Effective Prayer

Ira would kneel on the floor every night, his elbows resting on the mattress of his bed, bony hands clasped together and his head bowed. His eyes were closed and he spoke out loud.

“Dear Heavenly Father,” he would begin and … he’d spend a good half hour thanking God for most everything, even the things that were not that great. Then he’d start naming names. One after another he called on the Lord to be present in their lives because of sickness or infirmities, temptations or travels, blessings or curses.

“Forgive it all,” he would loudly say wrapping it up.

Finishing, he would thank God for listening and for sending Jesus before saying Amen. Then he’d crawl into bed and go to sleep.

Edith waited until she was in bed. She’d lay there staring in the blackness of the night and speak softly as though she were telling secrets. She mostly named names too though she didn’t ask for much until something really bad was going on; rather she would just focus on people’s faces and love them and ask God to love them too. That’s how she would fall asleep.

My grandparents worshiped God.

I worshiped my Grandparents.

Staying with them as often as I stayed at home, every night I was witness to their prayers. They prayed without ceasing, grounded in love and they simply believed with everything in them that God would take care of everything.

This morning I opened a Facebook message from a friend asking me to pray for him. Without ceasing, I wrote back “Absolutely.”

Last week I got a text from someone I’ve never met asking me to say prayers for her. Dire things were going on and she understands that I am a person of faith and while God may not listen to her, well … God might listen to me.

“If you’re looking for some safety-in-numbers support, I’m with you,” I replied.

A grandfather comes to see me to explain that his granddaughter is having surgery and his voice cracks while his eyes grow moist.

“You are a person of God,” he says almost as if he’s begging, “please pray for her.”

What do you do?

The fact is I pray like my Grandmother Carver did. I conjure up visions of the people, regardless if I know them or not, and try to send feelings of love and support. I figure throwing in good Karma can’t hurt so I do that too. I think about God and try to nudge an intervention or two.

And I leave it at that.

I understand my limitations.

Homeless people used to have me in court to testify on their behalf and I’d sit there waiting for the Judge to ask me if I knew them and what I thought of the situation.

“I like him,” I answer under oath. “He tries hard. He’s screwed up a lot but I think he’s really working on it.”

The Judge would eye me over and there was always a long pregnant pause.

Some considered my words and gave the poor guy another chance. Others threw the book at the book at ‘em having the bailiffs haul his ass to jail in handcuffs.

Either way I did my best for them.

I still do though I’m incorporating more of Granddaddy in my prayers speaking out loud.

“Hey God, that’s just wrong!” I’ll say. “Nobody deserves that. She’s doing her best! Give him a break!”

 I’ll grow quiet for a second before concluding, “Amen.”

Reviewing my reviews and then moving on

My favorite review of one of my books was in The Western Recorder of all places! The state newspaper for Kentucky Baptists did a review of "Playing Hide and Seek with God" long after I'd ceased being a"Professional Christian" indebted to them for a paycheck.

The review went something like this. "I read the first couple of chapters of this book and got so mad I flung it across the room and stormed outside! After I cooled down I went and picked it back up and finished it. This is not pleasant to read but it's a book we must read."

How cool is that?

You can see why its my favorite.

I've got a notebook somewhere of all of my book reviews though I could probably find them all online if I wanted. It's not something I think about though they were fun when the books were published. Other than The Western Recorder, I really don't remember them.

My first book "The Society of Salty Saints" got the most and some woman gave a speech at a missions conference holding it up saying, "we need more Christians like this!" I'd already left the church when she said but I've always wondered if she was going to leave it too.

"Running with the Dolphins" got the next most though I got a lot of mail with that book. Some of it was hate mail! Chris Rice wrote a letter saying what a lousy person I am and 22 other people to signed it with her. I kept the letter and have it stuck in the notebook with the reviews.

Then after eight books in ten years, I stopped writing them.

Until yesterday.

Nine years after my last book was published my wife Sarah said, "I want you to write a book" and she went on to tell me what it should be about. She could have written it herself but for some reason she wanted me to do it. She may have been doing the laundry. I don't know.

That was six months ago.

It took me a long time to figure out how to get started which is the hardest part of writing a book. Then it hit me like a bolt of lightening and yesterday I finished the draft and handed it to her.

I was standing nearby when she finished reading it and said "OH MY GOD" and laughing at the same time.

I took this as a good sign.

Unlike book reviews I care most about what she thinks it ... especially when it was her idea in the first place.

Now its like getting pregnant. I have to wait around until it actually becomes a book. Then I'll look forward to reading the reviews which I will promptly forget.

