Blue Ice

We're driving down the road with snow capped mountains on one side and gray angry ocean on the other making our way to the blue iced glacier. The wind is blowing so the waves are high and crashing into one another. It is raining so the greens of mountains bow in their wetness. Water sheets down the rocks and waterfalls gush down.

Staring out of the back seat window I see a bald Eagle flying beside us carrying a large fish in his claws. Jim slams on the brakes because the cars in front of us see it too. The Eagle turns into the Mountains and disappears. Traffic moves again.

We turn into one of Alaska's few roads into the Mountains. The woods are thick and the few houses are hidden. I've learned that most of Alaska's housing is substandard and really not designed for winter. That seems odd doesn't it? But construction here only takes place in the summer which is about two to three months of cooperative weather. So every construction project in the state takes place at the exact same time and it's a race to see what gets finished.

The stunning beauty of the mountains, forest, ocean and glaciers are in stark contrast to the ugliness of Anchorage. Low and flat the city is mostly miles of strip malls. Many of the side roads are unpaved so the constant rain has turned them into muddy messes. Potholes are everywhere. There are strip clubs, chain after chain of restaurants and car dealerships. There is a surprising low number of vehicles with four-wheel drive. Everything is ridiculously expensive.

The day had been spent at "Homeward Bound" a primary social service center in Anchorage. There are a large number of homeless camps littered around. In the winter they build snow caves to stay warm. Of course several die every year and frost bite is rabid. We're trying to help them add a medical component so that care is given in the camps on a regular basis. There is much enthusiasm for the concept.

Now it is late afternoon and the famous Dr. Jim Withers has kidnapped Linda Sheets and me because he wants to go the mountains. "There's plenty of time," he happily explains, "it doesn't get dark until 11 tonight."

At the bottom of the glacier I stare at the massive sheet of blue ice. The green of the trees beside it make it more pronounced. A purple cloud covers the top. Wiping the drizzling rain from my face, we return to the car and make our way back to the city. We're all tired as out body's are still on East Coast time so we laugh and make tired jokes. The rain grows heavy again.

In the hotel room I sip a glass of wine and call home where it is nearly ten o'clock. We have a dinner meeting in an hour. From my window the ugliness of Anchorage is spread below me and the beauty of the mountains parade in the distance. I think, "we're really trying to move mountains over here."

It's been done before.

We'll do it again.

Traveling to Alaska

The plane is either flying below 10,000 feet or is more than 100 miles from the Continental United States. This means that I cannot access the Internet which is frustrating cause I did all of this work that I want to send and be done with … but I can’t. Then I’m supposed to be talking to someone and … well … Bill Gates and Steve Jobs need to get off of their rich lazy asses and fix this.

NOW DAMMIT!

Besides that the movie is Jane Eyre which I care nothing about but there is nothing else to do so I thought I’d branch out. But my earphones don’t work in the speaker though they work fine in my I-Pod. As near as I can figure out by watching but not hearing … Jane Eyre is about this man who falls in love with a girl who wears corsets.

So I’m listening to my I-Pod trying to figure out why Canada is so damn big. We’re flying across Canada to get to Sarah Palin land and that is the reason that we are more than 100 miles from the Continental United States.

Hmmm …. I should ask the Pilot to land so that I can pick up affordable prescription medications. We don’t have any in the United States but they have tons in Canada which they are happy to mail to you.

I was so bored that I actually read newspapers today for the first time in … oh … a year. Back then I was always in the paper so I subscribed and looked for me … or what people said about me … or what I’d done … or what I hadn’t done. You can’t win.

(Oh Stacy … yeah … I hate to tell you this way … but my subscription to the Savannah Morning News has lapsed … I know, I know … but I love you dearly and lunch is on me.)

Anyway … in the newspapers that I read … the Atlanta Journal, The Wall Street Journal and the New York Times … there was evidently this crisis in Washington because America hasn’t paid its credit card bill and it’s due.

I don’t blame them. I hate paying my credit card bill! Who knew I spent that much at Bernie’s last month? Or that wine in St. Martin is that expensive. Or that Conner talked me into a back wax? (Just like Congress I hate reading the details of what I charged.)

So those people in charge did what the rest of us do … raise the amount they can borrow so they can keep doing what they are doing and swear that they are going to never do it again. Then they do it again. I wonder if anybody in Congress can balance a check book?

In spite of all of these things I made it to Anchorage, Alaska and I'm sitting here watching it rain and pondering these things. Alaska is way behind east coast time and I got to bed at like 4:00 in the morning though here it was 1:00. It is 65 degrees and I'm wearing my flip flops.

We had a dinner last night with Ida Nelson learning about the politics of the place. As you would expect ... it is weird. Then again ... everything about politics is weird. Especially politicians! It doesn't get any weirder than them.

Mountains surround me and there is snow in the canyons and crevices. I thank God that it is not cold. It was daylight when I went to sleep and it was daylight when I woke up. Apparently moose walk down sidewalks here. Ida gave me a cookbook "Traditional Food Guide" that has two pages dedicated to ... I'm not making this up ... "Moose and Caribou Parts."

That's not something you see every day. It is full of interesting information like ... did you know that "Head muscles are cooked and eaten" or that "Brain is used in preparing 'head cheese' and in tanning hides?

I know. I didn't either.

So in spite of failed technology, traveling across Canada, women who wear corsets, newspapers, the really stupid crisis that politicians made up so that they can solve them to get their sorry asses re-elected, my credit card bill, Moose and Caribou parts, snow in the mountains, and having discovered what daylight savings time really is ...

I'm happy to be here.

I'm happy.

It feels good.

Swirls

My trip to Alaska abruptly ended in Atlanta. Delta wasn't ready when I was. It started with a possible flat tire on the plane in Savannah then got completely derailed with a broken hydraulics system in Atlanta. They were nice enough about it and I ended up at a hotel paid for by the airline. And rather than flying all night I'm now flying all day but there are no worries ... it will be still be daylight when I get to Anchorage tonight.

There are tornado warnings for St. Paul which I am connecting through but I've seen "The Wizard of Oz" and the worst that can happen is I end up in Kansas.

Its been a crazy 24 hours. Yesterday morning I woke happy and content, marveled at the beauty of the island from the Beloved Back Deck, went to Bar Church, made a brief stop on the Pier, and then ... ended up alone sitting in a hotel bar. Thanks to the magic of technology I talked with people I love until I fell asleep.

Whoever stayed in the room before me set the alarm for 5:30 and forgot to turn it off. So it jarred me awake and I kept hitting the snooze button ... for an hour and a half ... because it was dark and I couldn't see how to turn the damn thing off.

Now I'm back at the airport to see if Delta is ready.

The airport is packed and people are swirling around me. Everyone's in a hurry. Most are talking on their cells or texting as they rush to their gates. Long lines fill the food courts. Air traffic control (an oxymoron) has orchestrated a massive traffic jam on the tarmacs. A lot of kids are crying. Mothers are blowing puffs of air from their mouths as they roll their eyes attempting to move their bangs from the front of their faces. Men in suits talk to a Blue Tooth, intensely tap at their I-Pad or converse with another tie wearer about business ... or the lack thereof.

I'm wearing my Samuel Adams Band tee shirt, shorts (with cursed underwear) and flip flops. I'll change when I get to Alaska.

