A Goddess' Birthday

Goddess is a little crazy today.

She's growling ... slamming her butt into my leg demanding rubs ... demanding to go outside only to immediately paw the sliding glass doors to be let back in ... wanting treat after  treat ... then take a nap under the Christmas Tree.

She is such a girl.

PLUS ... it's her Birthday ... and like all girls ... SHE KNOWS IT.

Sarah gave her bacon and pancakes this morning to celebrate.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, seems to understand this and is deferring to our Golden Retriever today when the little Son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) never defers to anything.

Gypsy, the formally Gender-confused-cat, also seems to be wishing Goddess a "Happy Birthday" by laying low and not acting like a cat at all.

Today is Goddess' day!

"What are you going to do when Goddess dies," Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, who spends lots of time with our dog, asked.

"Cry," I reply.

I can't imagine life without Goddess ... though I know it's coming.

She and I have had quite the adventure together.

She was deserted on a roadside and I was deserted at home but we had each other.

We had friends too ... my Mom, the kids, the Carnival of Friends, Rocky, Dedra, Shirley ... but mostly Sarah ... who sat and had talks with Goddess about the future ... when everyone else was talking about the past.

Goddess loves our present!

She loves when the kids or the girls are at home and celebrates in utter joy ... wagging her tail, slamming love into their leg, letting them know how much they're missed.

Goddess has taking to sleeping at the foot of our bed ... watching over us by night ... as though an Angel.

She knows our timing and will lick my hand at 6 when it's time to get up.

When Sarah wakes later ... ALL HELL BREAKS LOSE ... and Goddess slams herself into the bed waiting for the hand that wishes her "Good Morning."

In the mornings, as Sarah and I sit in the kitchen, Goddess, Winston TLGD and Gypsy literally swarm under our feet making sure we know ... as if we couldn't ... how much a part of the family they are.

When Sarah leaves for work, Goddess lays on the landing trying to block her way ... wanting us to all stay together ... for as long as we can.

Happy Birthday Goddess!

We wouldn't be here without you!

A Smaller but Happier World

"My world keeps getting smaller ... it's down to the chosen few," sings the Minor Prophet Paul Thorn.

{Yes John Branigin ... damn good Minor Prophet ... working on Major ... and I believe he's making it there ... and I know you do too!}

Paul must be stalking me because this pretty much hits it on the head.

My world keeps getting smaller.

I used to be the "Center of Universe" to use Tom Wolfe's line from "The Bonfire of Vanities" ... a really great book if you've never read it ... though the movie was so-so.

Nevertheless I lived for decades in an egotistical world that I believed revolved around me and what I do.

What a load of crap!

But I was seduced by it all ... spent forever time in Washington D.C., Atlanta Georgia, and half-the-world really ... and like anybody ever elected to public office ... or gets rich ... it screws you up!

You think you're the center of the Universe.

Not like these days when a trip to Savannah for Laurel's, Sarah's 10 year old, choir concert is MAJOR!

Old habits die hard though and there I sat beside my lovely wife on one side, Maddie her 13 year old on the other with Cassidy, her 8 year old beside her ... two wonderful gay friends in front of us ... and another casualty from Union Mission days behind ... when I spy Howard Morrison and Jim Klutz having a very serious conversation standing in the front row.

"I have to go say Hey," I explain to Sarah standing up to rush off ... except I really didn't say that ... what I actually say to is "I have to go "VERB + PRONOUN" with them."

So I did.

It was great!

Boys being boys and such.

Apparently I'm still occasionally discussed.

The Savannah Children's Choir put on a great concert hitting most notes perfectly!

Sailing home through the sun kissed golden Marsh, I marvel at the day.

Sarah and I had orchestrated  Church and I think the Lord was pleased ... I participated in a Memorial Service on the Beach for people I love ... munched with others I love ... before hearing Laurel's choir of little Angels sing ... before the pompousness that is Savannah.

I'm glad my world is smaller.

I can still VERB + PRONOUN with the best of them ... but teaching Sarah's girls the appropriate use of cuss words (which they knew WAY before I met them but had no clue as to their effective utilization) is a major focus in my life ... as is rubbing Sarah's feet with lotion at night ... planning suppers nobody wants ... forever suggesting we go somewhere they've never been ... and changing the sheets on little girls beds ... that's pretty much my world.

It's a Hell of a lot better than that bigger one I used to live.

Joyful Noises

One of my forgotten joys of life is listening to children sing Christmas Carols.

I fondly recall Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea as kids happily singing along with "Santa Claus is coming to town" or "Silent Night."

But they grew up and moved out and I mostly celebrated the Holidays alone, not really hearing the music as I often struggled to just get through the damn Season.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Cassidy, Sarah's 8 year old, softly sings sitting in her bedroom floor, putting her shoes on, looking like a tiny Angel with a thoughtful glow on her face.

