Monday's Work Agenda (Change the World)

My bare feet dangle just above Goddess' head. She is content and still, not asleep but relaxed.

The sun is just beginning to crown the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt and it is going to be a brilliant day.

It is Monday and I sit preparing for work on the beloved back deck. There is lot for me to accomplish but there are a couple of things about this day that already excite me. There is just the simple beauty of the morning.

Since I left the mad unrelenting need of creating and maintaining Union Mission, my work days now begin doing this. There is time for long drawn out thoughts, prayers, listening to birds sing, watching how the sun moves a tiny bit closer south this time of year.

I'll linger here now whereas I used to dive into Mondays as though from a high dive board in the deep end of a swimming pool with only a foot of water in it. That was intense ... this is serene.

The work remains the same, just in a much different way and on a much grander scale.

At Union Mission I was in the forefront of everything. I worked to push others to the forefront but most remained timid about it so I was the one who always ... "out there." I learned many wonderful things and the skill set is certainly unique because of it but ... I also discovered how lonely it is to be the one ... "out there" ... all of the time. And I learned how much it can cost you too.

My dear friend Shirley tells me that when I walk Goddess to the sad little holy dock it is much different from the way that I used to. Back then it was as if the weight of the world was my shoulders all of the time and no matter how much I smiled ... my face was sad.

She tells me that I am lighter now. I linger. My eyes dance. She joins Goddess and I for walks and she scolds me on the things that I write ... some of the words I use ... I am no longer ... guarded.

I laugh. "To hell with being guarded! I'm going to be me. I'm going to say what I want to say. It's not my problem if other people have a problem with me. I've had that my whole life."

I'm also no longer at the forefront but am a happy background player. On Friday night we all gathered around the television set to watch the famous Dr. Jim Withers on the CBS Nightly News. He is a doctor who has made the streets of Pittsburgh his office ... seeking out and finding people nobody wants to treat. Years later the city's street homeless population is less than half of what it used to be.

My work is helping him take it world wide.

I look at my own city of Savannah where a decade ago we were the first in the United States to cut a homeless population in half. Today is back to where it was and the street homeless population is growing daily.

It's odd.

But it's not my problem anymore.

Today my work is staffing a movement. Back then it was making a city I love a better place ... and we did. Then your time passes ... and it is somebody else's time to manage ... and you have to let it go.

So this morning, sitting with the sun in my eyes and Goddess nudging me for a walk ... I'm trying to figure out how to write a check in Chinese ... to a group of students in Peeking who got the International Rotary Club to give them money to start a Street Medicine program in a Communist country that doesn't believe it has people living on the streets.

Though I haven't met them yet, I've grown to love these students. They refuse to sit on the sidelines and wait on the world to change. They are determined to change it themselves ... in spite of Communist rule.

Next on the list of things to do is to help the famous Dr. Withers get into Moscow so we can help the soon-to-be-famous Dr. Gleb Glinka continue her remarkable work.

As I write this, I hear the large cargo ships coming in to the mouth of the Savannah River to make their ways from around the world ... many with Chinese writing on them ... to the Georgia Ports Authority.

I stare at the Palm Tree dancing in the sun and hope they are bring some good ideas for Savannah ... which seems to be exporting all of theirs.

The Lord's Day

Sure it's Saturday if you're Jewish but ... bear with me.

"There is a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning," Jimmy Buffett tells us.

Last night I found that line.

After a pleasant day discovering the joys of recovery from Friday night, I found myself strapped into a child's seat in the back of a small car. Luckily I held a glass of wine. The two women in the front seats were singing Gospel hymns sounding like Janis Joplin having a baby while singing "Happy Jack" Praise music.

I tried to concentrate on other things.

The sun was setting to the west and we were in the middle of marsh on the causeway that connects Tybee Island to Wilmington Island. The destination was a rendezvous with our dear friends Gyni and Mark who have the incredible misfortune of living three-and-a-half hours from the ocean. So we hooked up and we laughed and caught one another up as dear friends do ... the only thing missing was a bass player.

Then we came home and it was an early night. Way before midnight I was sound asleep.

A little after midnight, I woke up and stumbled to the bathroom. My throat was dry so I stumbled to the kitchen for a glass of water and poured it down my throat.

Then the spirit of the Lord descended upon me and I opened the sliding glass doors and walked outside on the beloved back deck. The chill of the past several days had blown elsewhere so I stood there naked and looked up to the heavens. God had sprinkled stars across the sky and the moon was a sliver of itself. It was so quiet and on this silent night all is calm ... all is bright. Somewhere shepherds were quacking at the site ... I just stood there in solidarity with them.

A story from earlier in the evening was given to me at that moment as a gift to be enjoyed as the best gifts are. She had told this story earlier in the evening.

Tim and Barb were getting married and she had attended the ceremony. The thing is though ... Barb had cancer. The doctors had already taken everything out of her that they could ... so she stood there frail in her white gown, holding red roses that would be used for other purposes in their not-too-distant future.

"Do you vow," the minister asked ,"in sickness and in health ... till death do you part."

And they cried as they said that they do.

The Minister cried.

The entire congregation cried.

But through the tears, they said that they gladly accept themselves in spite of ... the most difficult of circumstances.

Barb died within a year ... but isn't that a lesson in love?

So I stood there in the night that God had made, staring at the constellations, marveling at the silent Lord's Day that I was suddenly a part of, re-living a story that I wasn't a part ... offering prayers of Thanksgiving and praise for the things that I do have.

Goddess came through her doggie door and stuck her head between the picks on railing to see whatever it was that I was looking at ... which was nothing ... but at the same time ... it was everything in the universe exploding in my heart all at the same time.

Then I went back inside ... no longer stumbling, but with purpose ... and climbed back in the safety of my new bed ... excitedly waiting on the new dawning ... of the rest of the Lord's Day.

When the Celebration Begins

It has been crazy! I've spent the entire week trying to get this document for work written ... a very important thing that clarifies what my world will be like over the next several years ... as well as the important work of Street Medicine as one of the solutions to the worlds health care problems ... but man! ... have there been distractions!

Monday was so long ago the only thing that I remember is that we spent the entire day dealing with the politics of the Internet but that night I went out pizza with a bunch of girls. It was great ... though we didn't solve the political Internet problems.

On Tuesday we focused on the politics of Hospital Administrators ... who are like elected officials thinking they know everything and want what they want when they want it. I was exhausted at the end of the day and went to bed just as soon as I possibly could.

Hump day was all about humping. Or being humped. I'm not exactly sure what was accomplished from a work perspective though I did seem to be on the phone a great deal. That night a bunch of girls conducted a hostile takeover of my house and did all of the things that girls do. When they left, the refrigerator was stuffed full of stuff, new pictures had been cut and drawn, the coffee table was covered with glue, and Simon ... the dog that lives downstairs ... and I were exhausted.

