One of those days

Sometimes I write.

Sometimes I'm held captive by the phone.

The phone has won so far.

It started with, what may ... or may-not ... have been a butt-dial.

"Why in the Hell would she be calling me?" I ask out loud trying to write.

Returning her call she commences into an avalanche of words far outnumbering anything I'll write.

She goes on and one ... so I take my shirt off and throw it on the chair.

The sun's nice and it's warm and ... well I've been meaning to move plants around on the Beloved Back Deck anyway ... so I put her on speaker and repot plants as she talks like a Congressman on a filibuster.

Lou Reed's singing in the background from my computer as my phone chirps ... so with dirty black hands I pick it up and see Sarah's calling.

I'd really like to talk to my wife but as techno savvy as I am ... I always seem to hang up on someone when I juggle calls and I know she loves me enough to know ... I'm on the phone and suck at juggling calls without hanging up on someone.

"Uh-Huh," I yell from one end of the Beloved Back Deck to the other as the woman speaks without ceasing ... as I move the heavy plants from one corner to the other.

Goddess and Winston, The Little Gay Dog, paw the screen door wanting to come out to be in solidarity with me as the woman simply will not shut up.

The phone chirps and it's Sarah again.

"Hey," I yell at the phone rubbing the dogs, "my next call is at 9:30."

"Oh, aren't you the big man," the woman who speaks without ceasing says. "Fine! I'll call you back."

Hanging up I take Sarah's call.

After a quick message ending with "I love you", my phone immediately chirps and I cuss.

"Well aren't you the big man," the woman who speaks without ceasing says.

"Not really," I answer watching Winston, TLGD, lick himself.

"I'm listening to you on National Public Radio right now," she explains, "while I'm driving."

"That's old," I tell her, "but the best part is Davy Cahill taking his wife fruit during my sermon."

Half an hour later she's finally spent her words, the Beloved Back Deck looks great, the dogs want to go back inside, my tan is deeper and I haven't gotten a damn thing done.

Finally ... I sit and get to work ... when the phone chirps.

It's my son.

There are times in a career when you give everything you have to work or ... you talk to your family and ... work on your tan ... leaving work for another day.

Today is one of those days.

Tybee Island's Color

We live on an island in danger of drowning.

It's not like Hilton Head which may actually sink because of the traffic but Tybee Island is also in danger of going under.

Sarah and I had people park on our grass, pee in our yard, shake booty in our face, leave plastic cups and trash everywhere, carry guns, get arrested and hurt each other.

I love the 4th of July!

And Memorial Day!

And Labor Day!

And Pirate Fest!

And ... well ... Hell ... most any summer weekend day!

We love it all.

Lots of people come though there's not enough parking or amenities ... so everybody drives around searching for a place to park and a place to pee ... when they're already taken ... because there are not enough of either.

That's poor planning on Government's part who do a pretty good job of managing the present but don't know shit the future ... though reelection campaigns are already planned.

They did build a Gym named after themselves that no one uses.

Locals hate event weekends and big crowds because it's difficult being a full-time resident in a tourist's town that's actually popular with tourists ...

We're arrogant enough to believe it's OUR ISLAND when God created it for everyone to enjoy ...

And honestly all we want is to take their money without having to deal with them ...

We HATE THEM!

We LOVE US!

I am a beach bum who's been incredibly blessed to visit lots of beaches though this one's been home base for almost three decades.

I've seen lots of changes in those years ... Tybee Island has become crazy, over-regulated, and overrun with locals.

We love colorful sunsets.

But God we hate any other type of color.

Out of Balance Abundance

Which would you rather have ... Love or money?

Regimented security or freedom with few boundaries?

Solitude or a house full of kids?

Work that allows you to play or making play work for you?

"I've looked at life from both sides now ..." sings Joni Mitchell and I can certainly testify it's true for me.

I'm sure there are some who have successfully "managed" equal proportions of love, money, regiment, freedom, solitude, children, work and play ... but I've never met one.

I think the experience of most is bouncing like a pin ball from love to money ... or money to love ...freedom to obligations ... family to living alone ... play to work or work to play.

This has certainly been my experience.

At a recent breakfast meeting I was "advised" over coffee that life's most serious questions are: (1) Are you in good health? ... (2) Do you enjoy the way you're living? ... (3) Are you going to outlive your money? ... and (4) Are you've proud of what you've done?

Of course it's the "outliving your money" one that's stuck in my head ... though I am comforted in knowing that I can answer "YES" to each question.

Four for four!

I've watched lots of people downward spiral in their lives and countless others "crash and burn" ... and I've certainly my fair share of both ... so my life is not perfectly aligned.

BUT ... I've got so much love in my life I'm often overwhelmed to the point of tears.