She stops me dead in my tracks by the sheer beauty of her innocence and hope.

A wall crumbles in my mind and I vividly recall the same beauty in my children when they were small.

My heart shakes in a way that it hasn't in years.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, enters a room like Kramer on "Seinfeld," loudly singing "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" and while there's little Angelic about it, she is a ball of utter joy!

Maddie, the 13 year old who already knows everything while being clueless about anything, quietly sings "Away in Manger" as though it's a prayer, ignoring the rest of us, intensely focusing on the song.

Rushing to ready herself for work, Sarah's very Angelic voice warms the kitchen asking "Mary do you know?" as she pours the last of the coffee down the drain and rushes to find the right shoes for work.

I find myself delighting in their sounds of the season.

When did I become cynical enough to lose the joys of Christmas Carols?

I understand why it happened ... loss of loved ones, work that never ended, exhaustion, money to make and bills to pay ... being alone at Christmas even if someone else was with me.

As I write this, Cassidy stumbles into the kitchen, hair askew from her pillow, wearing a shirt her Daddy gave her, stretching out her arms for me to pick her up.

"Will you help me find Chester?" she asks already full of anticipation.

Chester is the little Elf who hides in a different place every morning so the girls can find him.

I've been given the gift of doing it all again.

It's hard to repeat most anything in life but here I am ... listening to children singing Christmas songs ... reminding me of the ghosts of Christmas past ... the joy of Christmas present ... and the hope of many Christmases to come.

Angel Sexism

"Hey," she spits ... literally in the kitchen sink ... a big long logy that takes 30 seconds to drip all the way from her mouth down the drain.

Wiping her mouth with the dirty blue stole, she takes a shot of bourbon and chases it with a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon.

"What," I ask sitting at the kitchen table while Sarah and the girls sleep.

"You're not supposed to tell everybody by business," she snaps, black oily hair draped over one shoulder and her dirty white robe dropping over the other almost exposing her breast.

"You're my Guardian Angel," I reply. "I'm proud I got one! Who wouldn't want to share such a thing."

"It's a secret thing," she snaps then thoughtfully adjust the one broken wing so it's semi-symmetrical with the one that works.

"Well, I'm glad you're my Guardian Angel," I sigh.

"Jesus Christ," she says in exasperation, "between you and Jimmy Cochran ..."

"Hey somebody sent me a picture of you the other day," I interrupt.

"Really," she asks suddenly interested.

"It's not a good one," I confess. "On the up side though, you got a lot of 'Groupies'."

"Angels aren't supposed to have 'Groupies,'" she says taking a long draw from her cigarette and blowing a Halo over her head.

"Well you have quite the following," I tell her.

"Let me see the picture," she demands.

Opening my Laptop, I go to the saved pictures and open one as she leans over my shoulder smelling like Bourbon Street late at night.

"I don't look like that," she explodes taking another shot of bourbon.

"I know," I agree ... because she really doesn't. The picture is of an old white haired lady Angel smoking a cigarette and my Angel looks like Olive Oil on meth.

"Besides there are famous Angels," I remind her. "Gabriel and Michael ..."

"Both sexists," she snaps.

"I'm just saying you may be breaking the glass ceiling of Angel Sexism."

"Hmmm," she murmurs ... blowing more Halos.

"I am a little surprised there's Sexism in Heaven," I say sipping coffee.

"Thank you Eve," she shoots.

"Well, Jimmy and I love you," I sigh. "And you got Groupies!"

Staring out of the window, she processes what I've said before replying, "I've got to go to the Liquor Store," then disappears.

"What was that all about?" I ask Goddess who sighs heavily and goes back to sleep.

"Oh well," I say pouring my coffee in the sink to wash her logy away, "Jimmy Cochran's coming on island today. Maybe he knows something about it."

Cold Toes and other Atrocities

I had to get out of the house so I went outside and there's so much fog it feels like I'm still inside.

I can't see ten feet in front of my face.

But it's not cold.

The only thing I truly hate in life, according to my wife, is cold and, as always, she's right. I passionately, ruthlessly and demonically hate cold.

I pull for Hitler against cold.

It's just fog though so I make my way to the Beach and ... I can hear it but I can't see it ... so I stumble through the sand ... ten toes having ten simultaneous orgasms.

I jump because I stumble on a Seagull who has built a fort.

It's not something you see every day so I pause to lean over through the fog and appreciate her craftsmanship.

It's quite the fort, blocking the wind ... it's got a thatched roof and a huge Yule Tide log inside.

"This is mighty impressive," I say to the Seagull who ignores me.

