Breaking the Silence

You've become quite the recluse. You rarely grant interviews anymore. Why did you agree to this one?

I didn't have anything else to do. Sarah's still asleep. Winston, the little gay dog, is licking where his balls used to be. Goddess is sleeping too. I was bored. That's why I'm doing it. I can't think of what else to do.

When was your last interview and does anyone care?

I think the last one was at WTOC. It was in the lobby and took about half-an-hour. The only people who cared was the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainey), who didn't want me to do it at Union Mission and Johnny O, who pointed out that I was old news because it was broadcast at 5:55 rather than right after six.

Well, we have lots to cover. There are lots of things other bored people want to know. Ready?

Whatev's.

Is Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, real?

That's a hard first question. He was real. At least I think he was real. He really threw me over the wall in a Monastery once. I'm pretty sure it was him who painted "Jesus Shaves" on the sanctuary wall. I remember he saluted the Polish boarder patrol in his underwear while I hid under the covers. He saved me from a bunch of Turkish whores one night in Prague. And a bus hit us once while we were on the way to Seminary together. I don't know. He sounds pretty real to me but I couldn't say for sure.

What about the Cat Lady? Is she real?

She's a real pain in the ass. That's pretty real!

Do you every talk to her?

Well, it's hard to get a word in edgewise because she's always screeching to her cats or moaning like them with the parade of buff boys marching in and out of her house. But yeah, we talk. It's hard though. Have you seen her? She looks like Marge Simpson on meth and it's hard to carry on a conversation when you have a little bit of throw up in your mouth.

Winston, the little gay dog, has amassed quite the following. Has it gone to his head?

Winston, the little gay dog, is real son-of-a-bitch! I mean that literally. To be honest though, I really don't spend a lot of time with him. He's forever shopping for slogan tee shirts online or answering fan mail. Sarah's his agent and I know they're in contract negotiations for him appear at Fantasy Fest in Key West this year. He seems to be doing alright.

How's Goddess doing?

Oh Goddess is great! Goddess is good! She's aging gracefully and really doesn't give a shit about much anything.  She likes it when Jodee and Cheryl come over. They're into bagism.

Last year, you and Sarah were in the Bar Church band. How's that going?

Well, God kicked us out. It was one of those Beatle things, you know, when they were asked if they were more popular than Jesus? We were just getting too popular.  It was getting in the way so God told Sam to tell us to get the hell out. It's all good though. God told Sam to tell Jimmy Cochran to join and D-Luv is up to one finger on the piano these days. They sound good buried under Stephen's overbearing guitar solos. Sarah and I wish them the best.

What about The Carnival of Friends? Everyone doing alright?

Oh yeah. We don't get together too much these days to reminisce. Primarily because none of us can remember anything. But everybody's good. I saw Judy O this morning and she was her normal self ... lost, aimlessly wandering around, looking naked without a glass of wine in her hand.

Speaking of naked, how's your testosterone levels?

Thanks for asking. They're the highest they've ever been. It's because of Sarah though. I can't take all of the credit. She makes certain they get plenty of sunlight every day.

Are you still the Chaplain at the Breakfast Club?

Yeah sure, but it's mostly a ceremonial title these days. I mean the place got so popular and has tons of Groupies. They line up before the suns up so the place went to hell years ago. There's not much a Chaplain can really do.

So what's next? Anything new on the horizon?

Yep. A book on Winston, the little gay dog, is being released soon. It deals with how he found himself and he collaborated with Goddess in writing it. It's pretty good. And I have a new book coming out too called "Sandy Bottoms and Duct Taped Hearts." It's a book about being Spiritual hence the title. I'm doing a lot of teaching these days too. It's all online so you don't have to actually go to class or anything.

How's Sarah?

I already told. She's asleep.

Yeah you did. Well, anything else to want to add?

About what?

I dunno.

Me either.

Alrighty then.

Yep.

Early Morning Sun Worshipper

"Later Kids!" I say standing from my stool at the counter in The Breakfast Club.

"BYE MIKEY!" is yelled by several of the cooks and waitresses as I stumble towards the door marked "Exit Only" which is how I came in.

"WAIT! WAIT! WAIT!" Chris yells. "I have to tell you something."

He stops cooking, finds an empty space on the counter and leans into me.

"I was reading Runner's World the other day," he whispers in my ear, "and there was an article that says if you expose your testacles to the sun your body produces 250 times more testosterone."

Standing up straight, I just stare at him.

"I know right?" he continues. "What is sad is as soon as I read it, I immediately thought of you."

I laughed as he returned to the grill, cracking eggs, flipping sausage, and creating masterpieces.

"Who knew?" I thought as I walked around the line formed on the sidewalk to get to my bicycle, "that I produce so much testosterone naturally?"

Climbing on my bicycle, I turn the corner and immediately run into Julia Pearce who is on her bicycle. We stop in the middle of the road and greet each other.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

Pulling her ear buds away, she takes the cigar from her mouth. "Worshipping the sun," she says prayerfully.

I want to tell her how nice her tan is but she keeps talking.

"What is wrong with your mind? I look forward to reading your stuff every day but God the stuff that goes on in your head."

"I am pretty eclectic," I shrug.

"Give me a kiss," she demands leaning forward and I do before she puts the cigar back in her mouth.

She peddles down 15th Street towards the ocean and I head towards home before Winston, the little gay dog, can wake Sarah up.

Julia and I go way back. I was her first babysitter on the island. Standing in the old Desoto Shipwreck Lounge years ago, she was lusting after Mallory on the dance floor.

"Here hold this," she said handing me her baby as she rushed out to dance with him.

They went on to marry, the baby grew up to be a minister and I wonder if any of it would have taken place had I not been standing next to her that day.

