A Birthday Letter

Dear Sarah,

I know I just wrote you and you're not expecting to hear from me but, it's my birthday and I'll do what I want and I want to write you.

You are a celebrator of birthdays!

There is cake, wrapped presents, thoughtful cards and a theological belief system predicated upon the entire Universe stopping for a day ... with every single Angel in Heaven singing "The Beatles" ..."They say it's your birthday! It's my birthday too ... We're gonna have a good time!"

You were raised to believe birthdays are every bit as important as Christmas and if Jesus gets his day then we should have ours too.

I wasn't raised that way.

There were 3 kids plus two adults and we could only afford three birthday cakes each year.

Every third or fourth year we celebrated mine.

My sister Angie seemed to have one every year ... the rest of us rotated.

So it was never that big a deal ... except for Angie.

Plus I'm pretty self-depreciating and enjoy watching and helping others have fun more than me ... though I do enjoy myself and am as content as I've ever been ... primarily because I've never EVER been content ... until you.

The best part of my birthday is we didn't start it on time.

We stayed in bed, sleepily loving our togetherness.

I'm uncertain who gifted me the girls not being home right now, and I sure miss them, but it was a damn nice way to start a birthday.

By 9 though life gets in the way and I'm making phone calls for possible work and your fingers are flying on the keypad and ... it's just another day.

There was this moment though, you're sitting in the chair working and I kneel in front of you to say "Thank You" for the best present I've ever received.

You.

Let's uh ... find ourselves some sand tonight ... and celebrate.

Okay?

ME

More Important Things

"Hey if you don't mind, would you give an hour or so of your time to lend your expertise on homelessness and the things you did to end it for so many?"

It's Lon, a health care leader in the Northeast.

We were on a national leadership team and it's been four years since I've seen or talked to him.

People normally only communicate when they want something.

Reading his email fills me with an exhaustion that still hasn't quite gone away though it's been five years since I worked directly with homeless people.

Thirty years is a long time.

In those decades I've seen everything people can do to each other ... the Glorious and the Gut Wrenching.

The funny thing is he should be asking them and not me.

Whatever success we achieved is because my primary job was to listen.

"Hey Rev," a sick man wrapped in bandages asks as we sit in the courtyard of the homeless shelter, "can we have our own hospital?"

"Why?" you just got back from the hospital and you seem to be doing alright.

"They treat us like shit there," he fires. "I've got prescriptions but no way of filling them."

"I see what you mean."

It's true ... Hospitals treat you like shit if you can't pay.

So we built a hospital for people perfectly capable of understanding what they need to not be homeless.

Even the mentally ill know they need treatment and medication but it's damn near impossible in a country that blames the individual for whatever it is that's wrong.

"Damn you Lon," I mutter at my Laptop.

It's a rain kissed summer morning, a choir of birds sing as the sun blazes through the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt.

"He wants it for free too," I say out loud startling Squirrels playing in the trees.

Few understand the costs.

Everything costs!

Some are willing to pay the price though most are not.

I gave them my all ... and they took it.

At precisely the right time Sarah wakes and I delight in giving her morning kisses so Lon is saved for later.

I'm too anal to not write him back but at the moment other things are just more important.

__________________

The photograph is of our dear friend Dr. Jim Withers of Pittsburgh but really of the world who takes the Hospital to the Homeless because he understands they're incapable of getting their by themselves.

The Kicked Out of the Bar Church Band

"We getting the band back together," Sean McNally explains.

"Yeah! The Kicked out of the Bar Church Band ... Band," I add.

Through no one else laughs, Sean and I crack up.

Sarah, the girls and I strolled to Sean and his beautiful wife Wen's house on Friday night for hot dogs before watching fireworks explode over the ocean.

It's a great party with an extremely diverse gathering which is typical of Sean and Wen who took the island by storm several years ago and never gave it back!

Sometimes it seems like Sean and Wen are omnipresent.

"THEY'RE EVERYWHERE! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!"

Wen photographing weddings, Magazine covers and incredible ocean views ... Sean videotaping, fixing cars or playing wicked mandolin in his band In for a Penny (imagine a drunk Irish Jimi Hendrix on Speed ... it sounds like that!)

They fell into our lives one day on the sidewalk in front of Fannies-On-the-Beach when they relocated to Tybee because ... they were sick of where they were ... said "Screw It!" ... sold everything they own ... packed their five kids and became Beach Bums.

Now I consider myself a great Beach Bum but Sean and Wen are kicking my salty ass.

Anyway, for the first time in years, Sean and I sing into the same microphone while the other members of the "Kicked Out of Bar Church Band ... Band" play along.

