The Gift of a New Day

The sun bubbles out of the ocean and hangs behind the Palm Tree with the Oyster smile, coconut bra and grass skirt giving me shade as I stare at the computer screen.

Goddess is laying on the Beloved Back Deck beside me peacefully slumbering.

Winston, the Little Gay Dog, is underneath the table with the umbrella and he's frustrated because I won't let him inside the house.

The sliding glass doors are shut to keep him away from Sarah who is sleeping. Were I to open the doors, he would spring up, dart inside, jump into the bedroom door so it opens and leap into bed with her. He adores Sarah but I want to let her sleep so he's mad and I don't care.

Inside the house is dark, ceiling fans twirl, and the windows are open.

Outside, birds sing, the slightest breeze blows from the sea so the blooming flowers dance.

A white moon fades behind me in a deep blue sky as the night comes to an end and a new day is born.

A squirrel slowly walks across the power line and I swear she smiles when she looks  my way.

If you took a photograph of peace, it would look like this.

I've always loved the early morning. It's a time to contemplate and pray ... to make plans or find forgiveness ... to dream and to wait on them ... to come to life with the dawning day.

Goddess shifts and lays her head on my bare foot reminding me how much I love her.

Winston, the Little Gay Dog, notices and moves closer to me while keeping his eyes on the glass doors where Sarah sleeps.

The sun rises above the Palm Tree with the Oyster smile, coconut bra and grass skirt blinding me with brilliance.

The gift of a new day has been given to me.

Hallelujah!

Amen.
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Friday at the office just kills me!

On Fridays people don't read my stuff.

I'm savvy enough of a social media guy to occasionally read the tracking of whose reading what I write. It's looks pretty good except on Fridays when the lines on the graph plummet.

On Friday's you people suck.


I don't blame you.

We're all excited it's Friday.

Who want to read?

Who wants to do much anything except ... PARTY!!!!! ... however you define it.

But it's not officially the weekend yet. I have lots of work to do today.

Making it worse, the managing partner is in her office, clamoring around and banging stuff. Occasionally she glares this way so I'm trying to look very busy.

Goddess is passed out in the kitchen and Winston, The Little Gay Dog, is wearing a sweater vest that reads, "Homosexual Agenda ... spend time with the family ... be treated equally ... buy milk" while he kisses the managing partner's ass.

His nose is so freaking brown!

Literally!

The little son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally too)!

Gypsy, the gender confused, paranoid personality disordered cat, is giving himself a bath in the kitchen sink which is just ... bizarre.

The Cat Lady has the day off and is on her back deck wearing a dirty yellow bathrobe, fuzzy pink slippers, and a blue towel wrapped around her head so she looks like Marge Simpson on meth. She's staring at a weed whacker. Her buff boyfriend of the week is lighting candles in her bedroom. I'm trying very hard to not think about what they're up to.

I just threw up in my mouth a little thinking about it.

The managing partner just stormed out of my outdoor office. She told me a bunch of stuff, apparently each thing important, but I have no idea what she said.

I'm trying to concentrate on writing.

Besides it's Pirate Fest on Tybee Island and I wonder how we're dressing. Our friend Wen McNally is evidently wearing an eye patch and flip flops.

It's going to be hard for Sarah and I to top that costume!

Winston storms into my office, lays at my feet and starts licking his G-spot.

I guess his weekend is starting early.

I wish mine could too but I have to finish this blog no one's going to read anyway.

It's Friday.

Life's Greatest Lessons

Mostly I am a teacher.

I'm a non-conventional, anti-institutional, radical free thinking, rebellious spiritual educator but, nevertheless, I teach.

I've gone through lots of indurations, from a playing football coach at the Baptist Student Union to the "Professional Christian" of an inner city church; a corporate CEO, writer, speaker, wonderful father, spiritual renegade, guitar playing beach bum, doting husband and step-less father of three little girls ("I'm your friend and you can tell me anything and I promise not to tell your Mom. I'll make you tell her. It's funnier that way.")

Each of these steps made me a better teacher.

These days people from around the world figuratively come to the beloved back deck for help living the life they really want.

They log on to my website, register for online classes, read blogs, books, instant message, call or show up knocking when I'm not home and my beautiful wife Sarah's just shut the bathroom door for some well deserved ... "quiet time."

If anyone reviews my professional educator curriculum vita they are horrified to find:

• As a grad assistant at Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, I taught God was closer to saving America during the 1960s than at any other time in history but we chose to enter the 70's and God hates Disco as much as the rest of us. The seminary never invited me back.
• As an adjunct professor teaching how to raise money at Savannah State University, I instructed the class to develop their own idea to raise bucks. They devised a Topless Carwash. Girls in bikinis held signs, cars lined up and the students washed everything except the top of the cars. I gave them all "A's". The university dropped me when the class ended.
• Savannah State University fired the president, got a new one who invited me to again teach. The class was "Social Advocacy" so I asked the students which social ill needed attacking? They replied on-campus student housing so we went to war with the university. I gave them all "A's", the president fired me, then the president got fired but the students got new housing.

I finally figured out I'm a much better teacher away from academic environments.

I'm also a much better minister independent from the church and organized religion.

Many see these as a contradiction but I don't.

It's coloring outside the lines or painting without instruction, creating a masterpiece. The greatest journeys are often without destinations, fun is born in boredom, inspiration hits when its least expected, forsaken plans yield great results and we find ourselves strong at the broken places. Love conquers just when we've sworn it off once and for all.

I believe these are life's greatest lessons.

They happen outside the classroom, away from the campus, far from the church, when the book is closed, once the pen's put down and the computer is in sleep mode.

That's when we can finally talk to ourselves and listen to what we have to say.