We went on to work together for a while. Julia is a nurse and ran a program in one of the buildings I operated. One day I walked into a meeting she was holding with her staff and she kicked me out of my own building.

She was pretty witty about it.

"Get out!" is I remember her saying.

These days, she goes to Africa and Washington D.C. a lot. Kings come to visit her and she goes to Presidential Inaugurations. She frequents Marlin Monroe's  on Sundays and takes great care to fix Mallory's hair before he goes out in public.

She's hard to not love. 

As my friend Jane Fishman once said, "On an island everybody is either running to, or running from, something."

Julia was running from something when she got here.

But she's been running to something since she arrived.

Feminist Right Wing Political Wackos

There were no Pope Frances sugar cookies for dessert.

It was terrible and we are still traumatized. Sarah is shaken. The girls all need therapy. My faith in God is sorely tested.

A feminist right wing political terrorist group broke into our house while we were away on a mission trip for Jesus.

Imagine our horror when we finally made it home after spending five days doing God's will on a Cruise Ship.

We were saving large Cherub children from ice cream laced bacon ... stupid people who confuse a white letter "T" on ugly orange shirts with the state of Texas ... lost white people who wear baby blue tee shirts with yellow shorts, matching baby blue tube socks and sandals (can you say Georgia Tech?) ... mothers who raise their daughters to wear matching cover ups over matching bathing suits ... this was a mission trip to pure hell!

But we prevailed and came home filled with glorious praise for the Savior's command to do unto others as you would have them do unto you. We taught them to eat salad which they struggled with mightily. We held backyard Bible Clubs showing heathens God only follows the SEC and doesn't give a shit about Notre Dame. We sought out the oppressed giving the good news that clothing is optional. It got ugly sometimes when we had to slap some sense into parents for doing really stupid things with their children.

We were so happy to hurry home and begin a family study for this week's Sunday School lesson.

Instead, we were shocked to see what Satan's people did while we were gone.

We found Winston, the little gay dog, wearing a tee shirt that said "Republicans blow harder, Democrats always got your rear but we can agree on one thing. They suck!" The poor little thing was crying, paws duct taped  behind his ball-less butt with a tiny Cuban flag stuffed in his mouth. He was left in the closet like this.

Goddess was beside him, also traumatized, snoring and passed out smelling of reefer. She was actually smiling.

Anyway, the feminist right wing political group was obviously upset about our mission trip.

Leaving their devious calling card, an elephant dressed for Fantasy Fest made us all scream in horror, "HOLY J. EDGAR HOOVER!"

Releasing Winston, the little gay dog, he hiked his left rear leg ... he is a leftist ... and peed on the Fantasy Fest Elephant.

Goddess half way opened her eyes and blew smoke on it.

Sarah and I locked the girls in their rooms and had a laying on of hands ceremony.

God's name was called upon multiple times.

So was Jesus's.

So was Satan's.

I swear to God Monica Lewinski and Mitch McConnell were there. Harry Reed and Nancy Pelosi were too. They were all entangled in a holy, sweat soaked, steamy, copulation of sex. Bill Clinton, America's greatest President ... he balanced the budget, left a surplus, never killed anybody and made oral sex a part of the country's vernacular ... hovered above.  That was one great service! I still feel healed.

GLORY!

Anyway, when Sarah and I finished with the laying on of hands ceremony, Pope Frances himself had obviously intervened and performed a miracle.

Hearing a scream, we almost jumped up, but ... well, we were naked so we didn't.

Later ... much later ... a lots later ... a really long time later ... I went to the bathroom and saw Pope Frances' miraculous work ... the Fantasy Fest Elephant was screaming for his life as he was being flushed down the toilet.

Looking down on it ... experiencing yet another sigh of relief than the one I had with Sarah ... I watched it go round and round.

Winston, the little gay dog, having bathed, groomed and changed clothes ... now wearing a tee shirt that reads "The stuff trickling down on you isn't money" ... jumped up on the toilet seat and looked down.

The Fantasy Fest Elephant spun round and round.

Winston, the little gay dog, barked "Call me."

As the Elephant went down, we heard "I will."

Winston, the little gay dog, looked at me and winked.

"Another convert," he barked as he went to find Sarah.

Judge Not

Well, that was fun!

It’s a sad shame that we have to leave the ocean to go home at the beach.

There are some things you just have to do in life.

I’m sure we going to have to adjust Winston, the little gay dog’s, medication when we get home. When the Pope said who was he to judge God loving people regardless of sexual identity, Winston probably went ape shit crazy with joy.

        

Though not a Catholic he is certainly a Christian gay dog and is forever wearing tee-shirts with Biblical references saying things like “Jonah’s got nothing on me. Watch me blow this whale” or “I got your resurrection right here.”

I must admit though, I agree with Winston, the little gay dog, on this one. It’s nice to see Pope Frances say one shouldn’t be judged whether they’re straight or not. It’s not our job to judge. God does that.

Winston, the little gay dog, and I believe God gave each one of us this gift of life. None of us are created the same. We are conceived according to plan or because of mistakes. Some are black, white, brown or red. We are male or female. We are tall or short, fast or slow, and each of us is different from everyone else. And … we are either straight or gay.

Winston, the little gay dog’s, Uncle Johnny O put it best when he said, “I like this sinner friendly Pope! He’s my kind of guy.”

I have to agree with Johnny O too. Everybody screws up in life. Everyone sins sometime. For the most part, we all eventually commit the same ones.

It’s crazy how judgmental people get when they’ve done the same things as the people they’re judging. When you look at it, this is the world’s biggest problem. Everyone is too freaking judgmental.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Johnny O often says, “everybody just lighten up.”

After all of the false judgments the Catholic Church has delivered over the last few centuries, it’s nice to see them led by a guy like Frances. He’s open, honest, not as tightly strung as his predecessors and I bet he doesn’t wear anything under his robe. You can just tell he hangs loose.

