Cat Lady Love

Just when I didn't think things could get any worse ...

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" she screeches.

I'm having a glass of wine on the beloved back deck with Winston, the little gay dog, who is wearing a wife beater tee-shirt that says in rainbow colors "Let's get one thing straight! I'm not!" while Goddess is wearing sunglasses after sucking a heavy bag of medicinal marijuana.

The three of us turn and look in the Cat Lady's direction. Three mouth's drop open simultaneously. Each of us throw up a little in our mouth.

She is wearing a bathing suit!

A yellow and purple one piece that looks like its stuffed with sausage. A blue towel is wrapped around her head that's covered with cat hair from the numerous feral felines living with her. Looking like Marge Simpson on meth, she is carrying one end of a Kayak.

The sunglasses drop off Goddess' face as she looks at Winston, the little gay dog, who is looking at me. In unison our eyes move to the other end of the Kayak which is being carried by a sandy hair, sculpted bodied, bronzed skin, man with a dazzling white smile.

Over the past several months, the Cat Lady has moved from living alone with her feral felines to having a parade of hairless bodied, sculpted men with perfect hair and dazzling smiles parade in and out of her house.

We hear their moaning at night in the heat. Low purrs build in sexual tension to loud wails of sweet release. Cat hair flies out of the sliding glass doors of her back deck as do the blue towel and yellow bath robe she usually wears. Afterwards we hear the sounds of licking as they clean themselves up.

This happens with increasing frequency causing Winston, the little gay dog, to run and hide under our bed and lick himself. Goddess rolls another one and gets stoned out of her mind. Sarah and I turn up the television trying to drown out the mating calls.

Her latest "Boy Toy" is flashing his million dollar smile at her as his blue eyes fill with lustful anticipation.

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" she screeches again and a dozen feral felines fall in line behind her as they make their way down the street to the Back River where they will launch the Kayak and God knows what else?

Our three heads shake as though choreographed as they round the corner.

Winston, the little gay dog, points at his shirt with his paws that have red toe nail polish on them.

"We get it," I say for me and Goddess.

The Way we like our religion!

"Don't let me down," begged the Major Prophet John Lennon.

But of course they do.

Jesus put a positive spin on it when he said, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."

But we don't.

We've been burned too many times, giving openly and honestly to others only to have them not give back to us in kind. The result is we are taken advantage of, hurt and left to clean up other people's messes.

Every time it happens, we add another brick to the wall we build to protect ourselves from such things. The number of people we trust grows very small. We hoard our feelings for ourselves. Our community is tiny. The love we do give away is questioned, guarded and reserved for only a few. Most can count the true loves they have on one hand.

The "Golden Rule" is in every single one of the world's religions yet it remains the least practiced form of faith.

It ends up pissing everybody off so to hell with it. We take the rest of the world's religions except this part. It makes religion so much easier, leaving plenty of room for intolerance, bigotry, exclusion, hate and terrorism. Now that's how we like our religion!

If it weren't so then why is much of it in the world today.

Last night Sarah and I sat in the red room shell shocked for what others had done unto us that we hadn't done unto others.

After letting our anger out, continuing to say to one another "I'm not mad at you! I'm just mad and don't have anybody else to mad at right now!", we began to calm down. I grew contemplative as Sarah continued to process things that had been done leaving us with a great deal of unexpected things to do.

I had a hard time sleeping last night because of it all. Laying there staring at the ceiling fan, Goddess laid on my side of the bed licking my hand and John Lennon kept singing in my head.

"Don't let me down."

"Don't let me down."

It is a shame that we do let each other down as a daily practice of our faith.

It's more than a shame.

It's just another brick in the wall.

Almost Home

A television is blaring the happy voices of talking heads delivering mostly bad news from yesterday.

Construction workers are eating mountains of powdered eggs and greasy bacon hanging on every word from the television.

Business men wear a Bluetooth and continuously check their smart phones while they glance at USA TODAY.

Vacationers dressed in bright colors happily chat as they cook waffles one at a time for families of five.

Sipping coffee wearing black running shorts and a tee shirt proclaiming "Happiness is no tan lines", I deal with reentry into the real world.

I'm actually reminded of how much of my life I've lived in hotels. For decades I was somewhere several times each month. I became a frequent flyer, platinum card carrier, got bumped to first class more often than not and became a true "Hotel Snob" ending up preferring Marriott for some reason.