Thursday morning, I was sitting at the Conference Room table in corporate headquarters when Dedra asked what we needed to do that day and how she could help.

I told her.

She burst into tears.

At 1:50 that afternoon, she quit. She did so by leaving me a note. "It's 1:50. I quit!" Dee's always been a word master.

But lightning struck and I started the report sitting on the beloved back deck. The night was unsettled and restless and I couldn't wait to the morning with things are normal. "The trouble with normal is it always gets worse," sings the minor prophet Bruce Cockburn ... so I wrestled through a night ... like Jacob wrestled with an angel and it was a draw ... neither would let the other go.

"Bless me," Jacob said so the angel kicked him in the hip (Genesis 32).

It was that kind of night.

Friday was the dawning of a new day. It began with the most pleasant of surprises, the report was written and emailed off, then ... it was time to party!

So this tight collection of friends who are family gathered around a fire. Weenises were involved ... as were pitchforks. One was slain in the spirit when he was knocked out of his chair onto the lawn. Pulling up his socks he returned to his chair when God knocked him out of it again.

Then the Spirit of God moved to the woman sitting next to him and knocked her out of her chair. A Princess toasted her buns and a couple locked themselves in a straight-jacket. Another sipping on Holy Water found the light and shown it ... on the ground ... ignoring the rest.

These are my people.

So it was a typical Friday night on Tybee Island.

I sit here in morning prayers, reflecting over the week, happy that it's not raining though I could sing in the rain today. The sun beams and love is all around me. It is quiet for the moment and Goddess sits under my feet. Fran's thousand shades of green dances in joy outside. All of the work has been put away and will wait until Monday.

I've learned many things the past few years. One is that it'll all work out. An angel keeps telling me that. There are lot of unknowns that I wish I could control better ... but I can't. But in the end it gets done and the celebration begins. There is no rushing it though. It happens when it happens.

And yesterday the work got done and the celebration happened.

The Unjustness of a $20 Bill

When I was a kid I was making my way home from Robert Mixon's house by cutting through back yards from his street to my street, half a block away. Each yard had a chain link fence which I could easily jump by putting both hands on top then throwing my feet skyward to propel myself to the other side. I didn't even need a running start. I was good for a nine year old.

As I made my way through a yard I looked down and couldn't believe it! Crumbled and lying in grass was a $20 bill. It may have been like Uncle Jed shooting his gun to discover oil or Jack Benny opening up his vault filled with the money he refused to spend.

I was rich!

Stuffing the bill into my jeans I ran home to share my incredible good fortune. "MOM!" I screamed as I ran into the house which was silent. Flying through the rooms, my Dad was asleep.

He worked nights and slept days. He'd wake up around the time we got home from school, cook dinner while we waited on Mom to get home from work and then we would sit and eat together before he went back to work.

Seeing he was still asleep, I tip toed out of the house. I knew from experience not to wake him up. (Now that I think about it, I must have skipped school on this particular day because I was coming from Robert Mixon's house and he and I had numerous adventures together --- stealing all of the American flags out of the Port Wentworth Elementary School, stealing all of the fire extinguishers from the factory on the other side of the viaduct, filling up the Baptismal pool in the First Baptist Church for a pool party, etc.)

On the carport I pondered what to do.

After a few moments I jumped on my bicycle and rode to Cowart's Drug Store, by far the most important establishment in the city of Port Wentworth, Georgia. He had a massive comic book section that I would stand in front of reading comics until Mr. Cowart would walk up to say, "This is not a library son."

On this day though, I was rich. I bought my Mom a bottle of perfume and got Dad some Old Spice. I picked up a couple of packs of baseball cards for my brother David. My sister Angi was still too small to merit a gift as she wouldn't have appreciated it. I then bought myself twenty-seven comic books and a chocolate shake from the Fountain.

This was one great day!

I carried the treasures back home and laid them on the kitchen table. Dad was up and he walked in and looked at the gifts laid out for my family.

"Where did you get these?" he asked rubbing his eyes still filled with sleep.

"I bought them," I proudly explained.

"With what?" he asked.

It was a good question. We had little money back then. Everyday, depending on if it was David or me that Dad could grab by the neck, one of us would have to ride our bicycle to Crosby's Food Town to buy whatever it was we were having for dinner that evening.

So I excitedly explained how I found $20 and wanted to shower my family (sans Angi) with lavish gifts.

Dad figured I was lying. What normal Port Wentworth nine year old boy would do such a thing? What Port Wentworth yard would have a $20 bill laying in it. Who had $20 at all in Port Wentworth, Georgia?

Dad figured I'd shoplifted from Cowart's Drug Store (see above references to Robert Mixon and myself) so he took me in the back and gave me a serious spanking. Then he made me take all of the things I bought back to Mr. Cowart who was shocked but took everything back.

And I learned about injustice that day.

Sometimes you do the right thing and you are punished for it. There are people who will deprive you so they can have what they think is better or right. You can do holy and good works and still get screwed for it. The Problem of Evil in the universe! Why do bad things happen to good people?"

So yesterday rocked and rolled along and I was getting lots accomplished, throwing good across the universe, leaving people smiling and satisfied ... loving everything and everybody ... until suddenly I wasn't. Life became unsettled and unsettled went to bed with me last night. If you've ever slept with unsettled then you know that there is no sleeping.

I remembered that night all of those years ago lying in bed, crying and angry ... pissed at my Dad for injustice to me. He was logical in his thinking but ... this was unjust.

"The truth is always in the middle," is one of my favorite sayings and I really do believe that wholly.

Last night I lay there ... tossing and turning ... almost half asleep but mostly awake ... and remembered the $20 bill.

In the end it all turned out fine. Dad was doing his best to raise me right. Mom thought it was sweet that I either found $20 and spent it on the family (sans Angi) or had shoplifted because I was hanging around Robert Mixon but obviously loved my family. David was madder than hell that I had to take his baseball cards back to Mr. Coward.

But they loved me. And they loved the thought. Even though it didn't work out right.

Because sometimes, unjust things happen.

Girls

My house was full of girls last night.

I was the lone Y chromosome until Simon the dog who lives downstairs took pity on me and came to stand by my side.

We were pitifully outnumbered.

The girls were of all ages and experiences. Goddess, who can be a bitch, quickly took their side on pretty much everything!

You live with a dog all these years, and its just you and her and think you know her, but ... she's a girl! And the Lady of the House. I finally conceded that this really her party.

I did the cooking, bar-b-que chicken and a special request for "one" rib.

Now in the Bible, God ribbed a rib out of Adam so that Eve could be made. This is one of the many reasons that I think God is a woman.

"Come here Adam! I want to show you something ... RIP!!!! HAHAHAHAHA"

Adam's left there agonizing in pain until he wakes up and sees ... Eve.

Then he feels other things and ... all is right again in the Garden of Eden.