The wind is blowing from the north, the ocean is roaring and the fog's like walking in soup.

"Well," I say standing up, "you got a nice place. Who knew Seagulls are capable of building projects? The Board of Education could use somebody like you."

Blindly I continue towards the crashing waves and before I know my orgasmic toes are cooling down.

"This feels nice," I say out loud to no one, "but I can hardly see the Sea."

My friend Dave Postle pops in my head and I wish he were standing beside me. Dave's blind but recognizes lots of things the rest of us miss. It would be cool to share this experience with him.

But he's not here.

I'm sure he feeling his way around orbs ... or his wife Sandi.

"Okay," I spit. "It's cold," and I turn making my way towards home.

Passing the Seagull's house, she's still standing there, admiring her cleverness ... maybe planning what to serve at the party that night.

Back home my toes are spent.

Not a damn one of them has an orgasm left in him.

So I turn on the hot water in the bath tub, sit on the side and drown the little bastards.

Because if there's one thing I've learned in life is ... your toes should never be cold.

Rearranging Life

Staring out of the window, I'm thinking about what to think about.

An American flag flaps in the wind surrounded by Palms, Banyans and Banana Trees.

Scott is wandering around his yard as though he's lost and doesn't know what to do.

Wearing a heavy grey sweatshirt with GEORGIA spelled in bright red and blue pajama bottoms, he drops to his knees and digs in the dirt.

His hair is long, grey and unwashed draping his shoulders.

He's wearing bedroom slippers.

Scott has terminal cancer but damn if he isn't out planting something!

Out of death comes life.

His cat follows him religiously.

Many mornings the cat disappears and Scott feebly wanders out and whistles until they reunite.

Grabbing a shovel he digs up banana plants and replants them... rearranging his yard ... rearranging his life ... or what's left of it.

Our neighbors claim he's crazy as a loon but I've always liked him and we sometimes have pleasant conversations about nothing.

He has to stop and repeatedly pull up the pajama bottoms but he's determined.

He's living longer than the projections and I marvel he's outside ... pruning.

I have no idea how much life I have left but I already know it's not enough.

Hell Sarah and I just arrived and I'm in no hurry to leave her.

Who knows?

I could drop dead before finishing this sentence.

Whew!

I didn't.

Thank God.

The wind picks up.

The American flag flaps.

Scott wipes dirt on his face and laughs.

Ashes to Ashes.

He's getting ready.

But he's not done yet.

Perfectly placed Banana plants are the most important thing in the Universe right now.

I have to go tell him how good everything looks.

Standing, he hugs the flagpole, pulls his pajama bottoms up and I burst into tears.

My Christmas Letter

Dear Santa,

A lot of people don't believe in you and every single one is a damn idiot.

You were born in Turkey, went to Church, became a "Professional Christian," gave lots of gifts to the poor and was an original signer of the "Nicene Creed" (which is like the religious Declaration of Independence).

You were made a Saint because of the gift giving part of your ministry.

St. Nicholas morphed into Santa Claus because wealthier people couldn't stand the thought of poor people getting all of the gifts.

A complete makeover took place culminating in the 1920s when Coca-Cola used you in an advertising campaign, making you a fat, jolly, smoker who prefers the color red.

They made you cute.

You were anything but cute.

You were deadly serious ... about your faith ... helping the poor ... fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays ... and putting all your spare change in the shoes of poor people who came to your Church.

So Santa, I still believe ... though I prefer to call you Nick.

So Nick ... here's my Christmas list.

It's not much ... primarily because I'm not an asker.

But I'd really like more time.

It took Sarah and I a lifetime and multiple divorces to get to us and we've got lots of life to enjoy ... making up for all of that life we didn't have together.

I know that you know what I'm talking about.

Whatever you have to give our kids would be great too but it's up to them to have a relationship with you ... or no (as Sarah and the girls say).

That's pretty much it.

Thanks Nick.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas!

While everybody else is buying stuff, I have no doubt whatsoever, you'll still be slipping your spare change inside the shoes of poor people looking for God.

Toasty Forgiveness

Tired and worn out ... burned out ... I tie the lases on my running shoes when the phone rings at 7:00 in the morning.

"I want to meet you for breakfast," he says.

"I've already left the Breakfast Club," I reply with a sigh.

"It's not open yet," he snarls.

"Yeah, well, I've already been."

After an eternal moment of silence he snaps, "We need to meet. What time can you be there? I'm already coming out to the island for this."

"I'll see you in an hour," I say hanging up, petting Goddess and go for a run on the beach.

I'm off but the Chairman of the Board doesn't care ... he wants what he wants when he wants it ... and I'm heading out of town to meet my kids in Athens and the last thing I want is more work ... with him.

