Re-Gifting God

If you peel shrimp for a living and it's not shrimp season what happens?

The restaurant you work for lays you off.

Sunday after Tybee Bar Church, a member of the rag-tag congregation embarrassingly explains she's out of work because there's no fresh shrimp.

She's got kids.

Bar Church doesn't pass offering plates ... we don't have any ... there is a bucket some folks throw cash in along with written prayer requests and notes to God or someone in the band. Some cash from it's re-gifted on the spot and ... she cries.

No forms to fill out to be reviewed by an allocations committee, deliberation for the Pastor's Benevolence Discretionary Fund or bureaucracy dispensing God's love ... just re-gifting on the spot in this case.

You can help too if you're led to by following the link https://www.gofundme.com/tybeebarchurch

Working From Home

My wife hates me interrupting as she works.

The girls can interrupt her and it's not a problem because she's mastered motherhood ... the art of being nice to your children when you want to kill them in desperate hope of teaching them a life lesson ... but if I do it Satan himself doesn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell coming out unscathed.

But I can't help it.

She's hard at work as I stroll pass and ... "Damn!" I say to myself, "That is one beautiful woman there!"

I grab my phone and snap photos.

"What are you doing?" she asks without raising her eyes or fingers from the keyboard.

"Nothing," I answer.

"You're lying," she says continuing to type.

Of course I'm lying but I'm not about to admit it.

If I admit to lying I'd also have to confess to having impure thoughts and the whole thing would snowball ... straight to Hell.

She makes a face.

Now Sarah is the best face maker of anyone I've ever met.

Rembrandt, Picasso and Da Vinci would kill to have each expression the subject of their next painting.

I snap a photo.

"I'm working," she shoots "and this has to be done."

"I can't help it you're so beautiful I have to stop and take a few pictures."

"Umm-hmm," she skeptically moans continuing to type.

We've been married long enough so I know I best get the Hell out of there now.

"Love you honey," she says as I leave.

I fail to respond overwhelmed by impure thoughts.

Sarah says working from home is much more difficult than she ever thought.

Tell me about it!

God's Own Drunks

"Maybe you'll find a replacement. There's plenty like me to be found."

But there really isn't.

They believe with absolute conviction everyone's replaceable and tell me to my face.

"That's true," I recall saying "but it's gonna take five to replicate everything I do and you can't afford five."

An already angry face boils over into shades of red I've never seen before or since.

Thrusting his index finger into my chest, the anger erupts from his mouth, "EVERYBODY."

"Whatev's," I shrug using a favorite word at that time, stolen from a Canadian family I spent a lot of time with in those days.

It may have been the word choice ... perhaps the shrug of my shoulders ... but probably because I know far more about how things work than he though he believes otherwise.

When the dust finally settles, we're both right.

I'm replaced ... in fact they're still replacing me unable to find the right person or combination of people to do everything I did.

There's a sad satisfaction in knowing this but the grandeur of what we accomplished is long gone, fueled by the liquidation of assets, replacement of key personnel and radical change in mission.

What I'd spent 30 years devoting my life to is ripped from my hands and I'm left holding nothing.

It's hard to go from almost everything to nearly nothing in a short period of time.

Especially when it's unexpected.

It can be a marriage, job, belief, faith or hope.

It doesn't matter ... we've all been there.

I didn't do well at all.

Change is hard enough when you're not the one facilitating it and I went from being the key decision maker to reacting to each choice made.

So I did what a lot of people do ... I got drunk ... for a long time.

Drunk's great when you're in it ... and if you can figure out a way to make it last ... well, it's even better.

I see a lot of you know what I'm talking about.

We feel sorry for those of you who don't.

But nothing last forever ... marriages ... beliefs ... hopes ... dreams ... and even drunkenness.

Let me be positively clear, alcohol is not required to enter and remain in a drunken state ... though it was certainly the lubrication in my case ... it can be depression, anxiety, cynicism, narcissism ... bagism, shagism, dragism, madism, this-ism, that'ism ... ism, ism ism.

Honestly you can drunk your way through a marriage as easily as get sloshed at a Bar ... not fully engaged in the relationship ... and self medicating yourself through it.

You can cling to drunken dreams long passed any semblance of reality ... winning the lottery to cover your debts is a big one.

Dreams never die, forever laying dormant until the opportunity arises to grab hold of one and then you're a staggering, crazed person reaching for one only to knock it over ... spilling over the counter or the floor ... again missing out on something you've always wanted ... and looking foolish to whoever sees you try.

Nothing lasts forever ... including drunkenness ... regardless of how long you fight it ... sooner or later you wake up to ... reality.

If you're prepared for it ... reality's great!

If you're unprepared ... then reality sucks.

Again, we're not just talking about drinking ... but lots of other things too ... relationships ... self worth ... wishes ... cherished ambitions ... we're either ready for them or we're not.

If we are ... GREAT! ... expectation meets reality!

If we're not ... then it's simply best to follow Jimmy Buffet's advice and get yourself "drunk and jump right back in."

It brings me to one of my favorite Bible stories.

It's after Noah builds the Ark because the world's gone to Hell and God thinks it best to start over because the first time didn't work out all that well.

Noah builds a boat, lets a few people in ... utterly outnumbered by animals ... it starts to rain ... Noah and friends survive along with horses, ducks, geese, dragonflies and elephants ... everybody else drowns ... then, according to God's plan ... they start the world over.

"And Noah becomes the first farmer. The first thing he plants is a Vineyard. He drinks the wine, gets drunk, naked, and passes out" (Genesis 9:20).

The Bible doesn't say if Noah invented the first "Toast" or not but I think he probably did.

Here's to us!
There's no one else
So ... let's drink!

After being called crazy for believing in a God telling him to build a boat, fill it with animals and a few people because the world's gone to Hell, survive the greatest flood in history and then start the world over from scratch.

Noah pulls it off and if anyone deserves a toast ... it's him ... but they don't exist yet ... neither does drinking to excess ... so Noah plants some grapes ... waits for them to ripen ... harvest them ... makes wine ... drinks it ... toasts himself for surviving everything he's been through ... get shitfaced drunk ... takes off his clothes ... and passes out.