I'm more in love than I've ever been and freer too ... though I'm not great at Math and can't quite figure out how.

I have more kids than I can shake a stick at, with all but one being a girl ... and girls simply steal your heart.

I work hard at playing and play hard when I work because it should be fun and fulfilling.

A brilliant sun bubbles out of the ocean illuminating the dew on the lush green leaves and I'm lost in thought when Maddie ... the fifth oldest girl in my life ... sticks her head outside ... and the sun hits her face too and she's stunningly beautiful and she smiles at me and says, "Good Morning."

I 've looked at ... and lived ... life from both sides now but I know which I side I'm on.

Mine is one of out of balance abundance.

I don't know how I ever lived it any other way.

Working With God

"I'm laying here staring at the ceiling tiles thinking about ... oh ... what to think about."

It's a line from a song by the Barenaked Ladies about "Brian Wilson" that I always think about when I can't think about what to think about.

Then Sarah calls and that's all I want to think about.

But she's at work so ... I have to think about other things to think about.

The morning's been full and I haven't been able to find the time to write.

What I mean is writing is pretty easy though the inspiration part seems to be a bit of a bitch at the moment.

When inspiration hits I'm "lost in space" until it's finished hitting ... intensely focusing on the creation taking place ... partnering with God ... and when I'm done ... it's like after really good sex ... I'm happily spent.

In Seminary I paid good money to learn about "Orgasmic Preaching" which is if a Preacher does a really good sermon ... leaving the ladies flush and the men worried ... it was a good sermon.

I don't aim for that when God and I co-create, I just find the inspiration and run with it until it's written out of me.

Then I share and people do whatever they wish ... I like it when they like it ... don't get too bothered about things when they don't ... primarily because I've just spent however long it's been co-creating with God!

If you have an issue ... talk to God.

Who gets to put that on their resume?

ME!

That's who!

I have to be honest ... it doesn't pay much but ... well ... I get to work with God on a regular basis ... which is pretty cool.

OOOPPPS ... there She is now ... telling me to get to work.

I wish Sarah would call back.

I could use a break.

A Bothersome Lust

Choirs of birds belt Hymns majestically.

Legions of Birds dance in Palm Trees.

God's finger painted sky is full of blues and purples with dots of white.

The slightest of ocean breeze blows high so the lush greens of the taller trees sway though nothing moves underneath.

The sea is softly kissing the shore in the distance.

The Wind Chimes ... one for each girl ...hang listlessly ... though it makes me laugh the 13 year olds is all tangled up ... like a 13 year olds should be.

Colorful blooms are reclaiming the Beloved Back Deck and it's now apparent what Winter's killed and must be replaced.

There's been so much rain the weeds succeeded in a hostile takeover of St. Augustine grass where someone should be spending time on their knees ... "pulling weeds and picking stones." 

It's warm so there's no need of laundry.

I sit here staring unbelievably at the little bastard in my hand ... the I-phone.

A writer from New York City wants to interview me ... about something a long time ago ... and I'm really into THIS moment ... though it was a good thing I was part of then ... and the story has a mostly good ending ... though not a perfect one.

I'm far too arrogant to not return his call.

Though I really care nothing about revisiting the past.

I hate dilemmas.

Gypsy the cat scrapes the screen door and cleverly solves the quandary.

I pick him up and we watch the birds sing.

Though ... he has a bothersome lust in his eyes.

And the Goddamn phone keeps buzzing.

The Sacred Store

"I went down to the Sacred Store where I'd head the music years before but the man there said the music wouldn't play ..."

I got that.

I used to hear lots of things I believed Holy that I don't hear anymore.

I don't think it's me as much as  ... things have changed.

As long as I've known me I've been pretty constant with myself.

Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I did some crazy aberrations BUT ... for the most part I'm been remarkably consistent being ... ME.

Why do we have such a hard time accepting ourselves?

I know part of the problem is we spend so much time trying to get others to accept us by meeting their expectations  that we sacrifice everything about who we are to be ... who they want us to be.

Who the Hell are THEY? ... or THEM? ... or Whoever?

I'll tell you who THEY are ... Politicians ... the Clergy (doesn't matter which faith) ... writers of "HOW TO" Books ... Motivational Speakers ... Bill O'Rielly  ... T.D. Jakes ... and Joel Osteen.

That's who tells us what to do.

We're stupid listening to such fools.

BUT ...we do.

We love fools.

That's why FOX News and the LIBERAL Media are so popular and ... or whichever political persuasion you root for ... it doesn't matter ... they're people trying keep you from being you.

The Good News is Hell exists!

God allows it for a reason.

Fools ... those who listen to them  ... and those who follow the stupid stuff ... are already in Hell ... or will eventually end up there.

But ... we've been to the Sacred Store ... where we heard the music years before ...and if the man there says the music won't play ...