Besides, I’m sure Goddess is ready for us to get home. She can only take so much of Winston, the little gay dog.

Goddess is not judgmental, loves everybody, and spends most of the day passed out on the floor. She likes medicinal marijuana while he prefers Speed. They sometimes clash and I have to referee. 

Winston, the little gay dog, is high strung when it comes to religion. Goddess rolls with the tides.

Plus, we’re tired of Cruise Ship food. I’m ready to fire up the grill tonight, open a bottle of wine, sit on the beloved back deck and offer a toast to the heavens when things go right in the world.

And it wouldn’t surprise me at all if Winston, the little gay dog, spends the afternoon making sugar cookies in the image of Pope Frances for our dessert.

It’s just something he would do.

Adrift

Sometimes it seems life is aimlessly adrift at sea even if you’ve been in the same place for years.

The same job … same family … same church … same old way of doing things … doing the same things for fun … same ol’ same old.

On the ocean I can tell the Ship is moving because we’re steaming against the current. I can fix my eye on a cloud in the distance and measure our movement by comparing where it is in relation to the railing on the boat.

It’s not so easy in life.

Too often we settle for stability rather than growth. Familiarity trumps discovery. Comfort with what we know prevents tasting new excitements. Hardened beliefs destroy the possibility of new friends. Fear of losing what we’ve got smothers the life we have.

After years of doing the same thing, I left.

Honestly, like a marriage that fails, I’d actually checked out long before I actually resigned. It was stable, familiar enough so that I could do it with my eyes closed and there was a set way of doing everything. There was nothing to it but it was killing me.

I didn’t leave because I feared losing the comfort of everything I had … and I had a lot! I made lots of money, lived where I wanted, traveled the world on their dime and had more perks than I knew what to do with. I was scared to leave. My life was aimlessly adrift though I was firmly anchored to these things.

Then God intervened and circumstances became such that I resigned. It was painful, emotional, heart wrenching, shocking to others and exhausting to me.

It was damn scary.

Like a ship that wrecks on the reef, I was able to salvage some things. I kept some money, my house, and a handful of friends stayed with me. Throwing caution to the wind, I continue to travel as a way of coping with everything I’d lost.

Like a sailor stranded on an island, I learned new ways of doing things … quieter ways. I learned to listen better, speak less and no longer have to own whatever room I’m in. There’s no longer the need to boost my ego. Though I sometimes fret about the future, I’m very content with the present. More than ever, I’m living in the moment.

A mermaid swam from nowhere and I married Sarah. Our family is bigger than anything I had before. The handful of friends has been growing steadily peppering each day with delight. Like the hot, sticky, humid hot air, love is all around. We take great joy when people we care about break away and discover what they’re running to.

I don’t have any regrets.

Looking backwards, there’s lot I’m proud of, but I’m gazing ahead. We’ve constructed a new boat and are moving against the currents of social expectations. We’re not doing it the way everybody believes we should. We’re having fun.

Watching the water roll pass, I’m very mindful of lots of people. Like Sarah and I, their lives are not what they were a little while ago. They’ve cast off the old ways and are setting sail for better days.

When we crawl up in the crow’s nest to have a look around, we smile at all of the other self-constructed new lives that are sailing these same waters. 

Just Like Any Other Kid

Then I remember why we came.

The blue green waters of the Bahamas are stunning. The powder white sand of the beach sucks my feet down to my ankles. The sun blazes on the sea and the breeze is light. It is a picture postcard day.

“That was just fantastic!” a dark skin man said smiling at me yesterday. His hands rested on the shoulders of his daughter, a girl with brown eyes the size of moons.

“It was fun,” I reply as we board the Tender to ferry us back to the Ship.

His eyes were filled with pure bliss and I knew this was the first time he has experienced a beach so pure. We were instant brothers.

It was a quiet evening after a full day in the sun.

While Sarah sleeps, I sip coffee watching as we dock in Nassau trying the count the times I’ve been here. It’s not my favorite Bahamian place but there’s a nice beach a short walk from here which is where we’ll likely end up today.

Last year, I was diving off a concrete Pier with a bunch of kids when a police officer made us stop, giving me a lecture on how a tourist was killed just last week because he didn’t dive correctly. As soon as he left, the kids and I resumed diving off the Pier.

Why am I still such a kid at 57? Every morning when I get up is the beginning of a new adventure. It is an immediate search for what’s fun! Whatever bar was set yesterday must now be surpassed. Yesterday is only a collection of stories that can be dredged up when the occasion calls for laughter. If I did anything wrong yesterday, I try very hard to not do it again today.

I’m much more of a kid now than I was in my 30s or 40s! Then I was trying to make it professionally, be a good example for my kids, fit in the right social circles and care about politics.

I don’t do that stuff anymore. My career was a jigsaw puzzle with no pieces missing though they were not assembled according to instructions. I’m friends with my kids and we have good times when we’re together. The only network I belong to is The Breakfast Club. I could care less about Republicans or Democrats.

What’s really important is playing with my friends!

At dinner last night I asked the girls “Tell me the three things that have meant the most to you in life?”

“When I was born,” said  one.

“Yeah well, it’s hard to top being born,” I replied.

“Riding horses,” shouts another.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I say to her.

There was a silence as small children struggled with a big question.

“When Mommy married you,” was said matter-of-factly to break calm.

Surprised, I asked, “Really? Why is that?”

“You do things with us,” they said in agreement. “You take us places.”

It was a humbling moment.

Then again, I’m at a place in life when I no longer have to be the parent. There is no need for me to be an authority figure or to have everyone like me. I’m a nice guy, like to make people happy, enjoy poking holes in societal expectations and having fun.

Just like any other kid.  