Morning coffee was in rooms with people just like this one. Days were filled with rushing from one meeting to another, always being "on", smiling till my face hurt and laughing at things that weren't funny. I was good at it though and was often successful. Nights were spent in the hotel bar, chatting with others who'd spent their days just like me.

Sarah is sleeping squeezing out the last drops of peacefulness before we get home later today. Then there are places to take the girls, work that is behind schedule, dinners to cook and grass to cut. We return to the normalcy of a very hectic mostly virtual life.

Taking my time I sip a second cup of coffee and watch people watch television. The hotel runs out of waffle mix and people complain. A child falls on the floor and cries forcing a mother and a father to stare at one another in a stand off over whose turn it is to deal with it.

Walking to the elevator, I go get Sarah.

We're almost home.

My Gift

Over the teal blue water of the bay, I see the dark blue cloud race towards the island. The calm of a brilliant Caribbean morning is blown away by the wind. The long branches of the Palm Trees sway towards one direction. Yellow butterflies disappear as do the Hummingbirds. Foot long green Geckos dart to the Tropical bushes. The sun is blotted from the sky as the rain begins to fall.

I am sitting on the patio of our tiny studio, sipping coffee listening to Pirate Radio out of Key West.  People rush off the beach clad in their towels. A coconut falls to the ground in front of me.

Just as suddenly the sun reclaims the sky, the cloud rushes to the mountains and the calm returns. The butterflies again are everywhere. The lizards scatter across the wet sandy road. The Palm Trees stand at attention in a clear blue sky.

It is our last day here.

Sarah is sleeping still having finally succumbed to Sand Gravity.

Hania rushes towards Le Boutique to buy croissants for our lunch today.   Conner stumbles out, hair askew from his pillow, clutching a steaming cup of tea. People make their way back to the beach.

I am living these moments, savoring them, doing my best to force an impression of the sights, sounds and feelings on my brain. This is my twenty-fourth time here and I've yet to be ready to leave though it's different this time. A happy home awaits me. Work and play are scheduled for the rest of the year. Friends and family are making plans to visit.

Sarah wakes so I pour her juice and make her coffee.

It strikes me that this year, what I get for my birthday is home.

I can't think of a better gift.

Worry Thoughts

My worry thoughts come early in the morning before I actually wake up. In that semi-conscious state of tossing and turning as I try to fall back asleep, whatever worries I have interrupt me. If I’m lucky, I fall back asleep and dream them away. On the mornings when I can’t shake the worries I lay there staring at the ceiling fan and do my best to excommunicate them.

I’ve lived long enough and seen enough to know that worrying about things only make them worse. I also believe that things always seem worse at night. So it drives me crazy as I lay there worrying about things.

“It’ll be alright,” I say out loud prayfully, believing that God is keeping an eye on me.

For the most part, mine’s been a pretty incredible life! I’ve been places I never dreamed I would go … been part of great things … hobnobbed with the rich and famous … been with three Presidents … won lots of stuff … ran with the Olympic Torch.

Why should I worry that things won’t continue on that projection?

Sure I’ve had my fair share of hurts and disappointments … I know rejection … betrayal has hit me hard … insecurity crept in sometimes … people I counted on left. But as hard as these things was I got through them.

Honestly, I thinks its God that got me this far.

Not that others weren’t involved too. I don’t think God does much alone. Guy Sayles, America’s greatest minister, says, “Life is a partnership with God”.

That’s how I try to live my life. It’s a partnership with God. Everything about it has been wildly unexpected and incredibly fulfilling. There have been some shitty times but faith isn’t always easy; believing sometimes takes great strength; remaining open is the hardest thing most will ever do.

There are times I wish I’d done things differently but it really doesn’t matter now. I am where I am; happier than ever; still the unexpected and enjoying this wild ride of my life! I don’t know what comes after my life’s done … perhaps I’ll be dancing with the Angels or gravitating towards an even higher plane of existence … but if this is all there is … well, it’s been freaking great! And I remain thankful for that.

So when the worry thoughts come, I say, “To hell with it!” and get up to start another day of living this wonderful gift of life. 