Well ... we have to make our own.

Our Tables are still upright

At a kids Christmas party in the Social Hall of the Port Wentworth First Baptist Church, I got a "Magnet Space Wheel" ... a cool toy in those days ... a red rolling wheel that wouldn't fall off it's track even when I hold it upside down.

I'm watching it endlessly when the doors open and a bunch of kids from "The Projects" are ushered into the party.

Port Wentworth is a Mill Town anchored by the Sugar Refinery and the Continental Can Company and there are two sets of "Projects" for those who can't get jobs at either.

The Project kids are different from us regular worshippers ... we are cleaner... wholesome looking ... wearing the latest styles ... and do mean "Sword Drills."

They are scruffy ... apparently don't know where Mr. Smith's Barber Shop is ... wear last year's fashions ... and didn't bring any toys.

The way a Baptist Kid's Christmas Party works is ... I bring a wrapped toy ... you bring a wrapped  toy ... the Adult Baptists mix them up ... before Mr. Blackwelder dressed as the skinniest Santa Claus ever  ... passes them out again ... this time to different people ... making them presents.

I already feel I've won because I brought a little bag of marbles and in return got the Magnet Space Wheel.

The Project kids immediately eat all the cookies and drink the punch on the table intended for everyone.

Standing beside Danny ... our "Special" friend ... it's called Autism today ... I stop spinning the red wheel and listen to Mr. Gannan explain the rules of Christmas presents.

"I'm sorry kids," he kindly says, "you have to bring one to receive one."

To this day I can still see ... and feel ... the look on their faces ... downcast ... holding moisture in their eyes ... sad, disappointed and defiant.

Danny walks up to Mr. Gannan and says, "They can have mine" and hands them a long tube of colored sugar.

"So shall ye give shall ye receive," runs through my head as I watch Mr. Gannan try to figure out what to do.

It's a "Sword Drill" verse ... Luke 6:38 ... that I'd kicked Jerry Boykin's ass on the week before ... but suddenly ... I don't know why ... probably because of Danny's deeper understanding of things ... I join him with Mr. Gannan and hand over the Magnet Space Wheel.

Also to this day ... I can still see ... and feel ... Mr. Gannan's smile explode just before he hugs us and says, "God bless you boys."

I have a vaguer memory of the boy who got MY Magnet Space Wheel staring at it ... turning it upside down in wonderment ... as he carries it away.

"Give and it shall be given to you" ... Luke 6:38

I was excellent in Sword Drills but I don't know if I believe in that verse anymore.

I want to believe it ... and God knows I've been given a lot ... but I've given a Hell of a lot too.

In most ways I've got more than I've ever had ... love, peace, enjoyment, fulfillment and just happiness ... watching Sarah walk across a room ... Jeremy and Terenca's wedding ... the girls eating undercooked Cinnamon Rolls before school as Cassidy explains "We're having them today because we didn't have them yesterday" ... Chelsea and Sam together as adults full of future ... Kristen asking "Why do I have to be the last one to get married?" ... and Laurel making herself wake up to share breakfast with me three days running.

These are my blessings now.

Not disposable income, real security or the confident knowledge I'm going to "outlive my money" ... which is a Banker's goal ... and I'm definitely not.

Life's not a bank account ... where the "Haves" and Have not's" are created ... because they either play by Banker's rules or they don't.

Damn Sword Drills haunt me to this day ... Matthew 21:12 ... "and he overturned the tables of the moneychangers ..."

I'm struggling today.

I've been given a lot but Jesus Christ! ... it cost me a lot!

And I'm certainly not where the Bankers advise.

But when each girl stops and individually turns to embrace me and say, "I love you" ... and then Sarah does too ... as I witness them walk down the stairs ... well ... Danny, Mr. Blackwelder, Mr. Gannam and the boys from the Projects all wander in and point out ... our tables are still upright.

We got to be doing something right.

God only knows!

My Life full of Girls

It's a big day.

My son Jeremy is getting married.

He is bringing Terenca Sullins into our family and together they are bringing Ava and Nina too.

If that's not enough it's also Laurel's birthday!

She 11 years old, full of wisdom and crawled out of bed at the crack of dawn to start celebrating loudly over coffee with me.

Sarah, Maddie and Cassidy all remain asleep in our hotel room.

My life is overrun with girls.

Of course Jeremy's is too ... so we can support each another.

Though his sister Kristen reminded us how much support we're going to need when she ... and I'm not making this up ... put a lampshade on her head at the party last night.

My daughter Chelsea was there too with her husband Sam who seems shell shocked at the number of girls.

I think Jeremy and I are going to have to conduct an "intervention" with Sam.

Anyway, it's a big day!

"What a long, strange trip it's been," the Grateful Dead sang, "for us to get here ... but well worth it!