Strolling inside the Club wearing black running shorts, a UGA tee shirt and flip flops ... he's impatiently waiting ... wearing a blue suit, white shirt and orange tie ... everyone who works there yells "REV!" as I slide into the booth across from him.

"I'm ready to order," he says.

"Go for it," I reply.

"What are you having?"

Caroline slides water with lemon in front of me and explains, "He's already had coffee."

"You're not going to eat," he asks.

"No."

He orders bacon and eggs, grits and toast and more coffee.

"I need to know ..." he begins when a piece of toast hits the side of his head.

"What the ..." he begins surprised.

"You're being a little aggressive," I explain. "These are my friends. They will not stand for that."

Sitting back he stares at Val who is working toast and has another piece in her hand ready to fling it with Ninja precession should he get too aggressive again.

"You  have crazy friends," he says wiping the crumbs from his suit with a napkin.

"I do," I confess.

He proceeds to rip me a new one.

After a quarter-of-a-century of doing everything right, it's all suddenly wrong.

When he raises his voice ... another piece of toast hits the side of his head.

"You shouldn't be so loud," I tell him.

Angrily, he looks at Val who's holding another piece of toast while grinning as though to say, "Do it again Blue Suit."

"You wanted to come here," I shrug.

"I want to meet you on your turf," he snaps.

Caroline misses his cup as she refills his coffee and it spills in his lap.

"Ooops," she says walking away.

He stares at me with eyes full of hate.

"You know," I say, "I look inside to make sense of the world. It doesn't make sense if you look at it any other way."

"What?' he shoots.

"You are here to embarrass me on my home turf," I reply. "You want to show your dominion over the world ... beginning with me."

"I am doing my job," he says slapping his hand on the table.

A piece of toast hits the side of his head and he cusses out loud.

"You picked the wrong spot," I shrug.

"I want you gone," he says standing to leave.

"I've gotta go anyway," I say standing but before I can walk out before him ... Caroline and Val leave what they're doing and hug me ... blocking his exit ... while everybody else working yells "REV!"

As funny as it is ... it's not a pleasant memory.

Well ... Val throwing toast and Caroline missing his c
up is pretty funny ... but it was a horrible time and I'm thankful it's over.

This morning I stayed in bed with Sarah rather than go to the Breakfast Club when I normally go because ... it's Sarah.

I'm perilously close to forgiving the former Board Chair but ... not quite yet ... because he's a mean SOB and we've all got too many of those in our lives.

Making it worse, he hurt Sarah too.

But to this day, I can't have a piece of toast without enjoying the Hell out of it.

Delma Presley

It's funny how someone you spend a relatively short period of time with can alter everything about your life.

Delma Presley is one.

God I love the man!

In College I took "The Bible As Literature" looking like a Hippy, long hair, sex crazed, rock-n-roller because I was raised Southern Baptist and was therefore incredibly confused.

In contrast, Dr. Presley was square but hip at the same time.

I'd never seen that before and it blew me away.

He was understated in an overwhelming sort of way.

Though I'd won a thousand "Sword Drills," Del taught me how to read ... and how to think ... and want to be hip with the slightest air of "square-ness" about me so I could throw everyone else off.

I'd often wander into his office, find him sitting in a recliner reading ancient texts surrounded by four walls of books and he'd smile ... put away his thoughts ... lay down his book ... and say how delighted he is that I came to see him.

Once Fran ... of the thousand shades of green ... went with me but her feeble little legs wouldn't make it up the stairs so I carried her and Del ... upon seeing our arrival ... jumped up, jerked her from my arms and tenderly placed her in his recliner.

That was a thousand years ago.

So last night, when I read Del's message to me to Sarah ... about his Parkinson's Disease ... his body's not quite as well as it used to be but his mind remains sharp as a tact ... how he loved me as a student when I wasn't really a good one ... how proud he is of me ... I sob.

"Are you crying," Sarah asks?

"Of course," I answer.

She crawls in my lap and hugs me.

I am incredibly thankful I had the balls to say thank you to Dr. Delma Presley and he cares enough to answer ... most people don't do things like this ... which is really what the Bible's all about.

Most people don't have the balls to take the Bible seriously.

It's why religion is so screwed up.

Ah but Delma Presley taught the Bible ... as Literature ... and I've never been the same since.

So Del!

After Sarah loveingly crawled out of my lap, I raised a glass to you ... and thanked you once again ... for everything.

A Baby?

"Do you want to have a baby?"

"We got six," I reply.

"No ... one of our own," she clarifies.

Contemplating, I remain quiet.

At 58 working hard on what to work on, most wouldn't consider me an ideal candidte.

Of course most people thought I'd lost my mine when Sarah and I married and she brought three little girls into my life after I'd already survived raising three into adulthood.