If you've ever done this ... or some of it ... it's pretty Biblical stuff you've done.

Here's where the story gets crazy!

"So Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his Dad naked, told his brothers ... Shem and Japhet ... who grab a blanket and cover their old man, but back in so they don't have to look and see ..." (Genesis 9: 22-23).

Well ... you know what they don't want to look at. 

"When Noah comes to, he knows his youngest kid told the rest of the family ... and figures it's them who covered him with the blanket ... so he curses Ham's son Canaan ... blesses the boys with the blanket ... and goes on to live to be 950" (Genesis 9: 24-29).

Now I can relate to lots of this story.

I've gotten drunk before and woke up naked ... and I cursed anybody who said I'd done something wrong.

I see some of you can relate to Noah's story too.

We can only assume Noah kept the Vineyard ... harvesting grapes ... making wine ... getting drunk ... taking off his clothes ... and passing out.

The Bible doesn't say one way or the other.

Here's what we know though.

Noah was never the same after the flood as he was before it happened.

I don't think he ever got over it which is why he invented drinking.

And I'm fairly certain he did it for the rest of his life.

Doesn't matter because ... Noah survives!

So back to my story.

After my drunken period ... like Noah I survive ... and also like Noah I'm not the same as I was before.

There were good things in my life back then ... just like in Noah's ... some great things happened ... on occasionally stupendous things ... but it's a new world now ... a much better one.

Like Noah who survived the old, selfish, arrogant, ways that led to the destruction of the world he lived in ... the world I once lived in is no more either.

It's been destroyed, regulated to the past, now little more than distant memories and occasional stories to tell if it strikes me.

Also like Noah, as my old life came crumbling to an end ... crashing down around me putting me in danger of drowning ... I got through it somehow and celebrated by getting drunk ... for way too long.

It's funny there's no condemnation of Noah drinking, getting drunk or losing his laundry.

The one who was embarrassed by it is cursed.

The boys who took care of their passed out old man are blessed.

Crazy huh!

The story though is really about surviving ... and sometimes the things we've gotten through in life have been so horribly rotten the only thing we want to do is get drunk and forget.

Or ... we can toast surviving ... drink to what we have now rather than we had then ... celebrate everything God's given us, including the lessons we learned from back then ... be fruitful and multiple because we're still here and capable of doing so ... and than can mean kids ... love ... ideas ... making the world a better place than what it was before.

So the next time you raise a glass, ask yourself which you're doing?



Micheal Elliott

A Home Made Ticker Tape Parade

Easter starts today ... Palm Sunday .

Jesus and his followers ... Disciples and otherwise ... make their way into the Capitol City for the first time.

On the way they lose their collective minds, taking off clothes throwing garments in the road as Jesus rides pass on a donkey. They rip branches out of trees, throwing them down too ... making ... sort of ... a home made Ticker tape parade.

It's the funniest way to kick off the Highest Holy Day of Christendom. 

As they get close to Jerusalem, near Bethphage and Bethany, at the Mount of Olives, he tells two Disciples, “Go to the village. As you enter you'll find a colt tied up ... no one's ever ridden the donkey ... untie it ... and bring it to me ... and if any one asks, ‘What are you doing?’ tell 'em, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back as soon as he's done.’” 

So they went, find a coat in front of a house ... untie it ... and are immediately confronted, “What are you doing ... are you stealing our colt?” 

"God needs it. We'll bring it back when he's done." 

They bring the colt, throw their clothes on it as a saddle and Jesus rides into the City. 

His followers take off their clothes, spreading them on the road while others threw leafy branches they cut from the fields. 

And those in front and those in back cry out, “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the kingdom of our father David that is coming! Hosanna in the highest!”

They enter Jerusalem ... go inside the temple ... look round at everything ... it was already late ... so Jesus and the Disciples leave the others and return to Bethany.

We make it sound so different these days.

We think it's a Hollywood movie ... a gazillion screaming worshipers ... Jesus with perfect hair calmly riding an unbroken Donkey ... keeping their clothes on but cutting Palm branches ... while singing in four part harmony ... "Hosanna!"

The Government and religious leaders are scared to death of the huge crowd of followers Jesus has amassed screaming for them to "BE QUIET!"

The witty response of Jesus is, "If they shut up, the stones themselves will start to sing" ... meaning the Glory of the moment is bigger than the sum of it's parts.

Unfortunately this exchange was added later and probably never actually happened ... but's used to illustrate the point that ... in this case ... Jesus entering Jerusalem is bigger than the sum of it's parts.

If we boil it down it what it really was ... Jesus and perhaps 30 or so of his closest followers ... make their way into Jerusalem ... and not during a peak traffic period.

They appear to onlookers as a gang.

They steal a donkey under the premise "If you act like you're supposed to be doing something people will believe you're supposed to be doing it."

"HEY! YOU STEALING OUR DONKEY?"

"No ... not at all ... we're borrowing it ... God says he needs it for a couple of hours. We'll return it right afterwards."

"Oh! Of course God can borrow our Donkey. Why didn't you say so?"

The donkey's at a Beth'plague or Fig Farm ... a huge agricultural commodity in Israel ... though Figs aren't in season ... so Jesus probably figures they don't need the donkey at the moment ... and he takes her for a spin.

Jesus rides "the ass upon which no man hath ever sat" into Jerusalem surrounded by screaming people, taking off their clothes to throw in the donkey's path, or tree branches with leaves and everything goes fine.

Jesus isn't thrown off ... which, in and of itself, is as much a miracle as turning water into wine.

You ever tried to ride an unbroken donkey?

When I was a kid my Uncle Larry and my Uncle Jerry told my cousin Ricky and I to my Grand Daddy's Farm. They decide give us a donkey ride ... to use Biblical words ... let us sit upon an ass which no man hath ever sat.

When we were done ... it was still an ass upon which no man hath ever sat ... cause the donkey threw us skyward as soon as we sat on it.

I've often wondered how Jesus pulled it off ... especially with crazy people yelling, taking off their clothes and throwing at him ... Palm branches and such.

It's no wonder the Law looked on.

Little wonder the religious leaders were in an uproar with naked people dancing and singing in the streets.

Lord knows the environmentalists were pissed at the ripping of branches off Palm trees.