Happy Birthday Laurel!

Welcome Home Jeremy, Terenca, Ava and Nina!

I wonder how long I have to wait for Sarah to wake up and start celebrating with me.

A Little Girl's Room

It's a shitty day and nothing seems to go right.

All the news gets worse so I try to shut my brain off to not get anymore.

As the sun sets I find solitude in a black bean bag chair full of colorful stuffed animals in a little girl's room.

Pink walls are adorned with butterflies, purple curtains, giant posters of cats, several hundred dolls and lots of original art.

Her beds made because I made it and it looks good with it's purple spread and pink sheets.

Cassidy is a master of unmaking a bed but I do not believe she could make one to save her life.

Not that it needs saving.

At 8 ... she knows everything and if you disagree with her she'll simply say, "I don't get it" ... like it's your problem and not hers.

She loves me in the morning ... stumbling out of bed ... blond hair askew ... wrapped in her pink blankie ... she comes to me and I pick her up and I kiss her forehead.

She smiles and breaths a Dragon's breath.

I ask what she wants for breakfast, already knowing the answer ... her Mom's I-Pad ... so I drop her on her bed as she beams herself into another Universe until I demand she actually eat breakfast.

"I love you Micheal," she says in her little girl way and ... all the love I've ever known in my life explodes in that moment.

You can never have enough love in life.

I think about that on a shitty night.

And though Cass is away, I'm falling in love with her room ... her creativity and genius ... reminding me of Chelsea ... my adult daughter who's also an artist.

Sarah says something I don't hear so I jump out of the black bean bag chair into the kitchen that I also love ... because my wife made it so special ... like the rest of our home.

And as we discuss bad news, I find myself so grateful for having gotten to this point in my life.

Later ... in the middle of the night, with an almost full moon illuminating the waves breaking on the shore ... I return to black bean bag chair ... and thank God.

Hurricane Season ... NOT!

I basically go to 3 places on Tybee Island ... The Breakfast Club ... Monty Parks' Tuesday Night Jam ... and Bar Church.

I used to go to lots of other places but ... they're too far ... so I don't go anymore.

Besides you can get a B.U.I. on island ... Bicycling Under the Influence ... Yep ... there's nothing you can't be ticketed for on Tybee.

I do spend most of my time on the Beloved Back Deck where's it's peaceful and quiet  ... except on Wednesday's at noon when the City interrupts everyone's lunch with an emergency warning that a Hurricane might come ... which is like the stupidest waste of money ever!

Islanders can learn for free that a Hurricane's coming by watching The Weather Network ... or if they really want to guess what's going to happen ... Pat Prokop on WTOC ... but that's too efficient so the City of Tybee spends a gazillion dollars interrupting everyone's lunch on Wednesdays.

"WARNING ... WARNING ... THIS IS NOT AN EMERGENCY ... BUT IF IT WERE ONE ... YOU SHOULD LEAVE ... YOU'LL PROBABLY BE TICKETED ... BUT THAT'S IN OUR BEST INTEREST ... WHEN A REAL EMERGENCY HAPPENS ... WE'LL LET YOU KNOW ... IN THE MEANTIME ... DISREGUARD THIS MESSAGE ... UNTIL NEXT WEDNESDAY ... WHEN YOU WILL BE TICKETED!"

Making it more efficient, we receive a phone call Wednesday mornings informing us that a fake Hurricane announcement is taking place at noon and we shouldn't be alarmed.

I don't know who thought of this but  ... they should be ducted taped in a boat ... shoved out to Sea in a storm ... ticked by the Tybee Island Police Department like everybody else (except elected officials) on the way ... and eaten by sharks.

Though the sharks will probably puke them up on the beach and somebody will get a ticket.

There you go ... I've written about it so ... I'm taking the dogs downstairs and waiting on the police ... for my ticket ... for dog barking ... or avoiding a Hurricane when it's not Hurricane Season ... or whatev's.

Sarah got her hair cut yesterday bringing out her beautiful Gypsy soul ... which is stunningly beautiful for a Southern white boy ... not you Whitley Reynolds ... ME!

Alright ... I can say lots more but like our friend Joanie Woodcock ... I am biting my tongue till it bleeds ... because some things are better left unsaid.

Especially when Government's involved.

Or the Police Department ... which finances Government.

I'm done ... and off to The Breakfast Club for more coffee ... practicing for Monty Park's jam ... and figuring out  Bar Church for next Sunday.

Oh!

Duck!

A Hurricane's not coming!

Singing Birds on Island

"Excuse me ... are those birds singing?"

"Yes," I reply.

"Can I listen for a moment?"

"Sure," I answer holding my phone up to the Palm Trees, blues skies and Wisteria growing everywhere.