We're not together that often anymore because ... I have no idea why ... we're just not ... but we love each other fiercely and would drop everything to do anything for one another.

And yesterday at Bar Church, Sean and I stepped back a couple of years, smiling and singing, praising God in our Beach Bum ways, like we used to back then ... before we were kicked out of the band.
__________________

Okay I know it's not a picture of Sean and me singing. Nobody took one yesterday. Sarah didn't come. Wen didn't either. BUT ... this is a picture of part of the original "Kicked Out of the Bar Church Band."

I'm An Unprofessional Christian

Like Pastors across the country I'm getting my game face on.

Most are "Professional Christians" getting paid for what they ask others to do for free whereas I lose money on the whole thing.

I suppose that makes me a Semiprofessional Christian.

Plus I don't wear a robe ... a suit ... a tie ... pants ... or shoes.

Definitely I'm an Unprofessional Christian.

I don't preach either.

There's W.A.Y. too much preaching in the world already and I refuse to be a contributor.

Preaching often leads to Judgment and there's W.A.Y. too much of that too.

Besides it's not a Pastors job to Judge.

That's in God's job description ... not ours.

Then again lots of Pastors think they are God ... Can you say Joel Olsteen? ... or T.D. Jakes ... or Oral Roberts?

Which reminds me of a joke ... Oral Roberts started his own record company but had to close it ... the hole in the middle of the disk kept healing over.

HAHAHAHA!

I just love that.

But I digress.

I don't preach but I do tell stories.

And we play lots of music.

"Every service," our friend Derick explained a few weeks ago, "should start with a Bob Dylan song."

That's pretty good advice more Pastors should hear.

Now don't get me wrong!

I don't know how but Holiness happens at our Church ... it's could be the Dylan music or the Potluck breakfast spread out on the Pool Tables ... but it's probably the people who attend.

They're nuts!

In the best sense of the word!

A few dress up but most are flip floppers.

Alright!

I'm psyched up and ready to ... not be in charge.

That's not in my job description.

It's in God's.

But first I've got to make Cinnamon Rolls for the girls.

Priorities.

Our Independence Day

Dearest Sarah,

As everyone else celebrates devotion to a nation I want to take a moment to celebrate mine to you and yours to me.

Ours is a great love story!

Meeting all those years ago, working together and getting married to different people at the same time.

Thankfully neither of those marriages worked out.

Sometimes Divorce is a great gift from God as we grow and learn that people come and go in life.

In the Bible everyone's always on a pilgrimage ... to find the Holy Land, be tempted in the Desert for 40 days or to find a rock where you can build a church ... so I don't know why anyone thinks living our life is any different.

"Micheal Elliott" I sadly say into the receiver.

"Seriously," you reply laughingly in your very understated humor, "that's how you answer the phone?"

You moved back, we worked together again a little while, God granted our Divorces, we went on an emotional roller coaster ride landing in each other's laps.

Today, while everyone celebrates America, I'm celebrating you.

You took a washed up Beach Bum and love me in ways deeper than any Ocean.

Doubling the number of children in my life, I love the crazy, always unexpected expressions of love from our children.

Last night at the fireworks on the Pier, I comforted one who's scared shitless of booms in the sky while you celebrated with another and the third was trying to make fireworks of her own in the sand below.

In the sand is where we had our start and not a day passes that I don't remember ... the walk ... holding hands in the dark ... the roar of the Ocean ... the pull into an embrace ... falling ... Sandy Kisses.

Leaving the Beach yesterday, my headphones in my ears endlessly supplying music that keeps me sane, you turn and say, "I have sand in my mouth."

Instantly I want to have our first kiss again.

We're still on a crazy emotional roller coaster ride but the ups and downs are about other things ... money, taxes, unrelenting demands from others ... not about us.

Thank God for the Independence we needed to have to find each other.

Thank God for you!

And Babes ... I'm packing a little sand for you.

Got it right here.

God Blessed America

As a kid I heard Kate Smith sing, "God Bless America" during the original "Night In Old Savannah" in Johnson Square.

She was old then with white hair but belted God's Blessing on America like all Hell was breaking loose.

Full of joyful pride, the patriotism of her performance sent shivers down the spines of the all white crowd and I can still see her in a chiffon gown, arms spread wide with a glistening mouth full of pearly teeth.

At the time it was still what people believed.

Later I learned Woody Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land", originally titled "God Blessed America", as a protest response to Kate Smith's song.

Kate Smith proclaims God blesses everyone in America.