But Jesus' gang peacefully enters the city ... head straight to the Temple to look around ... hardly anyone's there because it's late ... Church is over ... so they head back to Bethany ... and we assume to return the donkey though the Bible doesn't say. 

Of course, it makes you wonder why they went to case out the Temple at night? 

The answer comes the next day when they return, run out the people making money off religion ... turning over tables ... causing a riot.

"It is written My House shall be a prayerful place for everyone and you've turned it into a robbers paradise," is how Jesus justified things.

Easter starts with an orchestrated riot ... by a good size gang of religious zealots taking off their clothes and ripping Palm fronds off trees to throw at a "borrowed" donkey ... screaming religious slogans "Hey-sanna, Hosanna, sanna, sanna Hosanna!"

It's crazy right?

It's not the Easter we've been taught.

But according to the oldest Gospel ... Mark ... that's what happens ... other things were later added to the story.

Like most stories ... over time they grow ... substantially ... and this one's no different.

But here's what hasn't changed.

A tiny home made ticker-tape parade, late in the day, after most had left the Temple so they could "case the place out" ... cause they had plans ... starts off a chain of events that virtually the entire world knows thousands of years later.

The next day they return and Jesus loses it ... attacking people selling all manner of religious artifacts, paraphernalia, books, candles and jewelry ... turning over their tables, screaming bloody murder, chasing them out of what he says is, "My Dad's house."

Of course the religious leaders are horrified because they think things are going just fine ... so they do what anyone does when confronted by a crazy looking man surrounded by crazy acting followers ... call the Law ... but Jesus and his gang left before they arrive.

This sets off a chain of events that changes the course of history ... topples a religious institution ... crumbles the largest Government the world has ever known ... unleashes a movement demanding the Kingdom to come on earth as it is in Heaven ...  leading to a new religious institution ... bigger buildings ... stained glass ... Seminaries ... a bigger bureaucracy ... and tables full of  religious artifacts, paraphernalia, books, candles and jewelry for sale.

If you strip away the myth from the man all too soon" ... you too ... can see where we all soon will be.

And where we are is caught in a religious prison far worse than the one Jesus and his followers toppled kicking off Easter.

In Seminary I took a class called "Exit to Ministry" ... required for all during the very last semester we're enrolled ... taught by an old retied guest Preacher from an established stained glass Church.

The idea was for him to impart his practical knowledge of life in the Church ... and he taught us crazy, stupid things ... "when you sit in the chair on the Pulpit and cross your legs, keep your socks pulled up lest you cause a woman in the congregation to lust after your flesh" ... stuff like that.

On the last day, he asks if anyone has anything to say before we're unleashed into world to save it ... by making the religious institution, bureaucracy and image ... bigger, brighter and more refined?

Michael Ethridge, a friend who made a "A" in his Marriage Enrichment class the same time he got divorced, raises his hand.

"Mr. Ethridge," Dr. Graves says.

"Yeah," Mike says, rising from his desk, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and taking moment to look at the rest of us ... "I think we've all made a mistake," he says. "This isn't what Jesus meant ... he was against all of this pretentiousness ... the constant judgment ... the wasted money ..."

"What are you saying Mr. Ethridge," Dr. Graves impatiently demands.

"I think," Mike calmly replies taking a first step towards the door, "the first thing Jesus would do today is rent a Bulldozer and level every single one of these Goddamned buildings with stained glass ... books and suits and ..." his voice wanders off as he ponders and his voice cracks when he speaks again ... "and gold crosses.

Wiping his eyes, pulling himself together he stares at Dr. Graves, "and sanctimonious bullshit ... and tell us to start all over again."

Mike walked out the room and took all the air with him.

No one spoke as his words hung in the air.

It's what's Easter's all about you know.

Tearing down the bad so we can build the good.

Getting back to basics after we've found ourselves so far from the things we believe.

Even taking on crucifixion ... killing off who we are now to become something far better ... that's what Palm Sunday's all about.

Jesus led the way.

It's entirely up to us if we follow or not. 

Behold Your Life!

The thing about having a baby is ... it makes you think about ... CHILDREN.

Most of my thoughts are about Che who I spend far more time with than any other human being these days.

I talk to her mother Sarah far more than I do anyone else but in terms of waking hours, I spend more time with our 16 month old daughter.

It's very cool ... though I can sense you thinking, "Glad it's not me!"

A couple of times each night, intuitively anticipating her waking, I hear the formations of a cry ... a whimper really ... and spring out of bed so to not wake Sarah ... who believes she's really good at night feedings ... probably is actually ... but there's always Hell to pay for it the next morning ... so it's just easier for us if I'm the one springing out of bed to stick a bottle in Che's mouth.

Immediately our baby falls back asleep though it takes me a good quarter of an hour.

As the sun begins to bubble out of the Ocean, Che wakes excited for the day, dances in her crib when I open the Nursery door ... laughs out loud, retrieves her pacifier and hands me empty bottles ... gets changed and I lay her in bed with Sarah while I stumble to the outdoor shower.

Mother and daughter watch videos on the phone until I grab Che who blows a kiss to Sarah and we take off to begin another day of adventure.

And every day is one!

Breezing inside the Breakfast Club for coffee, Che's part of the family ... is passed around ... helps set up ... eats with the staff ... munches on bacon I put her back in the car seat.

Cranking up the radio to our favorite rock-n-roll ... we cruise down front ... along Butler checking out how many cars are in the Hotel lots ... read the sign in front of City Hall proclaiming, "WELCOME TO TYBEE! For your convenience you can pay your fines in advance" ... make our way pass the Camp Ground crammed full of luxury on wheels ... come to a complete stop at the sign beside the POLICE PALACE and PROCESSING CENTER ... by the Lighthouse and then back to the Club for another coffee to take home.

Sarah takes time to play with Che before diving into work.

After a morning nap, Che and I take one of our numerous walks ... with endless games of Hide-and-Seek ... sitting on benches ... blowing kisses at tourists ... stopping at Benny's to visit friends ... hike to the end of the Pier and admire the catches ... before making our way home again.

Throughout the walk are many encounters, occasional joiners and lots of hugs and kisses.

She's has a profound impact on me.