I watch all of these swirls that are happening around me. That used to be me. Relentlessly I worked to change systems, convince politicians to do the right thing, save people from themselves, and make the world a better place. I rushed "to and fro the ends of the earth" doing these things. But in the end, these things did me in.

Crashing and burning is not something I would recommend but ... it's something that every single one of us live through. Some are more magnificent than others. Mine was freaking amazing! (Just ask my friends!)

So I stopped cause there wasn't any other option. And rather taking care of business I had to rely on the love of a handful of others who took care of me. I was no longer in a place to take care of myself. Goddess proved to be much more than a dog forcing me to take her for walks to a sad little holy dock. Otherwise I never would have left the house. Friends broke in to force me to eat or go out with them. And the good things from my past came back to life ... starting with Fran who taught me green ... though she remains long dead.

Last summer I was dying. This summer I am alive again ... but much different than I was before.

There are of swirls in my life again. It is full of activity. I am again going "to and fro the ends of the earth" but it is different. I am different. I am no longer a part of the swirls. Somehow I walk between them. I am light as I walk .. very mindful of the scars that I wear ... with a full understanding that I only have this one life ... it is a gift that I didn't ask for but have nevertheless ... and I am determined to celebrate the rest of it. For me. And for those I love.

Sitting here, I watch all of this. I am a detached observer. I feel a once broken heart dance again inside of me.

The waitress says, "I'm am sorry sir, I spilled juice on your toes." And she did! I was sitting her and she went to take the empty glass and it spilled on my toes. It felt good actually.

I laughed and said, "Honey you should charge for that! It was wonderful!"

Her look of concern evaporated and she laughed.We shared the laughter.

I touched the sleeve of her black uniform, looked her dead in the eye and said ... "Seriously."

She laughed.

So I shared this moment with someone I don't know. Someone I will likely never see again. Late on my way to work in Alaska. With swirling tornadoes out there ... somewhere. But I am heading to a place where it is never dark. Where light shines. Where love grows. Where happiness reigns. Where every day is a dance. And I will breath deeply ... sucking that air inside of me ... making it me ... becoming one with it.

And the swirls will stop and watch us dance.

And we will laugh

Skinny Dipping

My friend Henry and his wife were doing a horse riding excursion on a beach in Costa Rica. He's in his mid-sixties at the time and they like to take exotic vacations. For his 80th birthday he went skydiving! The man remains young in spite of his age.

So they spent the morning with a guide and ten other people riding their ponies through the sand and deep into the rain forest. When they broke for lunch it was on a beautiful bay ... powder white sand, aqua blue water, rolling waves against a cloudless deep blue sky. A bar-b-que was waiting on them when they arrived and the feasted on jerked chicken, rice-and-pees, mangoes, plantains and papayas. They washed it down with Presidente beer and shots of tequila.

The afternoon was to be another horse ride into the rain forest but Henry opted to not go along. He and his wife stayed on this beautiful beach, holding hands and walking in the surf. At the end of the bay they waded into the ocean and made their way around the spit of green lush foliage and were surprised to find another bay with a beach more beautiful than the one they'd just been on.

The sand seemed whiter, the ocean bluer and the waves better. Henry looked at his wife and said, "Honey, this is our chance! There is no one here and all of this is ours," he said holding his arms out. "Let's do it!"

So he took his swim trunks and tee shirt off and dove into the water. Laughing his wife did the same and they body surfed into shore. They laughed and kissed and played as children do when they are at the beach. Henry waded out deeper and waited on the next wave. Leaning forward with his hands before him he slid into the rising swell and rolled over the top with the wave, becoming one with it, and the crashing white cap carried him to shore.

His belly stopped the ride in the shallow soft sand and he stood wiping the salt water from his eyes. When he opened them ... there were ten people on horses and one guide in a semi-circle around him each with very wide eyes. His wife had missed the wave so her nakedness was covered by the sea. On the other hand, Henry was completely naked in front of an audience.

It took him a few awkward seconds to process his reality and he did he smiled, waved and said, "Come on in! The waters great!"

And he turned and swam back out to his wife.

Laughing the others slowly turned their horses around and returned to the darkness of the forest.

I laughed and laughed when he told me this story. It is so easy to picture a naked man in his late 60s standing in the surf, stopping forward in an old man's stance, wiping the salt water from his closed eyes ... opening them to be surrounded by the people he's just left.

Most people would have covered themselves or gotten back in the water or who knows what to escape their embarrassment. But Henry ... waved and invited them to experience the joy he was experiencing. Then he returned to his joy and they made their own decisions ... and did what was expected of them.

I wonder how many of them really wanted to dismount, disrobe, display themselves as who they really are and ... PLAY in the wonderland of God's creation ... becoming one with it ... just as God made them. Adam and Eve stuff before they screwed it up and decided that a fig leaf between your legs is a good idea. It probably gave them a rash and things really went to hell after that.

There are so many ways that we hide ourselves. Masks we wear so that others see us as how we think we should be seen rather than who we really are. Games we play trying to prove we're smarter or better. Surgeries to improve on what God and our parents made. We forsake the excitement of celebrating who we are with who others who celebrate themselves just as they are.

There is nothing better!

My friends know that I'm not big on clothes. I mostly wear a pair of running shorts when I have to wear something. It feels kind of like a fig leaf. But I lose the laundry often. My outdoor shower is wear I bathe, the beloved back deck keeps my all over tan and I have a collection of friends who like to skinny dip.

I'm also not big on games. It's so much easier to just tell the truth. It takes so much energy to do otherwise and the times that I lied, manipulated or misled ... well, it led to things that were worse.

Last night I was engulfed in love for being nothing other than who I am. And passionately loving others for simply being who they are.

So today ... on the Lord's Day ... I have an invitation for you ... Come on in! The water's fine!

For Dave and Sandil

Tomorrow I have a trip to Alaska.

Cool Huh?

At least I feel that it will be cool. I'll probably say "WOW" because it will be a shock to my body which is used to this 95 degree weather. A couple of weeks ago I was in Santa Barbara and while it is a beautiful piece of earth, the twenty-five degree temperature change made me want to cry. It was a shock to my system and I wanted to run back home!

I'm a child of summer and have a passion for hot weather. Sitting on the beloved back deck on this hot July morning, Fran's thousand shades of green are singing to me and the leaves dance in the ocean breeze. I dream of days to come when my best friend and I live on a house boat and sleep in a hammock.

It always seemed like a good idea

buy a little house boat free and clear

living on shrimp and Navigator beer

Every day goes by without a cloud

And every time you see him

he's smiling out loud

Jim Morris gives me my words on this hot summer morning. Summer is my love and sport. And I like Penna Coletta's and getting caught in the rain ... especially when sand dunes are involved!

I suppose that it's best to be honest. So at my birthday party which wasn't on my birthday my friend Sandi gave me this bracelet with words on it. "You have to write a blog using all of these words," she told me.

Then she and Dave gave me a set of Beatles glasses which are awesomely cool and have become the glasses of choice at our house!

So this is for Sandi and Dave.

Well ...

It was ...

Then Chuck Courtenay and his beautiful wife Vicki just blew in. Micah Berry and I were talking about things. Then Dedra blew in while my best friend is texting me.

Then Chuck says, "Hey Mike so the other day this homeless guy comes up to me and panhandles by asking 'Hey Dude, can I have a few dollars? I need to buy minutes for my cell phone.'"

We cracked up.