Melding families is hard work and, while we certainly not finished, I find myself very happy and mostly delight in the crazy things little girls do.

"Judy O thinks we should have a baby," Sarah continues.

"Really?"

"Someone who is ours ... to leave behind in the world ... to share as long as we're together ... cause chances are you're going to go first."

I think of my friend Dan Sheehan who faced the same question years ago and he and Carolyn brought Eamon into the world. While Dan's gone, Carolyns still on Tybee Island and Eamon's happily married in Hollywood trying to make it as a star.

Once Dan and I played in a Father/Son basketball game with Eamon and my son Jeremy. Dan was older but out there giving it his sweaty best and I was in my physical prime. We didn't take it as serious as the boys, laughed a lot and actually won the game.

"I only have a few more years to consider it," Sarah concludes.

The dinner that night was a joyus celebration with Sarah's girls, Jeremy and his fiancee Terencia, who has two little girls of her own. They face the same question under almost identical circumstances.

"Everybody put a dollar on the table," I say, "and lets start a pool ... Who's going to have the first baby in the family? ... Terencia and Jeremy ... Sarah and me ... my daughter Chelsea and her husband Sam ... my daughter Kristen who is single ... or 13 year old Maddie?"

There's time for you to get in on this pool if you want but ... not a lot of time.

Except hopefully in Maddie's case.

The Music is snoring

I'm sipping coffee.

He's snoring.

The Hotel lobby is festive, a full breakfast bar steams, soft music plays as employees cheerfully wish everyone "Good Morning."

He is balled up in a chair in an alcove behind a column where no on can see him.

No one except me.

Leaving a room full of sleeping girls, I grab my lap top and head for the coffee.

After years of travel I established routines I still maintain; rising early, head to the common area for coffee and time to collect my thoughts, pray and write. To do this I find a corner of the room, away from the televisions, loud families, bleary eyed partiers and laughing business people.

I'm lost in thought and suddenly find myself wondering why the music is snoring?

It takes me a full minute longer to start looking around and ... there he is.

The lobby is filling up and is getting loud covering up his noisey slumber.

From his vantage point, no one can see him unless they walk between my table and him.

It is cold outside.

Certain the cheerful employees will be horrified if he's discovered, I pull my chair ... and the table slowly towards him so that whoever comes this way must encounter me first.

The Holiday season is upon us and I can at least give this poor guy a warm place to sleep for a little while.

Athens Weekend

We're heading to Athens today.

Sarah and I are taking off in a bit, rendezvousing with her girls in Dublin where we'll lunch, then head on up 441 sliding into the Classic City.

After being there every weekend during football season for 2 decades, I've become a slacker and this is my first time there all year.

Life got in the way.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, is in the Savannah Children's Choir and for some inexplicable they perform on Saturday's during football season.

Plus we enjoy hanging out together on the weekends.

Sarah's girls are with their Dad during the week and home with us on the weekends so it's a big deal!

The girls recognize football Saturdays are special and wean UGA garb ... meaning they steal mine ... and Maddie even watches the game with me, learning players names and asking to go to games.

We'll hook up with my son Jeremy and Terenca tonight and will tailgate together along with dozens of friends.

The girls are excited.

I'm about to explode.

We don't have tickets yet ... my brother's using them this year ... but we're unconcerned ... Sarah's working on it but ... it'll work out.

Kristen and Chelsea, my daughters, want to join us but one has to work and the other's spending time with her husband ... an alumni of the North Avenue Trade School who refuses to return to Athens.

His loss! ... and I mean that literally.

Regardless, it's a time with family, friends, tradition and making new memories ... the things Thanksgiving's all about.

Happy weekend everyone!

Jury Duty

"Juror #36," the young Attorney with pimples in a blue suit asks, "you've been a victim of a crime?"

"I have," I answer ... sitting on the third row of the Courtroom gallery with 40 others desperate to not serve as a member of the Jury.

It's a criminal case expected to last a couple of days ... starting the day before Thanksgiving!

I have lots of friends who are Lawyers but I swear if  you put a black robe on one and sit her or him higher than anybody else ... they suddenly think they're God! ... and schedule trials any damn time they want.

"Can you tell us about it?" Pimples in a tie presses.

"Sure," I reply. "Which one?"

Peering over his horn rimmed glasses he asks, "You've been the victim of more than one crime?"

"About 30 or so," I give him the honest truth.

Pimples seems taken aback.

"What were those crimes?" he asks after studying his notes.

"Well, pretty much everything," I confess. "Breaking and entering ... theft ... larceny ... assault ... battery ... I'm sure I'm forgetting some."

The other would-be Jurors sitting on the bench beside me lean forward and take a look at me.

I smile and shrug my shoulders.