Walking slower, I see more ... making me stop with each new discovery, Che stretches my patience making me learn there's always time ... shocking me over how much shear joy there is in the red balloon dancing in the wind in front of Wet Willie's ... and Lord knows if we hit the Beach then we're getting wet ... regardless of the weather.

Late in the afternoon, we cook supper together ... until her sisters arrive and the entire world stops spinning as they dance in delight over seeing each other again because they seem to understand ... and we don't ... that every time you see someone you love or enjoy again ... it should be like it's the very first time ... because it might be the very last.

Che participates in dinner conversations by throwing out numerous vowels and if the rest of us laugh over something, she joins in as though it is humor itself we've invented.

Afterwards is bath time, also full of joyous adventure and games, then she blows Sarah and her sisters kisses and hugs my shoulder tightly as I take her downstairs to bed.

Laying her down, she reaches for the bottle with one hand while taking the pacifier out of her mouth with the other.

"Hey," I say looking her straight in the eyes, rubbing the back of my hand across her cheek, "What a great day we had! I love you! I promise we'll do it again tomorrow. Sleep tight. God ... I love you!"

At the door, just before switching off the light, I blow her a kiss.

She blows one back ... and laughs as the darkness comes.

I like to think that 40 years ago when my son was born it was like this but ... it wasn't.

I was too busy.

Don't get me wrong! Jeremy and I share a thousand adventures doing things together long passed when Fathers and Sons hang out together.

Kristen comes two years later and she and I had a remarkably close relationship where the pinnacle was when I left her mother for a new life and ... our daughter came with me.

Eight years later Chelsea's born and happily ... at least I prefer to believe it was happily ... co-existed in two different homes, equally splitting time between her Mother and Dad ... though in the end it's her Mom she focuses on almost exclusively.

I know I romanticize their childhood ... my Fatherhood ... and our years together.

I was young, ambitious, determined ... hungry for success which came quickly ... the world became my oyster and ... well, lots of energy that could have gone to my kids went to the world and each oyster I consumed.

Now they're gone, living their own lives and Jeremy and I talk a lot ... though he's busy with his family and a College teaching career so he's awful busy ... you know "the cat's in the cradle with a silver spoon" and all that.

My daughters though ... we don't talk as much.

They're busy with their own lives too but ... but ... the waters don't flow easily under the bridges.

It's harder when we're together ... for them accepting the realities of me now ... and for me not believing we aren't like we were then.

God blesses me with Sarah ... against all odds ... and she's got three girls of her own who are suddenly at least part my life too.

Have you ever watched a blender do it's work?

I'll make it easy ... open a blender ... toss in ice cubes ... tequila ... lime juice ... syrup ... salt ... things that normally never go together and ... hit the Puree command.

You ever stare at a blender while it works.

It's a violent machine.

Chopping wildly, eating away the sharp edges, taking the different and making them one ... something new ... and ... a Margarita is born!

It's the same blending a family.

Sarah, the girls and I live in the blender.

It won't stop until the girls leave and live their own lives away from us and I already wonder what it will be like then ... who will we talk with most ... which one will no longer need us ... where they'll live ... who they'll become?

Che too!

Every single day I see her change ... hair's thicker and longer ... she does things she didn't yesterday ... her face is every changing, ever growing ... she manages more ... and needs me less.

There's a saying I've always loved ... and believe to be absolute truth ... "When your child takes it's first step ... it's away from your arms."

Damn that's true!

And if you think it out to it's logical conclusion ... that first step leads to others ... each taking her further away ... until she arrives at ... who she is.

Let's be honest ... each of us did the same thing to our parents.

I was a Mama's boy with a Father who challenged me ... he often bordered on bullying ... just as he had been bullied by his parents ... until I finally broke away and ... initially they're horrified at who I become ... but I had success ... so they clung onto that when they could no longer cling to me.

"Tell them what you do," my Dad orders one night at a table full of his friends ... when I'm home visiting ... and my Father's proud as he can be on the one hand ... with no real understanding of who I've become and little of what I do in the world.

"Honor your Father and Mother so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you," the Commandment proclaims (Exodus 20:12).

The land the Lord your God is giving you is your own life of course and you should honor the two it took to make you.

As my Dad lay dying it's me he needs most ... not  my brother or sister who listened to him most ... mostly obeyed what he said ... never strayed too far from those first steps away as babies.

Who honored Dad most?

I was the one who left.

They were the ones who stayed.

I'm not saying my brother and sister weren't integral parts of his passing but ... it was me ... the one farthest away from him ... he sought as he made his final decisions in life.

"While Jesus is still speaking his Mother and brothers arrive and send a man in to say they need to see him now.  'Who?' Jesus replies. 'Who is my Mother? Who are my brothers?' ..." (Matthew 12: 46ff).

And Jesus ignores them.

Instead of beckoning to Mama's call, Jesus turns his backs on them, returning his attention to his Disciples and the people he's addressing saying, "Here are my Mother and Brothers! Whoever does God's will is my mother ... my brother ... my sister."

That's rough.

I mean I've turned my back on my parents but ... never said it out loud so they could hear.

Whoever does the will of God ... just like living in the land the Lord God has given you ... it's your own life and how you're living it ... are you becoming you? ... or are you being who others want you to be? ... even if it's your Mom and Dad wanting you to become someone other than who you are.

Here's the funny end to the story.

As Jesus is crucified, his Mom's standing beside him as he hangs on the cross ... and he says, "Behold your son," ... "Look at me Mom!" ... "See who I've become?"

The implied question behind the statement "Behold your son" is ... "Are you proud of me Momma?"

Mary's response isn't recorded.

We have no idea if she's proud or not according to the Biblical record ... though theologians and Preachers have forever answered the question for her ... "Of course, she was proud!" ... "She's the Mother of God!" ... "She the blessed Virgin."

All that came later and maybe it's true.

We don't really know.

What we do know is while still hanging from the cross Jesus says to the same crowd he called his "mother ... brothers ... sisters" ... "Take her as your Mother."

And his dying words are, "Take care of my Mom."

So our Mothers and Fathers give us life but ... it's our life they give to us ... not theirs.

It's one of the points Jesus makes anyway.