Paradise

"It's just another day for you and me in Paradise," Phil Collins sang through the DJ's speakers last night on the dance floor at Papagayo's. Sarah and I exchange glances as though we're sharing a secret.

What a funny song to play ... especially here.

It's about homelessness in America and the utter callousness of how people can be when confronting it. We pretend to not see them. We don't hear them. We just keep believing we're in Paradise by ignoring the poverty surrounding us.

Of course there is poverty here too. In the midst of 37 spectacular beaches are half-finished concrete block buildings where sheets serve as doors and yards are littered with trash. Junk cars serve as housing. People sleep in bushes near the ocean. Just another day in Paradise indeed!

Sprinkled around the island are gated resorts and hotels serving serving up protected slices of sanitized Paradise. Cruise ships dock just off shore disgorging thousands of day visitors who are whisked passed the poverty to the best beaches, bars and restaurants. The visitors to Paradise have it significantly better than the permanent residents.

Of course there is a middle. There are lots of hard working people on the island, living in better homes with flat screen televisions, driving SUV's. Some are dear friends who have showed me island life in ways I would have never discovered alone. Most work in the resorts or the shops catering to tourists. There's are the best offices with a view you can possibly imagine.

After 30 years of working with homeless people I do not romanticize poverty. It sucks!

I don't romanticize Paradise either. The United States has as many warts and self-inflicted wounds as does St. Martin.

I've had my fair share of bad in my life but those aren't the things I choose to focus on. I remember them but I don't dwell on them. I choose the good over the bad; the happy over the sad; laughter over the tears. Regardless of where I'm at, I do my best to find the Paradise. Given the opportunity I try to help others find their's too.

Because all of us could use another day in Paradise.

Independence

It's a big day in St. Martin!

The 4th of July in the United States here is an excuse for an American style buffet (pronounced Boo-fey) consisting of hamburgers, hot dogs and ribs for the low cost of 23 Euros. We'll be dining in this evening at a much lower cos

t before heading over dancing afterwards.

It's also Conner's birthday which is a big deal here. Sarah and I decorated the patio of his studio this morning before heading to Le Boutique to get croissants for breakfast. As we paid I began to explain why we were buying them, Mimi decked in red, white and blue snapped in her thick French accent, "I know it's Conner's birthday! We have it written down!"

Go figure.

There's also a parade down the beach this morning. The Americans will deck themselves in patriotic attire and wave flags strolling down Orient Beach. The non-Americans, mostly French, sitting in their chairs or laying on blankets will be ambivalent about it but we'll have a good time.

I love my country though our Government drives me absolutely crazy! The Founding Fathers had great ideas that elected officials have consistently eroded ever since. Congress is an absolute mess of partisan zealots whose common goals are re-election or retirement with the greatest of perks. Having spent a large portion of time in Atlanta and Washington, I'm cynical about them all.

The news drives me nuts. I don't care if its the liberal media or Robert Murdock's desire to drive everyone to the right, the news is all bad. The airheads who deliver the news are mostly entertainers with nothing much to say. I pretty much ignore them these days.

Our religious institutions follow suit of the elected politicians taking sides on most everything. The attitude of many churches is "you're either with us or you're going to hell. So go to hell!" I was invited to the nation's first "Faith Based Summit" in Washington and was appalled to see the blatant ass kissing taking place.  I try to shy away from such clergy.

Our health care system is absolutely broken. We have the best product in the world with the worst delivery system ever invented. Try as they may to fix it, or least make it better, the Government seems to only make it worse.

Yet, we're still the greatest country on earth.

The freedoms we have, the truths we hold dear, the right to congregate and say whatever we have to say ... these things remain mostly in place.

Political correctness is killing us. Parasitism is too. Fundamentalism of any kind is a terrible and evil thing.

But, as a crazy as things have gotten, America still huddles the masses ... stoops to help the fallen ... protects the weak ... defends against tyranny ... believes God has a purpose for us all.

So we will march this Independence Day, showing our French friends, how proud we remain to be who we are.

Letting Go

Moses led the chosen people to the Promised Land. It took them a while to get there, as fights broke out and God kept doing things to help them along ... but they eventually got there. They certainly took the scenic route.

The Promised Land was their place. A holy and special land they claimed as their own. A place that is part of them. They are part of the place. The land and the people became one.