Cruise Ship Conversations

“This cruise ship has gone to hell,” he yells to the woman lounging beside him. “Last time I didn’t have to ask for more bread at dinner! Now you have to ask for another basket! That just ain’t right!”

Slowing my stroll across the Aft deck where the water slides are, I can’t help but notice his large belly is getting lots of sun but it casts a long shadow over his legs and feet.

Who knew the amount of bread consumed is the baseline for a positive cruise experience?

Resuming my climb up the long winding staircase to the top of the slide, I am proud to be a participating member of the Senior Class of kids shooting through the tube to make a big splash in the pool below.

“I’m gonna beat you old man,” says a kid on the slide beside mine.

“No way kid! I’m gonna kick your ass,” I calmly reply.

We’re off and because I weigh significantly more than his 12 year old body, I easily beat him to the bottom, make a bigger splash leaving him dripping as he begins contemplating physics for the very first time.  

Later standing in line for something to drink, a young man says to another, “I don’t like anybody from Texas.”

“I’m not from Texas,” replies the man waiting beside me.

“Yeah you are,” shoots back the young guy jabbing a finger at the letter “T” on the orange shirt the man’s wearing.

The man looks at me as I burst out laughing, standing there wearing my UGA tee shirt.

“Buddy I’m from Tennessee,” the man says.

Confused, the young man retreats to his original position, “Well, I still don’t like nobody form Texas.”

Shaking my head, I order a double.

“This is not relaxing,” says a mother stuffing endless amounts of food in the mouths of her two large Cherubs.

“Did you get me ice cream?” one asks finishing off a plate of bacon and a pancake.

“Not for breakfast,” the mother says.

Wiping syrup from his mouth, the large boy Cherub burst into tears.

“There is nothing relaxing about this,” the mother says as she heads towards the ice cream station.

Stumbling from our cabin to the Lido deck, I bypass the breakfast line and pour myself coffee.

“We sure did enjoy you dancing with your precious girls last night,” says a high pitched, squeaky southern accent.

Turning, I see a woman and her daughter pouring glasses of juice. They are both smiling, dressed in bathing suits with matching cover ups.

“Thank you,” I smile, remembering them seated at the bar while we danced after dinner.

“It was just precious,” she says as they wander away.

“THIS IS NOT RELAXING,” screams the mother of the two large Cherubs as she returns to her seat carrying large bowls of ice cream.

Helping her is a man wearing a baby blue shirt, yellow shorts, matching baby blue tube shocks and sandals.

I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

“SHUT UP KIDS,” the mother of the two large Cherubs yells. “WE FORGOT TO PRAY FIRST!”

“Dear Heavenly Father,” she says with one eye closed and the other on the two large Cherubs, “bless this food to our bodies …” as she slaps the hand of the large baby boy Cherub dipping his bacon in his ice cream.

Salt Water

The first time I ever saw one was at Ernest Hemingway’s house in Key West. Behind the open air mansion, under Palm Trees and Tropical foliage, is a massive swimming pool built by his wife Pauline.  Rumor has it when the great writer saw it he dug a penny out of his pocket and threw it at her saying, “There you’ve taken my last penny.”

The coin is plastered into the pool now and is part of the spills given to crowds of tourists.

It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.

It’s a great story!

And as I learned in Seminary, “Never, ever let the truth stand in the way of a good story.”

The thing about Hemingway’s pool though is it’s filled with salt water. Crystal clear, it looks just like the chemically clean pools that I grew up using.

On Tybee Island I assumed that salt ocean water was sometimes green but mostly brown. Not so in Key West or most of the rest of the world.

When my friend Carlos visited Tybee from his home in St. Martin, I took him to the beach and he exclaimed, “Mike! Who shit in your ocean?”

I explained the marshes and the influence of the mud. “It does color the water but it fills Tybee waters with nutrients that ensure our fish and shrimp are well fed. It’s why our seafood tastes so good.”

“That may be true,” he said in his French Caribbean lilt, “but it still looks like somebody shit there.”

                                                                                                             

“Well, I’ll take Tybee shrimp over St. Martin lobster any day!”

I love salt water. It swims through my veins. It sticks to my skin. It falls from my eyes when my heart fills or breaks. It soothes my feet when they are sore. It seasons most every pot I put on the stove. It brings me luck when I throw a pinch over my shoulder.

It was in sheer delight yesterday when I cannon balled the girls in the pool on the ship we are on. It’s a salt water pool.

The massive boat is a tiny dot in the vast salty ocean we are sailing through. I see no land, not a single island, only the majesty of the deep blue sea. I’m reminded that regardless of what I accomplished, or failed to, the world is bigger than I am. 

A Quick Look Back

It's a wide range of stuff.

It seems I've covered the entire spectrum of human emotions.

Wickedly funny events were replaced by long, empty loneliness. Heroes unexpectedly arrived from nowhere to save me from hurt and pain. Strange characters screech for cats, drunken bicycles are ridden and church is in a Bar. A gay dog finds a home. Old friends rose themselves from the dead. A Carnival was born just when everyone desperately needed one. Guardian Angels drink, smoke and cuss. Goddess was the singular constant companion through it all. Sarah came home bringing more love than I've ever experienced.

For four years now I've written it all and taking the time to look back as we collect the best for a book reminds me of several things.

Regardless of how good you got it, unexpected and terrible things happen, rocking your faith and changing your world in the blink of an eye.

When they do, you quickly learn who your friends really are ... and just as importantly who they aren't ... and it's shocking to see who is who.

Love is relentless when it comes to you. Those who love you refuse to take no for an answer, find creative ways to insert themselves into your pain and will not go away even when you tell them.

Laughter is more than medicine. It is divine intervention when you need it the most.

Devastating loss eventually leads to a deeper appreciation of who remains in your life and what you have.

Place really does matter and everyone has a Promised Land they're either desperate for or they been blessed to find.