And God too, because the land your Lord had your parents give you is your life to live.

It's funny watching my kids lives they're in a land that's no longer mine ... just as where I live and who I am is not my parents place.

I'm already fascinated ... maybe because I've already lived through it once ... where are Maddie, Laurel and Cassidy are going to end up ... who will they become ... will Sarah and I be are part of it.

And Che ... well ... I don't want to think about it too much right now ... because what Sarah and I have right now ... is her ... in the same land ... the same life ... at the same time.

She's already taken her baby steps, gets faster every day ... grows stronger ... smarter ... confident.

One day Sarah and I are going to let her go and she won't come back.

She'll be living her life.

Just like our parents learned when we took off to live ours.

Just like God gave us life ... our life to live ... not anyone else's ... ours!

Behold your son!

Behold your daughter!

Behold yourself!

Behold this life!

Amen!




Micheal Elliott
March 2018

Thanks Dicky

I have no idea who Dicky Trotter is but he's invited me to lunch on his dime at the Liberty Street Fresh Market with an outside restaurant.

I'd always meant to check it out but never had and here's my chance.

Arriving the stocky jovial man meets me, gives a tour, instructs me to get anything I want and we take heaping plates of fresh cooked vegetables with mason jars of sweet tea to an table under a tree.

"You probably have no idea why I invited you to lunch," he muses as though sharing a joke with himself.

"You'd be right," I answer popping fried okra in my mouth.

Nodding his head with mischievousness eyes, he looks away for a moment and goes through the motions of blowing a smoke ring from an imaginary cigarette ...  the silence hangs.

We're the only ones eating outside on a hot Savannah day.

The roar of traffic on Liberty Street is intermittently timed with the Red Lights.

"Let me get you some more tea," he finally says, standing and grabbing my jar.

It's a terrible time in my life.

A thirty year career is blowing up around me ... I'm "suddenly single" ... living alone ... desperately trying to hold onto things that simply aren't there anymore ... uncertain of what to do next.

Placing the fresh jar of tea in front of me, he forcefully states, "I want to thank you."

I stare at him.

"You have no idea why," he laughs.

Shaking my head, his face radiates as he's obviously enjoying the moment, as though it's been rehearsed a thousand times in his head.

"For I was stranger and you took me in," he grins ... quoting Jesus.

"I was homeless and stayed at the place you ran ... we met a couple of times but you don't remember ... no reason you should ... I was in pretty bad shape ... but here I am now and ... I need to say thanks."

And Dicky gives me a lightness at that moment I hadn't felt in years.

We keep up after that.

I left the work.

He did too making his way to Tybee Island, first living in an apartment where he hosted "Fried Egg Sandwich" night to meet his new neighbors.

Sarah and I are there.

Then he found the boat so we rang him up asking if we can bring lunch.

Subs from Tybee Market carried us through a lovely afternoon on his boat though ... his damn cat Noir isn't everything Dicky made him out to be ... and Sarah's starting a Book Club and Dicky wants to attend and bring his friend Jan Elders.

Dicky never read a single book though he brought the most fantastic food which earned him a pass.

The Book Club fell apart and we saw each other only by happenstance.

He starts Dicky Trotter Promotions posting everything that's anything happening on the island.

"It's a good day to do good things becomes his mantra."

The last time we talk is October when I asked if he'll promote a Bar Church service we're having on the Beach to thank God for sparing Tybee Island from another Hurricane.

"Of course," he says ... and does.

You know how you hate it when people you really like die?

Yeah ...

I understand it's illegal to permanently live on a boat in the state of Georgia but Dicky Trotter somehow pulled it off which, of course, make us all love him more.

So ... hey Buddy ... it's my turn to say, "Thanks" ... for giving me some light in a very dark time ... for delighting my wife with the culinary creations you brought ... and for living on that boat right up until you died.

Your story goes on.

Just like you do somehow.

I don't know how.

Like living on that boat all those years.

The Long Way Home

Forty years ago sometimes seems like last night.

It had been an awful day.

I spent the morning and early afternoon in back-to-back-to-back classes beginning at 8 am and ending at 2 on a glorious sunny afternoon I barely saw because I was in the Library ... remember those? ... until 4 when I arrive at my job.

Storming through the heavy metal rear door, I leave the grittiness of a shopping mall back lot full of dumpsters to enter a state-of-the-art kitchen.

On my left Mitch Wesley's already washing large pots and dishes from the prep Audi, the large former women's Olympic Gymnastics coach for Germany had dirtied, sat to my right smoking a cigar, drinking a Heineken under a wild mess of snow white hair.

Audi looks like a clean shaven Santa Claus.

I mutter greetings, enter the bath room and change into a white shirt, black pants, red socks and black shoes and a red vest.

Exiting, I'm greeted by Audi's wife, the Wicked Bitch of the West.

She'd surpassed Witch status decades earlier.

"Hallo Michael," she evilly smiles taking the long black string and magically transforming it into a Bow-tie around my neck.

"Ve shalt be busy tonight so you must be at your best." she grins patting my chest with both hands each finger adorned with diamonds before returning to the restaurant.

Turning I look at Audi and grimace.

Grinning, he nods his head so I grab a crystal stein, stumble to the tap on the refrigerator wall, fill it with Heineken, immediately drink half, refill it and stand between Audi and Mitch.

"How is she?" I ask.

Audi puffs on his cigar and shrugs his shoulder so I look at Mitch.

"It's bad," he explains from behind a mountain of soap suds.

"Vat das von do?" Audi sighs draining his beer, filling it again from the same tap, clicking his stein to mine and we both drink.

A soaking wet Mitch exits from behind the soap suds faces us for a moment, makes a face and quickly fixes a plate of Bratwurst, dark bread and real butter.

I throw a hand full of spatzle into a frying pan with mushrooms, chopped onion, diced ham and bell pepper ... after it cooks I cover with Mozzarella and bake before garnishing with hot paprika.

Mitch gets a Pepsi from the counter and we eat quickly as the first customers arrive.

Within minutes, he's submerged in soap suds as Audi frantically works the stove and ovens as I take orders rushing back and forth from the 8 tables in the restaurant and the kitchen.