I think the request for one rib was a symbolic reminder of this. So I mostly stayed in the kitchen while they took over everything else!!

There were games, serious talks and funny ones, art made, gifts passed, and of course chocolate was involved.

At one point I was in the kitchen watching seven girls and a dog named Goddess enjoying one another. They are all part of my family and every single one of them is managing change and life's transitions. The younger ones are growing up. The grown up ones are learning what it's like to be grown up ... things don't have to stay the same.

We said "I Do", then we signed "I Don't" and we swore we'd never do that again.

It's a line from a dated song that nobody listens to anymore from the 1980s. A country music song of all things. I remember listening to it when it first came out. I was young, having babies, starting out, beginning the growing up process (though many question if I ever really started).

And I never in a million years thought that things would turn out as they have. Or that I am where I'm at right now. Or that I'm doing the things I'm doing.

Or ... that my house is chalk full of girls of every age and background ... including a dog ... and we all love one another passionately. And we're all holding one another hands as we ... get through all of these changes ... and become who we are actually meant to be anyway.

I come out of the trance of these thoughts to find a little girl is sitting on poor Simon's back. He needs help.

I grab my rib ... and dive in!

A Conversation with God

Lying in bed I listened to the rain wash the sins of the world away. The windows were open so the steady downpour was loud. I am wrapped in the arms of love and content in the night. God decides to liven it up with streaks of lightening with no thunder so that others can sleep. Silhouettes of Palm Streets dancing appear and then disappear adding to the vaudeville show that I am witness to ... Who can sleep?

Though I should be sleeping. I was up late talking about sins committed, forgiven and then the peace that passes all understanding came.

Then God decided to wake me up so we could have a talk.

I do most of the talking. First I question why is it that when things are just happily rolling along something stupid happens that disrupts the entire universe and the joy that was is held is suddenly lost?

The rain falls harder in response.

So it's the way that life is. I took this as the answer. We let things get in the way of expressing the deep love we have for someone else and before you know it, we have offended the things that we love. It's unintentional of course ... most sins normally are ... the road to hell being paved with good intentions and all that stuff. So I asked for forgiveness for the sin of oversight or taking for granted ... and the rain grew softer in the night.

I ask God why is it that time flies just when I am finally understanding the incredible happiness of this moment?

Lightening flashes and the silhouettes of the Palm Trees ceased dancing and stand at attention embarrassed at my questions.

God remains silent otherwise though the soft rain continues to fall.

Thoughts of all of the things that I've done flash through my mind ... the different versions of myself that I've been ... slow growth and hard lessons ... losses and loves ... abandonment and discovery ... accomplishments and failures ...

All of the things that have brought me to this moment, and who I am in it, and who are the community of believers who are on this journey with me ... and the thought emerges that I've lived my whole life to get to where I am now. Possibilities are endless if I remember the things that got me here but refuse to grow rooted in the fear of not being able to embrace the new ... because of being chained to the past.

The rain stops and all is quiet. Peaceful darkness invites the sleep to return to me.

I roll over into the arms of love and say, "Thank you God ... for this."

A lone bird sings a solo to welcome the coming of the new dawn.

Life's Tough Questions

We were sitting outside, feasting on pizza, enjoying the night and each other. Then two of the little girls made there way to do something else so I was left with one.

She is an incredibly cute seven year old with these eyes full of ... all of the emotions of life at the same time. She is also a talker. "She was born talking," her mother once told me. "She can't brush her teeth because she talks all of the time."

So we sat there and she looks at me with these huge questioning eyes which make me stare back into them.

"Mike, can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything baby?"

"What's a cunt?"

All of the air was immediately sucked out of the room. Awkward silence reined supreme. I wanted Scotty to beam me up. If there is ever a time for the rapture to occur ... this is it!

Back a thousand years ago when I was in college, I had the immense honor of taking classes from Dr. Delma Presley who remains an incredible influence on my life. Once he was lecturing about "Boundaries" and told the story of a small boy whose parents had taken him to the art museum. They made their way around until they got to the statues ... mostly nudes. The Mom and Dad were admiring the fine art until they turned and saw their son with his arms around the breasts of one. He was smiling as he caressed them obviously enjoying ... art.

Then Dr. Presley stopped and asked us, "What should the parents do?"

A chorus of "Grab the brat and spank him on the spot!" seemed to be the class consensus.

"Why? What was he doing wrong?" Dr. Presley asked.

Silence descended upon the room.

I remember sitting there thinking, "He's wasn't doing anything wrong. God made us this way and the gifts of creation are to be celebrated ... and enjoyed. The kid's got it right! We don't do enough of that stuff."

So I said as much.

Then the clever Dr. Presley asked, "So Micheal if the little boy was looking at a porn magazine, would that have been OK?"

The class laughed out loud as I turned red. Suddenly I hated Dr. Presley who stood there waiting, expecting an answer from me.

The truth is I didn't have one because embarrassment overtook me.

He laughed ... I'll never forget the sound of his laugh that day. I can still her the muffled, under his breath, eyes full of mischief, giggle.

"It's all the same right?" he finally said. "Why do we as a society repress or even deny the things that God made? Maybe that's why we must have faith like children to be accepted into the Kingdom of God."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Apparently I'd come down on the side of God ... the rest of the class was surely going to fry in hell.

Her mother looked at me and pointed at the child's crotch.

"Well," I explained remembering Dr. Presley's influence on my life, "Girls have them, boys don't but anybody can call somebody one."

This seemed to satisfy her and she ran off to play.

I wiped the sweat off of my brow and thanked Dr. Presley and God that (1) there was air in the room again (2) We could talk again (3) Scotty hadn't beamed me up and (4) that the Rapture will occur evidently when it's supposed on November something-or-another according to some news story I saw.

One of the things that I've come to love and appreciate in holiest and most meaningful of ways is the long, thoughtful and honest conversations that I have with my friends. There are no boundary lines. We are honest and just share it all, supporting one another through.

We spend too much time not answering life's tough questions, sharing them with others, being honest, and celebrating ourselves and others as God created us to be.

So I've told the story of her question multiple times already today, beginning with those I love the most and who love me the most. And we have laughed.

And is there any better way to begin the gift of a new dawn than with friends and laughter?

Images of my Life

Sometimes you wake when it's still dark and stare up thinking hard. Sleep has fled though the time tells you that you should have absolutely no knowledge of what time it is.

But ... you do.

So you lay there staring at the images projected in your brain as though it is a slide show of your life. People, places and different versions of you comprise the presentation that refuses to be shut off.

So lying in bed in the night ... the bright lights of your life parade across the stage designed for one. And it is you.

That was me this morning. About an hour before I normally wake, I was staring at the images being flashed on the ceiling.