Well, unless it's in The Western Recorder.

Forgiving myself

I heading down to the Oceanside to wash my sins away!

Actually I feel alright about my sins.

I made them.

In most cases I asked forgiveness to whoever I screwed and then forgave myself.

"Whatever gets you through the night, it's alright" the major prophet John Lennon taught us and I believe that.

I think we all do the best we can and most of the time we do good.

Sometimes we don't and miss the target, which is what the word sin means in Hebrew. We tried to do good but we didn't. Dammit! I hate it when that happens. I like getting it right every time but I'm no longer under the illusion that I will. Or that anybody else will either.

As a result, I'm pretty quick to forgive. "Ah, you fucked up. It's alright. You probably tried your best but ended up missing the target. In fact you didn't even come close. I know what that feels like. Let's try not to do that again."

Sure there are some major sins like purposely killing people or harming the earth and other living things that are damn near possible to forgive or forget. I still hold on to a couple of those but in my day-to-day life, I'm quick to shrug my shoulders and say, "It's alright. Just try not to do it again. I'll try just as hard."

Homeless people used to visit to explain the reason they were homeless is because they'd committed the "unpardonable sin."

"Oh yeah?" I would ask. "You blasphemed against the Holy Spirit? Do you know what blasphemy means?"

Most had no idea so I'd go on to tell them there were a lot of reasons they were homeless but blasphemy wasn't one.

And a lot of people have said, "I just can't forgive myself. How do you do that?"

"Hey man," I replied, "Was that the best you could do at the time? If it was then it was your best. You're different now. You wouldn't do that way again. You learned from the experience. Stop reliving it."

I think that's how you forgive yourself.

Having said all of that, it's time for me to baptize myself.

Later y'all!

Surf's Up!

Trusting Monday

My friend Mitch posted "Monday, Monday can't trust that day" from the Mamas and Papas and for the life of me I can't figure out what could have possibly been on the Lord's mind when this day was made!

Violent winds blow white sand across a grey beach as though they are snakes slithering to the sea. Sharks teeth litter the beach offering tribute to the wickedness of the wind. The ocean is angry and waves slap one another haphazardly. White caps fight for supremacy over the water. Grey clouds sprinkles a cold mist. There is nothing lovely about this day.

I am alone on the beach.

No one else wants it today but I run along the water's edge feeling the sand snakes bite the calves of my legs. In the distance I see bright lights inside of homes and imagine that people are sipping coffee, reading newspapers or psyching themselves up to drive to work.

"Hey God," I say out loud as I trudge along, determine to get myself back in shape, "what the hell did we do? It's a shitty day! You can do better."

I wait but God chooses not to respond.

"Oh well," I mumble, "have it your way then."

My mind carries itself away and I think about the beaches on Orient Bay and Belize. I imagine sunsets over the sad little holy dock, the smell of the marsh and blue skies. Dolphins sometimes jump as I run, seagulls squawk and children squeal in delight as soft waves carry them to shore. Sipping wine while holding Sarah's hand in a swing in the sand dunes as we watch the moon rise.

These are the things I want today.

A bad day at the beach is better than a good day at the office.

"Hmmm," I ponder trudging along. "Maybe I've got this all wrong. I don't have to go to the office any more. Those are over. I don't have to wear a coat and a tie. Socks are no longer necessary. I've already got a good tan and its not even summer. It's not cold today, just windy. Sarah's home. Nobody's on the island so there are no lines, no traffic, no problems mon."

"Hey God," I yell out loud again. "I get it! Thanks! This is a day that the Lord has made for me!"

A bit of blue erupts through the grey clouds.

"Whoa," I say. "Hey Mitch! I'm gonna trust this day. Suddenly I'm feeling pretty good about it!"

Standing in the need of prayer

I'm worried that Bar Church is becoming too corporate.

Oh it still meets in a Bar, has breakfast for those who need it, great music, a terrific spirit and encourages smokers and flip flops.

Psalmist Samuel Adams is now assisted by fellow Psalmist Stephen and Minister Joe.

All of that 's good.

This is what concerns me.

Forever, if you needed prayer you'd call Sam and leave a message.

You never actually got Sam because he never answers his phone.

He doesn't return calls either, leaving it to God to assure you that you're being prayed for.

I like it this way!

Sam doesn't try to be the middle man between you and God like most ministers do.

All of this may go by the wayside now because Bar Church has a 24 prayer line that will be answered by a live Psalmist Stephen, Minister Joe and members Angie, Susan and Danny, Ann and Lisa. Bar Church now guarantees someone will answer the phone when you call for prayer.