The only one moving slowly is Marlene ... the Wicked Bitch of the West ... Audi's wife and owner of Keinle's German Delicatessen serving fine European food, excellent Beers and the richest wines.

She greets and seats and takes their money when all's said and done.

Forty satisfied customers later, she happily counts cash and credit card receipts while Audi lights another cigar and sits as I haul dirty dishes to Mitch before gathering filthy linens and resetting the tables for the next night.

At some point, Audi hands me another beer.

Taking Seminary far more serious than me, Mitch doesn't drink leaving Audi's uncertain how much to trust him.

On a table beside Mitch is a large container where he's been instructed to empty the fine meat leftovers for Marlene's dogs ... things he and I aren't allowed to eat ... as employees we only get the cheaper cuts.

"How ya doing?" I ask Mitch who's drenched in sweat and soap suds.

"It's a night," he sighs.

I spit a big loogie into the container of fine meats for the dogs.

Mitch laughs.

Audi does too.

Marlene enters with a bag full of money, grabs the container, smiles curtly and leaves us to finish up.

"I gotta go," Mitch says grabbing a coat. "Paper due tomorrow," he explains rushing out after he watches the Wicked Bitch of the West drive away.

"Vant a-not-ter von, Micheal?" Audi asks, not wanting to rush home to his wife.

"Nah," I sigh. "It's a long way home."

Home is a crappy apartment twenty minutes away where my son and his mother are already asleep.

Audi embraces me as I turn to leave.

I love the man.

He loves me.

Our common bond is hatred of his wife.

It's cold outside so I stick in Jimmy Buffett music and take Interstate 265 to bypass the North end of Louisville to get to the South side where my son sleeps in the crappy apartment.

Then I don't know what happens ... it's one of those moments when I seem to be at the Exit in no time ... how did I get here so fast? ... it was one of those trances we sometimes fall into where we drive but are somehow not completely there at all ... almost like an out-of-body experience except I'm obviously still there driving.

I don't want it to end so ... I keep going.

Buffett's normally soothing songs aren't doing it so I hit eject and ... Super Tramp erupts from the speaking agreeing with me to ... "Take the Long Way Home."

I don't know remember how many times I drive around Louisville on Interstate 265 that night ... but it was several ... the bright lights of the city on one side ... the dark star lit expanse of Kentucky bluegrass on the other ... I just went round and round ... heading nowhere.

"Then Jesus was led by the Spirit to the wilderness to be tempted ... after fasting for 40  days and 40 nights he was hungry ..." (Matthew 4:1-2).

Here's the dangers of going to Seminary.

You learn things it could be better off not knowing.

God led Jesus to be tempted ... that just doesn't sound right does it? ... but sure enough it's God kicking it off the temptations.

Forty (40) days and 40 nights just means a long time ... it doesn't mean anything else ... it could have been half-an-hour before Jesus got hungry ... it doesn't matter ... he just got hungry.

The Devil shows up ... "Satan" in Hebrew which means "the Adversary" ... not a horrible monster wheeling in death and punishment but ... someone taking the opposing view ... and advises Jesus on how to eat ... nothing more sinister than that ... those Jesus takes issue with it.

By far the most interesting thing, though, is ... it's the "wilderness" Jesus is led into ... follow me here ... in Hebrew there's only about 200 words ... none of them have vowels ... a,e,i,o,u and sometimes y were added by Scribes later ... and depending on where they put the vowels give us the particular word ... the same Hebrew word can mean lots of different things.

The same Hebrew letters that spell "wilderness" also spell the word "word" ... or "speaking" ... or "thing."

If you study it long enough you come to conclude that "wilderness" means "the speaking place."

So God leads Jesus to the speaking place ... away from everything ... so they can talk.

Satan shows up with God and Jesus gets lots of advise ... mostly to take care of himself first ... though Jesus doesn't seem interested in anything other than actually conversing with God.

The Satan disappears.

God speaks to Jesus.

Jesus talks to God.

They reach an understanding.

That night in Louisville on Interstate 265 I was driving through the Wilderness ... where you can find yourself most anytime ... most anywhere ... Super Tramp's blaring on the speakers ... God's definitely got things to say ... and I'm in the right place to listen.

"It's all getting ready to change," God's saying.

"I'm ready," I answer. "I'm ready for different."

And just a little while later, everything changes.

The funny thing is I knew it was going to because ... I don't know ... I just did ... I think it was God ... it could have been Super Tramp ... but I don't think it was ... it was God and me having a moment.

I'm not where I was supposed to be ... doing what I'm supposed to be doing ... and that's often the way it is ... you have to break out of the ordinary to hear God ... not be where you're expected ... taking the long way home ... surprisingly putting yourself in a position to listen.

The ancient Israelites wandered around the wilderness for 40 years before they finally made it to the Promised Land.

That's a Hell of a long time ... but ... in the end they make it ... and I think the reason it took so long is because it's hard enough for one person to get to the point where they can have a moment with God ... add a bunch of others and it's bound to be more difficult.

Jesus' time in the wilderness was "only" 40 days and nights as opposed to 40 years ... a mere drop in the bucket of time ... but he seemed ready for the moment, even in spite of Satan's distractions ... whereas the Israelites took the time to explore each and every one they encountered.

Within days of taking the long way home, a tiny, broken down Church in the inner city of Louisville lost their collective minds and bullied me into becoming their minister ... seriously I was bullied by 5 little old ladies, once with a butcher knife ... and in a moment of quiet after much argument ... I said, "Yes" ... everything about my life changed.

Mitch was the first person I called for help and he brought his guitar and we made music for the sad souls who came.

I left the restaurant a short time later and, after one last beer with Audi, I never returned.

We moved from the crappy apartment for a really nice one in the city's worst neighborhood.

The tiny little Church took off ... taking me with it.

"And it was good,"  as God says when in the midst of creating something new.

So next time you find yourself brooding over a beer with a three mile stare ... or seemingly lost in thought when there's not a one in your head ... that crazy half asleep/half awake state when dreams are still real and reality is foggy and misty ... or you suddenly find yourself at the Exit way before you could have imagined and you decide to take the long way home ...

It means you're ready to listen and perhaps hear something far bigger than yourself.

You're in the wilderness.