After several awkward seconds I ask, "Is that enough?"

"Awe thank you," she says. "That was nice."

"Where are you?" I ask.

"Minneapolis," she sighs.

"Ouch," I say holding the phone back up to the blue sky and the singing birds.

A few seconds later I interrupt whatever she's thinking, "Hey so can I pay this on a monthly basis rather than semi-annually?"

"Of course," she  says, "it'll just cost you a finance charge."

"Fine," I say.

"Where is TEE-BEE Island?" she asks.

"TIE-BEE Island," I explain, "it's an Indian word... Tybee means 'salt' ... it's in the water and it sticks to your skin."

"It sounds Heavenly," she murmurs.

"Yeah, it's nice."

"Where are you that I'm hearing birds?" she suddenly asks.

"On my back deck," I honestly answer ... "I'm working on my tan while I'm working."

"Oh," she sighs.

"You inside?" I press.

"Way," she confesses.

"Well you should come," I suggest. "It's a nice crazy place. If you like crazy you'll like here."

"Nice," she says.

"Yeah," I muse, "everyone who lives here is either running away from something ... or running to something ... it makes for interesting conversations in the Bars."

"Bars?" she asks.

"Oh yeah," I explain, "we got 10.3 bars for every church ... Honestly we even have Church in a Bar."

"Really?" she exclaims.

"Oh yeah," I multitask spraying sunscreen while cradling the phone on my shoulder.

"I'm coming," she announces.

"Can you cut the finance charge?" I pounce recognizing my opportunity.

"I wish," she says.

Hanging up I say to myself, "Oh well" ... as the birds sound nice ... the purple of wisteria is mind numbing ... and waves crash in the distance sound like a Symphony.

Sometimes it's where you are.

And not what you pay that matters.

And being here is enough.

Especially when you're with who you're supposed to be with.

What makes God G.O.D.?

I was falling like the Alamo, drinking fast and talking slow ..."

Isn't that a great line?

Hayes Carll wrote that/

I love great lines!

"Doubt is the Ants in the pants of faith," 

So says Frederick Buechner ... my personal favorite writer.

"It's getting better all the time," says Paul McCartney ... "It couldn't get much worse,"  answers John Lennon.

That's funny and true!

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."

God I love Hemingway ... in spite of the asshole he often was ... the man could write beautiful truths.

"Beloved if God so loves us then we should love ... each other."

As ... whoever wrote 1 John proclaims... and it wasn't John who was long dead by the time these words were written... pulls off the most incredible slight of hand of them all.

Written in classical Greek ... a very methodically language ... it should be logical ...

"Beloved if God so loves us then we should love ... GOD!"

That's what it should say.

And that's how most people believe.

After all it so damn much easier to love God than it is other people.

To Hell with other people!

They are pains in the ass and I hate lots of them.

BUT ...

well ... if whoever wrote 1 John is right ... and I suspect he ... or probably she is ... then you love God by loving others.

And if you're just loving God ... in your Church ... in your Home ... with your Bible ... in your own way ...without loving others ... I hate to break it to you ... but you're going to Hell.

In fact you're probably already there.

No wonder the author of I John decided to lay low and remain anonymous.

It's way too radical for God to prefer adoration by loving something other than ... GOD!

Holy Shit!

But I think that's what makes God ... GOD.

Easter Basket Clues

As a kid ... my Dad delighted in celebrations.

One Christmas he put on boots, climbed on the roof of the house and stomped the Hell out of the shingles so my brother David and I couldn't sleep at all because Santa was here!

On Easter he didn't hide Easter Baskets ... he left clues for them.

We'd wake up, rush to the Fridge for breakfast and find a note from the Easter Bunny.

We'd have to figure out the strangest things ... "under the pillow on the left side of the smallest room" ... or "There's only one drawer full of panties" ... and we'd rush all over the house and the yard finding more clues ... until finally we found Baskets full of chocolate Bunnies, Marshmallows, colored pencils and plastic grass.

Years later I did the same for Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea and I delighted in their figuring out the clues just as my Dad did.

Now I get to do it again for Maddie, Laurel and Cassidy who laugh and cackle and rush around our house until they finally discover the joys of Easter.

Sarah is horrible at waiting to give gifts ... and I have Bar Church ... so we started celebrating early.

Ten hidden clues leaves them scratching their heads, screeching in comprehension and running off to find the next instruction.

We delight and it's a much better way to celebrate a holiday and make it memorable.

"Are their going to be clues again this year," the girls asks over the past several days.

They joyfully relish each note until reaching the grand prize.

It reminds me of my own childhood ... my Dad who's dead now ... the kids ... and the joy of children celebrating gifts.

It's a celebratory thing for Sarah and me.

It's not about living in the past but still enjoying parts of it to this day.

