a new world. God creates. God created people who create ... or they don't. If they don't ... they sin. If they do ... they're working alongside God which is as holy as it gets.

So I've been creating ... which is damn hard work! The bathroom doesn't look anything like it did before. The bed in the bedroom is new. The kitchen is much better than it used to be. The backyard looks great! The things I work on everyday are more satisfying than the things I worked on before (though the pay isn't as good). The joys of performing on the Back Row are tremendous and extend from Bar Church to Street Medicine to places around the world.

And just has Superman never made it back to Krypton, the Joads somehow found their way, and Moses never thought for a second about going back to Egypt ... Savannah means little to me anymore. Creating takes most of your energy leaving precious little for what used to be. And Humpty Dumpty is just a bunch of broken eggs.

But ...

This is a beautiful place. Surrounded by people who love me, doing things that are meaningful to me, ignoring all of the advice from those who want me to be who I used to be ... I find myself incredibly happy. Though the scars of a blown up world have left me more cautious than I've ever been. One blown up world a lifetime is enough for anybody! The truth is that I've lived through five ... which is a bitch.

But here I am. Passionately in love. Figuring out financing. Apparently unable to determine which is the most important stack of stuff to work on first. I want to take Sarah to places we will discover together. And there is a new family to be hatched ... which is what you make out of broken eggs.

But ... I can SEE the Promised Land.

I figure I'll be there by March.

Living Prayer

"Justin never knew the rules, Hung down with the freaks and ghouls. No apologies ever need to be made ... I know you better than you fake it ..."

Fog hangs low just off the Beloved Back deck making love to Fran's thousand shades of green. Staring at it through the muted light coming in the sliding glass doors of the kitchen, my mind keeps slipping off somewhere. My chin planted firmly in my hand, I'll come back from whatever universe I was in to realize that I'm still sitting here, part of the fog.

Mellon Colly and the Infinite Silence is streaming through my computer. My son Jeremy sent me this years ago. He and I have exchanged music forever. His beautiful sister Chelsea is part of the cultural exchange too and we all keep introducing one another to new things. Music flows through our bloodstreams.

It's the perfect batch of songs for a morning like this.

I'm listening to ... 1979 ... when my mind returns from wherever its been and I realize that was three songs ago. How did I miss it? Where did Scotty beam me? I guess I do believe in out-of-body experiences.

A power transformer blows somewhere on the island. The fog's lovemaking is wrecking havoc as people prepare for work and school. Sirens from Fire Engines are in the distance.

"And we don't know where our bones will rest, to dust I guess, forgotten and absorbed into the earth below ..."

Melancholy ... sad, gloomy or depressed.

I'm not though.

It's more wishful thinking ... beliefs and making decisions according to what might be pleasing to imagine instead of appealing to evidence, rationality or reality.

"Do you pray?" I was asked last night. "I never see you pray before a meal," the little girl asked me. "Do you know that God is over 400 feet tall?"

"That's a lot," I replied looking at her. "I kind of live a prayer," told her. "I don't think God cares if I say grace or not. Sometimes I do when its important to other people. How do you know how tall God is?"

It's in some book titled God's Promises for your every need.

I'm much more into Wishful Thinking ... "Now faith is the evidence of things hoped for, not seen."

This morning, I believe this is why Scotty keeps beaming me up and I continue to miss the melancholy music and lose the fog. I'm leaving the place where are words are necessary or rules are needed ... to go to the place where freaks and ghouls are one with everyone because ... we are all freaks and ghouls.

When my grandfather Ira Vernon Carver was dying, he lay in the bed in his own bedroom, unable to get out of it. It's the same bed that I heard him kneel down beside every single night and pray our loud. They were long prayers with his hands clasped and his elbows resting on the blankets and he'd call name after name. He sweated prayer. Then he'd get under the blankets and sleep. The next morning, he would live prayers.

During his last days, I'd go see him and sit beside his bed and he'd tell me everything he'd done that day. Without ever leaving his bed ... he'd go to Charleston because he needed to talk to somebody he'd prayed about. He described heaven to me once and I asked him how he knew.

"I just got back," he explained in all seriousness.

"I'm with you Granddad," I remember saying, holding his frail dying hand.

This morning I really am.

Beam me up Scotty.

We've got stuff to do. Things to make real. Fog to cast out. Dances to have.

Amen.

Hey Scotty! Hurry up! Get me out-a-here!

Date Night

It's Greg Allman's fault.

After a lovely dinner at Avia watching the happenings in Ellis Square, we made our way to the Civic Center for his concert.

It was date night and we were making the most of it! Sarah dripped beauty on the sidewalk,s leaving those we passed with wide eyes and gaping mouths. I was happy and we were both enjoying the overwhelming charms of downtown Savannah.

The city has not been a destination of choice over the past couple of years. It consumed my life for more than two decades and I think the place is better off because of it. Then it became a road that I drove through to get to the airport.

The times that I did make my way into the city it was a chore. There were endless hours of negotiations with attorneys at Hunter, McClean, Exley & Dunn, homeless friends who love me still wanting to meet for coffee and advice, and there is this Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous who just won't go away and remains an evil pain in the ass.