I have a visual in my head. Psalmist Stephen is at his job running the Sugar Shack and is frying French fries when his cell phone rings. It is someone needing prayer immediately. Stephen closes eyes, prays, burns the French fries, cusses when he realizes it, and then asks the person who called for prayer to pray for him.

Now I love Stephen and have since before he was a Psalmist.

I do not want him to burn French fries or himself as it would effect either the Sugar Shacks bottom line or his excellent guitar playing.

I'm sticking to the old ways.

When I need prayer, I'm calling Sam directly who will not accept or return my call.

Instead Sam will leave it to God to get back to me directly.

Now I think I'll beat the after church crowd at the Sugar Shack and head on up there now ... before Psalmist Stephen has a chance to burn the French fries.

Oh ... and Amen!

Duck Dynasty Mexicans

After a riveting 3-2 soccer game played by 9 year olds, Sarah and I stopped for a romantic Mexican lunch at the Mall.

I hate the Mall.

I have always hated the Mall.

I hate any Mall but especially the one founded by General Oglethorpe!

On the other hand I like Mexican food and the Oglethorpe Mall happens to have an excellent restaurant that may, or may not, be full of illegal immigrants.

Personally, I don't give a damn. The American economy is built upon Mexicans and it would crash without these people. Who would wash cars? Put roofs on houses? Landscape?

Sarah and I were holding hands, feeding each other cheese dip on fresh Tostitos when we could not help but to overhear the table behind us ordering from the nice Mexican gentleman.

"I want Tacos. I want them hard too. But I don't want no Mexican cheese. I want American cheese. You got Dat?"

The waiter must have nodded because the next guy was already ordering.

I want tacos too but I want mine soft. I want ... this here ... trio ...it's got meat, chicken and pork. No Lattice," he commanded.

"Lattice? He going to eat a fence?"

Sarah is from somewhere up north and was not understanding the southern pronunciation of lettuce.

"Well then," said the third. "I suppose I'll be having Tacos too. I don't want no lattice neither. And I don't want no damn tomatoes. I'll take my cheese made in the gold ol' U.S. of A too. And ... hum ... I want beans. You boys want beans? I'm having me some beans."

"Yep we want beans," they said in unison. "Hell yeah we want 'em!"

"Sarah my love," I said staring at her while continuing to hold her hand, "is the cast of Duck Dynasty sitting behind me?"

"Yep," she said butchering a fine southern word.

I don't watch Duck Dynasty. Dedra watches Duck Dynasty and after ranting and raving about how wonderful it is, Sarah and I turned it on one night. It reminded me of the people in Congress and I threw up in my mouth a little and immediately turned the channel to M*A*S*H to find sanity.

Dedra has been in hiding since all of this happened and for all I know she sleeping with these Duck Dynasty people. She is from those parts.

Thankfully we were finished with our romantic lunch and decided to have dessert when we got home, if you know what I mean (wink wink nudge nudge).

Standing to leave, sure enough they looked like Duck Dynasty people having Mexican food in the Mall on a Saturday afternoon.

The fine Mexican waiter, immaculacy dressed in a red vest, white shirt and black trousers with creases said "Thank you in perfect English. I hope they did not bother you."

"Oh no," I said thanking him for his excellent service.

"By law we can't discriminate," he whispered into my ear.

"Nor should we," I replied "We need these people. I don't know why we need them. But we must need them for something."

The Alternative Universe of Tybee

After giving it much thought, I confess that I live in an alternative universe.

Tybee Island is different from any other place ... ever!

Oh, we have our sister islands ... a confederacy of lunacy ... like Key West and ... er ... well ... I can't think of any other place remotely like Tybee except for Key West.

The island is completely schizophrenic with at least three distinct personalities.

First, there are those who believe we are a normal American small town. They serve on committees and hold events to raise money for things and go to church. Well, they don't go to Bar Church but they do attend the McReligions ... Baptist, Catholic, Episcopal and Methodist.

Strangely they believe they are the only people who actually live on the island.

They believe with everything in them that the rest of us are visitors who will eventually go away.

Second are the Bar people. We have our own Church that meets in a Bar and encourages smokers and flip-flops. We don't serve on any committees though we do have a Bored meeting. We sponsor parades, parties, skinny dipping and the broad base utilization of medical marijuana. There is a lot of music around what we do and we are a strange collection of pagans, Lesbians, Druids and I'm the token "REV".

The Bar people pay no attention whatsoever to the McReligious people who wonder why we're still here and keep passing new laws and putting up more "Stop Signs" to discourage our behavior.

Finally, there are the visitors.