"Were the nature of these crimes associated with your business or were they personal?" Pimples inquires.

"Yes," I respond ... and I swear one his Pimples pops without provocation.

 He looks across the room at his co-Counselor who shrugs his shoulders.

"Would these crimes prevent you from rendering a fair and unbiased hearing of this case?" he asks as though throwing out a trump card.

"Well," I say sitting straighter in my seat, "I'd bring my wealth of experience with me but ... it helps me be a better Judge of people."

I think this offends the Judge.

Pimples moves on to question Juror #41.

Everyone on my row continues to staring until, finally, the woman sitting next to me asks, "What do you do?"

How does one answer when I've done a lot?

"Well, I used to run Union Mission ..." I start but she immediately cuts me off.

"You're Micheal Elliott," she says. "I used to work at SCAD and met you every Christmas when we brought toys for the kids.

"Y'all were great," I tell her.

Pimples and the other attorneys go through the "Striking Process" and I think I came in #1.

So I got thrown off the Jury ... sprinted out of the Court House ... calling my baby on Speed dial ... 'cause I got $10 burning a hole in my pocket ... and we're going to have some fun tonight!!

Christmas ... Not Soon Enough

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Cassidy softly sings, sitting in the floor putting on her shoes getting ready for school.

Her voice is sweet and low ... her face angelic ... a child's heart already full of the Season.

At the same time, shots are fired in Ferguson ... dozens of vehicles are ablaze ... businesses are destroyed and looted.

The words spoken are all bad ... INJUSTUCE ... RACIST ... VIOLENCE ... DESTROY ... KILL!

The 8 year old skips out of her bedroom which looks like a TOY R US truck had a major collision with her bed leaving toys scattered everywhere.

Grabbing her doll, she hugs it tight.

"This ain't Iraq! This is the United States!" someone screams at a line of policemen.

At the same time, someone throws a rock hitting a reporter on the head ... making things very Iraq-like.

"Come on," Sarah says to Cass, "we're going to be late."

"Okay," the 8 year old sings in response ... sounding like a choir of Angels.

The Ferguson Fire Department is refusing to leave their barracks because of the gunshots and the looting taking place.

Hell has come on earth ... as it is in Hell.

I've never been one to get into the increasingly early celebrations of Christmas but these days Sarah sings along with carols on the radio while sipping morning coffee and I love when
she sings.

Her girls are already beaming with anticipation of celebrating the birth of Christ by singing Yuletide songs and being gifted for it.

Hip-Hop Artist J. Cole has a "heartaching, tearful song called 'Be Free'" inspired by Michael Brown's death.

Public Enemy's Chuck D, one of rap's most powerful voices, says "These people have actually stood up ... and that has to be saluted" ... for rioting and standing up to the Police.

Sarah and Cass leave for school and work.

I sigh.

I have Jury Duty today ... money to find ... bills to juggle ... and a car with the "Check Engine" light on.

"Oh well, it's not as bad as Ferguson," I say out loud in the quiet house, "or Savannah where far more people are regularly killed."

The childlike sweetness of Cass's voice singing rings in my head.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

Not soon enough.

And certainly not everywhere.

Hell's Breaking Loose

It strikes me I'm doing the exact same thing today I was doing 34 years ago.

Standing on stage at Bar Church ... yep it's Church in a Bar ... playing guitar ... as the "Unprofessional Christian" ... is the exact same thing I was doing on a Sunday 34 years ago.

Then ... I was asked to go a church in the inner city of Louisville, Kentucky because there was no one to play the piano or organ ... so I went ... and it changed my life.

I was enrolled in Seminary but only to figure some things out about God.

There were no intentions whatsoever to become a Minister.

Ministers are crazy people!

Yet there I was ... standing in the Pulpit with a guitar slung over my shoulder, singing "I Saw the Light."

The tiny congregation consisting of five little old ladies ... a few homeless people getting out of the cold for a while ... and thirty guys in jail who came for the service accompanied by two officers with rifles ... asked me to come back.

So I did ... becoming a regular with ... the music.

One Sunday, the Crazy ass Minister resigned and after the service the little old ladies asked if I'd take over for him.

It was the last thing I wanted to do ... I was meant to a Rock Star ... not a member of the Clergy!

But I couldn't tell them "No."

That Church went on to do many  great things but was eventually kicked out by the Southern Baptist Convention for breaking too many Commandments ... like ordaining women ... taking care of people with AIDS  ...turning unused Sunday School rooms into apartments for the homeless.

I was called to Baptist Corporate Headquarters in Nashville to explain these things.

"Where does it say a penis is mandatory equipment to be a Minister?" I asked ... starting with broken Commandment #1.

The conversation went downhill from there ... quickly followed by my career as a "Professional Christian."