It makes me cry, live, feel, give, dream, dance, earth, friend, cool, wow, run, trip, passion and sport.

Love you Sandi and Dave!b

Assimilation on Tybee Island

"Stop leaving the island," Dedra scolded me, "things go crazy when you're not here!"

Staring at her like she'd lost her mind, I thought to myself "What are you talking about? Things are crazy when I am here."

But Dedra did not give me the opportunity to say anything because she kept talking telling me about all of the ... other-than-normal activity on Tybee Island ... as if there is any other kind.

I must admit that it was a pretty impressive list accomplishments in the two days that I was gone.

Let's count, shall we.

At the Bored meeting Dave, one of the members, has begun bringing a gun. This is after a drag queen got drunk and attempted a sidewalk performance in front of Fannie's-on-the-beach.

Then a pot bellied man from Augusta decided to throw a cigarette butt in the middle of the sidewalk ... which pissed Roma off and she let it be known ... so Bored member Al said something to the man ... who decided to use his pot belly to knock Al out of his chair into the middle of the street. Dave forgot he had a gun. Augusta man was taken away by the Tybee Island Police Department.

Bar Church Assistant Minister Joe is taken to the hospital with twisted bowels. In the Old Testament one of the ways in which God is described as speaking to us is ... yep ... through the bowels. You have to wonder what God is saying to Joe.

Julie Just Julia's house was invaded and taken over by a drunken photographer in distress who barricaded herself in fortified by Jack Daniels and the skirmish lasted for four days.

The Samuel Adams Band lost it's bass player. (This is by far the most tragic thing that has happened!)

The Tybee Island City Council purchased more "Stop Signs" from another city that went out of business and has put them up ... you know to Stop to take a breath.

Johnny O's singing of his original song "I'm just sitting on my porch eating a booger" from my birthday party has become one of You-Tube's biggest hits. He is contemplating performing it on "America's Got Talent."

And of course ... Whitley's bicycle got drunk.

All of this occurred in the 48 hours I was gone and somehow it is now my fault.

Now while of this was happening I was touring homeless camps in Cleveland, receiving unwanted emails, walking through squalor (Hospital CEO's office), and witnessing the epitome of human kindness. My homecoming was delightful and happy.

Now Dedra is giving it to me.

It's alright. I'm used to shouldering the blame.

There is a saying that I believe in with all of my heart. "You can accomplish anything if you don't care who get's the credit."

In this case, I didn't accomplish anything on the island while I was gone, but am getting all of the credit.

Hmm......

I think Dedra is assimilating to Tybee.

Leaving Limbo

Standing on the banks of the Cuyahoga River I watch a homeless man fish. A giant factory is a quarter of a mile up the river and I wonder how it caught on fire. But it did. The banks are blanketed in deep forest and after walking a path through the woods is a glade. Tarps and tents and fireplaces make a camp. This is the home to several men, a couple of women ... one of whom is pregnant ... and a dog. A quarter of a mile in the other direction is downtown Cleveland.

"HA!" he screams pulling out a catfish.

The people I am with are treating medical conditions of the people who live here. I'm introduced and Brenda immediately starts talking to me. Originally from western New York she wants to know all about me so we talk until it is her time to be examined.

Louie, the camp's Chief ... he's Native American and a Vietnam veteran tells me to take the path to the river so I do and watch the fishing.

My I-phone vibrates and old habits die hard. I whip it out of its holster and snap it to life in lightening speed. I used to get hundreds of emails in the course of a work day and tried to deal with all of them in real time. That is no longer my life but the habits remain.

It's an email that takes me by surprise. It is from my past. A lengthy collection of words that ranges from wishing me well to inquiring about my life now to telling me what I need to do.

I sigh.

The fisherman is standing in front of me showing me the catfish. He is grinning yellow teeth and dim blue eyes. Teeth are first sign of downward mobility in the United States. If they are taken care of you're doing all right. If you're not doing so well, teeth are the first thing to be ignored.

Putting my phone away, I smile and examine the fish.

We return to the camp where the doctor and nurse have finished their work. It is time to hike to the next camp.

They come to these camps regularly and develop relationships with the people who live in them. Over time they convince the folks who live in them to get treatment, get sober, move into a shelter then on to housing. Find a job. Pay taxes and live the American Dream that the rest of us chase.

There is something holy and spiritual about the work. The doctors and nurses explain how it has changed their lives. The homeless folks learn to trust again. There are no prayers or sermons ... just the divine acts of being kind.

"All we have is one another to get each other through," is how one put it.

So that is the work. It is happening from Calcutta to Cleveland. Unfortunately it is needed in too many other places.

Walking up a steep hill to another cap, my phone vibrates and I whip it out. It's a text message inquiring whether I got the email.

I stop and the entire team stops with me. Below is a beautiful view of downtown Cleveland. We still have another several hundred yards to climb so I keep everybody in limbo. They are all looking at me with concern.

"One sec," I say as I type ... "I did."

Then we get back to work.

And I'm struck how the same concern and compassion given to the sick, the hungry, the poor ... is given to me.

A Crazy Idea

The Cleveland Indians lost in the ninth inning last night. They had hit a home run in the 7th to take the lead but then blew it. I was sitting outside of the stadium with the famous Dr. Jim Withers.

Brittney Spears also was in concert last night so there were all of these girls dressed like Brittney Spears making their way to the concert hall. It looked like a Junior Hooker's convention.

Sitting on the steps of the Cleveland Public Library is a tall black man wearing jeans cut off at the knees, a white tee shirt with the sleeves cut off and a straw hat. He's eating one of those giant bags of popcorn while he talks and laughs with a short pudgy security guard wearing black pants and a white long sleeve shirt. They are obviously enjoying one another.

At Lola's I'd had a fabulous dinner with my friends Bob and Margaret who had made the forty-five minute drive from Akron to Cleveland. They have a home on Tybee Island so we hang out there but they live here. We laughed as we ate a fabulous meal and toasted one another with wine. Jim showed up at the end of the meal.

Today is another day of Street Rounds with Donna Kelly, a nurse who has led Cleveland's development of Street Medicine. We're doing Street Rounds this morning, going out with Kelly on the streets. I'm darting around the country with Jim these days to demonstrate the effectiveness of Street Medicine as a cost effective alternative to the current high price health care system.

It's interesting work trying to create something new to replace something that is broken. The United States has the best health care in the world but the worst access. And it is ridiculously expensive. So we are trying to change that. There are these crazy doctors and nurses like Donna and Jim who still believe in "house calls" for people who don't have houses. These are the same people who make regular visits to emergency rooms and drive the cost of health care up for the rest of us.

We did it once with the creation of the J. C. Lewis Health Center. Now we're trying to take the concept of a health center to the next step. Health Care normally takes place in a building that drives the cost up. What happens if you take away the building?

Crazy idea huh?

But I've witnessed it from California to Cleveland and it works for a segment of people that is very difficult to work with. So we're off to demonstrate it again to a group of people who run health care here.

I'll be home tomorrow for another round of parties on Tybee Island where a spectacular Saturday has been planned. For now though, I'm heading to the Back Streets ... my home away from home.

Endless Summer

It was a hot summer night but we were on the beloved back deck anyway celebrating it and each other on a Monday night. There was tons of food and drink. The collection of people was erratic and those meeting for the first time quickly became friends. Prayers floated to the sky as laughter. The air conditioned crowd remained inside through their laughter mingled with the outsiders. People flowed freely back and forth ... inside and out.