Honestly, the visitors like the Bar People WWWAAAYYY more than the McReligious people.

The McReligious people think they're cool if they wear a tuxedo top with cut off shorts which actually looks ... STOOPID!

The Bar people eventually find ways to lose the laundry and dance naked.

The Visitors immediately know who they're siding with!

Throw us all together and its a strange gumbo that somehow works.

Just don't tell the McReligious people that it works.

They think they're the only ones here.

It's Still A Wonderful World

"I'm going to turn off the news," my friend Meredith posted. "I just might break."

Bombings in Boston ... exploding factories in Waco ... poison letters mailed from Mississippi ... and that was just yesterday's news!

I understand Meredith's feelings.

There is a lot of bad out there but ...

"I see trees of green ... red roses too ... I see 'em bloom for me and you and I think to myself ... what a wonderful world."

The song streams through my computer as though a direct message from God that in spite of all of the bad things happening, it's still a beautiful world.

Sitting back I take inventory.

I am sitting on the beloved back deck on a absolutely glorious morning. Fran's thousand shades of green dance in the ocean breeze. Hibiscus blooms surround me and sunflowers are reaching towards the sky. Choirs of birds are singing hymns of praise. The woman I love is inside making old things new. Within a mile radius live my Carnival of friends.

How am I so blessed?

There are a lot of things I do not like. I abhor war and rumors of war. I distain suffering of any kind. Selfishness sucks. Injustice is intolerable. I hate it when bad things happen to good people.

I've had my share of these things and, on occasion, have been as hurt and wounded as those in Boston and Waco with broken bones and a broken heart. I can feel there pain in a way that a politician never can.

Still ... in spite of malicious evil, deaths that are unjust and not fair to those it leaves behind, or the anguish of unanswered prayer ...  I can't help but to think to myself  ... what a wonderful world.

When I Grow Up

During my last Semester in Seminary, they did a magazine of how great the place was and who they thought the great up and coming great "Preachers" were.

I was one.

There was a picture of me, wearing blue jeans and a corduroy jacket, dark shirt and sock tie. My hair was long and I had a full beard. I looked part Cowboy/part Hippy. I was talking to a homeless guy and appear very serious.

It's a black and white photograph though every other picture in the magazine is in color. There is an image of Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, looking pious and holy as he kneels in a tiny prayer closet. (Seriously, it was a closet under the stairs someone stuck a Bible on a stand with a place to kneel. The Baptist are serious about their prayer!)

Bill later confessed it was a poised picture. He was graduating too and they thought he would amount to something because he'd won the Clyde T. Francisco preaching award and looked like Neil Young. He didn't do all that praying. That was public relations. It was poised. But they always liked Bill best.

I'm not saying I was discriminated against but that was one happy place when I graduated.

Anyway, I went on to have a great run as a "Professional Christian". I got invited to a lot of cool churches, ate a lot of food on Wednesdays, was a speaker at the Southern Baptist Convention in New Orleans and drank beer out of plastic red tea glasses like everyone else because we didn't want anyone to know we were drinking.

I was successful but as I turned 30, I didn't want to do it anymore.

The Baptists were again very happy about this turn of events.

For the next 23 years I worked transforming a homeless shelter in a multi-million company. We developed housing, health care, employment services, opened a restaurant and a Farmer's Market. I got invited to a lot of cool places, stayed in nice hotels, drank wine out of wine glasses and was in the paper a lot. I won awards, got asked to serve on the Chamber of Commerce Board and was a member of the CEO Council.

I was successful but in my early 50s, I didn't want to do that anymore.

A lot of people of all faiths led by Jerry Rainey, the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous, were extremely happy by this turn of events.

Then I wanted to be Jimmy Buffett but the job was already taken.

My friend, the very famous Dr. Jim Withers, asked me to him with the International Street Medicine Institute. We went to a lot of cool places, squatted under some of the finest bridges in America which also double as housing (aren't you glad your taxes go to build bridges so people can live under them) and visited a lot of hospitals. My main job was to fight off all of Jim's groupies.

Then it was time to move on again though Jim wasn't especially happy with this decision.

I think I finally understand the problem.

I don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

There is no doubt whatsoever I will be successful at it given my track record!

If only I knew what it was.

Time to get to work on it.

The end is not yet

It's bad enough that there are hurricanes, tsunamis, tornados and earthquakes.  Accidents of nature wreck destruction on homes and unexpectedly kill people. We ask God why such things exist in a  world that is otherwise perfect and some say its our own damn fault because we're sinners and God's angry at us.

I don't believe that shit.