I left organized religion but continued advocating for women, taking care of people with AIDS, housing the homeless ... somehow staying in trouble through it all.

Like all things, it eventually came to an end and I bounced around doing various things ... International Street Medicine ... social media content development ... consulting ... but most importantly being found by the love of my life.

These days, I find myself in front of a tiny congregation with a guitar slung over my shoulder ... there's food for the hungry ... fellowship for the lonely ... a place to be warm when there's no place to go.

It's Deja vu all over again.

What ensued the first time was one Hell of a ride and lots of people being better off!

"This all feels very familiar," I say to myself as Sarah makes announcements.

I've got this feeling ... a Hell of a ride is starting slow but ... I know better.

I've been here before.

All Hell's getting ready to break loose of lots of people's lives.

Everything's going according to plan

"God's got a special plan for you."

I've heard that a lot the past several days.

Of course I have no real idea of what the plan is.

God's keeping pretty mum about it.

It must be a secret plan.

"Everything happens in God's time."

I've also been told repeatedly.

I have a hard time believing God has a calendar ... or a watch.

Nor do I believe in "predestination" ... it reminds me of a joke.

A man fell down the stairs, broke his arm and said "Thank God that's over!" ... meaning it was according to God's plan that he fall down the stairs on that particular day at that exact moment.

And I don't think God works with military precision, making plans and launching campaigns that involve bad things happening to people.

I think Santa Claus has to do that kind of planning to take everything to everybody in one night but ... not God.

"God will not give you more than you can bear," is another thing I've been told.

It doesn't say that in the Bible.

Somebody made it up.

And I've certainly witnessed people completely succumb to things they could not handle.

It does say in the bible that "He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear" (I Corinthians 10:13).

I'm not certain about that because I've certainly been tempted WAY BEYOND what I could bear and the results were not pretty.

Things do get unbearable sometimes and while we may live through them it doesn't mean we're not crushed leaving broken hearts, ruptured faith, a dimmer sense of hope and a fear of the future.

"God is love," nobody has said lately.

I do believe this.

I got more love in my life than I've ever had.

I work very hard to appreciate, enjoy and accept it.

It's hard work.

But when I get it right ... occasionally ... I do love that a plan's come together ... at this stage in my life ... making unknown things bearable ... healing my hurts ... giving me hope.

Quite the Gift

It is quiet aside from the soft music I have streaming on the Laptop in front of me.

Our home is full of sleeping girls in bedrooms with curtains drawn to keep them dark.

Well ... not our bedroom where Sarah sleeps bathed in light through windows.

Sitting in the kitchen bright sunshine floods through sliding glass doors that lead to the Beloved Back Deck.

The chill in the air and the brisk breeze prevent me from sitting outside where I prefer to think, pray and write.

Goddess meanders from her bed to lay in the floor and stare at me intensely.

Pancake batter sits on the counter for the girls and I enjoy cooking them.

I am full of Thanksgiving though it's days away.

There's food in the fridge, wine on the shelf, comfort in the furniture and a coziness here in spite of cabinets in desperate need of paint and a light that doesn't work.

The only agenda today are multiple birthday parties and to simply enjoy spending time together.

Sarah and I have to practice for Bar Church tomorrow but we delight in making music as we make fun of each other.

Winston The Little Gay Dog prances into the kitchen wanting to be let outside.

That means Sarah's awake so I quickly slide the glass door open and shut then make my way to her for a kiss to start this day.

Everything is not perfect in our life ... we've got our fair share of worries and major concerns ... but there are times like this when it feels pretty damn perfect.

So I'm going to enjoy it because it's quite the gift to just be here right now.

I've been on bottom mostly feeling on top

I've been on some rocks and I've certainly been on some rolls.

Hitting the rocks means you survey the damage, see what's salvable and wait ... for the Tide to come in, some one to throw you a rope or for God to answer your prayers.

Divorces, the loss of loved ones, job changes, terrible accidents ... each rock left me ... asking "How bad is it?" ... "What have I lost and what do I still have?" ... Admitting I could use some help ... and waiting in fearful silence that nobody's going to be here for me ... God's silence is deafening when I really need to hear.

But we get incredible rolls too ... riding the wave perfectly, thrilled by what we're doing, lavishing in the attention, having the Midas Touch and marveling at how blessed we are!

Terrific kids, wonderful friends, professional accomplishments, travels to exotic places, awards and public recognitions ... each roll leaves me shaking  my head, full of wonderment ... yelling "GOD THIS IS GOOD! I WANT MORE!" ... "I am Happy!" ... "I've got the best friends!" ... "God is good!"

As the Minor Prophet Dan Fogelberg proclaimed ... "I've seen the bottom and I've been on top but mostly I've been in-between."