It was laid back Beach house stuff.

People started leaving at some point and after a while there were just a few of us. My guests did all the cleaning and now my refrigerator has enough leftovers inside to feed Ethiopia. Then I was left with one friend and we stood in the front yard under the Milky Way talking for the longest time.

Afterwards texts floated across cyber space and everybody kept talking. It was around midnight when I finally went to bed.

"What is the difference between last summer and this one?" I was asked as we walked Goddess in the early morning as a breeze blew salty air at us across the Back River.

"Hmmmm," I mused out loud. "A lot."

Last summer I was a mess. I'd left a career and had been left too ... finding myself suddenly single. I was burned out, crashed and burned and then was left to wallow in a sadness that dragged throughout the summer. The first part of last summer I hid out in St. Martin surrounded by friends but they left and I stayed on alone ... and a Sabbatical was born.

I'll never forget returning home. There was this tiny collection of friends waiting on me. They were scared for me actually so they stood vigil ... and they loved me through. In the midst of this old friends were raised from the dead and we all re-membered ... bringing ourselves back together again. Fran, who is long dead, sprinkled the green spouts of new life on me and reminds me every day that ... my life is now.

Then there is this one friend, relentless in love with a shocking consistency.

And a year passed.

This has been a summer of celebrations. We keep finding reasons to have more of them. Birthday parties that aren't on birthdays ... cookouts because its a Monday ... the Friday night collection to listen to the Samuel Adams Band ... Bar Church ... beach swings ... bike rides to all of the destinations ... long walks along the Back River ... small gatherings on a sad little holy dock.

Last summer was dancing in glue ... this is an endless summer.

Or I least I want it to be.

It seems as though everyone around me is being reborn. Not in the Jesus saves me way ... but in our own ways ... each of us complimenting the other ... understanding that we only have ourselves to get one another through. Births can hurt like hell I am told so what makes us think that re-births don't either?

Once you get through though ... well it is better than it was before.

"Endless Summer" is also an album by The Beach Boys. It is a crazy wild collection of songs that don't really belong together. "California Girls" turn into "Fun, Fun, Fun." "Help me Rhonda" means "Don't Worry Baby." You can "Catch a wave" ... "In my room." ... "All summer long."

It is crazy ... like our lives! I believe that we are given things in their right time. Friends show up just when they're needed the most. Marriages end when they've run their course and individuals no longer help one another grow but stay together ... because you're supposed to. Children become adults and leave ... if you're blessed, they become your friends. Unexpected opportunities arrive when you expect them least. Love finds you when you're not looking for it.

But every single one of us reach this moment ... when we're standing alone staring at the ocean ... or off a mountain ... at a wall in a coffee shop ... sitting in a church pew ... waking up beside someone we've never slept with before ... or just taking a long walk with a dog who loves you more than anything ...

Revelation occurs. "What was once is no more." I am being re-born. I am being re-membered.

Then Kid Rock blasts across the airwaves. "All Summer Long" is suddenly different! The Beach Boys are no more but the music is just as good. I get up and dance.

Yeah this summer is so much more ... my life is so much more ... my friends are so much more ... my love is so much more.

The Promised Land

Rolling down Tybrisa Street this morning I notice quiet ones sitting on benches or chairs on their porches silently staring into another universe.

Some hold Styrofoam cups of coffee and others take long drags off of cigarettes. They've either just woken up or are preparing to go to sleep. They don't see me though I am in plain sight in front of them. They are lost in hopes and dreams or they struggle to keep their despair and worries off of the ground.

At the end of the street the sun is throwing diamonds on the ocean. There is a surprisingly large number of people wearing bathing suits at 7:30 in the morning. They are tourists squeezing every bit of joy out of just ... being here.

I turn on the other side of Spankey's heading west on Izlar Avenue. It is a combination of long and short term rental units. An old man with a long white beard and numerous tattoos is sitting staring into his coffee. The road is very narrow here and if I held my arm out I could easily grab the coffee from his hand. He doesn't notice me.

The world is divided into haves and have-nots and it is no different on Tybee Island. I've always lived with a foot in both worlds. Here in my home I have friends who have a lot and others who struggle every month for money to pay the rent. Yet we are bound together by the desire to live in this place.

Walter Brueggeman wrote a book "The Land: Place as Gift, Promise and Challenge in Biblical Faith". In it, he says that we all have our Promised Lands and people of faith do whatever it takes to get there.

For some it is easy. They have enough that, even in a down economy, they can live wherever they want. For others though the struggle to get to where you are meant to be is daunting. They pick up extra work wherever they can ... cleaning houses, picking up shifts as a waitress or learning to play bass to make money in a band. Or they leave the comforts of where they are, who they are with or what they have always done.

It is humbling to watch.

Rolling my bicycle west on Izlar Avenue, watching people figure out another day, makes me think of these things. I have a friend in St. Martin named Adrian. He is handsome, black, built like a stone statue with a beautiful smile and has worked as a waiter for the past twenty plus years. The couple he works for are not happy. The work environment is pretty rotten but the money is good.

Once he walked up to take my order, gave me a hug and sighed. He looked tired and worn out.

"You OK?" I asked.

"I been here twenty years," he explains in his French Creole accent, "what's one more day?"

One day at a time ... indeed.

But he does it because he loves where he is.

Last night Dedra and I met dear friends at Marlin Monroe's for dinner and entertainment. Roma was holding court with her new haircut as she does every Sunday. The ocean breeze cooled things off and the sea oats danced on the dunes. Michael Moore was playing music and invited my friend Joanie to sing. Now Joanie is a major talent who just lost being discovered. She sang two Janis Joplin songs and blew everyone away as she always does.

Once she sang "Amazing Grace" in Bar Church and God cried at how beautiful it was.

"This is wonderful," Dee says at one point.

Raising my hands in the air I proclaim, "What is not to love? Who gets to do this?"

And the diamonds danced on the ocean. A salty breeze kissed our cheeks. Seagulls squalled in the air. Sea oats continued to dance in the sand dunes which are pristine. The blue sky was brilliant. Dolphins broke the surface of the sea.

Moses wandered around for forty years and went through all kinds of struggles to get to the Promised Land. Many of the people sitting around me continue the struggle to get to ... or to stay in ... the Promised Land. It is a dream of a place ... and it is the place of our dreams.

What we want out lives to be ... happy, fulfilled, full of love, with the person we are truly meant to be with ... all have to have an embodiment ... a Promised Land ... a place where our dreams come true.

Getting there can be a bitch. Staying there though ... well ... once you've been to the Promised Land there is no going back.

Variations on ... Church

It is July and I love July. I was born in July. A year ago in July I got sand in my mouth and it has worked its way into my heart. I marched down Orient Beach in July with Conner and Hugh and a hundred other people and we laughed and enjoyed one another as we always do. The greatest party ever to occur on Tybee Island occurred in July! The most sensual dance I've ever had in my life happened in July! Give me hot! This is my temperate zone! Who needs clothes?

Today December is in my head.

Strange huh?

"O what a night! Late December back in 63."

I saw Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons at the Johnny Mercer Theater a thousand years ago. Ginny Helmy and I went. I remember being turned off at their Vegas style showmanship and Frankie left me a little cold. But when the drummer sang "December 1963, O what A Night" ... I loved it.