God's given us pretty much everything God has to give.

I don't know why freaks of nature happen but they do.

And aside from them it really is a pretty perfect world.

If they weren't bad enough though, look at what we do ourselves. When hurricanes and tornados aren't doing us in, some line up to volunteer and help.

It happened again yesterday in Boston when someone for whatever reason placed bombs at the pinnacle of a celebration wrecking destruction and unexpectedly killing people.

It was likely for political or religious reasons, the two major motivations for people doing bad things. It may have been because of mental illness because this country does next to nothing for the mentally ill other than guarantee their rights to bear arms. It could have been simply because some people are evil living their lives to hurt others.

Honestly though, it wasn't just Boston. Throughout the Middle East the same thing happens almost daily. Asia's building bombs and making threats. "You will hear of wars and rumors of wars but see that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is not yet."

I don't understand why such things must happen.

Like freaks of nature, I don't understand freaks of politics or religion.


I don't understand why we treat the sick so badly.

I don't understand evil though I've certainly seen it and felt its wrath.

In spite of all of these things, the end is not yet.

That's the good part I guess.

Yesterday, Sarah's girls were scared because of the bombings in Boston. We were watching on television. They asked if bombs were going to explode here. They mentioned Korea. They asked me if the end of the world was happening soon.

"The end is not yet," I told them in an assuring way.

I don't know why its not ... though I suspect its because we've still got a lot to learn about how we should all be treating each other.

Facing me

I keep changing.

David Bowie keeps running through my head. "Every time I thought I got it made, it seemed the taste was not so sweet. So I turned my myself to face me..."

It was about five years ago that I actually turned myself to face me.

When I did it was time for a change.

Let me tell you something. Change is damn hard. That's why so many people hate it.

The first thing I knew was that I didn't want to do what I did for a living any more. I was tired of it and there really wasn't much more I could do there. I told everyone so and not one damn person offered any words of encouragement or support.

It's one of the reasons change is so hard.

Nobody supports it.

But the funniest thing happened.  Though I went along with the crowd and stayed, subconsciously I worked myself out of the place. It took a year-and-a-half but at some level that I wasn't even aware was of, I was orchestrating the change.

When it finally happened, I was where I wanted to be in St. Martin with friends, far away from the shocked people and the press.  I was just as shocked but it was done and there was no going back.

At first, my response was "What the hell have I done?" and "How could other people have done this to me?" but the truth was it was what I'd wanted for a long time.

Running along the beach this morning, the tide was low and calm. Grey clouds hung low in the sky making the morning mute. White seagulls rested on the dark grey sand looking like a cluster of candles. Two little boys played on boogie boards in the surf. I am happy and content.

In the distance I see a friend running my way. He turns and runs beside me and we chat. Somewhere in the panted conversation he says, "You made all the right decisions Micheal. You just didn't know you were making them. Look at you know! You're running the beach on a lovely Monday and then heading home to lovely Sarah."

I laughed and he patted me on the back before we went in separate directions.

Last week I was introduced at the Moorehouse School of Medicine in Atlanta where I was giving a speech. It's always interesting when I'm introduced because it's like hearing your obituary. Life's highlights are reviewed. The audience was impressed.

I'm proud of my past. I've done a lot and think the world's a better place because of it. I really don't have any regrets. It's all worked out the way it's supposed to.

And I'm much better because of it.

I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

Staring over at the bag of charcoal on the beloved back deck where I'm working. A happy man is on the bag grilling out. "Ready faster and burns longer."

"Yep," I say out loud. "Just like me."

Winston, the little gay dog, lineage

At the height of Orange Crush, Goddess seemed dazed and confused like she always does, reeking of medical marijuana but with all of the sirens blaring in the distance she appeared especially bothered. Sarah and I were watching her intently so we were totally unprepared when Winston, the little gay dog, said he had something to say.

We turned and faced the little brown and white dog wearing a red sweater a rainbow on it with the words "Too cute to be straight."

We were totally unprepared to learn that our little gay dog is also the product of an interracial relationship. A drunken Jack Russell Terrier picked up a lose Chiwawa behind a bar and conceived Winston, the little gay dog.

I tightened my arm around Sarah who was overwhelmed with the news, her eyes moist with concern for her little boy.

Goddess put her paws over her head.

It explained so much!

Every time we board them, Winston, the little gay dog, gets in trouble for making aggressive sexual advances at black male German Shepherds and black Doberman Pinschers.

I'd never get much thought to the other dogs that he preferred but suddenly it made sense.

Winston, the little gay dog, has had black and he's not going back.