"I come down and talk to me, when is coast is clear," is how Jimmy Buffett puts it.

But then we need someone else to share with; a confidant, interpreter, encourager and sustainer of dreams. A help-mate is the way old crazy people describe it, someone to pull us along when we forget where we were going.

That's the teaching that I do.

The first questions in today's class of life are "Where are you going?" and "Do you have any idea of how you're going to get there?"
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In-depth 28 day classes allow you to join others (at your own comfortable level of participation) in a private online supportive environment. Through three 45-minute teleseminars with Micheal (recorded and distributed to you in case you miss the live one), with a coordinating workbook and weekly discussions you delve deeper into your own life. Class is 100% online. Invest in yourself for just $42 per class.

Doing the Right Things for you starts  December 2013. Register now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/onlineclass/

Sure Enough it's gonna be a show!

The fears I fear are never gone ... The things I know are coming on ... are not so nice to look upon ... so closely ...

Confesses Jesus in the magnificent "Cotton Patch Gospel" by Harry Chapin. It's the Gospel story set in Georgia and Jesus' on his way to Atlanta where he suspects things are not going to go so well.

The Disciples are beside themselves with excitement believing the Kingdom is finally coming on earth as it is in heaven and they have front row seats.

Jesus knows better though he gets caught up in their joy.

"What does Atlanta mean to me?" he sings as they gleefully anticipate getting to the top ... the bright lights ... the show down ... sure enough it's going to be a show.

"It means being what I'm supposed to be," Jesus answers himself.

You know what happens.

Everything goes horribly wrong and he ends up deader than a doornail, thrown in a donated grave and surrounded by 24/7 security.

But ... miraculously if you like a really good story or really do believe in miracles ... it all works out.

Security falls asleep.

People who love Jesus refuse to leave him alone.

The stone's rolled away.

Jesus gets up.

His best friend mistakes him for the gardener who keeps the cemetery looking good.

Even the Disciples who'd fled to save their asses come together and reform for a reunion tour ... though without the original lead singer.

Sure enough it's a show people still talk about.

"My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me ... is how Jesus says it in the Bible.

We still tell the story all these centuries later because Jesus takes the risk, throws caution to the wind, believes in miracles without a single shred of evidence to become who he's supposed to be and ... it all works out.

Why don't we do that?

It can be our story too can't it?

Why do we get caught up in our fears, convince ourselves if we actually be who we're supposed to be ... all hell's going to break loose and our asses are going to be crucified?

We're stuck, fearing our fears, living the lives others want us to have, trading freedom for security, never taking risks or throwing caution to the wind so ... we never rise to much anything.

It's ourselves we betray and have no one to blame other than ourselves.

I've been through several crucifixions, survived divorces, betrayals, walked away from expectations of others, lost people I love and I'm the first to tell you, and I'm certain Jesus would agree, they suck and hurt like hell!

But you know what?

Just like Jesus got through his, I got through mine and these days it's pretty heavenly around here. I wouldn't change anything!

What about you?

Would you change anything?

Or are the fears you feel never gone?

I'm here to tell you ... grab hold of your fears and hang their sorry asses on the cross. Life's heavenly when you're who you're supposed to be. You can rise above the loveless living, sorry friends, things you don't care about, loss and repeatedly being hurt by those you think make you secure. If you need help, I'm here.

But you can do this!

I did.

Sure enough, my life's one hell of a show!

It's time for yours to be one too!
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God wants me to whack what???

Genesis 17
Micheal Elliott Revised not-so-standard version

1. Abram saw God when he was 99 years old and it's a miracle in and of itself he could see anything. Making it even more miraculous is that he  heard God too and there weren't even hearing aids in those days. Just for fun God says, "Walk this way ... you lead ..."
2. If you don't fall down or walk into anything I promise you this ... I'll make sure you have a lot of kids."
3. Of course Abram immediately fell down. 
4. "We're talking lots of kids," God continues while Abram lay in the dirt.
5. "And I've never liked your name either. We're changing it to Abraham ... it sounds more fatherly. We're talking about you having a shit load of kids."
6. "I'm making your loins machine gun powerful and not one bullet you shoot will be a blank. We're talking lots of kids."
7. "And I promise to be there for them just like I'm here for you now."
8. "You're going to need a really big place for all your kids so I'm giving you Canaan. It's very prime real estate. And I'm going to live there too."
9. "What?" Abraham says so God repeats everything.
10. Rolling Her eyes God says, "To make sure you don't forget, I want you to circumcise yourself. All your kids too. Well, not the girls but every single one of the boys."
11. "So go circumcise yourself and that's your end of the bargain."
12. "But wait until your sons are 8 days old before you do them. They'll scream like crazy. Oh yeah, if you have kids with Hookers or lose women ... Hell even if you adopt ... circumcise them too."
13. "And that'll be the bond between us forever."
14. "And if you don't circumcise one of them ... put him for adoption."
15. "Oh yeah! We're going to change your wife's name too. Sarai should be called Sarah. It's just sexier."
16. "And she's gonna receive those loaded bullets from your loins and pop those little blessings out!"
17. Still laying on the ground from falling down, Abraham starts laughing. "I haven't gotten it up in years! And have you seen my wife? She's older than dirt."
18. "Plus she's already got a kid. I gotta whack him too? His name's Ismael. You're going to look after him too, right?"
19. And God said, "Listen you old fart! Your wife is getting ready to be knocked up and you're the man whose going to do it. And I want you to name him Isaac ... I like these naming opportunities. He's going to have lots of kids too."
20. "Yeah, I hear you about Ismael. He can have lots of kids too. It'll be great!"
21. "And Sarah's going to be knocked up with Isaac by this time next year."
22. Then God left.
23. Now Abraham had been having kids all along, just not with Sarah, who already had the one, Ismael, so they'd both been around the block. Abraham had obviously been with lots of Hookers because there were lots of boys running around. He whacked every single one.
24. And at 99 years of age, he circumcised himself (which I just can't imagine!)
25. Ismael was 13, much older than the 8 days God had instructed the old man to circumcise his sons at but ...
26. Pissed off at how much it hurt, he grabs Ismael and whacks his pee pee next ... POST PUBERTY! (CAN YOU SAY "OOOOUUUUUCCCCHHHHH"?????")
27. And Abraham was like Slingblade, whacking penises one after the other. It didn't matter who they were. (While this was going on , God was nowhere around).