I know that feeling.

It took me a while to get to the beach. Starting off in a mill town, I made my way to college and then to Seminary in a land far, far away before eventually landing on Tybee Island. There were fights along the way, mostly with myself, as I struggled to find my purpose in this life. A couple of false starts led to start all over again. Looking back on it I can see how God nudged me this way or that. And in the end, I found my Promised Land.

Like the chosen people I had to let go of the past and resolved myself to live in the present. I have lots of stories to tell about how I got here but I excommunicated the feelings behind them a long time ago. Mercifully, I have friends scattered in all sorts of places living in their own Promised Lands or still trying to find it.

I don't hold on to feelings from the past. They're just part of yesterday and you can't live in the present if you're forever dealing with the past. There have been good people and not so good, Saints and Sinners, who have been part of this journey and sometimes they come up in conversation but most are not part of my life today.

Today is Sarah, close friends, little girls and grown children, Palm trees, ocean breezes and a world that comes to me every day on my computer screen. It is travels to other lands, most seaside places, work that is rewarding and occasionally profitable, and the daily enjoyment of a sense of belonging. It is bike rides, walks holding hands, supper conversations we can never guess ahead of time, and trying to expand culinary options beyond McDonald's.

I talk to God here daily. We've found ways to communicate and I find myself listening harder than I ever have. I don't think God's that big on using words, preferring to make make it real. God uses feelings to get my attention.

It's my Promised Land.

If you're not in yours yet, I hope you keep at it. You can get there in spite of fights with yourself or others, a quiet God, and obstacles in the way. What you'll be most surprised about when you get to the Promised Land ... is you.

Hot Tropical Nights

The place does have some deficiencies.

"What's the lack of entertainment tonight?" I asked as we stood on the beach.

"Shine," Hania replies.

"Shit!" I exclaim.

He is a disc jockey who sings the songs. It's a mixture of 1950's rock-n-roll, Bob Marley Reggae, and the "Electric Slide."

The old people love it and crowd the dance floor at Papagayo's which is managed by my friend Carlos. He often weaves through the crowd dancing with this person or trying to hold someone up  gasping for air in the hot sticky night.

Their is no other option.

After a nice dinner which we prepared ourselves and ate under the stars, the four of us make our way to be entertained. As soon as we enter, Carlos grabs Sarah and the dancing begin. Releasing her to rescue another elderly woman gasping for air, she and I dance wildly and passionately. We smile, enjoying ourselves and occasionally join Conner and Hania at the bar. Our bodies are hot with sweat in the thick Tropical air.

When Slide plays the "Electric Slide" Carlos joins Sarah in mimicking the way I do it, with a wild high kick on the turn. The three of us look as though we've practiced but they laugh as they make fun of me.

There is a law here that the music stops at 10:00 which makes absolutely no sense, other than allowing people to go to bed early without hearing music. Of course this is completely negated by the music coming from Le Gallion, a beach bar around the cove.

But precisely at 10:00 Slide mercifully stops crucifying songs.

We bid Carlos and other friends good-bye and stroll under star lit Palm Trees swaying in the Trade Winds. Sarah and I hold hands as our feet glide over the sandy road leading to our tiny studio where another dance erupts as the hot Tropical night continues.

Dad's Gifts

It was four years ago that my Dad died.

He waited around until I could get back from St. Martin, made sure I was alright with it, and went peacefully several days later.

Sarah and I are back in St. Martin on this anniversary of his departure.

It's funny because I'm increasingly mindful of the things Dad passed on to me. He loved the sea, the smell of the marsh, the shape of Palm Trees and the blaze of the sun. He was forever tanned and forever working on it. He loved to catch crabs and pick them for others. He loved sea food.

He had a serious case of "Wanderlust" and would pick up and go whenever the opportunity presented itself. He and the boys were forever taking off for the Bahamas or Fernadina Beach. He and Mom traveled the Caribbean and Europe.

I was in my office once when he called me on the phone.

"Hey Bub, you want to go to the Bahamas?"

"Yeah Dad! When?"

"Now. Meet us at the airport in an hour," and he hung up.

Somehow I made the plane and spent a week with my Dad and his cronies in Marsh Harbor. It was my first trip to the islands and I am forever indebted to him making that introduction.

He passed the Wanderlust on to me.