There I was as a much younger me, longer hair that was lighter than now, before my stomach got thicker, when I dressed in cold weather clothes because we lived in a place where the skies were always gray and bitter winds seemed to always blow. Yet I am smiling ... holding two babies, one in each arm ... knowing that everything's going to be alright because ... I was too young to know that sometimes things are not always alright.

The next image inexplicably pushes this one out of the way. We are holding hands. She is blond and beautiful and we are in an apple orchard. Our children are feeding ducks on a pond. It is the fall of the year. The leaves are splashes of red, orange, yellow, and green. Large brown ones litter the yard. We're talking intensely about ... I don't remember.

Flash ... now I am sitting in my car many years later beside the parking garage a block from the Savannah Desoto Hilton. It is raining so I sit there. In those days I always carried a notebook with me so I grabbed it and start writing a description of sitting alone in car while its raining and I'm full of sadness. There is a speech that a Rotary Club wants from me but I'm in no hurry. I write about the rain dripping off of the leaves of the massive oak trees. I sigh ... ... tears stream from my eyes ... and no matter how much air I suck in my chest is hollow.

Then I am standing in the pulpit of the St. John Baptiste Church in Havana Cuba. A very cute college student in very tight blue jeans is standing next to me translating everything that I say in English into Spanish. At one point she looks at me and tells to use more words. I am speaking to the large audience as though they are third graders. I feel stupid.

Now I walk into my house from a trip. Goddess goes nuts which is familiar but something is strange. I stand and comprehend the strangeness. Stumbling into the bed room I open her closet ... it is empty. I collapse onto the floor and Goddess licks my face.

Tired and exhausted I stand on the beach in St. Martin when my cellphone rings. A Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous starts barking orders and acting like Hitler to make himself bigger than he is. And it's over. My friend Conner appears from nowhere and puts his arm around me. "Fuck him," he says.

I am now sitting on the beloved back deck and Fran comes back from the dead to tell me that she still loves me. That in spite of being unloved by many ... I AM LOVED. Fran dances in delight. She makes me laugh out loud for the first time in months.

Returning to the scene of the crimes I sit a conference room table surrounded by people I used to love but who now have little use for me. And I don't care for most of them either but then I do something stupid. I say the things that somebody else wanted me to say ... and not anything that I felt or believed or knew ... and my list of regrets grew.

The Palm Trees outside of my bedroom window shake. Turning my head from the projector of my life ... I watch them. Goddess rams her body into the side of the bed which now has a wooden frame on the side so it surprises her. It is a new bed to replace one that no longer held any love ... or anything else. She cries out loud which makes me sit upright in an instant. I fall out of the bed onto the floor with her. She kisses me "Good Morning."

Standing I stare up at the ceiling which is dark and blank.

That was then ... this is now.

Wide awake, I feel my body full of ... readiness.

"Hey Goddess," I say out loud. "Let's go."

Her tail wags vigorously at the things that are coming.

Pop Tarts

For "Boss's Day, the crew at the Breakfast Club gave Jodee ... Pop Tarts!

Strawberry.

I need to stop this story to tell you another.

Many years ago Jodee was reading the ingredients in Pop Tarts. Strawberry. He was horrified but decided to prove once and for all that Pop Tarts are not especially good for you. So he drug a toaster out into the middle of the street, made all of us leave our seats at the counter to watch, and crammed Strawberry Pop Tarts into it.

Like most mornings we sipped our coffee and looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. Nevertheless we love him dearly so we stood there watching. If we didn't might change the opening time again.

"Watch this," he yelled as though a kid conducting a science experiment he, bent over to push down the black knob on the side.

Jumping backwards with an excited grin, he leaned forward with his hands on his knees. The rest of us yawned.

Then it happened!

Sparks started flying from the toaster. It grew red and then ... it exploded sending strawberry Pop Tarts into the sky and raining down of those of us watching and into our coffee.

Jodee danced with glee and said, "I told you so!"

We yawned as we picked pieces of Pop Tart out of our hair. Then we went back inside and resumed our morning. Some of us had to go home and change clothes before going to work.

Now Back to Boss's Day ... Wait!

Another time Val was working the cash register as she always does, one hand holding up her pants while using the other to take people's money and then incorrectly punch in the amount. For some reason she wanted Pop Tarts for breakfast that morning. Those of us already diagnosed with Pop Tart trauma, sat there and watched without saying a word.

Reaching around the corner with the one hand not holding up her pants, she stuffed Pop Tarts into the toaster.

The rest of us ducked.

When it popped up, Jodee screamed. "WHO IN THE HELL PUT POP TARTS IN MY TOASTER!!!"

Everything in the entire restaurant came to a screeching halt. Cooks stopped cooking. Forks holding Helen's Solidarity hung suspended in front of open mouths. Dishwashers stopped washing dishes (well ... as if they had been washing them them anyway). Ryan actually woke up before getting off work! Val pants fell to the floor.

I was ducked behind the counter with one hand over my coffee so I'm not quite certain what happened next. When I came back up though the Pop Tarts lay flung in the middle of 15th Street. Somehow Chuck, the City Marshall, immediately appeared on the scene trying to figure out which violation of zoning this constituted.

OK, now back to Boss's Day at the Breakfast Club.

The envelope had balloons drawn on it with the words "Happy Boss's Day!". Jodee opened it and there were ... Strawberry Pop Tarts.

Instinctively, I hit the floor with my arms covering my head.

But ...nothing happened.

The quiet was deafening.

Peaking out from under my arms, I saw Jodee standing there as though he were Vanna White on "Wheel of Fortune" with a smile on his face, holding the Pop Tarts in one hand and using the other to highlight the fact that they were indeed Pop Tarts.

Hmmmm ...

"What's going on?" I asked myself. "Is he doing hard drugs? Did he high dive off the dock one time too many? Did he order a dry martini only to get a dirty one and it left him ... shaken? Did he overdose on "Soldier of Fortune" magazine? Was the world coming to an end before Bar Church has a chance to save it?"

Then he quietly laid down the silver package on the counter behind him and smiled as he went back to work on the grill.

This freaked me out so I got the hell out of there!

Though as I left I saw that they had also given him two bottles of something.

"Ah, it's gonna be a good day," he exclaimed as I fled out of sight, "come 3:30 it's gonna be great!"

I fled home and jumped under the covers of my bed and will not come out again until ... well, maybe never.

Sharing the Sky

It ended up being a day of celebration and surprises.

Working hard through the morning, I concentrated on things that I do not like to do, naturally very behind of getting this particular job done. Why is it that way? I'm a very proactive person who gets things done quickly until ... there is the one thing that I don't want to do. So I don't ... until it becomes inevitable.

But we got it done and just as we did, the phone rang and an invitation came to share a celebration. Dropping everything I took off.

Why is it so hard to stop whatever we're doing to share in the joys and pains of others we love? These are our invitations to be God-like ... to do holy things ... to participate in life's most important sacraments. We let other things get in the way. Often we postpone celebrations we are invited to until ... they never happen.