If you don't believe it, read it for yourself in whichever version of the Bible you like best!
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You are Great!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After a while, he knew it to be true.

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

I also learned to blow my nose without help.

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

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

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

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

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

I'm too busy to retire because right now I'm looking you in the eye ... my blue eyes on you ... affirming the things you desire ... and I have something to tell you ... "You're great! Do you understand that? You're the greatest!"
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Today

The beach is packed with people watching the sun rise.

They sit in chairs intensely focused on the horizon, wade in the surf, or hide their faces behind cameras clicking away.

Couples hold hands, laughing while strolling in the sand.

Kids build castles and chase crabs.

Teenagers profess their love by writing their names in the sand.

I'm darting through them on my bicycle, gliding beside the ocean's edge, marveling at the low line of purple clouds the sun is hiding behind.

A slight sea breeze blows my hair back and the smell of salt hangs heavy in the air.

I'm zipping pass the slow motion in a universe of my own.

At 13th Street I turn into the soft sand and the bike immediately sinks to a stop. Climbing off I push it to the crosswalk over the sand dunes and sea oats. On top I put the kick stand down and sit on the railing, letting my flip flops drop to the wooden planks.

A little girl with a bag of potato chips giggles as she throws them one by one into the air so seagulls pluck them from the sky squawking in delight.

Cargo ships are coming and going in the channel.

The sun bursts above the clouds turning them the colors of the rainbow and everyone on the beach stops to admire God's finger painting. I hear them hold their collective breaths.

A smacking sound draws my attention to the huge sand dunes and I see a couple laying together passionately kissing.

Shrugging my shoulders, I smile and jump back on my bicycle and coast down the crosswalk for the ride home.

The streets are intensely quiet. Pastel colored houses sit still. Palm trees sway slightly in the breeze. The pungent aroma of the marsh emerges overwhelming my senses.

This is the day the Lord has made and She's done a damn fine job!

I'm going to wait until Sarah wakes up then we're going to rejoice and be glad in it.
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The Phantom

"I wouldn't want to be in your shoes," Robin says as I make my way to The Breakfast Club.

White teeth flash in the predawn darkness as she stops in front of me. Shaking her head, she explains, "Georgia's going to kill you."

"Whatever," I shrug opening the door marked "Exit Only."

Taking my seat at the counter, I sip coffee peacefully until a rolled up newspaper slams on the counter. I jump and spill coffee everywhere.

"I'm going to kill you," Georgia says leaning into me.

"Pffssss," I hiss grabbing napkins. "No you won't. I made you famous."


"You busted me out," she snaps, again slapping the rolled up newspaper on the counter.

"Sit down. Let's split breakfast," and we order hash browns stuffed with broccoli, mushrooms and jack cheese.

"I don't care about that other shit," she says leaning into me again, "but you told everybody I'm the Phantom. It's a secret dammit."

Putting my arm around the large woman with leather skin, short cropped grey hair and clothes stained the colors of  the rainbow, I say, "Georgia everybody already knows you're the Phantom. I just put it in a book."

"They do not," she shoots back.

Rolling my eyes, I pick up Running with the Dolphins and sign it for her.

A book about Tybee Island, where I live and love, is impossible to write without including Georgia. Singlehandedly, she coached every kid on the island in sports, grew a Girl Scout Troup out of nothing and delivered the newspaper to every home with a Ninja precision from a car speeding down side lanes at 35 miles an hour.

The cops were scared of her.

And she was the Phantom. If anyone was sick, in need, hurting or had died, Georgia would "mysteriously" leave cards, toys, food, even medicine on the door stoop. The morning of a funeral she'd have The Breakfast Club prepare a full breakfast for the family and "secretly" take it to them.

She pretended she was tough and pissed off but hers was a heart of pure gold. Mother Teresa on steroids. An Angel with an attitude.

Sadly she died this week.

It's with joy there's a new story about her. Writing about the island a decade later, she's still too much part of the place, I had to include Georgia in Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts.

The last time I saw her, Robin again cornered me at The Breakfast Club asking I visit her mother. I drive to St. Joseph's Hospital, find her room, open the door and Georgia screams"WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"I understand you're dying," I answer strolling to her bed.

"BULLSHIT!" she screams.

It's just very hard to not love her.

That's the beginning of the story and it pleases me Georgia has another testimony to her incredible legacy.

A celebration of her life will take place on the ball field where she taught so many kids so many things. Though I'm certain I'll cry like a baby, I'm proud to officiate.

I love you Georgia.

Now you're really the Phantom that you always wanted to be.

Kick some Holy ass like I know you will.
_______________________________________

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Changing Corners of the World

Strolling inside "The Mansion on Forsyth Park" the Maitre d spies suspiciously, her head moving in slow motion from the top of my long shoulder length hair all the way down to the Bob Marley flip flops Sarah bought me.

"Well hello," I announce confidently in my preacher's voice, an octave below my normal level. Smiling I confidently walk through the elegance to her.