It remains a favorite of mine.

According to legend, the band had just made it hot and was touring the country. It was Christmas time and the record company was wanting to reward the kids for making them all that money. So they sent hookers to the hotel room of whatever city they were in and ... O what a night.

So I woke up with the song in my head which is odd cause I haven't thought of it in a thousand years. But last night ... O what a Night! We were at Bernie's listening to Sam and Gordon play damn good live music. I was being colored by little girls. We danced. Ice cream appeared. I was surrounded by friends who I love and who love me.

I sit on the beloved back deck thinking about ... December. Specifically George Winston's album "December" and his incredible version of "Variations of Cannon in C by Pachelbel" ... Oh my God! ... what a religious experience ... orgasmic!

When I was in Louisville ... working as a professional Christian ... getting paid to do what ministers ask others to do for free ... I was introduced to Wyndam Hill and there was George Winston and this song. I remember sitting on the porch getting lost in it. I was living with homeless people in a church and the baptismal pool was the bathtub. My kids ... Jeremy and Kristen owned the streets of the city ... meaning that homeless people would panhandle to buy them Happy Meals from McDonalds ... Bill Berry and I were still doing stuff ... "Jesus Shaves" ... and we were in trouble a lot ... then AIDS happened and we got in much more serious trouble ... then I hired Cindy Weber to be Associate Pastor and that is much worse to Southern Baptist than AIDS ...

It all makes you tired.

So I would sit on the front porch listening to George Winston playing "Variations on Cannon" and have an orgasm over the beauty of the music.

I haven't thought about in years ... until last night.

O what a night.

So this Sunday morning ... before Bar Church ... I am in Church ... well ... a variation ... by Pachelbel ... played in C ... by George Winston.

The Lord Bless and Keep ... me

It was my second trip to Santa Barbara. The first was in 2006 and it was a hoot! The second gathering of the International Street Medicine was taking place there ... doctors and nurses who provide medicine on the streets of the world ... were gathering. I'm still uncertain how I got invited but I was. I'd been at the first the previous year in Pittsburgh and inexplicably was invited to the second.

Dr. Mimi Doolan was the hostess and had us all booked at a ... Convent. I got nothing against Convents but they have a lot of rules. I've always had problems with rules. I think I get it from my Dad. Anyway we checked into the tiny little Nun Sweet where there were two twin beds, a picture of the Sacred Heart, a window and a sink. The window had a glorious view of the city at the bottom of the mountain. The sink had a paper thin wash cloth.

On the back of the door was a list of rules. (1) No Alcohol (2) Leave things as they are (3) No profanity (4) No Copulation (5) No smoking (6) No wife beaters (8) No coveting (9) No Pizza (10) No music (11) Marijuana use in Chapel only ... the list went on and on.

"No Shit," I said out loud as I examined the list of rules that started at the top of the door and ended in little tiny writing at the very bottom.

Immediately I drove the rental car to Target with a stop at the Liquor Store. I bought speakers for my I-Pod, a cooler, beer and wine, condoms, a copy of Playboy and Hustler, and a can of tennis balls.

Returning to the Convent, a Nun in full black habit stood in the middle of the road with her legs spread and her palm held out ordering me to stop the car.

I rolled the window down. "Yes Dear?"

"The Lord Bless and Keep you," she bellowed. "Do you have any contraband that you should confess to me?"

"No Dear," I answer.

"Bless you my son," she said and let me pass.

Back in the tiny little Nun Sweet, I pushed the twin beds together, set up the speakers, cranked up The Rolling Stones "Far Away Eyes", opened the cooler and got a beer, left the door open, threw a tennis ball against the hallway wall, and opened up the Hustler to read a very interesting article.

The sound of the tennis ball bouncing against the wall brought the doctors and nurses out of their tiny little Nun Sweets. They looked at me and immediately all ran to their rental cars.

An hour later, one hell of a party commenced.

Over the next three days we broke all of the Convent rules and seven of the Ten Commandments. A couple of Doctors were seen dancing with Nuns ... but mostly it was nurses dancing with them.

When I walked into the office to return my skeleton key, it was the same Nun who had stopped me in the road who was checking me out.

"Do you have anything to confess my Son?" she asked.

"About what?" I answered.

She stared at me.

I stared back.

"May the Lord Bless and Keep you," she finally said.

"Thanks Sis," I said grabbing the cooler to take to the rental car.

But you know what? The Lord has blessed and kept me. She's really good to me.

When James Bond Settles Down

At first a part of the ocean seems to bubble like water on a stove. It shimmers then bubbles and then ... the blue hanging above it gets bluer ... lighter and lighter until there is this sliver of orange rising out of the bubbles. It lays them to rest as it rises. In just a couple of minutes the large orange ball stand on the sea announcing a new day has arrived. The chance to start again is here ... do what you will with it.

Then the orange becomes yellow. It sprinkles diamonds on the water. It chases shadows from the leaves of the trees. It shines through the shades of sleeping people tickling them awake. It makes some cuss and pull pillows over their heads. It rises quickly and a new day is born.

I'm back on the east coast and all is right with the world. The sun rises where it is supposed to. Goddess was lying beside me when I woke. The bed I slept in was full of warmth and love. The sober bicycle was waiting as though a chariot. My family at the Breakfast Club was waiting when I stumbled in. Johnny O had made plans. Everybody was still talking about the party. Dave and Sandi came in for hugs and laughs. Afterwards I coast to the ocean and pause with my bare feet in the sand.

I sigh and say a prayer to God. "Damn it's good to be home."

Peddling back home I fall into the routine. Goddess gets her walk and a visit to the sad little holy dock. The plants get watered. The outdoor shower baptizes me. Whispers of "Good Morning" and love are wished. Just as I start to work ... Goddess starts scratching and pawing wanting a treat. So I get up and give her one then get back to work.

Yesterday at this time I was sitting in a coffee shop with the famous Dr. Jim Withers, the originator of Street Rounds ... which are doctors, nurses and medical students taking their medicine to the streets to those who need it most. It's kind of like house calls to people who don't have a house. It saves millions upon millions of dollars to the American health care system (meaning those of us who pay for it) to have Street Rounds in every city.

But Jim and I are having coffee in a place called "Sambo's" in Santa Barbara and work hasn't started. We are talking about other things. I'm bitching about how slowly the day starts on the West Coast. "No wonder everybody's so laid back here," I say, "it's hard to get started."

Nodding, Jim has this way of talking about whatever it is he wants to talk about regardless of anything that I just said.

"What do you think would happen if James Bond settled down?" he ask.

"What?" I say.

He looks at me as though I'm an idiot. "What do you think would happen if James Bond ever settled down?"

I think to myself: "The guys famous. He's a genius. He's figured out how to stop the high end cost of the American health system that screws it up for everybody else. He's a doctor and I suppose that counts for something ... go with this."

"James Bond?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says, "like me and you."

I shake my head as I suck air in threw my teeth. "Hey Jimbo," I say, "what in the hell are you talking about?"

He takes a bite off of a muffin and looks like a Hobbit sitting there. "We've done this work," he says staring at a waitress, "and it has ...," he stares off looking for words ... "cost us," he finally says.

I nod.

"It's kind of like we've been James Bond. We've done all this stuff. We've tried to settle down but ... there was always more stuff. You know what Mike, I'm ready to just focus on my kids and what we're doing now. And I've finally found the perfect lover ... me!"