Lately, I've spent a lot of time considering things. This isn't the best economy to start a new company, new work, and whole new life end but ... well ... I've never done things easily.

Though I've learned a lot over the past few years. Life and love are gifts and you never know how long they may last so you sure as hell better make the most of them while you have them. I'm not a Puritan or a Fundamentalist and believe that God created life and love to be celebrated and enjoyed. It is absolutely amazing how we've fucked up those intentions.

"Any why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grown; how they grow, they toil not, neither do they spin."

We worry too much about everything that we have to do. Where the next paycheck is coming from ... seeing the doctor without health insurance ... how the hell we can possibly afford to give the kids what they're asking for ... how the hell we can afford to give the mechanic what it costs to actually make the care work right ...

And those who can afford it ... worry about other things. They've lost 40% of their worth and how in the hell can they maintain their lifestyle? It's all relative.

So I work hard but I also have learned that the celebrations of life's milestone are far more significant than whether the report gets done today or tomorrow. Manyana!

So ... I'd finished the first big homework assignment and had all intentions of moving on to the next one when the invitation came from someone I love to celebrate. So I danced out of the house and went.

And we celebrated.

Then last night on the sad little holy dock, we embraced the stillness of the night. God had painted a magnificent sky ... black canvas with with white stars like Georges Seurat's "A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte" ... individual dots formed constellations ... and mythical figures mixed with stillness of a dead Tide and the smell of marsh and salt air which is the aroma of sex in the tropics ...

Then Goddess snorted ...

So we went home to continue the celebration.

Now, I wait on the rising sun of a new day. The dawn of new life. The passing of the old for the embracing of the new.

Here comes the sun.

It's all alright.

Sacramental Wine and One Shot of Holy Water

We were having a Bar Church Board meeting in the Corporate office on the beloved back deck. It was barely a quorum as most of the members were still in Bars.

Well, Johnny O was with Judy O having "Whine and Cheese" on their porch.

Julie just Julia was "Missing-in-Action."

Dr. Jerry was obviously having an emergency call.

Jenny O was ... I have no idea where she was.

Nevertheless, God called the most of holy of us to gather and conduct Her business. First we poured the sacramental wine and one shot of Holy Water. Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music at Bernie's with Gordon, took his shirt off saying, "I don't know why I bother to wear this over here."

I took my shirt off wondering why I'd put it on in the first place.

Sam and I both looked at Cheryl and Dedra who kept their shirts on.

"Damn," we both muttered.

Then God called the meeting to order and we reviewed the finances first. Bar Church is in the black. We all congratulated ourselves by pouring more glasses of sacramental wine and one shot of Holy Water.

We reviewed how our money had been spent ... mostly to help people who didn't have any money. God approved the expenditures so we celebrated by pouring more cups of sacramental wine and one shot of Holy water.

Sam then pulled out the special Bar Church tee shirt ... "Where Wenches Sing Hymns" ... and we all thought it was beautiful. Sales were great and we had to decide what to do with ones that were not sold at Pirate Fest. After prayerful deliberations God told us to see them for $15/each to Bar Church members and $20 for pagans and $25/each for people who attend other churches.

We all toasted God with glasses of Sacramental wine and one glass of Holy Water.

I slurred, "What's next?"

Then God said that we need to come up with some special services. So ... we did.

Coming soon to a Bar Church near you!!!

1.All Hallow's Eve Service. Come to Bar Church dressed as your favorite sin or bring your favorite sinner for a special blessing.

2. Affirmation Sunday. If you are unmarried but living with someone you love, in a gay marriage, bouncing from relationship to relationship, there will be a special service to affirm where you are in your life and acknowledge God's love.

3. Special Thanksgiving Service. All are invited to crash Jenny O's dinner at Fannie's-On-the Beach which is a covered dish plus the kitchen pumping out most everything too for all of those who have nowhere to go on Thanksgiving. If Jenny O's cool with it, the Samuel Adams Band will play damn good live music.

4. Special Christmas Service. Frankincense, Myrrh and a Gold American Express are involved along with other gifts of the Magi but we're kind of fuzzy on the exact order of things.

5. Special New Year's Eve Service. Since this year's Polar Bear Plunge on Tybee has decided to try to get into the Guinness Book of World Records by asking everybody to wear swimming caps to the event, Bar Church will host a "Blessing of the Caps" service prior to the event. This is a "laying on of hands" ceremony which may, or may not, involve the swim caps.

6. Martin Luther King Celebration Service. For everyone who just got divorced, kicked their sorry lover out of the house or sneaked out in the middle of the night come celebrate "Free At Last! Free At Last! Thank God Almighty! I'm free at Last!"

7. Valentine's Service. This is an all 1960's music service with accompanying "Love-In."

God then blessed our work.

We all celebrated with sacramental wine and one glass of Holy Water.

Carpooling to School

I did something today that I haven't done since my beautiful daughter Chelsea was sixteen. Her sixteenth birthday was one of the happiest days of my life ... because I didn't have to drive her school anymore. She could take herself and I could do whatever I wanted too. This came on the heels of me driving her brother Jeremy to school then her sister Kristen to school and finally Chelsea.

Collectively it seemed like three decades of carpooling.

And let me be the first to say ...carpooling sucks!

For adults carpooling, it may be environmentally friendly but if you're packing your car full of kids like sardines in a can who all want control of MY RADIO, it can be ... well ...

PLUS, I was the cool Dad in touch with his feminine side, who listened to music loud, played air guitar while driving and would get the entire mob of unruly kids in my back seat to head bang in unison like like that scene from "Wayne's World" when the fast part of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" comes on. I must say that we looked good driving up to St. Vincent's Academy everyday doing this. Sister Pat was a big fan!

But when Chelsea got her driver's license I gladly got her a car, gave her the keys, climbed into my car and drove around listening to whatever I wanted to on MY RADIO.

{ I should add that I did an impeccable job introducing my children to music. All three have excellent musical taste and listen to things I enjoy. Two of the three and I regularly exchange music with one another. Kristen loves Tom Petty and ... that's pretty much it! Jeremy and Chelsea are much more expansive.]

So for the past eight years, my mornings have been mine! Carpooling was a horror story from the past. To this day, if one of my children try to get in my car I have anxiety attacks. I try to prearrange meeting places with them or make them come to my house ... after hiding the keys to my car.

But this morning I was asked to take three little girls to school ... not one but TWO schools!

You know what though?

It was fun.

I was reminded of all of the good times that I had with Jeremy, Kristen, Chelsea and their friends. As I make my way around Savannah or on the island, my children's friends greet me warmly and sometimes we tell stories of things that we did carpooling.

To celebrate this morning and my return to carpool experience, we all went to McDonalds for breakfast. Let me begin by saying I HATE MCDONALD'S! Ronald should be maimed then stuffed with two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese and stuck on a sesame seed bun! Then set on fire! Then he can have a Happy Meal with himself!