There were exceptions of course. Long lunch conversations at Soho with Stacy Jennings. Popping into the office of Shirley Sessions and Kim Fitz just to say hello and catch up. Mary Ann Beil continues to educate me on the merits of Celtic Christianity (meaning she shoves it down my throat over lunch). Returning to Johnny Harris' for lunch with Ben Barnes and Herb McKenzie.

For the most part though, I've avoided the city. I gave it everything I had and the city took it.

I'm an international Beach Bum these days.

I write every morning and help people throughout the world try to do things better the rest of the day. Well ... when I'm not walking Goddess, sitting on a sad little holy dock, naked tanning on a beloved back deck, attending Bored meetings, gathering with the Carnival of Friends, doing something for Bar Church or sticking my toes in the sand.

But it was time for a date.

It's impossible to have a date on Tybee as every time that we go out we find ourselves suddenly surrounded by people we love. Even if we don't go out, they break into the house (right Dedra? Twice so far today and it's not even 9 a..m.).

So we made our way alone into Savannah. God blessed this date because we found parking ... good parking! For free! We had the most romantic of dinners at Avia. We strolled the city squares. We picked up our tickets. Making our way inside the Johnny Mercer Theater, we stopped for cocktails. (OK one of the great things about Savannah is that you can have a cocktail party anywhere and at anytime. You can carry your cocktail with you anywhere you want to go and it is not against the law. New Orleans is the only other city in the United States that is so enlightened. Otherwise you have to go to the rest of the world for moveable cocktail feasts!).

Anyway we stood in line because the economy is so bad that the Savannah Civic Center only employs two bartenders for 17,000 people. I didn't mind. Sarah was dripping beauty. I'm happier than I've ever been. We're getting ready to see freaking Greg Allman!

Then it happened.

Tybee had followed us. O Johnny and O Judy (not to be confused with Johnny O and Judy O) tapped us on the shoulder and took our picture. It was good, they are our friends ... though I fail to understand the whole Davidson thing.

Then we saw a great show.

Afterwards, O Johnny and O Judy broke into our car to ride home with us.

A little after midnight, they invited us in for cocktails.

Tybee is significantly more liberal than Savannah.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, Newt Gingrich apparently did something. I don't know what ... divorced somebody else while staying married at the same time or winning a primary. I'm not certain but I do know that Jack Kingston supports whatever it is.

Then Date Night came to an end.

Well ...

It did and it didn't.

I can't wait for our next date!

Fractured Days

It's been forever since its been like this. The house is full of warmth and love though it is quiet and early in the morning. I'm watching the sun blaze through Fran's thousand shades of green. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt smiles at me. Goddess sits on the Beloved Back Deck with her myriad of stuffed animals eating the treats that I've given her.

Jack Johnson sings softly in the background (sorry Stephanie Lotti but sometimes it's just right!).

This late January day is going to be 74 degrees full of warmth. The ocean breezes are light and tickle my face with salt. My bare feet dangle from the high top chair. Underwear lay unused in drawers. Life is good today.

I was talking to my friend Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island with Gordon Hill and Davy, yesterday. Sam's in the midst of his 100,000 Miles Check up. After years of working hard, making people happy, raising children, finding love and losing love ... the pipes burst in his body. So he's being treated by the body mechanics who call themselves doctors and is getting a major overhaul.

Sometime today, those of us who love him are going to gather so he can tell us what God has told him we're doing at Bar Church tomorrow. We have no idea. Only Sam knows what God wants. He tells us occasionally.

Anyway, Sam and I were talking yesterday and I suggested having him lowered in from the ceiling during the middle of the service. It's very Biblical.

"And they came, bringing to Him a paralytic, carried by four men. And being unable to get to Him because of the crowd, they removed the roof above Him; and when they had dug an opening, they let down the pallet on which the paralytic was lying. And Jesus seeing their faith said to the paralytic, "My son, your sins are forgiven." (Read Mark 2:3-5.)

Now on Tybee, I seriously doubt you could assemble four men at the same time who could carry anything ... except beer.

Removing a roof is likely out of the question ... unless enough beer is involved.

It is true that Sam is laying in bed a lot these days though I don't think he's ready to move to a pallet. And he's not paralytic though he can't lift much anything right now, including his guitar.

When I suggested this Samuel burst out laughing and asked if he could borrow one of my loin clothes. Sarah immediately suggested Fig Leafs. Dedra immediately went on a search for rope.

"We're guaranteed no day but today," God told Samuel to say.

The lyrics from RENT immediately rang through my head. "There's only now, there's only here, give in to love or live in fear ... no other path ... no other way ... no day but today."

Today is our day to do with what we will. It is a gift directly from God. None of us asked for it but we all share it. What we do with it is up to us.

Then Rocky and Bullwinkle came to me. Well not them, but the Fractured Fairy Tells from that show. Traditional fairy tales were taken, fractured and re-told ... hilariously so. (You can You Tube them!)

Today is God's gift to us. Some of us have it pretty easy today. Others not so much. Either way, it's our day to fracture or to celebrate.

I've had a lot of fractured days.

Unless something unexpected drops on me from out of the sky, today's not going to be one of them.

No Day but today.