Dad loved to laugh and to make others laugh. Forever telling jokes or playing them on someone, he lived to laugh. There's enough bad things in life to drag you down and Dad's solution was to surround himself with people who would laugh. My life is filled with the same kinds of folks.

He loved to cook and was damn good at it. His friends invited him on trips just so he would do the cooking. He especially loved to grill and again he passed these loves on to me. Dad and I have passed them on to Jeremy.

These things keep Dad very much alive to me though it's hard for me to believe that four years have already passed. I don't dwell on the sadness or the loss. I just focus on the things he left behind.

Or as Dad would say, "It's all good."

Heaven on earth

George is a  tall thin black man from Great Britain. He landed on St. Martin several years ago to live and work on the beach ... literally! During the day he built elaborate sand castles that people would snap pictures of them for tips. At night, he slept beside the giant Santa Claus or mermaids by  the sea.

A year later he progressed to renting chairs and umbrellas to visitors. At night he slept in one of the lounge chairs.

This year he is a waiter at "Andy and Cheryl's Baywatch", a popular beach shack with really good food.

"When I was 23," he says in his English accent that throws me off because of his black skin for some reason, "I wore a tie and worked in an office. I hated it so I quit. I wanted to see the beaches of the world and that's what I've spent my life doing."

Nodding in agreement, I completely understand. I live at the beach and am vacationing on my favorite beach which George calls home.

"What's the favorite place you've lived," Sarah asks.

"Bora Bora," he immediately replies. "I was there 20 years ago. I'd like to go back but you never can you know. It's too developed now. I would hate it. But back then it was the most beautiful place I've ever seen."

Bora Bora is on my bucket list and I'm distraught to hear of its development.

"I'm going to retire next year when I turn 50," George continues. Then I'm going to Australia. I haven't been there yet."

My mind reals. How do you retire at 50? Why would you stop doing what you're doing now? Why leave here when you have a job with the most incredible views?

George is suddenly my hero!

I'm often asked what is it about St. Martin that has captured me so. The island can be crowded and crazy. It takes a long time to go shopping and there are no Wall Mart's for convenience. The Euro is still smacking the dollar.

Then I get to Orient Bay and the world changes. The constant crashing of the waves on the reef. The green mountains that fall down into the Caribbean Sea. The powder white sand and constant Trade Winds. Coconuts, large green Geckos and other islands rising out of sea in the distance all take my breath away.

I try to share it with others and they often struggle with my love of this place. I don't care. This place has anchors tethered to my heart. It's hard to explain but this is my version of heaven. I can't get enough of being here and will always come back.

People talk about heaven on earth.

I've found mine.

A Perfect Day for Hugs

"It is so good to see you so happy," Char said after jumping out of her chair to hug me on the beach.

"Hi Sarah," she said reaching out to shake my wife's hand.

Char and her husband Mike have been coming to St Martin for a long time and I've known them for years. Mike had hats made for his friends that read "Drink Naked" on them and one hangs proudly at our house.

This place is a community of sorts, regulars who arrive every year at the same time, and annual relationships are built.

"I know more people here," Conner said as we walked from lunch, "than I know in my neighborhood.

It's true.

Yesterday was a day of hugs. The four of us would make our way down the beach and friends we haven't seen in a year or two would jump up and give us hugs. Because of Facebook, many knew all about Sarah as they met her for the first time or friends she's already collected knew where to find us. It's kind of like a Camp for Adults only, though there are some children here.

When its time for people to leave there is a tradition of "gifting" things to those who remain. Beers, liquor, food, floats and all manner of things necessary for a successful stay at the beach. Jenci and Patricia have already told Sarah and I not to buy certain things because they are gifting to us in a couple of days.

Last night at dinner we ran into friends who live here. Afterwards, Sarah and I danced while Conner and Carlos watched with smiles.

Today the sun is glistening and the Trade Winds have picked up. Sarah wakes and we share the first hug of the day. I'm certain there will be many more because its a perfect day for hugs.

This Day

Waking, I kiss the top of Sarah's head and stumble through the darkness out of the back door into the bright sunshine of a Caribbean morning. My hair is askew, my joints haven't loosened up and my eyes are not fully open. My feet shuffle through the soft powder white sand carrying me to the teal blue water of Orient Bay. When I wade in up to my knees I fall face forward submerging myself and float face down until I have to breath. Then I flip over and float on my back, eyes now squinting at the sunshine.