But today we had a good time.

Until O Johnny showed up which terrified the three little girls I was with. So we left.

"Who was that strange man?" they asked through tears once back in the safety of the car.

"Don't worry girls," I calmly explained. He is a government employee working for Federal Reserve Bank in Atlanta. You know ... people you can trust."

Then I slowed down to 35 miles an hour so the girls could jump out and be at school on time.

For the preschooler, I actually had to stop and get out and break into a door so she could join her hoodlum friends.

Then I got back in my car, turned the radio to my station, put the top down and cruised back home with the confident knowledge that ... if push comes to shove ... I can still carpool.

The Interview

What's it like to get up everyday and write?

Well, the first thing I do is fall in the shower, then I go to the Breakfast Club where I wake up. Then I go home and write. Sometimes I run after the Breakfast Club before writing. I just have coffee at the Club with my friends.

Your topics are all over the place. How do you decide what to write about?

I have no idea. Sometimes ideas come to me in the middle of the night and I have some notion of where I'm going. Like earlier this week I woke up in the middle of the night remembering a line that I wrote two years ago ... "Sometimes you give yourself away and sometimes they give you back to you" ... and I got to thinking about how the meaning of those words have changed for me. It was a curse when I first wrote them, but its all blessings now.

Other times there are just stories that I remember. Some are current like when I failed to go to Bar Church on Sunday and was introduced to preach. Others are from the past either at Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel or Union Mission. There are lots of stories and its fun to remember them and share them.

Then a lot of times its praying. I put my fingers on the keyboard, close my eyes and see what happens. I like these a lot because they are always so surprising. I never know where the creative process takes.

Sometimes I just bitch. I think its better to let it out than keep it in. My son Jeremy once described it as "you write it out of yourself and then it's gone." I'm not sure its ever gone but its processed.

Occasionally I write with others. Dedra feeds me titles. Dave and Sandy once challenged to to write using a certain mix of words. Mitch and I have a few together and we mostly laugh. Once Mark joined us too on the beloved back deck and we all wrote one together. That was a lot of fun!

So why do you do this every single day?

It's praying I guess ... at least my perverted way of praying. I take half an hour to remind myself of the things I love ... the things I have loved ... the good and bad that's happened in my life, the lessons learned, the celebrations that I've had or should have had but didn't ... so I try to go back and reclaim them.

It's interesting. When I first started it was all work related to help Union Mission. Then I was "suddenly single" and after years of having a Midas touch at work things went to hell. It was a lot to cope with at the same time so I started writing about what I was going through ... again it's better to let it out than keep it in. So there was a lot of pain that I let out. Then the funniest thing happened. All of these people started responded saying, "I know know feelings. They're my feelings too. Or your stories brought me laughter today. Thanks."

After a while the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainey) got all over me about it after driving out to meet me at the Breakfast Club. He told me I was being unprofessional and inappropriate. My friends at the Breakfast Club threw toast and bacon at him. I knew I was on to something then.

Now it is part of this broader conversation with people around the world really. People post of Face Book, write messages, call and even write old fashion letters so it's kind of like being part of this community ... church if you will ... and we all chastise each other or cheer one another on.

So some people get offended by these things. Does that bother you?

I was in the press a lot throughout my career so I developed this attitude that I always said what I wanted and it was in the paper or on the news. So when others wanted to agree or disagree then it was their right. It was always interesting. I made a lot of friends and a lot of enemies through this so you develop a thicker skin.

Plus I was attacked a lot, especially at Union Mission when we did the AIDS work, and especially the mental health stuff (we tried to reform a program where nobody is in charge), so I'm used to being talked about.

Sure if I had my druthers I'd want everybody to love everything that I do. That's not reality though. I am impressed that people will tell me what they think and we continue to develop friendships. At the same time I certainly know that I've run some people off.

What's next?

That's the question right? There's over a thousand pages of this writing and a lot of people have asked for books. So Dedra is helping me to catalog them into subjects. We think there's three books there. One on "Life on Tybee" ... another on "Working through Loss" and a third that's more spiritual in nature, though there's a lot of overlap with the working through loss stuff. At some point we'll get books out.

At the same time my life's a lot busier than it has been since leaving Union Mission. I've traveled everywhere and I hope that continues though Goddess isn't happy about it. And my close friends here ... we're frustrated that we don't get to spend the time together than we used to. But ... there is work to be done and it contributes to the things that I write so its a circle really.

Seriously? You see books coming out of all of this crap?

Sure! Why not? It could be a reality television show or a major motion picture!

Uh-huh. I suppose you need to go work on that now.

Thanks. I do.

When God Speaks (or Doesn't)

It was a wonderful and peaceful Sunday. As is my custom, "Acoustic Cafe" was on the radio and it was a peaceful easy feeling all of the way around. I was finally home and enjoying the hell out of it which is about as holy as it gets. Then the phone rang.

"Where the hell are you?" Dedra snared into my ear.

"Home," I calmly replied.

"Well, Sam just introduced you to preach at Bar Church."

Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, was also having a special Bar Church service at Pirate Fest. The service was taking place on the main stage where bands had been playing all weekend. Of course I knew about this and had even helped Sam design the special Bar Church tee shirt for Pirate's Fest by coming up with the tag ... "Where Wenches Sing Hymns".

That was a moment of divine creativity.

Unlike this moment as Dedra sounded like a demonic dragon breathing fire into my ear.

"I'm sure that God told told Sam that I would preach at Bar Church today," I replied, still mellow in the morning, "but God obviously forgot to tell me."

"FINE!" Dedra said hanging up on me so that she could better focus on worshiping Jesus.

I turned up the radio listening to a really fine version of "Sweet Melissa" by the Allman Brothers ... re-embracing my paganism.

It is true that I am an ordained Southern Baptist Minister, occasionally preach at Bar Church, have written several religious books, once spoke at the Southern Baptist Convention and toured around for a while doing such stuff, went to Seminary and graduated twice, was a "Professional Christian" for eight years, and even had a three-piece suit for a little while (that's a whole other story) ... so to quote "Jesus Christ Superstar" ... "One thing I'll say for him, Jesus is cool" and I really do believe that ...

... but I also appreciate the finer aspects of Paganism. I like the Druids who danced naked in the woods. Buddhism is awful compelling. Jewish story telling is among the finest. And the Tao belief system of water dripping on a rock is pretty powerful. Then there is the whole pantheism thing where God is in everything so staring at the ocean or Fran's thousand shades of green becomes a worship service. It's all good stuff!

Over time, I've grown to appreciate the aspects of other belief systems and have incorporated many of the elements into what I believe.

I know, I know ... there are a lot of people who say that is only one way to be saved and they can have that way. I think holiness is achieved on a daily basis if we work at it and religious services may, but probably not, have much to do with it.