Woody Guthrie admonishes everyone's not blessed ... people are poor, unemployed, without insurance ... people "wondering if this Land was made for you and me?"

There are fireworks on island tonight as thousands celebrate Kate Smith's America even if they can't afford it.

Others will watch the painting of the sky with prayer whispers to God that "things please get better."

And the Hero Worshippers will also be in force glorifying every decision the United States has ever made ... including the stupid ones that costs mostly poor kids trying to get out of poverty their lives to keep America strong.

Last year we were out of the country for the 4th of July.

It's my preference these days because in addition to my distain of the crowds, police control, orange cones, the screech of sirens and bombs bursting in air ... or elsewhere ... I'd rather get away from it.

Patriotism borders on demagogy ... blinded devotion to the Military ... Storm Trooper Law Enforcement maintaining order at all costs ... and the mindless blending of religion with politics ... leave me wondering.

I do believe God blessed America once ... and then left it to us to keep Holy and we haven't done a very good job.

In fact I think we've done a really bad one.

I also believe this land was made for you and me ... but it's not anymore.

It's made for the rich and not the poor and the elected officials side with the rich and the status quo so the rich get richer and poor get poorer.

I find little to celebrate in such things.

"Love it or leave it," someone's bound to say.

Maybe we will leave. Sarah and I certainly talk about it.

But we love it too much to ignore the bad and exclusively focus on the good.

Exclusively focusing on the good is blind love which always leads to bad things.

Maybe that's why we shoot fireworks into a dark sky to remind ourselves to shed a little light on who we really are ... and who we're not.

The Dawning of the Age of Aquarius

"Where did you get that?" I ask Winston, The Little Gay Dog.

Prancing out on the Beloved Back Deck, he's wearing a black wife beater tee shirt with fuzzy pink letters reading, "This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius: DEAL WITH IT HOMOPHOBES!" over a Confederate Flag.

It's hard not to love Winston, TLGD.

"Where do you get all of these shirts?" I ask

Winston, TLGD, is known for his shirts, all vigorously promoting acceptance of love in whatever form it comes.

My favorite shirts of his say, "Better Gay than Grumpy," ... "Closets are for clothes" ... and "Fundamentalists have different view of Gay Sex because it's on their computer."

He gets a lot of requests from people wanting the WTLGD line of clothing though he doesn't seem interested in commerce.

"I have to say," I continue when he doesn't answer, "I like that one."

Winston, TLGD, flashes a smile jumping in the chair next to the one I'm sitting in naked, basking in the sunshine, smelling the salt in the air, listening to Bob Dylan & The Band LIVE sing "Blowing in the Wind" and typing on my laptop.

He proceeds to lick himself down there.

"What do you want?" I ask perturbed because I'd just figured out what I want to write about.

Jumping in my lap he licks my face right after he'd licked himself and says, "Thanks for being my Daddy."

Wiping my face clean, I give him a squeeze and say, "I'm very proud of you. You've been put through a lot but you never stopped believing in you. And now you're as equal as anybody else."

Winston, TLGD, wants to lick my face again but I throw him on the Deck.

"Why don't you go celebrate with Mommy and the Girls?" I suggest.

Goddess opens the sliding glass doors letting her brother prance inside.

Propping my bare feet on the railing I think, "I love my family."

And I love America ... well ... today anyway.

Happy Hippy Moments

My Dad wanted me to be a football player.

I wanted to be a Hippy.

As you may imagine, conflict ensued.

I did play football but also had long hair, wore jeans with holes in the knees and learned to play guitar.

Dad spent the better part of two years shaking his head without speaking every time he saw me.

Fast forward four decades.

I love football, have long hair, have forsaken jeans for black running (only when necessary) and still play guitar.

On Tuesday nights I go to Monty Park's Acoustic Jam at Doc's Bar and play with old Hippies, Hippy want-a-be's, and people who missed out on being a Hippy and are trying to make up for it.

It's a lot of fun though a suspiciously large number of players are stuck in the 70s, poring their hearts out with James Taylor, Simon & Garfunkel and Meryl Haggard when he was at his most un-cool-ness.

Anyway, last night our friend Lona sang a song by Melanie who played at the original Woodstock qualifying her for a lifetime Hippy Achievement Award.

Lona did a great job and everybody sings along to a song that really has nothing to do with roller skates.

"Hey," I say after she finishes, "y'all heard Melanie and Miley Cyrus? It's great!"

A chorus of old Hippies, Hippy wanna-be's and people who missed out on being a Hippy exclaim in unison, "YOU LISTEN to MILEY CYRUS?" ... like I'm scum or a Hippy who doesn't bathe in a dirty, plastic bag filled ocean.