This is how I wake up here.

I walk with purpose back to the tiny studio and pour myself a cup of coffee. The Palm Trees dance   in the Trade Winds. Yellow Butterflies flutter and Finch birds dark through the air. Large Geckos slither through the grass.

Sarah wakes and I join her back in bed and we celebrate being here.

With a second cup of coffee, I stand in the back door and immediately burst into laughter. Carlos walks toward me wearing a full sweat suit on a 82 degree morning.  Last night at dinner he said he wanted to run with me because he's put on some weight and true to his word here he is!

"He's Here!" Sarah yells from the bed.

"G'morning," he says in his French West Indies lilt.

I throw on running shorts and tie the bandanna around my head and we make our way to the Bay. It is one-and-a-half miles from one tip of Orient Beach to the other and I daily make a three mile run. Carlos makes it one mile before needing to walk so I jog in place beside him so we can talk.

It's been a year since we've been together though we've been friends for more than a decade. His first visit to the United States had been to our house. He and Verna spent a month with me and our friendship was cemented. When I found myself suddenly single I spent lots of time here and he and Verna crossed the imaginary line and became part of my family.

"Is that?" he says pointing in the distance. "That is Sarah?"

"Yep," I answer bopping up and down.

"Looks at those legs," he says. "Ay Yi Yi."

"I do," I say laughing.

She runs past us in determination.

We encounter Victor, Carlos' father, and his father also named Victor, who are on their morning walk. They embrace me welcoming me home.

Back at the studio, Sarah puts Carlos through additional exercises. Conner stumbles over sipping a cup of tea to watch. A moment later Hania follows suit. Happy laughter fills the air.

The rest of the day will be on the beach with these and other friends. In a magic place that drips lovely, we celebrate this day.

Watching Friends Die

I learned yesterday Michael Sullivan died.

That sucks!

We liked each other. He managed the news and I often gave him some.

I'd show up at the TV station for "Live at 6" and we'd sit in his tiny little office and crack jokes or wax crazy philosophy like that in  A Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy ... which makes perfect sense if you've been drinking ... which we did on occasion ... on Tybee Island where we both lived ... making it worse was Chicago Bob and Johnny O were part of this circle meaning we were never quite sure which Galaxy we were actually hitchhiking to or from.

We also serious stuff together and he was always supportive of anything I was doing.

Mostly though, I'd stroll to the Pier when Dean still ran it for The Bored Meeting with Johnny O, Chicago Bob, Whitely Reynolds, Trolley Joe, O Johnny (not to be confused with Johnny O) and Michael Sullivan.

Sitting on the beloved back deck, I can't help but think to myself and say to God. "Holy Shit! Another friend has died."

Chicago Bob went first. Trolley Joe second. Some have claimed that Whitley died but nobody ever told him so he keeps doing the same stuff.

I get to thinking about it and it starts adding up. My Dad died a few years ago. My sweet cousin Sheri Baker died last year. Rick Donnelly, also my cousin, was the same age as me, left two years ago. Dean who ran the Pier and made us our own VIP section at the bar one night while the Tams played.

It sucks.

But I'm a minister and am supposed to make sense of it somehow. All I know is that life's a gift that none of us asked for yet each of us share. None of us know how long we got it ... or how much we have one another in our lives ... all we know is this is what we got or this is who we've had.

A lot of people are glass-half-empty people (like politicians, preachers and news reporters). They look at the dying that goes on around us and lament, "Well, this just sucks and it's going to happen to me one day too ... AND THAT SUCKS MORE!"

Like Michael, Chicago Bob, Johnny O, O Johnny but most definitely Trolley Joe, I look at it all a little differently.

It's great to be alive today!

It's wonderful having the people I have in my life right now!

It was incredible having the people I've had in my life because I don't know what I would have done without them!

So Michael, the party goes on, just as I know you would have insisted. It's a little different than what it would be if were still here but you're not.

But your spirit is. Your influence remains. Some of the laughter sounds like yours. Some of the crying does too.