"Lunch for two please. We'd like to sit outside on the private porch. And I have to pee. Where's the restroom?"

Startled, she gives me directions down the hall, grabs menus and crosses out a drawing of the table on the private portico.

Returning to the lobby my lunch mate blows in wearing a red Economist tee-shirt, dark blue shorts and flip flops. We embrace and are immediately led outside to the private dining balcony overlooking Savannah's largest square. After ordering drinks Chris instructs the waitress to give us half-an-hour before we order. She shuts the door and conversation erupts.

It's been four years since we've seen one another.

We were different people then, committed to changing a city, making it a shining light upon a hill. He made The Creative Coast while I cleaned the streets of social problems. We were both successful.

We'd see each other at crowded cocktail parties, formal banquets and Chamber of Commerce events. I hosted him for lunch once at The Starfish Café, a working restaurant and culinary arts training program for homeless people. We enjoyed each other but rarely had opportunities to grow a friendship. Admiration was from a distance.

Then, pretty simultaneously, we both left.

He moved across the world to Estonia, between Sweden and Finland, and I sailed across the Bull River Bridge to Tybee Island where everyday I travel the world while sitting on a Beloved Back Deck.

We kept up with each other and Chris still spends part of the year in Savannah. He's pretty persistent when he wants something and kept after me until I crossed the bridge again to catch up in person.

We spend three hours talking like the friends we always could have been.

We discuss the city we both love and gave so much to make better. Savannah took everything we had until so little was left, we moved on. It reverted to what it's always been, a city that loves its history and will keep you stuck in the past.

We mostly talked about now, changing other corners of the world, and new possibilities. He's ready to get back to Europe and I'm Jonesing for my island in the sea. We vow to remain connected.

"Hey," he says as we conclude, "one of my partners will be in town and I want to take him to Doc's Bar on Tybee. You want to join us for beers?"

"Yeah," I quickly answer ... because parts of the world really don't need changing.

Driving through the marsh with the top down, the sun blazing in a cloudless blue sky, radio blasting Bon Jovi screaming "Who says you can't go back?" make me smile.

"Who wants to?" I say out loud.

And I drive straight to the future.
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Enjoy ... or not.

We were one stressed out lot of students and we must have looked it. Dr. Davis had taken her position at the lectern launching into her lesson when she suddenly stops and stares. Of course we stare back uncertain of what's happening ... or we're collectively sleepwalking through her class ... it could have been either.

"You all look tired," she says. "It has been a grueling semester."

It was the beginning of spring and after a long, cold, dreary winter, the sun's shinning outside. It's still freezing but the sun's reminding us that the tired cold will eventually go away.

"I tell you what," the short, plumb, brilliant professor says, slamming her hand on the podium flashing an evil grin, "to hell with it today."

She immediately got our attention because it isn't something you often hear in Seminary.

"I want you to leave here now and go find something that makes you happy. Do whatever it is the rest of the day. You can tell me about it tomorrow."

And she throws her notes in her briefcase, shoots the "Professor" stare, and walks out of the room.

"Holy Shit!" we collectively say in a prayerful, Christian sort of way.

And we leave.

The following afternoon, Dr. Davis again takes her position behind the lectern. Smiling, she begins, "I truly hope everyone had a fantastic day yesterday. I prayed for you too. Now today, I want to hear all about it. Everyone is going to share what you did."

Looking at the first student in the first row to her right (Baptists don't do left), she says, "Jimmy you start."

Startled, Jimmy sits bolt upright in his seat. Tall, thin, with a helmet haircut, he looks lost in his flannel shirt. In a deep southern drawl (he helped put the "southern" in Southern Baptists), he reports, "Well mam ... the truth of the matter is ... ummm ... I drank hot apple cider, ate peanut butter crackers and ... ummm... watched "Rocky and Bullwinkle."

I've never seen a distinguished Professor lose it so quickly and laugh so hard.

The room is a spontaneously combustion of laughter.

"Love it!" Dr. Davis said. "I watched Andy and Barney."

The room howls.

One by one we confess. Some went to work, the Library or launched into catching up. Others took walks, naps or the chance to be with their baby. A few prayed in the Chapel. A couple of students had no idea what to do with unstructured time so they did nothing.

I drank beer listening to the new Jimmy Buffett album.

"Of course you did," Dr. Davis sighs.

It was one the most impressionable things that occurred during my Seminary career.

Ann Davis dispensed grace which is always unexpected and shocking.

"It's OK," is how it comes across. "You can go ... you're free ... liberated ... forgiven ...released ... in fact, go do anything you want ... and try to not screw it up."

All these years later, I end conversations by saying, "Enjoy!"

Because we just have this one life and we either will or we won't.

Today ... I hope you enjoy!

That's what I'm going to do.
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You're Rich too!

"I'm so broke," he says with a smile taking the seat across from me.

"I've got to pay the rent," he continues waving a white envelope in the air. "I'm only $100 shy."

His landlord strolls to the outside table where we're sitting. She's elderly with wild white hair and hugs me and then him.

Handing her the envelope he explains, "I still owe you $100 from last month and I'm a $100 shy for this month too but I'll make it up when I get well."

Flashing a Cheshire smile she nods, "It's OK. How're you feeling?"

He smiles and holds up his cane. "Better everyday."

She nods and looks at me. "How's your mother?"

A thousand years ago they'd worked together.

"She's great," I reply. "I was with her over the weekend."

"Good, you tell her I said hello," as she turns back to him, "and you take care of yourself."

She leaves us alone sitting at the plastic table under an umbrella with a book and my papers spread over it. A basket of shrimp arrives and I offer him some but he declines saying he has to leave.