Long periods of silent, reflective thought makes it easier to hear God talk.

Anger, as Frederick Buechner says, is the most delicious of the Seven Deadly Sins! A feast for Kings and Queens until you suddenly realize that what you're eating up is you.

The past has the longest of arms, the tightest of grips and a mean desire to keep you from enjoying the present or make your way toward the future. Only the most courageous of us leave it behind.

These are the things I see when I step back to look at the forest rather than the trees. It's a lush and beautiful place with dark, scary parts, the most beautiful and tranquil of glades, hidden dangers and unexpected friends on its paths.

After this quick respite to see where I've been, I can't wait to continue this journey. It's just been incredible.

Praying the Blues

"When you least feel like praying is when you really need to."

The Gospel according to Hooker Man.

Sarah and I met Hooker and his beautiful wife Levy last year in St. Martin, though I'd heard about them previously from our friend Hugh.

Hooker and Levy are musicians who reside in Coleman, Michigan. He wears glasses over a nose that floats above a long gray beard and you just know he played Woodstock. Wearing overalls and sandals, he stands lost in the sounds wailing from his guitar.

Levy's hair falls over her shoulders but her large captivating smile is what affects you. Her smile throws warmth your way. Her voice soothes. A gifted story teller, her eyes work the crowd then shares devilish delight with Hooker's as they make the music of angels.

On a hot Tropical night in St. Martin, Hooker and Levy performed an impromptu concert on the patio of their Garden Chalet. Our friend Marty joined in wailing on his harps. Perhaps thirty of us stood under the moonlit Palm Trees with the waves crashing on the reef serving as percussion.

"In spite of ourselves," Levy sang while Hooker played, "we'll end up a sittin' on a rainbow."

The lyrics to the John Prine song were our wedding vows when Sarah and I married under a full moon on the beach at Tybee. We smiled and danced as Hooker and Levy re-gifted our vows to us.

Michigan is a long way from Tybee Island but through the magic and wonder of Facebook, we all keep up with each other. Isn't it wonderful that once one time meetings that became distant memories are now ongoing friendships where we can immediately touch over distance and time?

At 3:00 in the morning Hooker posted that when you least feel like praying is when you need to. I don't know if he played last night, he could have just gotten home from work and was sitting there having the days last cigarette and washing it down with a beer. Levy might have been rubbing his shoulders. Or he could have been laying there, trying to sleep before saying "To hell with it!" and sitting before the computer thinking about prayer.

I don't know.

I do know that a friend of Hooker's was hurt really bad yesterday. Great musicians think with their hearts and Hooker's was troubled. Sometimes prayers are really the blues, our way of saying to God, "This just ain't right."

And that's alright. Sometimes life just isn't right and we have every right in the world to tell God and everybody else it ain't! Bad things happen. Incredible life's are cut short. Friends hurt themselves. Lover's disappear.  Loneliness is found. Hunger of all sorts happens.

I believe that God prefers listening to the blues. It's far purer than choirs of Angels singing Hymns. It's far more substantive than the Gospel songs of praise heard in church. It's much more honest than anything in the Hymnal.

At 3:00 in the morning, without his guitar, Hooker was praying the blues.

And I heard you man.

And I'm praying them with you.

Coffee Breaks and Deadlines

The managing partner burst outside to my office where I sit naked typing and working on my tan. She seems perturbed which is hard to understand because it's an absolutely glorious day. The sky is blue, the sun bright, the pungent smell of the marsh hangs in the air and the breeze off the ocean is crisp. The Beach Boys  are saying, "Don't worry Baby." It's a great day to be at work!

"Where's my list?" she demands. "The deadline is now!"

I don't understand people who have indoor offices with artificial light, recycled air, an organized desk and a functional filing system.

"Well?" she asks when I fail to answer.

"Almost done," I lie.

She makes a face, blows a puff of air from her mouth to the strand of hair that's fallen in her face, and marches her cute little ass to her corner office in the main part of corporate headquarters.

"Well Goddess," I say to  my dog laying under my bare feet, "I guess it's time to get started."

She rolls her beautiful amber eyes and goes back to sleep.

My assignment is to choose my favorite blogs for the book that's coming out in October. The managing partner is, of course, finished with the cover, the package design, the art work, the marketing plan, the pricing, and the hard copy, e-copy and Kindle layouts.

On the other hand, I haven't done jack shit.

That's not entirely true.

I have been going back and reading old writings. It's hard picking favorites. It's like having to choose who I love most ... Jeremy, Kristen or Chelsea? Some things just can't be done.

Reading about Winston, the little gay dog ... my Guardian Angel ... the Cat Lady ... drunken bicycles ... the sad little holy dock ... Fran's thousand shades of green ... long talks with God over glasses of wine ... stumbling through the door marked "Exit Only" at The Breakfast Club ... travels to Belize, Key West, San Juan Islands, Costa Rica, and St. Martin ... Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) ... Johnny O ... the Carnival of Friends ... Sarah and I ... love lost and better love found ...

It all makes me laugh or cry.

It's an emotional exercise! A tough assignment! An impossible deadline!

"How far have you gotten?" she asks disrupting my staring off into space thinking these things.

She's standing halfway in and halfway out of the sliding glass doors ad the sun is hitting her face just right, and she's wearing a red UGA tank top that's tight across her breasts, and short cut off blue jeans showing off her fine thighs and tanned legs.

"It's coffee break time, right?" I say standing up.

She flashes her Mona Lisa smile.

We head to the Rec room.

God I love coffee breaks!
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My leaps of faith

The congregation was a crazy collection of five little old ladies, homeless people, Seminary students, prisoners in a Transitional Center, families from the Projects and a steady flux of visitors. They had collectively lost their minds and had called me as their minister.

The truth is they forced me into it.

I didn't want to do it.