I bust out laughing.

"How's the love life?" I ask.

"You still believe," he says staring at me intently for the longest of seconds.

And I do.

And I know with everything in me.

Soon.

But not soon enough.

Good Dad's Do

A line of homeless people quietly stand in line waiting to be served paper plates full of food by a group of teenagers and kids. The homeless folks are solemn while the kids work hard to interact as they load the plates with pasta, salad, fruit and bread. They are celebrating and smiling as they greet each man and women wearing multiple coats on this warm Santa Barbara afternoon.

We are in a park across the street from the ocean so the whole thing has a picnic feel as people spread blankets to sit on or simply plop down in the grass to eat. A long grocery cart is piled high with discarded clothes. One man has a tall one in a brown paper bag that he takes swigs from as he eats. Students walk around passing our bottles of water and socks.

Socks are the gold standard of homelessness. You spend so much time on your feet that you really go through them quickly. Imagine wearing the same pair of socks for a week with no ability to do anything other than wash them out in a public restroom. It leads to bad hygiene of course and worsens over time but what is one to do with limited laundry options? Giving someone socks is the quickest way to make a friend on the streets.

I am standing behind a taped off section where there are tables and chairs occupied with doctors, nurses, medical students and social workers treating homeless men and women. There is a great deal more interaction here as dirty patients loudly run through the litany of their illnesses ... which are many. The professionals and students are in as good a humor as the teenagers and kids serving the food.

I look passed the park to the beauty of Santa Barbara ... the harbor where I'd had lunch, the beach that I'd walked that morning, the blue Pacific Ocean and the mountains of California. The city is beauty at the beach. It is full of tourists from around the world and every language is heard. The hotels are all full and the sidewalk cafes are crowded. The sky is clear and the salt hangs in the air.

This is a tranquil and serene wonderland ... for people who can afford it. The average two bedroom house in Santa Barbara starts at $2.1 Million. No wonder everyone is dressed you nice.

Except for the ragged ones who live on the far ends of the beach and the public parks of the city. After the picnic in the park a group of us do "Street Rounds" going out in teams looking for the hidden ones. We pass a huge bush that has two feet sticking out from under it. Jennifer, a mental health outreach worker, exclaims "I know those feet! It's John!"

She rushes over and slowly John emerges from the bush. It's now dusk and he was settling in for the night. Wobbly he stands and grins at Jennifer. Laura the doctor wanders over and gives him a quick examination. A medical student opens his backpack and gives John water, fruit and socks. He smiles.

We turn and continue "Street Rounds" finding people who are not seen by most and ignored by more. It's a shame that a disproportionate number of them are veterans.

After it grows too dark to find anybody else, the Street Round teams collect back together in the park. There are hugs, stories and Laura announces it is time to go to "The Office". The Office is a bar, so everyone makes their way there for beer and debriefing. They will also plan next week's Street Rounds.

I opt of the office meeting. I've sworn them off. So I wave bye and make my way back to the hotel as I have to get up at 5:00 in the morning.

At the hotel I check out and the manager asks, "Are you with the park people?"

"I am," I say wondering if it was my University of Georgia shirt that gave me away.

"You are horrible for business," he snaps.

I stop signing stuff and look at him. He is intensely staring at me.

"You're no vacancy sign is on," I say returning to signing my bill. "We must not be too horrible."

His daughter is beside him. She is maybe ten, blond hair, Sponge Bob shirt, and one of the front teeth missing. He sends her away with the sweetest of smiles and then turns to me with a snarl.

"I took her outside the other day and their was this woman squatting right there," he said pointing, "peeing! In front of my child. Do you want your children to see things like that? Or a dirty old man holding his cock peeing? In front of your children?"

I step back from the counter but continue to look at him. "It is sad that things like that happen anywhere," I finally say, "especially in a country as great as this one."

He looks away for a moment and wipes his hand across his mouth. "Why can't you do it somewhere else?" he finally says sitting back down.

Long seconds of silence pass.

"Hey listen," I say, "we really want the same thing here. You don't want them in the park or living on the beach. We don't either. Nobody want people forced to pee in public. The thing is you want it all handled now and we think it's going to take a while which is awfully sad."

He nodded. "I just worry about my daughter."

"Good Dad's do," I answer.

He stands and shakes my hand.

In the dark of the night I walk to my room and collapse on the bed and fall asleep to dream of bushes that have feet.

Invisible People

I'm late according to east coast time but several hours early on west coast time. It is still dark outside and it's almost 10:00 back home. It's funky getting used to it. I come home tomorrow so there is no a lot of getting used to. A dinner meeting at 7:30 Santa Barbara time meant 9:30 to my body and I never eat that late. We finished up at a respectable 9:30 through after midnight where I live. I slept walked back to the hotel and collapsed on the bed immediately falling asleep.

I had a strange dream of a beautiful woman mowing the lawn wearing leopard skin gloves, rubber boots and nothing else. Of course I had been up since 3:30 a.m. east coast time so hallucinated as my mind was deprived of rest.

I woke up at 3:00 which is 6:00 on Tybee Island but had only had three hours sleep so ... I went back to sleep. It was one of those wake up every thirty minute sleeps. My mind knew it was time to get started but my body refused to cooperate. I'd fall into these deep sleeps only to jar awake thinking the things that I should be doing.

Now I up watching the sun not rise over the Pacific Ocean. I'm used to the sun bubbling out of the Atlantic Ocean and my days beginning bright and full of promise. West Coast days are slow in starting. Light creeps to the beach.

It is also cooler. It's twenty-five degrees warmer at home and well ... these people would die in our humidity. So it blows my mind that they are in the water which looks like giant blue ice cube to me.

On the beach all of the women look the same. They are blond, beautiful and play beach volleyball. All of the guys wear bathing suits and long sleeve dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up and only the bottom three buttons fastened. They don't wear flip flops. They wear sandals.

It is is a wealthy people's place. Santa Barbara is a rich people's land. A glass of the house wine in a beach bar is $9! Guys in bathing suits and long sleeve shirts order glass after glass and boat drink specials that are $12 each! No one seems to be concerned about money.

This makes the ragged people who sleep on the beach at night stand out more. Dirty, unkempt, pulling bags of possessions ... they are invisible to the fun hustle and beauty of the people on the boardwalk and beach.

Slipping coffee, I walk the half-a-block from where I'm staying to the beach. The beautiful people are not up yet. But the ragged people are. They sit and stare at the sea. They rearrange their stuff. They reek of a sadness that moves in slow motion.

So it's time to get started though my body remains confused over timing. I walk up to a young man with an old man's beard and dirty long hair. His tee shirt is filthy. Long pants have been cut off at the knees. Toenails haven't been cut in years and curl. His suit case is a garbage bag.

"Hey man," I say. "How's it going?"

He looks confused and stars at me without saying anything. I'm wearing a "Samuel Adams Band" tee shirt that is clean and fresh. Boat shorts with a belt.I-phone clipped to my side.

He sizes me and nods.

"Why man," I continue, "just want to let you know there's food in the park tonight and there will be these doctors there. Why don't you come? Those toenails could use some help."