And passing on my Dad to our girls ... through the kids ... and lots of other things in between.

We celebrate resurrection on Easter and today my Dad is alive as ever in notes with clues for little girls gushing with joy that we've figured out a way for him to be here.

I hope our children do the same so Dad's celebration of Easter lives on.

Just like Jesus does.

Life as a Waiter

Strolling in the back door Mitch Wesley is washing dishes and Audi's prepping dinner at the Gourmet German Delicatessen that transforms itself into a expensive 8 table dining experience every evening.

I'm the waiter.

Guy Sayles got me the job when he stopped being a waiter to become a full-time Professional Christian with a real ... albeit non-Southern Baptist ... Church.

Alas, Mitch and I ... also in Seminary ... are not so blessed.

Strolling into the front part of "Keinlee's" I find Marlene so she can tie my bow-tie and slip on my red vest so I look like a skinny Hansel ... without Gretel.

Marlene offers whatever's left over from lunch to Mitch and me for dinner.

Honestly it was good stuff though we wearied of it after a while and took to creating our own meals with Audi ... Marlene's husband and former German Olympic Gymnastic coach ... now Chef.

"You do know," I say to him frying Spaetzle over the stove, "that your wife is a bitch."

Yah," he shrugs ... looking like a sad Santa Claus wearing a white apron, "love can suck."

Marlene is mean, arrogant and proud of her heritage as a member of the Dienhart Wine family.

Audi is kind, gracious, laughs a lot and he loves Mitch and me.

Mitch's humor is dry and it's several seconds later we recognize how funnily profound he is so that he's washing dishes when we bust out laughing at what he said a full minute earlier.

"What?" he asks ... adding to the delivery.

In perfect contrast my humor's over the top.

Audi asks me to prepare a special dish for Marlene because he's busy ... so I get an old tennis shoe, chop an onion, sprinkle it on the shoe in the frying pan, cover it with Spaetzle, gravy and cheese ... sprinkle with Parsley and show it to him.

Grabbing a knife and fork he tries to cut the tennis shoe, realizes what it is and laughs a Heavenly laugh ... then serves it to his wife.

I think Mitch had already quit by the time my last night rolls around.

Marlene's being a bitch, not only yelling at me but yelling at Audi too.

We're busting our asses but nothing was good enough so she demands more ... she and Audi have a huge fight in German as I deliver food to customers.

Rushing back in the kitchen for the next round of plates ... Audi looks at me and says, "Let's go."

"Um ... it's a packed house out there," I say, drenched in sweat.

"Let's go," he repeats ... looking like an evil Santa.

I figure he's the boss too so I rip off the bow-tie, throw the red vest on the floor and Audi and I leave.

We go to his house, drink Heineken beer and listen to the speeches of Adolph Hitler ... which Marlene has albums of.

An hour later, Marlene storms in and angrily announces I'm fired.

"He is not," Audi says.

They get into a huge fight speaking German.

I leave.

The point being ... I think everyone should be a waiter, waitress or dishwasher in life.

It helps you be a better person.

Right Mitch Wesley?

What's Good about Friday?

It's Good Friday ... the worst day of Jesus' life ... not much better for his Disciples ... his Mom ... Mary Magdalene and anybody else who gave a damn about him.

The last person to kiss Jesus ... Judas Iscariot ... committed suicide on Good Friday.

A lot of people believe that's the way God planned it ... like at 9:32 on Thursday night Judas is going to kiss Jesus ... at 9:34 Jesus is arrested ... 10:02 tried ... 11:08 receives 39 lashes ... and so on.

What a crock!

If you believe in God's Divine plan then no one chose anything ... because God doesn't allows anyone to.

That means God didn't allow Jesus to love so much that he gave his own life ... screaming "My God! My God why have you forsaken me?" ... but Jesus loves God enough to keep giving everything until he says his final words ... "It is finished."

It means God didn't allow Mary Magdalene to believe there was a reason to go the cemetery even though it was under marshal law ... but she went anyway because ... she still wanted to believe when there was nothing to believe in anymore.

It means Judas didn't love Jesus ... and Jesus didn't love Judas ... though it was the last affectionate moment for both.

It means the powers-that-be ... Government rules ... and always wins ... because Government had it's way on Good Friday and God supported it.

Honestly ... there's nothing good about Friday.

And I have a hard time believing in a God who scripted such a brutal, horrific, unjust end to anyone's life.

I do think Government had a lot to do with Jesus's brutal, horrific and unjust ending because ... Government cares about itself more than anything!

I do think Jesus and Judas were two friends who were both doing the best they knew how ... they truly loved each other ... and sometimes friends betray each other.

I do think it's good to keep believing when there's not much to believe in anymore ... miraculous things happen if you do ... in spite of evidence to the contrary.