I'd gone to Seminary because Guy Sayles had asked me to come  but I never had any intentions of becoming a "Professional Christian." One day the five little old ladies cornered me demanding that I become their pastor.

"Hell No!" I said.

They pressed and one had a butcher knife in her apron. Even without the knife, five little old ladies turned themselves into a gang and threatened me with violence. So to save myself, I said yes.

Having no idea whatsoever what I was supposed to do, I just made shit up.

Sunday morning breakfast was my idea. All of Louisville's soup kitchens closed for the weekend. Homeless people flocked to Catholic Mass just to get a little something to eat. I decided an alternative was needed.

The Christian gang of little old ladies said they didn't care so long as we didn't disrupt their Sunday School class.

So at six a.m. I opened the doors to the Sanctuary with bars on the windows serving up coffee, sausage gravy and biscuits. A hundred homeless people showed up and a ministry was born!

Then the people in the projects wanted to eat too so they started coming.

The radical fringe of the three Seminaries in town heard about the funky church doing crazy work started coming too just to check it out.

The warden at the Prison Transitional Center saw a way to reduce his budget while serving God at the same time asked if his population could come, eat and stay for services. I said sure and a congregation was born.

Regular attendance went from the Christian gang of five little old ladies to almost 200 thugs and peace loving Hippies.

Not everybody liked it though.

The Southern Baptists, of which I am one, were outraged and summoned me to Corporate Headquarters. Apparently I had violated Article 17; Section 3-2 of the Bylaws of Faith which says, "Thou shalt love buildings more than people." It seems I was screwing up their building.

"What do you want me to do," I asked?

You could have heard a pin drop in Baptist Corporate Headquarters. They had no idea. Church attendance was through the roof. Literally ... some homeless people slept on the roof! Baptists love numbers ... especially big ones!

As a result I was allowed to continue drawing a paycheck as a "Professional Christian."

It didn't last though. Nothing ever does. Eight years later, I could no longer handle the constraints of Baptist rules and regulations. I loved the congregation though the church was becoming oppressive. I needed to get out from under the Rock and found a way to do so. It wasn't a graceful way but my time as a "Professional Christian" mercifully ended.

I went on to do bigger and better things morphing into a President/CEO of a multi-million company. "There's big money in homelessness," I used to say and there was. I gave it my all until, decades later, that mercifully came to an end too.

These days, we're working on the next great thing, still rooted in making things better for others.

Life has been the most interesting ride. I've no regrets because everything I've done and all that I've been through got me to this point. It's fascinating, and frightening, as the other things I've done. Every day I wake up thankful and feel blessed even when night time doubts keep me awake. My Guardian Angel tells me to not worry about it.

"You taken leaps of faith before," she says. "This is just the latest ... and the biggest!" Then she shrugs her shoulders and adds, "No worries."

All we've got

Running the beach, massive purple clouds hang low over the gray high tide seas, clustered with surfers riding to shore. Families comb for shells, ladies power walk and children run in the surf. A crowd's gathered around the turtle tracks of the Loggerhead who hauled herself to the base of the sand dunes to lay last night. Large cargo ships make their way into the distance heading for China.

Darting through these things I run, marginally aware of the beauty surrounding me. I'm thinking about my Guardian Angel.

Lots of people believe in Guardian Angels but hardly anybody seriously thinks about them.

I don't just think about mine.

I worry about her!

She's been on double over time ever since having the incredible misfortunate of drawing me as her assignment.

The inventory is too long but it includes two car crashes that should have killed me, a gun stuck in my stomach failed to fire and a deranged homeless man came after me with a baseball bat during the sermon I was preaching. Throw in failed loves, recovery from divorces, shepherding my kids through really tough times and a drastic career change and my Angel's been incredibly busy.

I know I'm speaking in anthropomophric language but I paid thousands of dollars to go to Seminary to make a "C" in Greek and learn that word. It means "human form." We think about God in human form. God's an old man with a white beard in the sky. God has angels with wings to help get things done. God came to earth as a man. Heaven is filled with people who died, were buried but now they're people again.

I got to wondering what my Guardian Angel looked like and a few weeks ago shared it.

She's one beat up Cherub! I've put her through shit repeatedly. Once beautiful, she now looks like a Meth addict! I've driven her to smoke, drink and cuss. Her robes are dirty and ripped from keeping me here. One of her wings doesn't work. I make her believe Hell is real and she personally thinks I should go there now.

That's what she should look like.

What strikes me as I make my way through the loveliness of the beach today is that I really shouldn't be here. I should be dead at least three times now. Lost love, betrayal, disruption, the unexpected deaths of people I loved so deeply, problems, depression and such should have all done me in by now.

But they didn't.

I'm still here by the grace of God and a bloody and battered Guardian Angel.

And I'm here for reasons I don't always understand but I keep working to figure them out.

Lots of people like when I write about my Guardian Angel. I think it reminds them of theirs. The shit I've put mine through relates to experiences they've had.

By the grace of God, we're still here today. We've got each other and that's all we've got ... today and each other. Perhaps if we try hard enough, we'll find God too in human form. Maybe we'll even find our Guardian Angels and take care of them like they take care of us.

Anyway ... that's what I'm doing today.

What are you doing?
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My Angel

The full moon shines brightly through the windows as I lay in bed tossing and turning. Sarah's sleeping hard beside me and the dogs are too on the floor beside us.

"Aw hell," I mutter as I got up not wanting to disrupt their sleep and I tip toe into the kitchen for a glass of water.

My peripheral vision sees something move on the Beloved Back deck and I turn to see drinking the water and standing naked in the moonlight.

It was my Guardian Angel, sitting at the table smoking a cigarette, drinking a tall PBR as a halo of smoke circled her head. Her large brown eyes are set on me so I quietly opened the sliding glass doors and walk outside.