Now in addition to being a musician, shamelessly promoting his own band by wearing his new and very cool "Marsh Puppies Band" tee shirt, Monty Parks is an elected official experienced in making up truth when there none to be found.

"Of course he does," Monty says. "He lives with 3 little girls."

"Damn," I mutter to Greg who was definitely not a Hippy and never will be, "Monty's right."

"I'll be damn," Greg mutters back in military precision.

Chris Desa breaks into an incredible performance of "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles shutting everyone up because none of us can play it and it pisses us off.

But it was another great night of a little over two hours of peace and music at Monty Parks Acoustic Jam.

Well ... until Jim Simmons answers his phone in the middle of a song so his wife Sherri can tell him she's not coming.

"What the Hell?" has gone to Hell

Sarah and I are showing our friends Tim and Jess around Savannah and making our way to the historic steps from the original bluff occupied by Indians have been replaced by City Hall and posh hotels down to River Street where the water flows.

"People were more vertical then," I quip to Tim because the stone steps of death are a full two feet from each other ... obviously no longer fitting "Code."

At that moment we see the sign, "Historic Steps: Use at your own risk."

"No way," I mutter in disbelief.

"Sign! Sign! Everywhere a sign," is how Government exonerates itself from potential lawsuits these days.

Over the last few weeks on Tybee Island we have new signs too!

"Watch your step!" signs are now affixed at the beginning of every cross walk leading to the beach.

Let me ask a very logical question ... How can you watch your step if you're reading a sign?

Some Lawyer is going to make lots of money off the City when he proves in court that, in fact, one cannot watch his or her step while reading a Government Sign distracting someone from actually watching his or her step!

Somebody's gonna face plant and it's going to be the sign's fault.

It's just a matter of time.

Sarah, Jess, Tim and I successfully make it down the stone stairs of death and enjoy a nice lunch at the Cotton Exchange where Jean is still the bartender.

Jean and I go W.A.Y. back to when she served Gene Prevatt and I beers knowing full well it wasn't our pictures on the Driver's Licenses but we're good kids so "What the Hell?"

Four decades later I remain devoted to Jean.

A "What the Hell?" philosophy has gone to Hell in the not-so-United-States of America.

"What the Hell?" used to be a way of life and an adventure that became lifetime memories and great political advancements of courage.

Now it's a sign.

"Do this! Don't do that! Everywhere a sign!"

We could use a lot more "What the Hell?" in our decision making processes.

Sarah and I just did.

"You want to go to Mexico?"

"We can't afford it."

"What the Hell?"

Damn we had a good time.

You only live once!

What the Hell?

I figure once we get the Hell out ... we reach Heaven.

The Week in Review

This is Micheal Elliott reporting for FOX NEWS ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ... I can't even do that without laughing.

It should be me reporting for conservative right wing Propaganda on FOX ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ... I can't even do that!

This is Micheal Elliott on the Whitley Reynolds network.

Anyway here's the week in review.

The President did stuff. You may not like the stuff he did but he did stuff and had a killer week in accomplishments.

Congress did nothing again this week. Actually I'm pretty convinced Mitch McConnell is dead but nobody's told him. I'm pretty convinced all of Congress is actually dead and it's their staff cashing the payroll checks ... well ... except for Buddy Carter who's busy making phone calls.

The Supreme Court is the nations tie-breaker. With a President who does stuff and a Congress who does nothing, there has to be a tie-breaker. In the not-so-United-States that's the Supreme Court who ... completely defying logic ... have a tendency to get it right more than they get it wrong.

Those wacky Baptists continue their funny ways!  A Baptist Minister from Texas sets himself on fire to protest the Supreme Court's ruling on equal marriage for everybody then claims it was an accident! Baptists crack me up!

Donald Trump continues to make money saying stupid things. Did you watch the Press Conference announcing his run for President? There's really nothing else to say.

As much as the President did this week, and he did a lot, the man cannot sing. I thought it was pretty cool he broke into "Amazing Grace" at a funeral and got everybody on their feet but he can't carry a tune in a bucket which is why the piano player tried to save the day but couldn't because the President thinks he's Marvin Gaye.

The national dread of Jon Steward no longer delivering real News is reaching epidemic proportions! Seriously ... he's the only one who really delivers the News and gets it right.

The guys who broke out of prison in New York continue to amaze every one! Having shattered the record for escape ... one is killed by 375 police officers while the other eludes capture ... 375 to 2 and 1 escapes ... the escapes have a stolen shot gun they don't use ... the 375 cops are armed with everything from Uzis to tanks ... very similar to our Island's Police Department ... but let one get away ... kind of like alleged Rapist by the Beach.