I do think that when things are bleakest ... God is nearest.

I do think our relationship with God is managed on our schedule because ... God is willing to wait ... when we're not.

Ad I do think there is Good to be found in any day ... even the worst imaginable ones.

The Worst I've Ever Done

No person is defined by the worst they've ever done.

We've all done "worst" we'd just as soon forget.

And the funny thing is we do ... until we're reminded sometimes.

And there are those who do define me by the worst I ever did.

It's very tempting to name names but ... they're not important.

They're right of course ... in one way anyway ... in that I've been at my worst on occasion.

Who's not?

But God people love to judge ... so they do!

I've never met a Judge who didn't become a different person once they slip on the black robe ... immediately cynical ... they deem right from wrong ... for a fee.

They remind me of Clergy who become different people once they slip on their black robes ... or suits with matching ties ... and act like a Judge ... for a fee.

"You have no boundaries," I'm often told, "you say everything. You share everything."

Yeah ... that's true.

I try to live an honest life.

Be transparent about it.

It helps me to get it out rather than hold it in so ... it's sort of selfish.

One day I'll write out the worst things I've ever done and then the best things I did too ... that'll be fascinating ... and hard!

But ...

I've had a slew of messages today from people ... most of whom I don't know ... who gain something out of what I share ... again for purely selfish reasons ... and it leaves me knowing ... with absolute conviction I'm doing the best I know how to do.

I wish I had more time.

I've got a weekly gig at the Nursing Home and ... apparently they missed me last week ... and a Lady in a wheelchair has my guitar tuner on her wheelchair ... and I need it back ... it cost $10  ... and I don't have $10 ... so my guitar's out of tune but her wheelchair is humming ... so I gotta go.

It's a nice day and it would be nicer to sit here and think about my worst and my best ... ah to Hell with it ... I keep trying to do my best ... sometimes it's my worst ... but I keep trying.

What else can you do?

Gripping Heaven

It appears I have come full circle.

I am married with children ... this time little girls who are nuts but ... I adore them and they remind me of the kids when they were little ... and it's a house full of joy.

I'm in charge of a Church no one would go to except something special happens each week ... I don't know how ... but it does ... and when Holiness happens you better get the Hell out of the way.

I'm in a restaurant ... which is exactly where I was last time I was in charge of a Church ... what are the odds?

I'm in trouble because of things I say and write ... get press, lots of reads and lots of reactions ... just like 30 years ago with Louisville Mayor Jerry Abramson called into his office to ask, "Micheal why in the Hell did you say that to the Press?"

It strikes me politicians haven't changed in 30 years.

My hair was long then ... and it's long now ... with a bald spot ... but I like the look and Sarah buys me "product" that ... I don't know what it does but she feels pretty strongly about me using it.

I'm playing guitar again on a regular basis and my voice is strong again and I like that.

"When are you going to write another book?" Jess asks me at the Breakfast Club today.

"I just did," I answer.

"Oh," he says laughing, "sorry."

I hate critics.

But let's be honest ... nobody cares about any of this.

Robin Wheeler got a ring.

I assume it was Mr. Handsome who gave it to her.

I've hugged Mr. Handsome and let me tell you ... it was pretty heavenly.

I know they're in Heaven.

But I'm in Heaven too.

I was reading the other day that when you have dishpan hands it's because your hands wrinkle to grip things better.

I'm just sitting here waiting on Sarah to get home.

So I can get a grip.

Making Tybee Work

"What are you doing here?"

"Getting my paycheck."

"Ah, it's payday!"

"No, it's get the check day."

"What's that mean?"

I get the check ... pay the rent ... child support ... buy some groceries ... fill up the tank ... and I have $6 left."

"Ouch," I say.

"I bought the $6," he says pulling a crumpled fiver and a one from his jeans.

"That's way worse than 'OUCH'," I grimace.

"It's alright," he grins. "I have no idea how I still have $6."

Grabbing his check he rips the envelope open and stares at it for a long time.

Suddenly silence overwhelms the clinking glasses and plates ... the hiss of the dishwasher ... customers laughter ... and the shriek of a lady who can't wait for the women's restroom so she opens the men's only to find it is occupied.

"Alright man," he says making his sad little way, "I'll see you later."

"HEY!" I scream.

Turning he stares.

"Enjoy the Hell out of the child support!"

Flashing a lopsided grin he mumbles, "I will."

And those are the people who make Tybee Island work.

It's not the retirees, home owners, second home owners, commuters to Savannah or wherever, rental property managers, anyone elected to office, vacationers and it's certainly not the Clergy.

It is the small business owner and the bartenders, waitresses, dishwashers, lawn maintenance, musicians, trash collectors who make this island work.

The same ones who make this country work.