Standing, he smiles as we embrace and he hobbles away.

I sigh as I sit back down.

"Blessed are the poor for everything God has will be yours," Jesus said and it makes me wonder.

No longer hungry, I push the basket away and take a sip of wine. The sun rains warmth down on me as I stick my bare feet in a chair looking at the deep blue sky. An ocean breeze blows cool from the north as I take my sunglasses off and rub my eyes trying not to think with my head but with my heart.

A couple enters the patio ordering Bloody Mary's and steamed oysters. Sad country music plays from speakers suspended overhead. The bartender sticks his head out and gives me a thumbs up and I nod to let him know I'm fine.

"Blessed are the poor ... MY ASS!" erupts from my heart. "Poor sucks!"

A flock of seagulls squawk circling overhead admiring the shrimp basket. The couple slurp oysters. All is calm. All is bright.

Then my head kicks in responding to my heart. "Blessed are the kind ... because they find kindness" and it makes me wonder about Karma.

A beer commercial comes on the television suspended overhead. The sound is turned off but I watch the "most interesting man in the world" do fabulous things before topping it off with a Dos Equis beer. I stare at it.

I know what it's like to be broke. I've been poor and been surrounded by others poorer than me. I've witnessed incredible acts of kindness and horrible indifference ... often by the most righteous of people. I've been abandoned and been found again too so I pause, tap my chest and blow a kiss to Sarah whose spending the day off island. I ponder these things and take another sip of wine.

A seagull flies down and steals a shrimp.

Grabbing my I-phone I update my status. "Sometimes God kidnaps your day. Like today. You know that Beer commercial with the most interesting man in the world. That's bullshit! It's me."

The bartender changes the radio station and "The Beatles" preach "Baby you're a rich man too."

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Summer's gone

The Government has shut down because the idiots we've elected are self serving ideologues.

It says as much about us as it does them.

Having said that ... the skies an incredible deep blue. A brilliant yellow sun blazes on a glassy ocean reflecting white light in every direction. My toes dig in the cool sand and a crisp breeze blows from the north which I don't care for yet it's a pleasant morning. Seagulls squawk Hymns of praise, sand crabs dart into holes and a pod of Dolphins smile as they glide by me. I smile back.

Summer's gone ...

I've read somewhere that your favorite season is when you were born.

It's true for me.

My birthday is July and I love summer with everything in me!

September is a mixed bag full of college football and airplanes crashing into buildings. October is a cozy fire in the Chiminea and ghosts wandering the streets. Thanksgiving bleeds into Christmas, Chanukah or Ramadan throwing us into the New Year which is cold and dark. In the dead of winter we go searching for our hearts again.

My dear friend Mitch Wesley is a Celtic at heart and believes things take root in the cold hard ground. Growth begins in the dark times. Light burst out of emptiness, stones are rolled away and new lives are embraced. It starts when we embrace the darkness and you go from there.

I like the idea but hate the experience.

Give me miles and miles of clear blue skies, rum on ice, lazy days in a Paradise of white sand, aqua water and laundry neatly folded and put away. Days linger into warm nights with blazing stars and a moon dancing across the sky. Fireflies, Dragonflies and Butterflies are Angels spreading happiness and hope.

The Government has initiated the beginning of the dark period ... again. The Church will follow suit. Those who haven't taken sides yet will. Wars and the rumor of wars will increase. Hell will come on earth as it is in ... Hell. Heaven's just a wish for a warm heart on Valentine's Day when the world is cold and bitter.

 But ... today the sun shines down on me, the house is full of love as I work on things I love in bare feet. Dark things are happening but I refuse to be part of them. I love the Sun dancing on green leaves and casting white diamonds on the Sea. I love Home, the cicada songs, squirrels playing in Palm Trees and Pelicans diving into the ocean.

These are the things I will dwell on today.

The Government, the Church and the Powers that be can dwell on other things because I'm not going to be part of that world.

I'm staying where it's always summer.

Monday Morning Staff Meeting

The managing partner has a meeting at the other end of Corporate Headquarters and isn't at the staff meeting I've just called to order.

Sitting at the conference table under the umbrella on the Beloved Back deck, I'm taking a moment to collect my thoughts.

To my left is Winston, the little gay dog, in a pink sweater vest that reads, "Closet? What closet?" Wearing sunglasses, he's hyper and wants me to get started because he's got other things to do.

Beside him Goddess is passed out and snores in the chair with empty bags of Doritos littered on the floor. She was here when I arrived, finishing her hourly medical treatment of medicinal marijuana for the glaucoma she swears she has.

At the opposite end of the table is My Guardian Angel who looks terrible, taking long drags off her cigarette followed by sips from a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon. She seems distracted and lost in thought. Her white robe is dirty, the blue stole wrinkled, her long black hair hasn't been washed in weeks and hangs limp in her face as she blows halos in the air.

The Cat Lady wears her dingy yellow bath robe with a blue towel wrapped around her head. She looks like Marge Simpson on meth and cat hair falls every time she moves. Smelling like kitty litter, she's looking into her yard smiling at the thirty or so feral cats wandering everywhere. Her buff boyfriend of the week is shaving his chest and legs and keeps winking at her.

On my immediate right is Gypsy, the gender confused cat, obviously wondering why he's here at all. Gypsy normally shies away from most everything because of his paranoid personality disorder. He and Winston, the little gay dog, don't get along and both constantly vie for the managing partner's attention.

"All right," I say, "let's get started."

"Screw you!" my Guardian Angel snaps.

Gypsy darts from the table and runs downstairs causing the Cat Lady to jump up and run after him leaving a blanket of cat hair raining down on us.