"You look better than last time I saw you," I say.

"For Christ sake! Aren't you going to put something on," she spits before hacking up a loogie and sending it flying the back yard.

"Oh, it's not like haven't seen before," I shrug. "You're my Guardian Angel" and I take the seat across from her.

She does look better. Her long black hair has little wave to it now. Her skin had some color and her eyes aren't as bloodshot. Her blue and white robe is clean though the one wing remains broken. Taking a long drag of the cigarette, then a longer gulp from the beer, she sighs loudly.

"What's up buttercup?" I ask.

"Oh shut the fuck up," she snaps. "I'm here on assignment."

"Wha?" I ask. "I haven't done anything lately."

"I get no time off for your good behavior," she shoots back.

"Well what do you want?" I ask yawning and scratching myself.

Throwing away the PBR another magically appears in her hand and she takes another swig before answering.

"Well, it seems like the Boss thinks you're doing some good stuff these days and told me to tell you to stop worrying. Everything's gonna be alright," as I notice every time she takes a drag from her cigarette it doesn't get any shorter.

"Humph," I exclaim.

"Listen!" she snaps jabbing the lit cigarette at me, "this is directly from the Boss. Show some damn respect!"

"It's hard not to worry sometimes," I say softly.

"Tell me about it," she sighs. "They're talking about giving me another assignment or two. Shit! You're a full time job!"

Nodding my head in agreement, I can't think of anything to say.

"Go back to bed," she commands as she stands up. The bright moonlight shines brightly behind illuminating her.

"Hey! You're not wearing any underwear!"

"What am I going to do with you?" she sighs. "Go to bed dammit."

Turning I stumble to our bedroom, crawl in bed and snuggle with Sarah.

An hour later I wake, startled at the memory and pull myself out of bed again. Walking to the Beloved Back, there is no one on it and I laugh for a second, until I see smashed out cigarettes and crushed PBR cans on the table.

Navigating Change

My life is filled with people who are navigating change in their lives. Having already sailed through those sometimes treacherous waters, I sit on the beach, back against a Palm Tree, sipping on a boat drink, with one arm around Sarah and watched how my friends are doing.

Mitch started it all when he told the Southern Baptist to go save themselves and took an early retirement. He'd given them everything he had but they were demanding more. So in the most loving and Christian way possible, he said, "Blow me!" and he left. Frightened at first, he panicked over how he would make it, but his incredible gift of compassion and understanding landed him at Hospice where he's now helping others through rough waters.

Mark was blindsided unexpectedly and found himself wondering what he was going to do. Life was good and he didn't want to disrupt it but the company didn't and cut him loose. Like everyone he was worried being in uncharted Seas where he and his family could go under. But he's so good at what he does that another company gave him new sails and another rudder and he's sailed to a new place and all is good.

Dedra dove in head first to change and immediately liked the calm waters. After years of giving herself away to others, she'd finally found herself. The past has a long reach though and jerked her back to then and she lost a year trying to fix what was. Just when everyone thought they had her, she dove back in more determined than ever to calmly stroll the beach on Baby bear kind of days.

An island is populated by only two kinds of people ... those running to something and those running from ... something. Most fall into later category, knowing what they don't want while desperately hoping they can find the things they need by the Sea. It's the ultimate change of location, though as Guy Sayles, America's greatest minister, once said, "Hell is portable. You take it with you wherever you go."  So I was very pleased a few weeks ago to read our friend Robin was finally running to something and now has a launch to kayak anytime she wants.

The Carnival of Friends have all reached safe ports after a couple of years helping each other through storm tossed Seas. Holding one another tender in our hearts, we wave as our ships and occasionally dock at the same pier to celebrate where we are and bury where we were.

New boats sale pass and we wave at Sean and Wen, Glenn and Vickie, Jimmy and Steven.

The kids have all set sail to new places having just embarked on their journeys and there is all of the streamers, cheers and corks of Champaign popping. With a hand on the starboard bow, they wave and smile knowing the best is yet to come.

Sarah clinks her glass to mine. We toast them all and say a prayer to God. "Give them all a lovely cruise. When rough waters come, help them choose. Take them to calm seas with a light breeze; let the rest of their lives be at ease. Amen." 

My Pedicure

First off, I am a manly man.

Second, I'm an open and honest man who is in touch with his feminine side. I like touching my feminine side almost as much as I like touching Sarah's.

I like football, beer, the "Die Hard" movies, sweat, flexing my muscles, eat lots of meat and say manly things like, "Aw to hell with it!" and  "I need a chain saw to shave my chest hairs."

But I love Pedicures!

There's nothing better than having Asian women play with my feet for an hour, clipping my toenails, occasionally bring out a cheese grater, electronic devises that are too close to water for my comfort, and using lots of little tiny silver foot fetish tools.

And all the while these Asian women smile without ever saying anything, like they know something I don't know.

The fact is, I don't really care.

Play with my feet!

I have my own way of enjoying a Pedi, which is how we aficionado's of the Pedicure call them.

I like to take a cooler of beer or wine, with soft chewy ice, and beef jerky. Then, if there's a television, I ask the channel be changed to ESPN and to turn it up loud.

Sarah and I had date night and immediately started with a Pedi. She disappeared behind a curtain with another woman and I could hear her giggling but I was too busy enjoying myself to know what she was doing.

I texted my fellow Pedi enthusiasts Jodee Sadowsky, Johnny O, and my son J-Luv to let them know what I was up to. They immediately responded to report their last favorite Pedi experiences.

So, sipping my cocktail while the Asian woman smiled and used tools on my feet, I got to thinking.

The Government is so screwed up with all of this Partisan mess, we need to organize a movement to get the Republicans and Democrats to all give one another Pedicures. 

Mitch McConnell should start by doing Nancy Pelosi who should then do Harry Reed.