Or to put it in the words of the Major Prophets John, Paul, George and Ringo ... "O-blah-dee, O-blah-dah, life goes on! BRAH!"
________

Interested in enhancing your discussions with God and taking them to a deeper level? If you are don't miss the chance to learn more at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/august-class/ — with Micheal Elliott.

Island Fever

I've got a serious bout of island fever.

Not that I'm complaining.

It's been a lifelong condition.

I still vividly remember the excitement of seeing the ocean under a brilliant blue sky with the sun showing the sea with diamonds for the first time. In the back seat of the car, my Dad steered around the big curve on Highway 80, before the guard rail was there, I saw the unobstructed view. Salt water jumped into my heart and I've never been the same.

God decided to test my commitment and I was held prisoner of war by the Southern Baptist for 8 years in Louisville, Kentucky. I found the seafood shacks on old River Road that runs along the Ohio River to drink beer and hang out in when I wasn't attending classes at the Seminary. I thanked God for St. Matthews Seafood daily for its trucks of fresh fish and shrimp. I worked on my tan laying on the roof of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel.

In 8 short years I'd  successfully alienated most Southern Baptist and I think was a full 2 years ahead of god's original plan. I was rewarded by returning to the coast where I've been ever since.

Now I openly admit, freely and without shame, that I live on an island and choose to vacation on  other islands.

My favorite other island is St. Martin and Sarah and I leave tomorrow to make our way to the aqua-teal waters of Le Orient. Conner is already laying in wait for us. There are new adventures to be had, create stories to replace the old ones and collect new friends from somewhere else.

And my friend Carlos is having us bring him a new basketball because they're hard to come by down there. His last one went flat from overuse. I'm sure this will be akin to Ark of the Covenant being restored to Solomon's Temple and an excuse for a beach party!

The great thing about approaching life this way is when vacation is over you go home where you're still on vacation.

Think about it.

I will confess that I've reached the age and experienced enough bad in my life, that I sometimes wonder if I'll be able to keep it up. The sea and its allure have been my life's most constant sustenance. Continuously it restoreth my soul.

It's gotten me this far so I may as well keep at it.

It's like the Baptist taught me all those years ago. Once on vacation always on vacation ... or something like that.

One Hell of a life!

Sweat pours from my body as I run in the early morning humidity. An ocean breeze blows from the south but I know when I make the turn on the beach it will be at my back and it will be stifling until I turn again to make my way home.

Topping the 19th Street crosswalk, I look over tall while sand dunes crowned with green sea oats to a high tide with rolling white waves. The sun is mercifully blotted out by a summer squall over the ocean. I see purple rain falling heavily into greenish grey sea. Crossing the dunes, I turn left and run along side the water towards the main beach.

Jimmy Buffett is telling to "take another road to another place."

I feel good.

Yesterday Sarah and I took the girls to the beach and made a day of it. Last night we went to the "Full Moon" party at Marlin Monroe's where we got married.  We celebrate our anniversary each month rather than annually.

The Carnival of friends were all present bringing laughter with them. Sarah and I were wished "Happy Anniversary" repeatedly though we married in March.

Afterwards, we sat in a swing at the end of our street watching the magnificence of the moon rise over the ocean. Once home, the girls thankfully went to bed but Sarah and I remained awake to celebrate in a different way.

Such days make it hard to not be grateful for everything!

My red running shorts are completely soaked as I pass under the Pier. Looking ahead, I notice walkers have stopped walking and runners stand with a hand over the eyes, staring behind me.

Turning my head I look backwards and witness the most incredible water spout I've ever seen! A long dark funnel dips from the purple clouds touching the ocean. Water explodes upward, spectacularly splashing 30 feet high in every direction. It is holy!

The wind suddenly comes from every direction. The temperature drops significantly in mere seconds. Rain is immediate as the squall hits the shore and there is nothing to do but keep running, rain pelting me as though it's BB's fired from a relentless machine gun. I have to keep my head lowered and watch one foot repeatedly step in front of the other.

The rain hurts too much so I turn and splash down 7th Street, making my way home. Thunder roars. Lightening cracks as I run down the puddle that is now 2nd Avenue. Dan Fogleberg is telling me about Heartbreak Hotels. I wonder how my I-Pod and the rain.

Suddenly the sun blazes through the trees still dripping with rain. The temperature shoots upward. Sweat again pours from my body. My I-Pod keeps playing even when I hit pause.