And if you make yourself ready, God's ready to speak some words just for you.




Micheal Elliott
March 2018

Angelic Evaluations

"How's the baby?" she asks erupting into a fit of coughing as she's hacking up a lung and her body shakes so much the dirty robe slips off her left shoulder exposing her breast.

I wait until she finishes.

As I start to speak she holds up her left hand, ignoring the pasty white exposed flesh, takes a drag from her cigarette and a long swig from a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon, then she spits pieces of her lung into the yard.

"Che's fine," I say.

"I know," she slurs, chasing the beer with a bourbon.

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Just being nice," she grins finally pulling the robe back over her shoulder.

I understand her already knowing though I'm completely confused that she's being nice.

It's been a long time since my Guardian Angel has shown up and she looks the same ... like she does meth and could die at any moment.

She claims she was once a beautiful Angel and I did this to her.

"A beautiful child," she coughs erupting into another fit.

The pasty white breast pops out again.

"What do you want?" I demand.

A mouthful of stained yellow teeth flash a grin.

"It's annual evaluation time and I need you to put in a good word for me," she says matter-of-factly while wiping snot on her dirty sleeve.

"I haven't seen you in over a year."

Irritated, she thrust her lit cigarette at me and barks, "And why do you think that is Sherlock?"

"I figure Jimmy Cochran's kept you pretty busty."

My Guardian Angel only has two assignments ... me and Jimmy.

"I haven't seen him in a while either. His mother keeps him straight and it frees up my time to concentrate on the things I want to."

"Like what?"

Spitting a loogie that just misses my head but hits the cat feeding next door, she takes another drink before answering, "None of your damn business."

"Did he give you one?"

"OF COURSE HE DID," she yells. " Jimmy's scared shitless of me."

"I dunno," I say picking up "Mr. Brown can Moo, Can You?" a book Che's ripped off the last page, "it's hard to give you a reference if you haven't done anything."

"Listen, I've saved your ass a thousand times!"

"That's true. I wouldn't be here without you and you wouldn't look like you do with me ... let's make it an honest recommendation. Here ... heal this book for Che and I'll say the prayer."

If looks could kill I'd be long gone but ... an index finger with dirt under the fingernail touches Mr. Brown and the back page is restored.

"Dear God," I say with my eyes closed, "thank you for my Guardian Angel. I don't know what I'd do if you ever took her away. Amen!"

She takes a drag from her cigarette.

"Aren't you going to say thank you?"

"Go to Hell," she snaps disappearing and then in the distance, I faintly hear, "Really is a beautiful baby."

Music Heals (most Sundays)

I didn't want to do Church last week.

It's not the same as going to Church because that means I'd simply show up and either enjoy, or not, whatever happens.

When I go it's a shitload of work.

Arriving, I turn off the alarm in the Bar, cut on the Beer lights, unload the equipment, move tables and Bar stools, hang a sign out front, set up the sound system, test it out, make sure my guitars in tune and ... wait on the musicians to arrive so I can tell them how great they are for coming.

Musicians are funny people ... most have talent.

They arrive ... plug in ... and start playing.

If more than one arrives at the same time it obviously means I'm hearing more than one song at the same time.

Musicians prefer to play whatever they believe to be their best song of the moment ... usually something they've just written or learned ... and they need the positive feedback they've already given themselves for (a) writing a really great song, or (b) doing the greatest cover of a really great song ever!

My job is to give them thanks.

It's a non-paying job ... though in fairness the musicians aren't being paid either ... rather coming to have an audience  ... or in rare cases ... give glory to God for the music in them.

Sometimes it's just crap.

Sitting there listening, on a Bar Stool because I mostly function as the the "Master of Ceremonies" ... not the minister ... or a fellow musician ... but as the one who delivers a weekly audience for musicians in need ... I listen and put things in some sort of order and, after throwing in a prayer, some words and a story of two ... a worship service is born.

Most Sunday's it's great!

And sometimes I get to play rock star too though I know ... somewhere deep inside anyway ... that's not what it's about ... but I also know ... deep inside somewhere ... music heals ... and God knows the world needs more healing ... which is why a choir of Angels announced the birth of Jesus ... and not political kingmakers.

So these egocentric musicians show up demanding a sound system to plug into, a ready made audience ... er, I mean congregation ... and share their music believing with everything in them they put choirs of Angels to shame.

But ... there's this miracle that occurs every Sunday ... the music heals ... someone.

Even the shitty stuff seems to touch.

The musicians don't know.

The performance ... er, I mean the worship ... is over and they're rushing home to write the next song, conceive the next cover, rest up for the next performance or tell choirs of Angels they can open the next show.

But I hang around, unplugging the sound system, taking down the sign out front, putting the speakers away, moving tables and chairs back in place and turning off the beer lights.

As I do these things, people come up to tell me ... not them ... how much the music meant ... and they found some healing to hold onto ... and they hope it happens again next Sunday.

Who knows?

Maybe it will.

More often than not, it does.

In spite of who the musicians are.

But because of the music somehow.

It's powerful stuff.

Likely the most powerful way God could conceive to announce the birth of a Savior.

How to Open the Door

Maddie our sixteen year old who knows everything ... if you don't know something, it can be anything, and need to know, just come by and ask our daughter ... she knows ... is taking the SAT to get in College.

Let me just say Maddie made 1200 the first time she took her College Entrance Test and when I was her age I had to take it twice to make that ... 600 both times.

I didn't do all that great in High School ... having too much fun enjoying everything about it ... and was completely unprepared for anything when I graduated.

When the time comes, all my friends received "Letters of Acceptance" and are greatly excited about leaving home for school.

Not a single College writes me.

I was sad at being left behind ... missing out on what my friends were enjoying ... at my Mother's disappointment ... and my Father's sneering words, "You're not going to amount to anything without an education."

So I got in the car and drove to a College an hour away, knocked on a Dean's door, was invited in and talked myself into getting admitted.

All sorts of contingencies were applied but I still remember the satisfaction of throwing my acceptance letter on the kitchen table that night and telling my Dad, "Guess I'm going to amount to something after all!"

"Ask and it shall be given to you ... seek and you will find ... knock and the door will be opened for you" Jesus explains in a rambling discourse in Matthew's Gospel which is mostly about not listening to idiots while remaining focused on what you want most in life.