My New World

The ticks and pops of the choirs of mussels in the mud of the marsh at low tide was incredibly melodious in the dark of the night. I was walking Goddess at four in the morning before hoping in the car and driving to the airport. Everything was quiet and there was no wind so the mussels performed their cantata for themselves. It was spectacular so I slowed our walk though I knew that I'd be cutting it close to make my plane. Sometimes you have to stop and take time to enjoy the beauty that is around you in spite of the demands of the world.

Goddess knows the routine. She senses when I am leaving so when we approached the turn back to our house she tugged in the other direction not wanting me to go. I pet and she concedes. We return home where I give her love and treats then back out of the drive.

I make the drive through the marsh with the top down to enjoy the coolness of the morning and the light show that the Milky Way was putting on for free. My mind was filled with thoughts of the last few days when my life was celebrated by one of the wildest parties that Tybee's ever seen! It was a blow out affair as we were acknowledged triumph over abandonment and loss.

When I hit Bay Street and downtown Savannah I am struck that this is where my life used to be. It was the site of tremendous accomplishments and sad endings. It hits me that the historic city now represents the past in new ways for me. I rush passed it to the airport where the door opens to my new world.

This is the first of multiple trips that will take me across the country several times. The purpose of each trip is to continue the cultivation of street medicine as a practice. Doctors, Nurses, medical students and social workers literally practice on the streets where the worst needs are. It is so much more cost efficient than the current crazy system that relies on high cost emergency rooms. We have a presence in forty-one cities around the world already.

Santa Barbara is this week. I was last there in 2005 when we were trying to help a couple of doctors get started. Everyone thought they were nuts for wanting to practice medicine ... outside. Instead of house calls, they are "homeless calls". Lots of these folks are emergency room frequent fliers and they drive up the cost for the rest of us so ... we decided to do something about it.

Sitting here now at 30,000 feet I collect my thoughts and try to arrange them. There is so much more to be done. Over the past couple of years love fled my life, I found myself alone for the first time in my life, a career that had run its course, the loss of many friends and a very uncertain future. It all happened in that order.

And my new world is coming back together sequentially. I am no longer alone and a house is again becoming a home. Friends were raised from the dead and others came from the strangest of places ... but they fill me with joy. Music returned. New love arrived. The future is becoming clearer and clearer. "Suddenly I see," goes the song, "why the hell it means so much to me."

There is fire in my belly again. Imagination is running wild for the first time in forever. Laughter surrounds me. Roots have again taken hold. It is a smaller and more compact universe but that is what I have needed. The holiness of an island that remains a Promised Land has sustained me. New things are being born.

These are the things in my new world. It's a throw of the dice that doesn't have all of the security of my old world ... but that didn't turn out to be all that secure anyway. So with the help of those who loved me through, I've gotten back up, dusted myself off and it's time to start again.

Or ... to say it another way ... let's kick some ass.

It's been too long.

Hungover

The island moved in slow motion yesterday. Everyone was still in recovery from the night before. Even Bar Church worshiped in three-quarters time. No body showed up at the Breakfast Club. The Bored meeting was cut off. Even the sun rose half a hour late rising. The tide struggled to come in.

"There certainly were a lot of magical moments at your party," Patti said to me.

That is certainly true.

There were lots.

But then Sunday morning came down.

Whew it hurt!

Hurt so good! (except for Whitley who had to conduct a reconnaissance mission when he woke up!)

Slowly ... throughout the day ... pictures began to surface ... memories were recovered ... people remembered where their car was ... those who never wear sunglasses had them on ... the sun seemed especially bright ... birds sang especially loud ... a few woke up beside people they did not know ... a few woke up beside someone they did know and were shocked ... Johnny O has to explain the band-aids on his hand and tells the truth ("It was a drumming accident.") ... I have bite marks and have no idea how I got them ...

... and everybody was smiling!

This is a magical place full of magical people ... who do outlandish things with pride.

I mean the Samuel Adams Band took the night off from their regular gig on a Saturday night to play on a porch. Davy the drummer told me later how much more fun it was than a regular Saturday night.

For me it is this adrenaline rush of loving memory ... Songs written and sang just because ... Lots of laughing ... Music everywhere ... Ice cream stuffed in my mouth when I don't eat it ... Dancing ... John Lennon glasses and peace signs ... My dear friend Mitch communing with God in the night looks up to see a naked man fixing a drink ... My friend Sandi doing an in-prov of the Beatles "If I fell in love with you." ... Skinny Dipping ... Kenn Wade.

Life on Tybee Island is this constant Magical Mystery Tour that never stops. It just keeps redefining the word "magic".

In spite the bad things that have happened in my life ... and I've had my share and tried to get them all out of the way at once ... magical nights come and you just stop and look in wonderment ...

at the people who love you ...

and people you love.

Any Excuse for a Party

I once called this place "Mayberry on Acid" and in many ways it is. There is a cast of characters that rival Andy, Barney, Opie and a whole lot of Otis' who live on this clump of sand. Unlike the fictional North Carolina town, the people who call Tybee home all seem to have this neighborly and celebratory spirit. We wave, smile and speak as we stroll or bike by each other.

Music, parties and bars are everywhere and it is easy to spend an entire day stumbling from one to the other and it will be a full day (right Whitley?) Friends sit on their porches and decks entertaining other friends. It is a place where it seems everybody really does know your name.

This against a backdrop of sunshine dancing on the ocean, sea breezes that rarely ceases, lush sub-tropical vegetation and glorious Marshes that provide the four seasons of the year. Whichever direction you face, the view is almost certainly drop dead gorgeous!

Dress is causal here. Black tie means a colored tee shirt. Shorts and flip flops are preferred by virtually everybody. Bathing suits and bikinis are dominate. There is an emerging "clothing optional" movement on the island and skinny dipping takes place on a daily basis.

There are five churches on the island and one meets in a Bar, has a Bar Band, serves breakfast and allows smoking. If you prefer your religion more restricted, there are Baptists, Catholics, Episcopalians and Methodists who have buildings that you can contribute to. Or ... you can just choose to go to the beach and worship there. There are sad little holy docks to host personal services with wine.

It is an accepting place. The serious make fun of the not-so-serious while the not-so-serious make fun of the serious. Somehow a balance is achieved and this karma has settled on the island. Nobody stays mad with anybody for too long.

There is a rich history of jokes ... both practical and otherwise. The sign in front of City Hall once proclaimed that Elvis, freshly back from the dead, would be performing at 4:00. The emerging "Clothing Optional" movement once plastered "Clothing Optional" bumper stickers on every crosswalk and most every door on the island. A dumptruck full of white rock mysteriously appeared in front of City Hall one day. "Take Penn with you!" "Free Henry!" "Camp Locklear!" ... the list goes on an one.

Salt hangs in the air ... the ocean is constantly singing its song ... choirs of mussels perform twice each day ... egrets decorate trees ... Palm Trees dance in the breeze ... sand dunes provide romantic settings for consumated love ... beach swings allows older couples to remember ... seagulls are in charge of waste desposal ... wet sand is the stuff of which castles are made!

Any of these things could make a place special and Tybee has them all ... but ... there is an acceptance here that is rare. Rarer than rare. Holy is what it is.

Births and deaths, marriages and divorces, jobs beginning and ending, sickness managed or sucummed to, people coming and people going ... they are all received with a laid back welcome. It's just life. It's the way it is. You can't force the tide to come in or to go out ... it happens the way that it is supposed to happen.