Winston, the little gay dog, takes this as a good sign and flashes his evil genius smile while fumbling for nail polish in his man purse.

Startled, Goddess wakes up, yawns and says, "People! Please! Why can't we all just get along?"

"Is there a problem?" I ask.

My Guardian Angel angrily flips me the finger.

"Is everything alright out there?" the managing partner yells from the other end of Corporate Headquarters.

"Yes Dear," I lovingly answer.

The Cat Lady is chasing Gypsy screeching, "HERE KITTY! KITTY! KITTY!"

Goddess rolls another Dobie and Winston, the little gay dog, paints his nails orange ... because the little Son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) knows I hate that color. My Guardian Angel throws another empty beer can in the back yard and another magically appears from nowhere.

I sigh heavily.

It's a Monday," I mutter under my breath.

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Surviving hammers and nails

This is a random progression of thought.

Crosby, Stills & Nash singing "4 + 20" which make me wonder what I was doing 24 years ago.

Not especially good at math, I hit the calculator App on the I-phone and subtract 24 from 57 and it's 33.

That's Jesus age was when he was crucified.


OUCH!

Since that first one, his ass has been nailed to a cross virtually every day somewhere but especially in church and Congress.

On the other hand, I've only been crucified a few times. None were pleasant and I wouldn't recommend it to anybody though it is great when you survive.

The scars don't matter.

The life does.

Sitting here at 57, wishing like hell I could be 33 again because my beautiful wife Sarah would be three years older than me and I would like that.

It would buy us more time.

But it is what it is.

It took her one crucifixion and me two to get us to where we are.

I wouldn't trade it.

I'm pretty sure she wouldn't either though crucifixions make you not take much anything for granted when you survive.

It's been a tough week full of good days and bad days and going half mad days. Lots of people with hammers and nails have been walking around ... mostly corporate leaders, politicians, FOX News and clergy ...  but so far we've skirted them.

We're still alive and kicking!

Hell! We're flat out enjoying!

You are too if you're on the right side of the dirt!

So take the moment and enjoy the hell out of yourself!

You've survived your share of crucifixions just like I have.

It's best to focus on what's next because what was ... hurt like hell.

It's a time of celebration!

I'm starting by proving to Sarah that resurrection has many meanings ... many times ... many ways ... and is repetitive.

Life is good!

Go do good things!

Especially for yourself!
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Looking Back Gets You Nowhere

"Tried to go back as if I could," sings the Major Prophet James Taylor, "all spec house and plywood ... tore up ... tore up good."

And that's the truth about the past.

It's not what it was.

We haven't learned the lesson of Lot's wife in (Genesis 19), who looking back lost everything she has and everything that could have been. God was giving her a chance to start again and she didn't take it ... because she looked backwards instead of where she was going."

Too many lives are lost because too many spend too much time looking over their shoulder.

They miss old homes, the dead, good times and things that might have been. It's like a never ending old movie that replays endlessly in our head.

The trick is to keep growing to become more the person God created us to be. So we change. God likes creation and is always tinkering trying to make things better, meaning you and me.

If we aren't embracing different things, growing into them, being reborn and reincarnated, then we're missing the present, spending our time looking backwards which never gets you anywhere.

The fact is we hold on to the past because we're too damn scared of the present. We're either where we want to be or we're not. If we're not it's just agony!

If we are, then life is sweet!

The bitch about enjoying now is forgetting then. They're nothing but good or bad stories to tell. You may laugh or cry when you tell them but they're just old stories.

They were then.

They aren't now.

Too many people still think I'm a homeless guru, a social problem genius and the Go-to guy when life's curve ball hits someone smack in the face. They still think I have something to do with Union Mission, hospitals or politics. Hardly a day goes by that someone doesn't communicate with me as if I were still that person.

I'm not anymore. My life has moved on.

It's true that I have talents in those other areas, but today I'm a writer, a teacher and a coach. Sarah and I partners in this work. It's all we think about. It consumes us and there's no time left for Union Mission or hospitals or politics. And we love it!

Because I'm damn certain the life I have left is taking me to new heights, better things and excellent adventures.  I'm not looking backwards and risk my life settling to be little more than a pillar of salt blowing away.
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Great Sluts!

The conversation at our house currently centers on great sluts of history.

"What?" you ask, spewing whatever it is you've just taken a sip.

It began over the choice of a Halloween costume.

Have you seen them recently?

When I was a kid, I draped a bath towel around my neck and told everybody I was Superman. This resulted in many compliments and tons of candy.

Once I found an old wig and a trench coat and transformed myself into "Tiny Tim" ... no one complimented me and I didn't get much candy.

It's not that way anymore!

The right Halloween costume is serious stuff and planning begins weeks in advance.

Last year, Sarah was Cat Woman in a tight fitting silky skin suit and a mask. Let you tell you ... the moaning that took place later that night downed out everything the Cat Lady and her feral collection next door has to offer.

Sarah also got shitloads of candy, twenty-two business cards, phone numbers written on paper napkins all thrown into bag made soggy by salivating fathers ... and mothers ... tossing things her way.

Her girls dressed accordingly.

Planning has begun for this year and one of the initial comments made was, "That costume will make you look like a slut. Let your grandmother make you one ... out of wool."

Of course this made me laugh like crazy and wanting to be a good influence, I've offered sound advice.

"Look," I said to the crushed child, "history is full of great sluts. There wouldn't be a Bible if it weren't for the sluts in them. Just tell them you're going to be a Biblical slut. Bathsheba for example. Or Rachel ... if you want to step out of the Bible into other religions you can start with Aphrodite ... if you want great historical sluts you can be Catherine the Great, Coco Channel, Madonna or Bill Clinton."