It's almost Biblical as Jesus started the whole foot washing movement which obviously led to Pedicures.

That's what I'm going to work on today as I admire my feet.

What are you doing today?

Our House

The dogs bark and we know someone is at the door. They won't stop until it's open and they greet whoever it is, tails wagging in fast pace as they nudge and lick visitors into our home.

"Is that the gay dog?" is the first question as they point at Winston.

"Hey Goddess," they quickly say as she demands attention at the same time.

After following us upstairs, Goddess plops on the tile floor already bored. Winston, the little gay dog, prances to the large family sofa to observe everything from his perch beside the window.

In the Red Room they spy Sarah's workspace and linger for a moment to see things they've read about. Her desk is neatly organized with colorful files, notes and stacks of books she uses. The red room is full of windows and light allowing her to stare outside in thought if need be.

Continuing through the family room, we stroll into the kitchen with its two sliding glass doors, meaning that the entire inside of our house is bathed in light. It's a happy place.

In the kitchen, they immediately stare at the refrigerator covered with photographs of Sarah and I, our kids, and our friends. The pictures are held in place with Jesus magnets. Our guest stares at photos first begin to notice Jesus is everywhere!

"Jesus is coming. Hide your bong!" reads one and they either laugh out loud or shake their heads. At least one intruder announced that they are "totally unacceptable."

"Is that the Beloved Back Deck?" is the next as they peer out the sliding to the wooden deck with the large table under the umbrella.

Walking outside, the deck is colored with pots exploding with plants. Colorful red, orange, purple and green flowers are everywhere, surrounding the grill and the Cheminea where the girls sometimes roast Marshmallows and make Smores.

Shaking their head, our visitor sees the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. The tree shares a smile with our guests as they also see the signs covering the fence. "Fish Naked! Show off your rod" and "Fish Naked! Show off your bobbers!"

"Is that Fran's thousand shades of green?" they ask pointing at the wall of trees surrounding three-fourths of the back yard. The sun cascades brilliance on the leaves resulting in every imaginable shade of green.

"Which house is the Cat Lady's?" erupts next.

We point to the right and they see several black feral cats lounging everywhere. Leaning over the deck they see the outdoor shower and we watch them calculating the view from her top deck down into the wooden structure. She can actually see naked from there?

One of two things then happen. Either we sit at the table under the umbrella or retreat into kitchen and get to whatever business we have.

Sometimes its work. Other times, it's friends stopping by to share. Most often, it's just Sarah and I, the girls and the dogs.

"Home is where they want you," says the Major Prophet James Taylor. "You can more or less assume that you'll be welcomed in the end."

It's our office, sanctuary, refuge, occasional wrestling ring for spats or struggles, and home base though we have the ability to carry home with us wherever we go.

The girls are away this weekend. The kids are all heading to Florida. Sarah and I have no plans other than to enjoy making home together in our house.

View from the bed

While Sarah wakes up in extremely slow motion, I'm pretty quick about it.

That's not to say I jump right out of bed.

The view is incredible.

If I'm facing the interior of the house, I'm staring at Sarah. Not too shabby of a way to wake up! Of course, if I wake her up she might kill me before falling back to sleep and dying is no way to wake up.

If I'm laying on my left side though, with Sarah snuggling my back, there are six windows for me to stare at silhouettes of Palm Trees in the pre-dawn sky.

Light creeps from the ocean where the sun is erupting from the sea.

Couples are watching it, holding hands while sipping to-go cups of coffee.

Photographers are snapping pictures of it.

In the sand dunes, others are making love, creating their own eruptions.

The Department of Public Works is cleaning up yesterday's mess on the beach.

The Breakfast Club is busy preparing for its daily invasion of customers.

I take 10 minutes or so and just lay there.

The Palm Trees come to life as God finger paints the sky blue with streaks of red, yellow and purple.

Sarah breathes into my back and squeezes her arm around my waist.

Goddess nuzzles her cold nose into my hand which is slung off the side of the bed.

I am bathed in holiness and there is no hurry.

I think about things laying there. The kids are all alright and I'm thankful. My Mom is doing good beyond belief. Our friend Robin is moving towards the ocean and that's good. Mark, Mitch and Sandi made me laugh all day long yesterday. Cheryl came out with a bottle of wine yesterday as the girls and I swam in the pool to break the afternoon heat. Suzanne in Pittsburgh and I chatted on Facebook and I hadn't talked to her in a year or so. We heard from lots of people interested in listening to God talk to them. The first illustration for the new book was terrific and made us all laugh for a long time.

"Thank you," I say out loud to start the day.

Than I crawl out of bed and stumble to the outdoor shower so I can enjoy it all again.

Today's blessings. Whose counting?

How do you know when you're blessed?

Most of the time I'm wanting things that I don't have yet causing me to fail to appreciate the things I do have now. Yesterday was one of those days. I wanted everything we've been working on finished. I demanded the fruits of our labors NOW DAMMIT! Of course I ended up getting frustrated.

"Why don't you take Goddess for a walk?" Sarah said after I was short with the girls.

What I ended up doing was trying to work through it by sitting out in the front yard with Laurel as she sat in the grass drawing pictures of trees.

Today I'm determined to not repeat the sins of yesterday.

There's only so much I can do to make things happen anyway. Everything happens in its own time anyway. I can't control the future. I either live in this present moment or I screw it up by not celebrating it fully.

I want to completely enjoy this day. I'm going to work a little, play a little and love a lot. I'm going to dig my toes in the sand today. I think we'll make Smores tonight over an open fire. I'll have a casual conversation with God, laugh with my friends and enjoy the girls. I'm going to talk to my kids. I'm going to kiss passionately. I'm going to enjoy this place.

Those are the blessings I've counted so far.

I'm not just counting though.

I'm enjoying them.

They're what's mine today!