Tonight there is a party. It might rain but nobody cares. There will be live music and way too much food and drink. The "Clothing Optional" movement may conduct a hostile takeover of the swimming pool. Some will jump off the dock into the tidal creek. Others will find dark places to hide from the gathering to kiss or consumate or just talk. Community will be achieved. Funny smells may linger in the air. Dancing will occur under the stars ... or the clouds.

It doesn't matter.

Any excuse for a party on this island. Where people love each other deeply.

And tonight ... I'm the excuse.

Dancing Back to Work

Dancing across the living room floor yesterday I was in multitasking nirvana! My brain hadn't fired on all of these cylinders in a few years. (I know, I know ... many will question this. His brain fired on a cylinder? I thought it was mostly fried! ... yeah, yeah, yeah.)

I was working on multiple things at once and really enjoying myself. I danced from the red room where Rebekah and I were doing things for the International Street Medicine Institute ... into the kitchen where Dedra and Samuel Adams (who plays damn good live music at Bernie's with Gordon) to make plans for Bar Church (Sunday mornings at 10:30 at the Wind Rose Cafe!) ... and finally onto the Beloved Back Deck where I was writing an article for a magazine.

While all of this was going on I was whipping out the I-phone to answer emails and respond to texts and Face Book messages. I tweeted a couple of times. And I stayed in touch with the ones I love.

Of course music is blasting while all of this is going on! Coffeehouse rock was perfect for all the diverse activity.

It was a hot summer day on a sub-tropical island and we were dressed for it. Rebekah wore a bikini with a tee shirt while Dedra had on a sleeveless shirt and shorts. Sam looked like a surfer who had rode in on a wave ... Of course I had black running shorts on and nothing else though I was sporting my full body tan freshly cooked in St. Martin!

At one point as I danced from room to room I threw my left arm in the air as I do and yelled "I LOVE THIS!"

Sam and I hugged and high-fived. I kissed Dedra on the face while she protested and laughed. Rebekah and I called one another dirty names as we've done for more than a decade now.

This is the way that I've always worked. I mean at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel and at Union Mission I had to wear more clothes but that's about the only difference. I always had music blasting. The stimulation of Rock-n-Roll fires me up and I play air guitar, head bang with the drums or just happily dance while ... creation happens.

Yesterday was the first day in a few years that work was so much damn fun again!

And creation only happens in atmospheres of fun ... love ... curiosity ... and support. All of these things were in place at the same time yesterday ... and that makes me dance!

In the book "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" the author opens by saying that he cannot understand how people can create ... or do good work ... with distractions. A radio playing distracts a mechanic from fixing everything on your car. (Sounds like advice from a Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous ... Jerry Rainy).

While this is a great book, I thought he was out of his freaking mind when I read this!

"And we'll go dancing baby and then you'll see, how the magic's in the music and the music's in me," said John Sebastian and the Lovin Spoonful and I believe that with everything in me. (Reminds me of my dear friend Mitch Wesley, my son Jeremy and this girl I danced with at a Jimmy Buffett concert!)

I think in lyrics. I function in dance. I sing my thoughts. I play my feelings and emotions. The guitar of my soul gently weeps. The love in my heart hits all of the high notes.

"Hey Sam," I yell as I dance from room to room, "Bar Church needs a dance service. Nothing but dancing. David got naked and danced in joy in the Bible. We should do it too."

"I love it," he grinned and highfived me and we hugged again. Dedra shook her head from side-to-side. Rebekah called me names.

Then we stopped and broke bread together. Meaning we sandwiches and french fries that we all made together. We blessed it with water, beer, wine and laughter. It was as Holy as the Last Supper.

Then we went back to work and did it all again. I danced from room to room, occasionally screaming out what I love.

In such a work setting, tremendous things were accomplished. You'll soon know about the Street Medicine Institute from numerous news sources and health care in this country will be made better. Bar Church is going to explode more than it already is and God will look down and "It is good." Then there is all of this writing that I've done and it will be packaged and thrown out there. Plus there are all of these other ideas that were hatched and we'll see ... what is created.

So today I woke up ... really ready ... to go back to work!

Jimmie and the Alumni Association

Standing in the backyard comprehending that I was actually going to have to cut the grass in spite of how brown it is, the roofers on the house behind mine stopped and stared at me. I stared back.

"That your house?" this large brown guy yelled.

I nodded.

"You got serious hail damage," he said. "I'll bring you my card later."

So I called Nanci my half-sister and insurance agent and this adjuster came. We chatted about Seminary because his wife attended one. I'm not sure how that came up. But I climbed on the roof with him and it looked fine to me.

"You got serious hail damage," he said as soon as we were up there.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh you can't tell unless you know," he said with his hands on his hips. "The hail hits the shingle and knocks the tar loose. It won't take any time at all before you got serious roof issues. Got any leaks inside of your house?"

In the kitchen the ceiling had some spots. He just shook his head as to say "You're an idiot."

A week later I got a check and I called Jimmie.

I've known him twenty years, most of it during his multiple visits to Union Mission. He racked up more "frequent flier" points at Grace House and in the J. C. Lewis Health Center than ... anybody! Whoever is second is far distant second! Once he showed up with a 4.5 alcohol level!!!

"Medically he should be dead," the doctor told me.

And throughout our relationship I could have killed him many times over! He was forever getting himself straight, working, making a lot of money in a short period of time ... he can build or do anything ... then he'd "take it on the road," as my homeless friends call it. This means that he woke several days or weeks later with no real recollection of how he got there. Then he would wander into my office looking like the Wolfman with red eyes.

"Please let me back in Mike," he cried.

The first dozen times he did this, I was filled with sympathy and charity. The second dozen times I kept reminding myself that I am minister. The next two dozen times I suddenly completely understood the National Rifle Association.

Then a few years ago ... lightening struck ... something clicked ... God happened ... who knows? But he stopped. And he's been sober ever since. And he still does incredible work but a lot more consistently now.

When I found myself suddenly single, without a job because I'd left Union Mission, sad and depressed, Jimmie took to looking for me. He didn't know where I live but he knew my habits. Collectively homeless people know everything so he got on "the grapevine" and knew I go to Bored Meetings, the Breakfast Club and the Pier. So I would sleepwalk to these places and there he would be.

"What can I do for you Mike?" he asked. And the sympathy and understanding in his eyes was ... Godly.

I didn't let him do anything for the longest time. My world had become small and my trust in others had been damaged. Honestly, I just didn't care about much anymore.

But I have serious hail damage and Jimmie kept showing up leaving me with his card ... I had like 30 of them ... so I called Jimmie. He immediately dropped whatever job he had, assembled a work crew of fellow Union Mission alumni and they descended on the house.

And they kept working until I kicked them out.

There is now a new roof, new ceilings inside, a rebuilt and modern kitchen, shelf's, ceiling fans, crown molding, paint jobs, new screens on the porch, gutters ... they just kept going. I had a finite amount of insurance money to pay for the roof so I kept telling Jimmie and Alumni Association to stop. Just like when I would tell him to stop drinking back at Union Mission for all of those years ... he ignored me.

Finally, I kicked him out of house. Just like I'd kicked him out Grace House a hundred times.

He smiled and handed me his card and said, "Call me when you need me Mike. You were always there for me when I wasn't there for myself."

Last night I sat on the beloved back deck staring through the sliding glass doors into a place where ... "the old has been made new" to use the words of the Bible. "What was once is no more."

In my house.

In Jimmie's life.

And in mine.