She stopped crying beginning to understand for the first time the preponderance of great sluts who've made contributions to history.

The great theologian Larkin Rossitter, at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel when I was employed as the "Professional Christian" explained ... "Look everyone is a whore. The question is whose you're pimp?"

We thought this a brilliant analogy ... which could be part of the reason I became an "Unprofessional Christian."

Regardless, I think it's harder to be a kid these days than when I was young. Today they control the universe through the Internet by the age of five. By 11 or 12, they're navigating the sexual landscape. By the time they're 14, they have defined their identities for life.

I'd rather work through these challenges with them than define the rules. The truth of the matter is we make our own rules anyway. They're made by dictatorial rule or in partnership. I prefer the latter.

When she got out of the car this morning, after spying her friends and immediately screaming, "HEY! Stop the car now! Those are my friends. Please, Please, Please, Please, Please ..."

So I did and she's immediately surrounded by love at that age ... boys and girls displaying affection for one another, obviously looking forward to the day ... the weekend ... Halloween.

"HEY!" I yell and she turns to look with an Angelic beautiful face, "Have slutty weekend."

And she laughs and dives into her friends which is what matters most to any kid.

Driving home, I reflect on last night when she, Sarah and I sat in the living room, flipping channels and talking. Making plans as partners do.
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An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. His musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

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Good Karma beats the bad stuff

I believe in Karma.

What goes around comes around. We reap what we sow. Violence begets violence but doing good things make things good.

In my life, I've done lot's of good and sure enough lot's of good came my way.

I've also did some bad things and have had my fair share of bad happen that I never want to experience again.

For a while, things got completely out of whack! Apparently, I'd used up all the good I've done because they ran out. Bad things took over.  Lots of bad things!

Every morning I'd get up and try my best to be helpful to the world ... even if it just meant petting Goddess my dog. Yet ... bad things kept right on happening, piling up on me and days got worse.

I couldn't figure it out and asked God, "Hey! What did I do? This isn't right!"

God never said anything back.

Then ... I don't know if God finally took pity on me or if good Karma finally decides to come back ... things started getting better. A small group of good friends replaced thousands of shitty ones. I began to feel better. Sarah came home. A rich life that crashed and burned leaving me empty was suddenly full again!

It's a whole new world!

It's like being reincarnated or born-again or coming back the dead.

Everything's not perfect but ... it's mostly perfect and I now ask myself, "How in the hell did I do that other stuff for so long? That was crazy! This is fuckin' A!"

Imagine my surprise yesterday as I left lunch with good friends at "Spanky's South Side" only to run smack into two of the really bad Karma people in my life. One had just been through an orchestrated dismissal ... meaning she was fired ... while the other continues to slither his way through other people's misfortunes.

"I left something for Sarah," she said which immediately pissed me off."

"Congratulations on your transition," I reply filling with anger.

The snake tries to make lite of it. They're down and I'm up. It's time for revenge and it's starting to taste sweet when a loving arm comes from nowhere and elopes my neck just as I'm catching fire.

"C'mon Pal," my friend Ryan says in his Savannah Irish brogue, "you ain't got time for bullshit!" and he pulls me away from bad Karma.

Outside, its stopped raining and the sun's peaking through clouds though Ryan still has his arm around my neck. Then he burst out laughing which makes me giggle. Slapping me on the back he strolls away and I look back inside at the bad Karma just sitting there.

What goes around has indeed come around.

It almost sucked me in again but ... there are just too many good things in my life right now.

If you're unfortunate enough to be on the down hill ride of the Karma roller coaster, I want you to get ready.

Keep being kind to yourself as best you can. Hold on to the good friends and let the shallow ones go.  Embrace reincarnation and be born again. Fuck the past!

Enjoy the ride back to the top.

Wave when you see me there.
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Hope

"I'm sorry sir," she says as we enter the Club House at "The Landings", "but I can't let you in."

The elderly man and I stop in front of the maître d, smartly dressed in black slacks, vest, starched white shirt with a beatific smile.

"You're wearing a tee shirt," she explains.

Of course I'm wearing a tee shirt. When shirts are necessary, tee shirts are my first option. Today's choice is a formal black cotton with gold embroidery proclaiming to the world that Sarah and I along with Jan and Dick had dined at "Palm Coast" in St. Martin.

My 94 year old companion leans on his cane and waits. We're close friends. He's a mentor and in his twilight years, when most of his friends have died or no longer bother with him, I make the hour long drive every month or so to spend time with him. I owe the man a lot.

"Well then," I say in exaggerated fashion, "what can we do about this travesty?"

Smiling, the maître d tells me she has a collared shirt that I can wear above my kaki shorts with tons of pockets and flip flops. The Club House at "The Landings" is serious about dress codes!

She hands me a God-awful orange, gold-fish colored collared shirt which I slip on in front of everyone already seated in their collared shirts. All stare at me, forks suspended in air, tea glass in hands and the more refined taking quick gulps of white wine.

"Hey!" I say to the maître d, "I look damn good in this God-awful shirt! Will you take our picture?"

Thrusting my I-phone into her hand, she giggles as she snaps our photo. Then we're allowed in the Club.

Earlier in life Ben would have been embarrassed but he no longer cares. Every Club member watches as we're led to a window side table. After we're seated, he laughs.

"You've always love to make an entrance," he says tucking his cloth napkin into his collared shirt.

"I think it's a great tee shirt," I explain. "It matches my shorts and flip flops."

As he giggles, we can't help but notice that every single employee of the place, loves us! We're given the best service by multiple waitresses. They share laughter with us. As soon as we take a sip, our glasses are refilled while the collared people wait for more wine.