Who can argue with that?

I'm in between right now.

On the one hand, I'm incredibly happy ... for the first time in my life ... I adore Sarah ... her kids make me laugh ... my kids give me tremendous satisfaction ... my circle of friends is small but fiercely loving ... we live at the Beach and clothing is optional.

It's an utterly satisfying blessing!

On the other hand, work stuff is not working out ... it's driving me crazy ... leaving me sullen ... not giving my best to Sarah and the children ... spending too much time alone ... and questioning God.

Put them both together and ... I see the bottom ... but I'm on top too ... so I guess that leaves me in-between.

Then again as the Minor Prophet says ... "Lessons learned are like bridges burned ... you only have to cross them once ... is the pleasure worth the price of the pain?"

HELL YEAH!

As crazy as it is ... and it's crazy ... I wouldn't trade it for everything or anything I've ever had in my life.

It makes no sense whatsoever.

It doesn't feel in-between.

Though I can see the bottom ... I am on top!

American Airlines and Delta Suck!

It's a crazy world but we live here.

I'd move if I knew where to go ... but I don't.

The Moon's not colonized yet ... Mars doesn't have a beach ... and no one's heard from that Comet since we landed on it.

I have a gazillion Airline Miles but can't use them because neither American Airlines or Delta Airlines ... say I have enough.

Honestly they say I have enough to get there ... but not back.

When I explain I want to take Sarah with me ... they laughed.

American Airlines demands we change our lives to accommodate their schedule and Delta only cares about the constant business traveler.

They're both crazy ... about profits.

I guess we're staying in the craziness of the world ... until we get enough miles to go somewhere else ... wherever that is.

We'd like to move to Belize.

I know it's still in the world but it seems far enough away ... plus we really liked it when we Honeymooned there.

We're tired of murders in Savannah ... the Island Police Department ... FOX News ... anybody elected to public office ... the way the Atlanta Falcons are playing ... Meteorologists ... Wall Street ... Pharmaceutical Companies ... Southern Baptists ...  Jerry Rainey ... parades on Tybee ... Miley Cyrus ... and the positions Missionaries take.

At the very least we'd like to visit Joey Finch and Billy Bray in Key West to check out their new place.

It looks nice ... and Bill's got this guitar that I want to steal when they're showing Sarah the view from the bedroom.

BUT ... American Airlines and Delta suck!

Which means we're stuck.

But we're determined!

And we love each other!

It's just a matter of time before we escape this crazy world.

God's touch

An absolutely great day went to absolute shit when I got the email I'd never conceived getting.

I'm not wanted.

I don't understand that.

I'm pretty good ... done lots of cool things ...been everywhere ... am incredibly successful ... and married to the most wonderful person ever born (except for those times when she's mad at me for something I obviously had little to do with).

Everything was rocking and rolling ... then I got the email.

"No Thanks," they said to everything I have to offer.

There's that moment when you stand there alone ... in disbelief ... wondering how ... searching for logic ... getting angry ... filled with frustration.

Goddess comes out of her slumber to lick me.

"How do you know?" I ask our beloved Golden Retriever with a bit of Border Collie in her.

Winston ... The Little Gay Dog ... prances in and licks me too.

And they make me cry so I slide into the kitchen floor and they just love me.

I call Sarah and tell her.

Fierce love and protection explodes in my ear.

Finishing, I tell myself, "I got to get out of here."

I go to my other home ... The Breakfast Club.

"HEY!" everyone yells because I'm never there at noon.

"I've had the shitiest day," I say plopping on my seat at the counter.

Every single person who's employed at the Club stops what they're doing ... looks at me ... washes me in love.

I order then can't eat.

I just want to go home.

When I leave... Caroline of all people ... and Denise ... hug me at the same time and tell me they love me.

"Are you Micheal Elliott?" someone I don't know asks tapping me on the shoulder.

Caroline and Denise are immediately on the defense and ready to take him down.

"I am," l say.

"Stacy Jennings told to read your blog and I do every day."

Caroline and Denise release the intense grip they have on my arm and return to delivering food, pouring coffee, wiping tables and waiting on customers.

"That's nice," I reply ... really needing nice ... at that moment.

"I love what you do man," he says hugging me.

I just cry.

Caroline ... of all people ... caustic, profanely wonderful, recently married and pregnant ... places her hand on top of mine for a slight second.

And the world stands still.

"I got this" she says pouring coffee.

She's been there for me before ... storming out into the middle of Butler Avenue ... crossing her arms into an "X" ... screaming "That Bitch is not wanted in here!"

"What are you and Sarah going to do?' she whispers.

"I don't know," I answer.

She just nods ... but it's a nod completely full of love.

And if that doesn't make you believe in God ... then there's no God.