What do good Christian parents do when confronted with such news about their children? Right then and there, we picked up our little Winston, the little gay dog, and let the son-of-a-bitch (I mean that literally) know how much we love and support him.

Goddess was blowing smoke rings letting us know that she really didn't give a shit.

Today, we are celebrating our family!

Sarah and I are extremely proud parents of two very distinct and diverse dogs that we love with everything we have, just like all good parents.

Matters of the heart

"How many husbands have you had?" she asked over a glass of wine with her friend.

"Six," was the casual reply.

After a moment of disbelieving silence the words exploded. "SIX! You've been married six times?"

Laughing, the woman shook her head. "Oh heaven's no. I've only been married twice."

Some would argue that it's looking for love in all the wrong places but after the laughter it makes me wonder. I've had lunch with lots of people, men and women, who have confessed relationships outside of the one they were in. Often they were married and sometimes they'd been committed to one another.

They had the need to share and for whatever reason they told me.

Perhaps they were looking for safety-in-numbers consolation.

I don't  know.

I've read that the average person falls in love seven times during their lives which really makes it hard for those only married to one person. You have to give those folks credit. Six times when their hearts yearned for someone else they remained faithful to the one.

While 50% of us remained married to the one, a healthy percentage of those explored relationships with someone else.

The rest of us just went all out, following our hearts or losing our minds and ending up with someone else.

Both ways are hard.

Making it harder is the condemnation that rains down. We love affairs! To talk about them secretly as we judge and condemn others who are merely trying to find the perfect love they believe in.

Love is enough thing to find. It's even harder to hold on to.

If you have it, good for you!

If you're still searching, good for you too!

To both I encourage you to not settle.

Follow your heart.

Crush

The drive to the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport (an oxymoron) was the same as always except I was dropping off a child for school, had to rush by the ATM and then caught every single red light between Tybee Island and Port Wentworth, Georgia. There are 16 red lights.

Consequently, I was the last person to board the plane which was of course delayed because of Air Traffic Control in Atlanta whose primary job is to delay flights. It used to be that Delta was ready when you are but now it’s the other way around.

I’m giving a speech at Morehouse Medical School today.

Then I’m flying back this afternoon so I can get back to Tybee in time for Orange Crush.

Orange Crush is an unplanned, unorganized event with no sponsors that annually draws thousands of kids, mostly from colleges to party on the beach. There will be an equal number of police officers setting up a command center in one of the parking lots so that fewer kids will have a place to park.

The kids will drive around looking for parking which isn’t there while the police direct them to leave the island. Those who do find parking will go to the beach and, just like on Memorial Day, the 4^th of July and Labor Day, trash it.

Of these holidays, Orange Crush is by far my favorite.

The kids dress scantily, deck out their cars for cruising and engage in public displays of affection. What’s not to love?

Well … most residents are restricted to their homes because there’s no possible way to back out of their drive ways. Even if they could, there’s nowhere to go because the police directing people off the island bring traffic to a complete standstill. The entire island becomes as gridlocked as Congress.

I don’t mind. I’ll stock up on provisions and sit on the beloved back deck and listen to it all. Sarah and I will likely take a stroll to witness some of the mayhem.

We won’t have a lot of time because Orange Crush is the perfect time to have a wedding on the beach which is what Caroline from the Breakfast Club has planned. Johnny O and I have been wondering for days how we are going to get from one end of the island to the other.

If Frank Schuman were still alive, he and his lovely wife Jamie could take us on jet skis around the mayhem and just drop us off. Alas, that is not possible this year.

It’s also the Tybee Wine Festival this weekend. Lots of folks have purchased tickets to get smashed on the island. 

They won’t be able to drive home afterwards further contributing to the islands traffic problems and eating up precious parking for the Orange Crush crowd.

It makes me wonder.

Is Air Traffic Control in Atlanta the same group that Tybee City leadership (another oxymoron) has contracted with to plan traffic access on and off the island?

It’s food for thought.

Have a great weekend everyone!

I know that I will.

Assuming I get out of Atlanta.

Creation (The True Version)

Genesis Chapter 1.

Micheal Elliott Revised Not-So-Standard Version

1. In the beginning the earth was void and without form. It was dark and wet and thus saith the Lord, "It sucks!"

2. And God said, "It needs sun!" and a big yellow ball bubbled out of the ocean and the water was blue. And God put on sunglasses and said, "Looks good. Nice day!" And where the sun did not shine God called it "Night" so that people would have a place to park and make out.

3. And God said, "It needs sky and since blue is God's favorite color the sky was blue. And it was dry and water was wet. And this was the first day and night.