Well that's the "Week In Review" for this week.

Next week, we'll shift to local news.

Thanks and have a great day!

Forever Love

It was at Groves High School in Garden City, Georgia in the early 1970s that a friend told me he's gay but he didn't want anybody to know.

"Why not?" I stupidly asked.

"It's tough being beaten up," he replies.

Immediately I understand.

A few years earlier I'd danced with a black girl at a dance at Mercer Middle School and the next day I was beaten up only to be momentarily saved by friend Gene Prevatt who was then beaten up too.

"Elliott," Gene says holding a bag of ice on his head as we recover in the school infirmary, "Don't ever do that again."

I did.

Something was born inside of me as a result of these experiences.

The Gospel came alive.

"Beloved if God so loves us we should love ..."

It's the funniest play of words in the Bible.

Most follow it logically through and finish the sentence with "God."

"Beloved if God so loves us we should love God" ... and that's certainly how most live their lives ... from ISIS to Southern Baptists and everything in between.

But that's not what it says.

"Beloved if God so loves us we should love one another" (1 John 4:11).

"About damn time," I say learning of the Supreme Court decision to allow marriage for all.

Then it's with horror I read the Christian responses.

Just as I'm getting angry, our beautiful daughter Terenca writes ...

"Being a former divorcée, I know how hard it is to find forever love. The kind of love where they love you for everything you are and everything you're not. Same sex marriage... or interracial marriage... or marriages with significant age differences don't make me feel threatened as a Christian. I'm called to love and serve. Until my last breath, I will. Congrats to my family and friends on your victory today. 💋  "

Immediately I calm down.

Damn I'm glad she's our daughter!

My friend from High School got "illegally" married a while ago.

Sarah and I are completely overjoyed his marriage is now as recognized and precious as ours.

Love is hard enough to come by and hold onto so, when you find it, do your best to hold onto it forever.

You may never get another chance.

Blind in one ear

One of the things about being a renegade musician is I don't play songs people want to hear but only what I like.

That's why I'm not paid any money but I do have a good time.

So "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road" performed at the Nursing Home takes on special relevance to all the inmates who will soon die themselves.

It cracks me up when they sing and laugh at the finality of it all.

That's music connecting with people!

"Why didn't you come get me?" a white hair lady in a wheelchair demands as we're leaving.

"I don't know where you live," I honestly reply.

"I live it a freaking Nursing Home," she snaps. "It's not that hard to find anybody."

I have no idea how to respond.

Rolling her eyes, she squeezes my hand and says, "I'm in 222. You can come in anytime. If I'm asleep ... wake me up."

I remain speechless.

"Hey man," an old man says grabbing my hand and saving my ass, "I saw The Rolling Stones but I like you better."

"Really?"  I ask letting him lead me away.

"Yes," he emphatically states, "but ... I'm blind in one ear."

Stopping dead in my tracks I drop my guitar on the floor and stare at the jolly black Santa Claus walking me out the door.

"Blind in one ear?" I ask.

"It sucks," he says leading me on.

Home again, I strip and hit the outdoor shower, washing away the sweat of giving the inmates everything I've got.

Fixing a drink, I stroll naked to sunshine of the Beloved Back Deck, hit "play" on Spotify ... currently I'm listening to the Billboard Top 100 from every year since the year I was born in 1956 ... which is where I find the songs I like to play.

"Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road" peaked at #16 on the charts in 1973.

Sipping my drink, I contemplate the wonderful survivors who pay to be incarcerated so their families can remain free.

"Blind in one ear," I laugh out loud to Goddess.

Holy Jesus! I've got great fans!

KNOWN FACTS ABOUT TYBEE ISLAND

KNOWN FACT #1:

If you turn on the sprinkler to force it to rain, it will not.

However, if you turn on the sprinkler because it's not going to rain, it will.

KNOWN FACT #2:

If you put up a bird feeder on Tybee Island it will initially draw scores of beautiful birds before Squirrels conduct a hostile takeover ending in a major war leaving dead birds littered in the yard.

KNOWN FACT #3:

Chu's Department Store no longer has everything.

KNOWN FACT #4:

The words "THANK GOD" are most often uttered upon finding a parking place on Tybee Island.

The words "God Dammit" are most often uttered upon learning it costs a quarter/15 minutes to park.

KNOWN FACT #5:

There are more yellow curbs on 13th Street on Tybee Island for no apparent reason than any other street.