We talk as people stare, two old friends who have done a lot together, spend a while looking back. Ben repeats himself several times and I'm not used to it. I don't like thinking about when he's gone.

"What are you doing now?" he suddenly asks and I explain that we sell hope in desperate times.

Greying eyes suddenly burst into the crystal clear baby blues I've always known him to have. Half-an-hour rushes by as we have an intellectual conversation about hope. Lots of people are selling it. Everybody desperately needs it. Most of what's sold isn't meeting people's needs. He questions, challenges, debates and ... is inexplicably young and full of venom and vigor.

At 1:45 I hold up my hand and say "Betty told me to have you back before 1:30. You have a doctors appointment at 2. I think we're in trouble again."

"Screw her!" he yells ... obviously ready for more debate and the entire room is as silent as a church as I burst into laughter.

The next moment takes a thousand years.

Greyness returns to his eyes. He asks if he's paid the bill. His back hunches forward. He searches for his cane. He struggles to stand. He doesn't want to leave.

I drive him home and when we arrive Betty is obviously not pleased.

"You're late," she says with her hands on her hips.

"We were picking up girls," I explain.

Without missing a beat she counters, "I'm the only girl for him. Ben, get in the car."

He does as he's told but as I turn, he winks at me with blazing blue eyes.

And I cry all the way home.
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Winston, the little gay dog, and SpongeBob Squarepants

Winston, the little gay dog, is upset the "SpongeBob SquarePants" movie is being filmed on Tybee Island.

He prances to the Beloved Back Deck wearing a rainbow sweater that reads, "Don't be a square! Round fit holes better", looks at me in disgust, snarls at Goddess whose passed out at my feet and growls at Gypsy, the gender confused cat.

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" the Cat Lady unfortunately screeches further infuriating Winston, the little gay dog, and he barks in his high pitch voice and I swear it sounds like "BITCH!"

The Cat Lady, wearing her dirty bathrobe and blue towel wrapped around her head, looks like Marge Simpson on Meth, stops sending a flurry of kitty hair falling into her yard like rain.

"Mike," she screeches, "did your dog just call me a bitch."

Suddenly interested, Goddess raises her head to see how I answer.

I shrug my shoulders.

Sometimes there's nothing to say.

Winston, the little gay dog, hikes his leg and pees in her direction.

The Cat Lady returns the gesture in kind.

Goddess, Gypsy and I all gag at the same time.

The problem is Winston, the little gay dog, feels SpongeBob SquarePants is selling out; fame has gone to the cartoon character's head and he's forsaking his natural, God-made self of being gay for continued movie success.

Last night Sarah came outside crying asking if I'd talk to Winston, the little gay dog. I never tell her no (she's from the North you know?) so I meander into our bedroom where he has a lava lamp, orange shag carpet, big screen television and mini-fridge full of frozen Daiquiris under our bed and ask him what's up.

He offers me a Daiquiri and I put down my glass of wine to take it.

"What's up buttercup?" I ask.

Sighing while blinking back tears, Winston, the little gay dog, explains, "SpongeBob SquarePants is gay."

"What?" I exclaim not caring at all.

"His best friend is a Patrick, a pink starfish, and his neighbor Squidward takes bubble baths, listens to classical music, and talks like Paul Lynde! SpongeBob and Patrick hold hands when The Adventures of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy is on television."

"I LOVE PAUL LYNDE!" I shout.

Winston, the little gay dog, nods understandingly.

"Who didn't love Paul Lynde?" he agrees.

So Winston, the little gay dog, is staging a protest against the whole SpongeBob SquarePants movie being filmed on island.

"It's taken us too long to gain acceptance," the little gay dog explains changing into his nightgown and turning off the lava lamp.

Ours is a blended family.

But I didn't have the heart ... or the guts ... to tell Winston, the little gay dog, that his sisters ... all three of Sarah's girls ... are extras in the movie.

Sometimes there's nothing to say.

Free from Fear

"Even the worst among us are precious. Even the most precious among us bear crosses."

Says Frederick Buechner and I certainly believe it true.

Everyone carries crosses, bears burdens, deals in doubt, struggles with security and you are weighted down by worries.

And everyone keeps them secret.

Living in fear rather than admit our realities, we make things worse, keeping them quiet, holding them dear, sharing them only with God in dark nights of the soul.

Making it worse, God keeps quiet.

The most religious and holy among us hide these things behind their faith.

Corporate leaders hide in towers of steel, wood and glass making themselves impossible to see behind the façades of power. We conclude they are different somehow, smarter, luckier, braver or just blessed.

Politicians promise they're different, having nothing to hide though everyone knows they're lying but we choose to believe the lies.

The rest of us keep our nose to the grindstone, our mouths shut, hearts closed and eyes focused on things we believe will bring relief ... the one true love, the promotion, the big sale, the affirmation of someone else or the winning lottery ticket.

We believe in Heaven because we've already touched Hell and it never goes away.

Not wanting anyone else to know, we keep it to ourselves.

What's funny is most of us have lots of good going on too. Living where we want or at least in comfort, watching healthy children grow, there's groceries in the Fridge and gas in the car. We have friends even though some are bad ones. Another day has been given to us.

These things aren't enough though.

What we really want is to be free from fear.

But fear seems to trump most days.

It's been said the more you love yourself, the less effect fear has on you.

I believe this too.

Today when the cross digs keep into your back, the burdens make you stumble, insecurity washes over you like a flood and worries throw wet blankets over your head and heart ... stop for a second and hug yourself.

If you're lucky enough, hug someone else too.

"There is no fear in love," says the Apostle John, "because love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment. Those who fear aren't living in love."

That's my plan for today.

What's yours?

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