4. And God said, "Needs a beach." So the water was gathered into the sea and behold, there was sand. And God saw that it was good.

5. And God said, "Needs Palm Trees! Mangos and fruits with seeds!" And it was so. The Palm Trees produced coconuts and the other trees bore oranges, lemons, bananas and other fruits to make Tropical Drinks with little umbrellas. And God saw that it was good. And there was a cool evening and warm sunny morning and that was the third day.

6. And God said, "Needs stars." And behold, little twinkling lights appeared at night to make it more romantic. And God said "Needs a moon so couples can see what they did with their clothes." And it was so. And on the forth day, God said, "Looking good."

7. And God said, "Needs fish." And there were fish, dolphins, sharks and for a laugh, jellyfish. And on the beach there were lizards, sand crabs for kids to chase and boiled peanuts. And in the sky there were pelicans and seagulls. And God saw that it was starting to look really cool.

8. And God said, "Needs people." So God created a dude and a babe placing them on the beach. And they strolled hand in hand in the surf, enjoying the water, the dolphins, the seagulls, the fruit drinks and  the geckos. And when they started making out God said, "It is good."

9. And God gave a thumbs up and commanded unto them, "Have fun kids! Enjoy! And try not to screw it up."

10. And God saw all that was made and it was very good! So he opened a beer and sat in a beach chair and God said, "I need a day off."

It's OK to Quit

"If at first you don’t succeed, try try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it."

So said W.C. Fields and I believe he's right.

 

That's not to say I'm a quitter.

 

I'm not.

 

I've kept working on a marriage long after it was over.

 

I stayed at Union Mission long after I knew it was time to go.

 

I actually had a football coach tell me once, "Elliott your problem is you try too hard. Stop trying so hard!"

 

"You don't want me to give it everything I've got coach?"

 

"Ummm, well yeah. That's not what I'm saying."

 

"That's what I heard coach."

 

"SHUT UP AND GIVE ME 100 PUSH UP YOU MORON!"

 

He was fired after the season but I'd moved on to trying other things.

 

As I reflect back, I now understand that I should have quit.

 

There was nothing else for me to do at Union Mission and I told people so but they were comfortable with me there so they did everything to talk me into staying. I listened to them but I shouldn't have. I should have listened to myself. I was a moron!

 

Same with the marriage. She left long before I recognized that she was gone. I don't know why I was shocked when she told me. I was a moron again!

 

In both cases, I just refused to give up.

 

I was a damn fool about it.

 

Oh well, live and learn right?

 

I'm in love and happy with Sarah.

 

I enjoy work without a safety net again! That's the way it was when I started at Union Mission.

 

Being a fool, much less a damn one, is no fun whatsoever!

 

I don't recommend it to anybody.

 

The sad fact is each and every one of us is a damn fool at some time or another.

 

And if you're being one now ... at work, in a relationship, politics or religion ... quit!

 

QUIT NOW DAMMIT!

 

It's alright.

 

It really is.

An Epiphany of Sam Adams

Rounding the corner, the setting sun blazes white on the high tide swallowing the marsh. A silhouette stands at the end of the sad, little holy dock ... long hair blowing in the ocean breeze behind his back, shirtless wearing  baggy shorts and flops, he appears to be Jesus just after surfing.

Beside him is the silhouette of a dog about the same size as Goddess who is pulling me closer to them in excitement, tail wagging and happy.


"Samuel" I yell, letting Goddess' leash go so she won't drag me along.

"Micheal," the dark figure calls with a subdued and laid back voice sprinkled with laughter.

He and Pup Pup make their way to us and we hugged.

"Did you get my texts?" he asks.

"Of course not," I reply. "Cause you never sent me any."

He laughs in agreement.

"What's going on?" I ask and he tells me.

"That's the same stuff that was going on last time I asked you."

"I know," he smils, "but it's different this time."

"Long as you feel good about it," I laugh.

 "I'm turning over lots of Bar Church to Stephen and Joe," he said.

"Uh-huh," I say not believing him for a minute.

"Seriously," he smiles.

"Whatev's!"

"You look good," he says changing the subject and rubbing my belly.

"Now you're just full of shit," I say grabbing Goddess' leash.

"When you going to come play?" he asks.

I shrug. "Whenever God tells you to tell me."

God talks to Sam more than most people.

He and Pup Pup climb in their golf cart while Goddess and I head in the other direction.

"I'll come by soon," he laughs as he drives into the sunset.

"Goddess," I say out loud. "I wonder when Sam's next epiphany will be?"

She stops and pees in the grass.