Sam called me later and God apparently got back to him after I didn't show at Pirate Fest Bar Church to preach to say the service was better without me anyway. God had already told me this so Sam and I said how much we love one another and wished the other "Peace" and promised to pray for Dedra who obviously has anger issues.

Then I fell back in the arms of the loveliest of Sunday mornings.

ARRRRRMMMEEENNNN!!!!

Breaking Free

Sometimes you give yourself away to someone ... and sometimes they give you back to yourself.



If it's never happened to you then thank your lucky stars that you'll never understand the severity of the words. The gift of yourself has been consistently accepted and probably returned in equal proportion to what you gave.



"And in the end," sang the Beatles, "the love you take is equal to the love you make."



Except that its not always true.



Sometimes you give more than you get and it catches up with you ... and relationships go wrong ... work sours ... faith fades ... confidence erodes ... life becomes a prison.



And you are faced with a horrible choice ... stay put or break free.



I know a lot of people who choose to stay put in spite of recognizing the life they are living is a dead end street. Try as they may, nothing gets better.



All of those years that I worked with homeless people taught me a lot of lessons about the rest of us. We all have this incredible capacity to adapt ... to the bad things. It is not all that far from a man sleeping in a cardboard house built on top of a subway grate for warmth on a bitter, freezing night ... to sleeping coldly next to someone you do not love and who doesn't love you.

Working at a job that is not satisfying may pay the bills but leaves you less than you are.

Praying without ceasing that things will get better only to have things stay the same leaves you ... questioning.

That's a lot of people. Then they decide to break free and it happens in one of two ways. Many simply flee with no real concern about who or what they're leaving behind. "I'm getting the hell out of here because anywhere is a better place to be."

Except its not. "Hell's portable," says my friend Guy Sayles, "you take it with you wherever you go."

He's right about that. I know many who have fled for the Promised Land only to find more broken promises ... most of which were made to themselves. "I'll never do that again," they say ... but then they do.

The other way of breaking free though is more thoughtful ... spiritual ... rooted in the same pain as wandering around in the wilderness or hanging on a cross ... it is grounded in belief ... I will really live in spite of this.

"I will make myself better. I will be all that I am capable of being. I will surround myself with people who love me for who I am and not who they want me to be. I will be born again."

So this past weekend, I was reborn. Like any birth there was pain involved ... way too damn much of it ... but then there is the precious, unbridled joy and uncontrollable happiness of ... just being me. And find that I am loved for it.

Last night several of us gathered to just be together again. We've all been through so much. We've shared our hurts and disappointments and made laughter in barren lands. We're all at different places but on the same pilgrimage ... and we love each other for that.

I'm sitting here watching it rain like a "Mutha". Some low front is hanging over the ocean and it's pissing on the island as though full of anger and frustration. The sliding glass door is open and the wind blows Fran's thousand shades of green everywhere. A limb snaps from a tree narrowly missing the fence but falling on a flower bed. The violent wind blows into my kitchen and kisses my cheek ... I laugh and kiss it back.

Not too long ago I would have been sad by what they day was giving me. That was before I broke free. So this morning is an afternoon delight. This afternoon will be the dawning of a new life. Tonight will be the continued birth of me.

"Free as a bird," the Beatles sang in the very last thing that they did together long after John Lennon was dead, "Whatever happened to the love that we once knew ... always made me feel so free ... as a bird."

But with this crazy rain and wind on a rotten day when I'm finally back home, I find myself smiling Mona Lisa smiles, feeling free ... as a bird.

Goddess' Nest

Back when I first found myself "suddenly single" my gorgeous dog Goddess developed this habit of building a nest beside my bed in the middle of the night. She would go through her doggie door into the back yard and bring in Palm frawns and sticks and pile them beside the bed. Then she would sleep lying beside it.

Of course I would get up in the middle of the night to pee and step on them, jump half-a-mile into the air and cuss her with everything in me. Goddess would lay there with her head on the floor and watch me without moving. Then I would carefully make my way around the nest when I returned to bed still muttering cusses.

So every morning I would tear the nest apart throwing the Palm frawns and sticks into the back yard and get on with my day. I would give it no thought until she did it again the next night.

Over time she changed this behavior. We grew comfortable living alone, just she and I, so that was the norm. After a while work and other obligations got in the way and I would have to leave her and travel to and fro on the face of the earth. Goddess would go nuts and act like a monkey-humper when I returned from these trips wanting me to rub her butt and give her all of my attention.

Then the first night I was back ... she would build the nest.

I would get up to pee, step in it, cuss her loudly, go back to bed and then throw it all away the next morning.

Then I learned that she is a building a nest to protect me from whatever it is she thinks is coming after me in the night. To save me from more hurt. To chase tears away. To make certain that I slept well. To show me that she loves me with everything inside of her.

It made me love her more which I didn't think was possible.

Then she stopped. I kept traveling, in fact I traveled far more and have crisscrossed the country several times in the last three months. She still greeted me acting like a money-humper but the nest building disappeared.

Yesterday morning I flew in from Philadelphia and everything about everything changed when I got home. First of all, the house was full with people waiting on me. Second, there was a large "Welcome Home" sign that was specially made for me hanging at the top of the stairs. Then there were these presents hanging on the Jesus magnate refrigerator. Finally, Goddess acted like a monkey-humper going wild after being gone all week.

Then we were off to Pirate Fest at the Breakfast Club before jumped on Jenny O's float for Fannies-On-the-Beach, throwing beads to the crowd and making our way back home to avoid the crowds and the craziness of Tybee Island.

Goddess lay there as the beloved Dawgs of Georgia claimed victory. It was the most wonderful of nights.

Until I got up to pee in the middle of the night.

I stepped on Palm frawns and sticks piled next to the bed. Jumping half-a-mile into the air I cussed her with everything inside of me. She opened her eyes and stared at me.

Then the entire universe came to a screeching halt. I knelt down in the dark and hugged my dog. She licked my cheek then followed me into the kitchen for a glass of water and stared with me at the things on the refrigerator. Walking out on the back deck I blew a kiss to God for the warmth of my house. Then I stumbled back to bed and wrapped myself in the love of the night.

Goddess resumed her place beside her nest ... offering protection from everything that is bad.

And welcoming everything that are blessings.

Celebration

I'm brain dead this morning.

Of course, I got up at four a.m. to make my way to the air port for the flight home from Philadelphia where I've been all week. It's hard to get the creative juices flowing at four in the morning. Besides, I think I may have used them up working all week spending most of my time in meetings writing or rewriting business plans, grants, funding plans and other magic formulas designed to pull money out of the air ... in this economy!

It would make anybody brain dead.

But ...

The sunrise on the horizon is pretty spectacular.

Pirate Fest is happening at home on Tybee Island and I'll be there soon.

The beloved Dawgs of Georgia play football tonight.

A housefull of girls await me that Goddess is looking after.