KNOWN FACT #6:

If you are in a hurry on Tybee Island ... say your Mother is having a heart attack and you're racing to the Emergency Room ... you will have to stop multiple times because there are more "Stop Signs" per square inch on island than anywhere else in the world ... AND ... you will be pulled over, interrogated, have your car searched without a warrant, and ticketed on your way by the Police Department.

If your Mom grabs her heart and moans during the search ... she may be taised.

KNOWN FACT #7:

The wonderful official song of Tybee Island ... "Living on Tybee Time" was written by Roy Swindell who is a bootleg resident only coming on island when he's paid to do so ... or feels sorry for the year round residents.

KNOWN FACT # 8:

Dogs are ticketed for barking.

The official ordinance reads "30 minutes or more of insistent barking" but tickets have been clocked as fast as 4 minutes as the Animal Control Officer with Police Back up pounds on the front door when nobody's home other than the dogs.

KNOWN FACT #9:

According to an unreliable source ... the Police Department ... The annual "Beach Bum Parade" generates more arrests for guns, fights and public drunkenness than "Orange Crush" annually.

KNOWN FACT #10:

The sunrises, sunsets, smell of the marsh (the aroma of sex in the Tropics), cloud formations and friendliness of people remains among the best ever.

How Big The World Is!

It's funny.

And shocking.

I'm forever surprised who's keeping up.

Every day I write and post on my personal Facebook page ... the professional Facebook page ... the BlogSpot pages ... sometimes on LinkedIn ... and occasionally elsewhere ... people share it on their pages ... and WALLA! ... suddenly a couple of thousand of people read it.

Every day!

The trick is doing it every day.

The readers are always changing because the same people don't read it every day ... but the reach over the course of a week extends to tens of thousands.

It's nice when folks "like" it, better yet, "comment" with their own thoughts ... though it's an ever changing cast of characters.

"I read you every day," I'm often told, "but I'm not going to hit "like" every time or "comment" because I like what you said or think you're full of shit and neither require energy on my part."

I'm cool with that.

I've lived a public life ... saying things in the Press I wanted ... and I've always tried to be quiet and respectful when others reply ... good or bad ... because I've had my say ... now it's someone else's turn.

It's a grand metaphysical dialogue as far as I'm concerned.

But sometimes ... people chime in ... and touch my heart ... making me glad that in spite of time and distance ... they care enough to keep up ... or new unknown friends want to get involved.

Just yesterday ... my dear friends and partner Bob Colvin ... Laura Webb ... Joey Finch ... Mary Clayton Harris ... Ana Zandler Murphey ... Santa John Driggers ... and a "Holy Host of Others" take the time to write, filling my soul ... reminding me that sharing's better than hiding.

Terry Ball ... the great Public Servant ... it doesn't get any better than him.

There are others ... lots of others ... every single day ... sharing in their way ... Johnny O and Judy O ... O Johnny and O Judy ... the famous Dr. Jim Withers ... Carlito in St. Martin ... Sandy Durden ... Derick and Michelle ... and another entirely separate order of "Holy Hosts."

The Press reads it and sometimes what I write turns into "News."

Then there are those who read and private message or keep private and bring it up latter in live conversation.

It's funny and humbling.

It's a world wide audience beginning outside our front door.

"Sarah's pretty mum about whatever it is I have to say because she fearlessly protects our solitude and I'm so "out there."

"Let it out and let it in," The Beatles advise.

I agree.

I have my say ... letting it out.

Others have theirs and I do my best to let it in.

It's a pretty good way to find balance I think.

Like "Ying and Yang" ... Tao ... or "finding your life by losing it."

It's just amazing how big my world is!

No Pier Pressure

For years it was my job to keep everyone happy which is, of course, an impossible task.

At the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel and then at Union Mission, Inc. I tried my very best to be "all things to all people" actually achieving great success at both.

Yet they extracted personal costs in return and in hindsight, while each gave me a lot, I gave them lots more so the scales never balanced.

Both were incredible runs though neither ended the way I wanted.

I don't revisit the "Graveyard of Casualties" or my "Litany of Sins" as each becomes a chicken bone stuck in my throat ... hard, painful and continuing to choke the life out of me.

On the rare occasions they find me, I perform quick exorcisms and focus on the N.O.W.

I know I did the best I could, don't second guess myself and proud I'm a survivor ... still here swinging.

Though I do marvel at it all.

"My life is good," as Randy Newman conceived himself ... and I firmly believe it.

I've come to believe life's a lot like surfing.

You get ready ... wait for the wave ... miss a few ... catch a few ... some are better than others ... a few peter out while some build to fantastic crescendos ... the ride itself is exhilarating ... sometimes you fall off ... other times it ends perfectly.