"May I help you?" the young, pretty Intern asks as I enter the tiny waiting room cluttered with two massive oak desks, several occupied chairs and three walls full of photographs, plaques and mementos.

"Yes, I have an appointment to see the Congressman," I reply giving my name.

Pretty brown eyes dart through a calendar and then darken. Immediately her face tilts to a computer screen and grows even darker.

"I'm sorry Mr. Elliott ..."

"Rev," I interrupt. "It's Rev. Elliott."

"Oh," she exclaims. "I am so sorry. Rev. Elliott but I can't seem to locate you on the schedule. Who did you make the appointment with?"

On the either side of the small room are two doors ... one is the Senator's office and the other is a Conference Room. The Senator's office door is closed but the conference room door is open and in front of a table sat another desk with a name plate with a name on it.

"Steve Green," I say. "He told me I'd be squeezed in according to my availability."

"Oh," she exclaims again. "Yes, sir Rev. One moment please," and she picks up the phone to announce me.

A few minutes later I sit in front of Congressman Lindsay Thomas.

Later I learn Steve Green is Lindsay's Chief of Staff ... and months after that I finally meet the man and he he laughs and says, "Oh I know who you are Micheal. You pulled a fast one to get inside the Congressman's door."

"It was important," I tell him.

"It always is," he laughs.

At the time, getting in front of the Congressman was one of the most important things in my life!

It had something to do with my work but for the life of me I have no idea what it was.

It's funny that years later, Lindsay and I became friends, hung out on the beach together, drank some beers and swapped stories.

Steve became a member of my Board of Directors.

"For everyone who asks receives ... the ones who seek find ... those who knock get in," Jesus goes on to say.

Truth be told, I've never had much of a problem asking for things or getting inside of closed doors.

Others have a difficult time asking for anything ... they're too proud, arrogant or embarrassed ... so they never ask ... don't go looking for something other than what they've got or who they are ... and haven't knocked on a door ... much less been let inside.

Ask ... Seek ... and knock is the advice Jesus gives.

"And it's true," George Harrison said, "if you want to know anything in this life, you just have to knock on the door, whether that be physically on somebody else's door and ask them a question or, which I was lucky to find, is the meditation {that} ... it's all within."

I know ... I know what you're asking yourself ... "He seriously quoted George Harrison after Jesus?"

Well, yeah. I did.

The former Beatle was a man who never stopped asking ... seeking ... or knocking on doors to find better answers ... enlightenment ... and satisfaction.

After knocking on and gaining entry to every door that interested him, he actually looked forward to dying ... so he could hurry and get on to the answers of life's bigger questions.

If you think about it, it's why we bother to come to Church.

We're asking questions about our lives ... seeking answers we don't have ... and knocking on Heaven's Door by gathering for some safety-in-numbers security that ... it okay to ask ... to seek ... and to knock.

Most people don't.

They accept the status quo ... opting to meet the expectations of others ... work hard to fit in ... follow the rules, laws and Commandments of the land ... dress according to societal norms ... and live pretty much like everyone else.

It's why the world doesn't like those of us who ask questions without easy answers.

It's why those seeking new things, ways, answers or lifestyles are shunned.

Worst of all are those knocking on doors to enter and implement new answers, living new ways and expecting so much more than what we've got.

I stood knocking on the door of an abandoned building in the part of town dubbed "The OK Corral" because that's where everyone went to get what's need to shoot themselves up.

It was late in the day so buildings blocked the sun and shadows fell on the building that was built as a Doctor's Office when those who could pay still lived in the neighborhood ... then it became home for a group of Nuns who started a Catholic Worker House to love the people left behind.

They ran the Nuns off and the house sits empty.

No one answers my knock so I push the door and it opens.

It's black dark inside but I am determined, stepping in and begin groping my way towards light emulating from the other end of a long narrow hall.

I have to tell you I was scared silly but ... this was important ... so I made slowly made my way ... until I got to the room where the light was coming from and step inside ... to find two men crouched in a corner cooking crack!

I scare the daylights out of them.

They scare the daylights out of me!

Everyone takes off running in opposite directions.

When I got away though it was with the conviction it was the right place.

The next day I called the owner living in Miami Beach and ask him to allow a year's lease rent free if we renovate the building and purchase the property within three years.

"Why should I?" he fires.

"It's a crack house now but we want to turn it into a place for healing ... targeting people who have AIDS."

He said lots of things in response but he never said "No."

Seven months later ribbons were cut opening "Phoenix Place", the state's first residential healing home for people, at the time, dying from AIDS.

Here's the thing though.

If you're brave enough to ask then you have to be crazy enough to seek answers you're probably unprepared to get.

If you're willing to seek new ways of living with answers you've found then you have to embrace the fact they're your answers and nobody else's.

If you're going to knock on a door, you damn sure better be prepared that it might open and you'll be invited inside.

So if it's money you want, ask for it. Seek it with everything inside of you. Knock down the doors keeping you from it. You'll get it if you do these things.

If it's sex or romance or companionship ... ask, seek and knock ... you'll find yourself with someone.

If it's fame and acceptance ... ask for it ... chase it ... knock down the doors and people in your way of obtaining it.

Understand though it never ends.

Once you ask, seek and knock on the door to get what's most important to you ... then what do you do?

You start over asking, seeking and knocking on the door of something bigger and better.

It's a life time of upward spiral asking ... seeking ... knocking on bigger doors.

It's not about God giving you what you want.

It is your need to ask, seek and knock down whatever's in your way to be at the place you need to be.

It's not pleading with God to give you all the answers.

It is all about your need to ask ... seek ... knock ... because this is what faith ... and life ... is all about and if you're not questioning ... searching ... or entering unknown places then you're not really living and it's in the living where God is found.

I think this is one of the things Jesus is saying as his bounces all over the place to make a point ... if it's God you're asking for ... seeking ... knocking ... block out the distractions and keep knocking ... even when your hand  hurts from the repeated pounding ... even when you stop believing anyone's there to answer ... even though you you're so damn tied of knocking ... and people are making fun of you ... because if you do ... that door's going to open one day ... and it could be today.