Bar Church is taking place in the middle of Pirate Fest tomorrow "where wrenches sing hymns ... Arrrrmen!"

Tomorrow night we're having "Friend-fest" at the pool and skinny dipping will likely be involved.

There is a lot occupying my mind.

My list of things to do is long.

Philadelphia really loaded me down. I tried to get as much of it done as possible while I was there but everytime that I turned around I had more to do. So on Monday I really have to get back to work in the home office on the beloved back deck. For the first time in months, I get to stay home for a few weeks (at least at this point ... my fingers are crossed) and work without the burdensome confines of underwear. I think my bicycle and I may get drunk. The De-Luv Band may reunite.

Wait!

I was talking about all of the work that I have to do. It's important stuff. I get paid for it which is really important these days. And it's for the holiest of causes ... taking care of people who really need taking care. Well ... not them but the people who take care of them.

But you know what? It's the weekend. There are lots of things that I am going to do and work is not one of them.

It is time for my home, my love, my friends, and my dog ... and the beloved Dawgs of Georgia.

I want to celebrate.

So I am.

I hope you are too.

ARRRRR ...MEN!

Running Again

OK, I've got my running stuff and am getting ready to look like Rocky when he drinks the eggs and goes for his first run on the streets of Philadelphia. I'll be humming the theme as I stumble along. This is a perfect place to get back into it.

Forever I've been an every day runner. Five miles a day for the most part. Every day! Radio or I-pod in my ears, bandana around my head, running shorts and shoes, gum in my mouth and I'm off.

I run alone because I normally slide into this zone where it is music, contemplation and sweat. There are these times when I'm so lost in thought that I've gone a mile and didn't even realize it. All kinds of thoughts, feelings, memories, ideas and stories are born during my runs. It is holy and prayer like.

Most days I have the luxury of running along the beach but I've run streets of the nation's cities, along country road, through forest, up mountains, and through cow pastures. In Jamacia I ran into the slums of Montego Bay and in St. Lucia I dodged cows along a very narrow road almost falling down the embankment into the ocean. I've always ran.

Forever, it has merely been part of who I am.

Then over the summer, I started skipping days. Then I skipped a week. And then I was not running anymore. Goddess got long walks and I spent more time on my bicycle which are enjoyable but they're not the same.

I think it was something psychological. I'd already broken from the past ... what did, what my family was, how I spent my days and who I spent them with had all changed. Perhaps I was still going through changes and the time of running had passed in my life. The way I thought about things certainly changed.

Then I noticed things. My body started to change a little bit. I didn't put on weight (I actually lost some) but I moved with more stiffness. I lost my breath quicker when I was doing things. I started feeling ... old.

So I started getting onto myself. My best friend started coaching me to start again. So ...

Today's the day!

It's been a while so I'd appreciate it all if you all hum the theme from "Rocky" for a few seconds for me. It'll make you feel good. It may not help me at all, but it couldn't hurt.

Gonna fly now!

Da-Da-Da ... da-da-da

A Southern Girl Up North

Dedra stared at the chopskicks on the table in the Chinese restaurant in China town in Philadelphia.

We had given orders of fried rice and Dee was in desperate search for a fork. Or a spoon.

There was none to be found in the non-English speaking, very authentic Chinese restaurant.

"Take the spoon out of that jar of sause," she commanded. "I'll wipe it off with my napkin and use it."

The very famous Dr. Jim Withers picked up and eggroll with his chopskicks, promply dropped it, broke it in half, then used his chopskicks to pick out the insides.

Horrified, Dedra said, "I'm going to throw up."

I stood and walked to a table and grabbed one of the spoons used for Won Ton soup. They are uniquely shaped, pure white with a very deep bowl.

"What kind of sppon is that?" she said exclaiming it suspiciously.

We laughed.

We had forty-five minutes for a quick lunch. After a morning full of meetings, Jim and I were trying to prepare remarks that we were to give to kick off the International Street Medicine Symposium. We were trying to compare our notes over lunch but Dedra was diverting our concentration.

We were the only caucasions in the restaurant jammed with Asians.

"I am not an international girl," she proclaims.

The crisis is adverted when the fried rice arrives with a real American spoon on the plate.

It got better when we had dinner with twenty people at the Vietnam Palace. Dedra takes the umbrella out of her desert and sticks it in her hair. The entire table burst into laughter.

This morning she is having a yellow breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs, pineapple and a banana. She is complaing that her stomach is upset.

Everyone at the entire Symposium comes up to tell her hello. She takes a seat at my table where I've been sitting alone writing. It quickly fills up with all of Dedra's new best friends. I've become a minor character in my own life. Dedra appears to be the center of attention.

She may not be an international girl but her southern charm has commanded an audiance from around the world.

I slide under the crowded table and leave her in charge. Making my back to my room, I wish my world good morning. Then it's time to head back downstairs for another day full of meetings and to see what the southern girl will learn today as she continues to charm an entire city.

The Warm Winds of Home

It is warm in Philadelphia.

On all of these trips warm winds have blown me in and out of town. In Santa Barbara I brought flip-flops. In Anchorage I bought tee shirts because I'd packed for Antartica. Today I have the offical uniform of working on behalf of people on the streets ... black polo tee, kaki pants and loafers. Thank God I threw in the short sleeves as I packed yesterday.

The warm winds of the south have stayed with me and I am grateful. A year ago only cold winds blew, tenderness had fled, my heart was tired, worn and broken. Once you go through such things you never forget what the pain feels like. In the right circumstances, in the wrong mood, or merely because a certain song comes on ... I can instantly be transported back into the cold pain.

It's hard not to become guarded. Once you've been hurt you don't want to experience it again. So defenses quickly become the norm. We hold pieces of ourselves back ... just in case. Trust is always circumspect. Love becomes this balancing act of giving only as much as I receive.

I've never been one to hold back ... much anytime. Live to excess because it's just the one life we have and I've always been determine to make the most of it. Though it all fell apart a couple of years ago, I still still believe and the times I find myself becoming guarded, I fight it. I want to love completely and be completely loved because in the end that really is what life is supposed to be. And if the Bible is right then God is to be found somewhere in that love.

Sitting here this morning, sipping coffee I ponder these things. I feel better today. The last couple of days have been rough. I was sick but still had things to do. So I slept through most of them on Monday and spent yesterday here working late into the night. Afterwards I collpased on the hotel room bed and talked into the night. Fitfull sleep followed.

A new day now dawns. A blazing sun appears over the skyline of the city and a magnificant blue sky has been washed clean of any clouds. And ... a warm wind blows.

I have a busy day. The first meeting begins shortly and will last until lunch. Then there is a speech to give. Tonight there is another dinner to attend.

But I start with these morning prayers, asking for forgiveness for those I've let down ... strength to do the right things at the right time and to not force it ... for laughter to come my way ... for Mona Lisa smiles ... for home.