"Amen," I say in response.

A song for you

When Chelsea graduated from High School and took off for college I made her a compact disk of songs, as I'd done for her brother Jeremy when it was his time to leave.

I cried both times.

The times they were a'changing.

In Chelsea's case I started with Paul Simon's "Father and Daughter" from the cartoon "The Thornbury's" because she loved it as a child and I would sit there and watch it with her. I didn't give a damn about the cartoon but it made her laugh and I couldn't come up with a better way to say how much I adore her.

After that I went to James Taylor's "This is a song for you, far away from me."

I missed her.

I missed Jeremy.

Kristen stayed near so it wasn't as bad with her but I missed her too.

It would never be the same again.

My children had moved on.

I had too.

Years later, I was sitting sad and lonely in St. Martin of all places. Miles and miles of clear blue skies, aqua blue water, good friends who cared for me when I couldn't care for myself ... those were those days.

Love had left me.

My life's work had too.

There wasn't much of anything left other than paradise.

I'd wake up in the morning and stumble into the waters of Orient Bay and fall forward to find life. Then I'd stumble back, pour myself a cup of coffee, sit under the Banyan Tree and turn on the computer. I'd write what was in my heart which was mostly broken then see whatever anyone had to say.

One morning there was Chelsea sending the song back to me.

"This is a song for you," ... Daddy ... "far away from me."

I cried as much as I've ever cried and sitting there doing so, my friends Conner and Hania strolled by on their way to trade towels and they stopped and sat with me.

Nothing much was said.

Nothing much needed to be.

After a bit we walked together for coffee and to change towels.

But it was Chelsea who carried me.

And her song ... far away from me.

The Sound of Happy Rain

"We'll start with radiation and chemotherapy," the doctor explained after telling my aunt she has breast cancer.

"I'm much too pretty for that," Regis firmly informed him.

Then she went home.

Regis was accustomed to doing things her way.

Growing up in Port Wentworth, my Dad's family were all nearby. My uncle Ruben lived on the other side of the viaduct. Uncle Bobby lived in South Carolina. We lived in Kentwood, closest to the Savannah River and the railroad tracks.

Aunt Regis lived in exotic Daytona Beach, Florida.

She was a hoot smoking, drinking and she had this way of laughing that sounded like happy drops of rain pelting you from the sky. If she didn't like her husband, she'd get a new one. Regis was not a woman to settle! She also worked at the United Way of all places, helping others needing help.

Of her three children, Debra, Johnny and Sheri, Johnny was my hero. When Grand Dad died, Johnny and I decided it was a good idea to take the little house out behind the one he'd lived in and turn it into a shrine. While my Grandmother and the rest of the family remained inside doing the things you do planning a funeral, Johnny and I took paint and wrote our names and his on the tiny white wooden structure.

We got in trouble of course but I still think Grand Dad Elliott liked it.

And I remember Regis laughed when she saw it.

Recently she fell and hurt herself. The doctor again explained all that he would do to make her better.

"I don't want to do that," she said.

And she stayed true to herself doing everything her own way.

At 84 years old, she survived her other brother Ruben and her younger one, my Dad. Uncle Bobby is laying low these days and I don't blame him.

This morning I find myself celebrating Regis and given the way I've lived my life, wondering how she ended up apparently having far more influence than I ever thought she had.

Thank you Regis. Rain down a little laughter on all of us today.

The Coppertone Girl and me

It all started with the Coppertone Girl.

To this day when I use Coppertone, the smell of the suntan lotion excites me like crazy. The beach, the sun, the sea, surfing, cold beers and girls in bikinis ... today's Sarah's is orange. 

It's a good day.

As I was lathering up I remembered when I met the girl with the dog pulling down her bathing suit. (I must say I love that dog and have been trying to teach Goddess to pull down bathing suits since for her seven years of life but she is terrible at it.)

We were on a church choir tour of Florida in a vain attempt to save all of the heathens living in Florida who built all of these fake churches to fool the Christians of Georgia that they're really saved people but the First Baptist Church of Port Wentworth knew better!

We made it all the way to Miami and were staying in the home of secret Florida Christians when she walked in. She was around 24 at the time, wearing a blue bikini and had long blond hair. I was 14 and immediately in love.

She didn't stay but a moment but her memory still lingers.

I immediately started converting to paganism, rock-and-roll music and being a beach bum which became most difficult when I went to a Christian Seminary, was in a church choir and lived in Kentucky.

But I overcame each of these obstacles.

Today I want to thank her for the major influence she's had on my life.

Now I have to go see what I can do about the bottom of Sarah's bikini.