You never know what's going to happen.

No wave last a lifetime.

Then you either quit or do it again.

And it's hard to surf again if you spend your time constantly focusing on the last wave.

So far, I 've kept doing it again and the waves get better ... anticipation is replaced by acceptance ... I marvel at the love in my life today.

Life is mostly Sarah, our children, our home, the salt and the Sea.

We don't succumb to Pier Pressure carefully protecting what we have while viciously guarding how much we give.

I've learned you only have so much to give in life ... the pool grows shallower with time ... and if you keep giving they keep taking ... and in the end it's you and who really loves you.

At the end, it's just you and who loves you who dive off the end of the Pier to catch the next wave to whatever's next.

ME and 90 Year Old Teenagers

"The soul that's born in the body remains the same. It's the body that changes. That's why 90 year olds act like teenagers."

George Harrison said that.

Going to the Nursing Home on Thursdays to do a concert makes me understand the truth of his words.

All these young souls in old bodies walk, roll or are carried out and as we play ... they come to life ... as teenagers.

They smile, sing along, sometimes dance and love the "naughty" songs.

"Jesus loves me", "Unclouded Day" and "Will the Circle be Unbroken" are sing along songs ... because that's what we're expected to sing ... and they play the part as long as security watches ... meaning ... the Nurses and Aids are overseeing.

Once the Nurses and the Aids see the inmates are doing fine ... they take off for the water cooler ... or the coffee break ... or time alone ... or romance in a closet.

The inmates brighten up.

I play Lyle Lovett's "If I had a Boat" and every one of those 90 year old teenagers grin and wait for these lines.

The mystery masked man was smart he got himself a Tonto
Cause Tonto did the dirty work for free
But Tonto he was smarter and one said Kemo Sambie
Kiss my ass I bought a boat, I'm going out to sea

They laugh and clap and sing and smile and feel as they're getting away with something again.

It fills my soul with joy.

"How many of y'all got caught last night?" I ask.

Several raise their hand and I laugh like crazy at who it is.

"Y'all ready to break out?"

They're all ready.

We play "Dead Skunk in the middle of the road" which is about a Skunk getting killed and the 90 year old teenagers who are all preparing to die laugh and sing along.

Then the Nurses and Aids return to roll or walk the inmates back inside for medicine, therapy, snacks, naps or to smoke outside and we all break into ... "What a friend you have in Jesus."

The Nurses and Aids are satisfied at our ministry to the Nursing Home residents and ask if we're coming back next week ... then they ask if I'll stop by the Director's office on the way out.

The Director is a twelve year old wearing his father's hand me down suit.

"We really appreciate you coming here," he squeaks in his twelve year old voice, "but you can't post any of this on Facebook. It's against HIPPA requirements."

"I have no idea what you're talking about,"  I reply. "We didn't do it."

"Thanks for understanding," he squeaks.

Strolling out of "The Principal's Office", several 90 year old teenagers give me the eye and I nod with my eyes and smile and they smile back and nod their eyes.

For a little while anyway ... we held hands and shared our hearts together ... "Kiss my ass I bought a boat, I'm going out to sea."

God I love these kids.

They keep me young.

A Talk with my Dad

"Hey Dad!"

"Hey Bub!"

"Happy Father's Day!"

"You too."

"How's Heaven?"

"Ah, you're going to like it."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. It's everything you like."

"Like what?"

"Well we don't do all the things you like ... we do the things we like ... but everything that you like is here."

"Who's 'We' Dad?"

"Billy Herrin and me."

"Of course," I reply, "How is Billy?"

"He's good. You want to say 'Hey'?"

"Hey Billy!"

"Hey Micheal."

"You taking care of my Dad?"

A long awkward silence follows ...

"Danny Sims just got here," Dad says so we're showing him around.

"That's great! What are you showing him?"

"You've got a lot going on," Dad says changing the subject.

"I do," I laugh ... Dad's been in Heaven a long time now but he hasn't changed a bit.

"Hey Dad," I say changing the subject, "do you get to keep up with everything happening since you left?"

"Hell Yeah!" he fires back. "Sarah and the girls are wonderful! Ruth looks just like Eric ... don't tell Maggie ... I'm so proud of Kristen for graduating ... Chelsea and Sam are rolling ... and Jeremy and Terencia ... well who saw that coming? ... Chandler's hair looks great ... and Gage got into Georgia!"

"Dad ... is it like on a big screen television and you can watch all of this whenever you want?"

"Something like that," he laughs.