It's not the wealthy, elected or self-righteous.

It's Easter and it reminds me ... when Jesus came back ... he didn't draw attention to himself ... no bolts of lightning ... Press Conferences ... front page news or any of that.

He was mistaken for a gardener ... filthy straw hat and dirt under his fingernails.

On Sunday I'm dropping $6 bucks in the bucket to honor those who make this island work.

And to pray for the souls of those who never notice them.

How Many Moments?

If you're taking the enemy out, it's best to start with it's leadership.

Guy Sayles is the Resident Assistant at Cone Hall.

He didn't know me ... couldn't pick me out if we were the only ones crossing the street ... but we were ready for the attack ... and I knew him.

Okay I made that up.

I had no idea who Guy Sayles was.

But I did start at the top, storming straight to the RA's room, pounding on his door which he opened ... ready to attend to the needs of the freshmen ... "Can I help ..." he started to ask.

"EAT THIS!" I screamed spraying the fire extinguisher in his face, laughing loudly and running away.

Our dorm had successfully conducted a hostile takeover of Guy Sayles dorm.

I still didn't know who he was.

He knew who I was.

A few days later I was horrified to learn we share a class ... and Guy surgically butchered me in front of the Professor and all 27 students by drawing me into a debate and ... well ... publically spanking my ass.

"I need to know this Guy," I told myself afterwards.

In no time at all ... we were best friends ... and while we had lots of fun together ... I owe him far more than he does me.

I would have never learned me without him.

I would have never gone to Seminary were it not for Guy ... and the rest is ... what it is.

Last night Sarah, the girls and I watched "The Theory of Everything" and I was finding it hard to not think of my friend.

Yeah ... he is that smart.

And he's had a tough year ... but haven't we all?

In the middle of the night, I kiss the top of Sarah's head, deeply breathing in her aromas ... really happy though often frustrated ... my fingers linger over her smoothness.

I was dreaming about Guy ... we were talking about life now ... the things we've been through ... what we want ... how frustrated we are it's not happening the way we think it should ... and arguing Soren Kierkegaard ... the magnificent critic of idealist thinking.

I no longer recall if Guy introduced him to me or I introduced him to Guy ... but I do remember our wrestling matches over Kierkegaard.

Guy settled with the Idealist.

I took the other path.

At 5:50 I wake ... love my wife ... burst into tears ... kiss the top of her head again ... and am more thankful than I've ever been.

It's been way too long since Guy and I ... and Anita, Mandy and Eliot have been together ... but I sure as Hell appreciated last night's talk.

So this morning as Sarah and the girls were leaving for work and school ... I relished each moment ... because no matter how many moments we have ... they're not enough.

Kierkegaard says that.

Guy did too.

But Sarah and I share it for a moment today.

Cursing for Christ

It was recently revealed I coached the Baptist Student Union Intramural Football Team and primarily taught them how to cuss.

Thank you Jimmy Cochran!

It is true that we were the best group of cussing Christians ever assembled on the gridiron.

What Jimmy Cochran failed to report is we played for the Championship that year against I-Eta-Thigh from the Fraternity League.

"You missed a block," I told Edward Hinely.

"Hell no I didn't," he retorts.

"Hell Yeah you did," I press.

"Hell no I didn't," he continues.

That pretty much sums up my coaching style.

Regardless, we won games that year as though we were predestined.

We were God's team!

As we prepared for the College Championship game against the pagan Fraternity boys, Dr. Nathan Byrd, who oversaw the Baptist Student Union wisely decided to hold a special prayer service for us.

He knew we had become cocky cursers for Christ.

"The Byrd," as he was affectionately called by everyone ... well, except the football team who called him "Damn Good Byrd!" ... led by example and used few words.

A special prayer service where he isn't even present would remind us to be humble and thankful for the position we're in ... playing for the Championship ... with the possibility of the Lamb eating the Lion.

The time and date was set and hundreds of faithful believers arrived.

But the doors of the Baptist Student Union were locked ... because Mark Wood and Mitch Wesley who lived in the building ... and who's sole responsibility was locking and unlocking the doors ... had fallen asleep ... in the tradition of Peter, James and John who wouldn't stay awake for Jesus.

So the service never happened.

We got the shit beat out of us by the pagan Fraternity Boys.

But ... Mark and Mitch looked extremely ... rested.

The Byrd however was quite pleased because ... in spite of cursing for Christ ... we were the first team to play for the Championship ... so he calls me into his office to ask if I'll coach the BSU softball team.

I am humbled by the offer and ... nobody can tell the Byrd "No."

That's how I also became coach of "The Master Batters" ... with jerseys of a naked Cherub with wings ... wearing a baseball cap ... with a really long bat for a penis.

It was the last time I coached.

Ah ... you can't make this stuff up.