"We gotta go," Dad suddenly says changing the subject ... a family trait.

"What's the hurry Dad?"

"Hmmm ... there's another version of the 'Billy Blitz' here ... and then we have a pool we have to collect for ..."

"What the pool for Dad?"

"Which one of y'all have the first baby," my father laughs. "$100 to get in ... then you have to flip to see if its a girl or a boy you're betting on."

"Miss you Dad."

"You too Bub."

"Happy Father's Day."

"You too."

Empty Words

It's very cosmopolitan here.

The British, Russian, French, Canadian, Asian, Americans and, of course, Mexicans effortlessly glide pass each other, form quick relationships and are fast to offer a helping hand.

Everyone holds doors open for everyone else.

Everyone dances together by the pool.

Everyone breaks bread beside one another in the restaurants.

I've yet to hear one cross word.

No one's pushing religion.

Nobody's talking politics.

It's something I've come to love about this part of the world.

The peoples of the Carribean ... and those who visit its lands ... are a giant gumbo comprised of different ingredients forming one explosive taste of the delight.

There is no racism.

Unlike home.

The United States is predicated on race and it's gotten to the point where its infected blacks as well as whites and mostly every other color that Jesus says he loves.

Learning of the horrific shooting of black people by a white gunman in Charleston, South Carolina, which is spitting distance from where we live, I'm reminded race seems to be in the water of the United States and is lurking under the dirt our country is built upon.

Certainly some things have gotten better ... politically for the most part ... which is sad because it means in most every other way ... religiously, educationally and personally ... seems predicated on tolerance.

In the United States, collectively anyway, everyone pretends to not be racist.

"I have a dream," our country's only Major religious Prophet once proclaimed, and I'm glad I get to see it has come true in countries other than my own.

I'm still naive enough to believe maybe one day ... the USA really does believe the words on the Statue of Liberty.

A Race for Life

Carelessly she tosses the plastic top of her Pepsi bottle into the water as she keeps walking while gulping the drink in the hot Mexican sun.

The white cap floats upside down in the crystal clear lagoon.

A scream immediately follows as a woman runs down the gangplank, retrieves a catch net and runs as fast as she can to the lagoon.

At the same time the giant Manatee is moving as quickly as it can towards the floating bottle cap.

A race for life is one.

The woman ... young, athelitic, brown skinned with long flowing black hair ... screams, "NO! NO! NO!"

The Manatee gluides effortlessly.

The crowd in the Marina watch holding our breath.

Just as the Manatee begins to surface, the net scoops the bottle cap from the water.

The Manatee submerges.

The woman is drenched in sweat but smiles.

On Tybee Island where we live, there is discussion of banning plastic bags because too many people lose them on the beach and the wind blows them into the ocean where turtles and fish mistake them for food.

Certainly it's the exception rather the rule ... most people clean up after themselves but too many don't and their bags become predators.

It's unfortunate that plastic bags are a way of life in the United States because they are more cost effecient for manufactors and suppliers.

It's hard to buy anything anymore without a plastic bag.

Of course it's not the bags fault ... it's the users.

I already think Tybee is over-regulated, heavily enforced and oppresively fined so the last thing it needs is another regulation.

Besides it would penalize the majority because of the acts of the few.

Yet after watching a race for life yesterday and feeding the Manatee a head of lettece while it hugged  my leg, it makes me wonder if Tybee's getting this one right.

Go Now!

"Way own here you need a reason to move," says the Major Prophet James Taylor and he was right.

What's funny about that song is it's J.T.'s first trip to Mexico and he drank the water and got sick as a dog.

The only reason to move was to go to the bathroom.

He spent three days in Mexico mostly sitting on the toilet but out of everything that came out ... the song was included.

"I've never really been but I'd sure like to go," he sings at the end.

It cracks me up.

I'd like to say that in Mexico we're staying away from the water but that's not true.

I've gulped it down.

Maddie has too.

We're still standing though neither of us have written any songs.

Mexico ... at least the part we're in ... has changed.

Starbucks is around the corner.

This place attentively meets your every need.

I'm glad we're here ... I think everybody should make it to the places they want to see before they die and the best time to do it is when you're living.

Too many wait on retirement and never make it to their dream places.

I'm also thankful I've been here several times to see how it's changing ... seriously a Starbucks in Mexico? ... and am glad I got to experience it before such things.

Sarah, the girls and I've had a marvelous day swimming with (and kissing) Dolphins, feeding Manatees, swimming in the ocean and drinking numerous frozen drinks.

We want all of our kids to learn it's best to "GO NOW!"

You may never get the chance again if you don't make it happen now.