On 12th Street, I take a right to see a brilliant broad rainbow hanging over our house. Behind it, purple rain falls on the marsh. Lightening flashes over Wilmington. I am bathed in sunshine watching darkness retreat and it's hard to not take it as a message from God. I had it good. Things got bad. It's good again. Whatever darkness is left is left in my life is moving away quickly.

"Thank you God," I say out loud as I turn towards our yard. "That was one hell of a run!"

"I'm living one hell of a life!"

No Vacancy

There are no vacancies on the island.

Even the three steps leading into The Captain's Quarters has people sleeping on them. Well, one shirtless guy is sitting up drinking a Poweraid staring off into space.

The two benches in front of Bernie's are also occupied. One by another shirtless guy and the other by a girl fast asleep wearing a sun dress with one leg hiked over the back of the bench. Five crew members of the Department of Public Works were giving extra attention to cleaning up the area around her bench.

My bicycle rolls on down street, which is located between 15th and 17th Street but for some inexplicable reason is called Tybrissa. At the end is a crosswalk to the beach and it too is completely occupied by a group of people wearing the same colored tee shirts.

Coasting to a stop I see they are missionaries from South Carolina. Yellow shirts proclaim in black "Jesus road trip to Savannah, Tybee Island and Jekyll Island." Who knew there was such a large concentration of unsaved heathens in these places? They are praying loudly so I peddle on to the Pier.

Have you ever been under the Pier?

I spent 30 years working with homeless people and watched them create elaborate homes out of cardboard, plastic and other people's garbage. I've been to tent cities across the street from the street from the White House. It was fabulous with matching white sheets perfectly pitched in neat rows. I've visited the communities under the bridges of cities throughout this great nation and am proud of America for building so many bridges so people can have a roof over their head!

BUT, that's nothing compared to what goes on under the Pier!

Holy Jesus there must have 300 people living in tiny little segregated communities down there! And they all seemed to be sectioned off according to lineage.

The brown people originating from Mexico had grills smoking under the main portion of the Pier. In front of them were the black people originating from Africa who were sitting in chairs placed in a circle and quietly reading the Bible. In front of them, nearest the water, were the white people originating from South Carolina, smoking cigarettes and drinking beers, throwing the bottles on the beach while having sex.

I contemplated introducing them to the missionaries from South Carolina but try to stay away from religious squabbles.

Tooling on down through the 14th Street Parking lot, I stopped with my back to the ocean so I could face of the couple of hundred balconies of The Ocean Plaza. The liberal media reported on FOX NEWS that smoking has dropped to 18% of the U.S. population.

They were evidently having  a convention at The Ocean Plaza!

If you've never visited the 14th Street parking lot, turned your back to the ocean and stared at the couple of hundred balconies of The Ocean Plaza ... well ... boy are you missing out on some sensory overload! Every single aspect of life takes place simultaneously in front of your very eyes.

I threw up in my mouth a little and kept on peddling.

The sidewalks were also filled with people unable to find a place. Shuffling their feet with blank stares they seem to just be wandering up and down Butler Avenue wearing the same clothes they wore yesterday. My friend and partner Sean McNally reminds me that Georgia produces more Zombies than any other state. They are all on the sidewalks of Butler Avenue right now.

But it's a beautiful day. Miles and miles of clear blue sky. Calm ocean and the water is warm. Soft sand with a lite breeze. Beers are chilled and rum is on ice. It's a perfect beach day!

It's a shame there's no room for you here.

Summer Squalls

Out of nowhere the wind picks up, quickly changes directions, and the rain hits as if fired from a water cannon. Yet on the horizon, over a dark ocean blanketed by dark clouds, are blue skies basking in sunshine. The sea in the distance is brilliant, shimmering with diamonds. A rainbow hangs in the sky separating the two.

I'm running in the rain.

I want to be in the sunshine but the summer squall sneaks up, never giving warning, and hitting me when I least expect it.

I can see where I want to be, but here I am.

"Shit!" I say out loud.

Others on the beach hug one another standing under tents, biding their time, waiting on it to end.

The fishermen don't care as they cast their worries away, content to eventually haul in hope.

Couples stroll hand in hand, feet in the surf, knowing the wet clothes are soon going to come off anyway back in their rooms. They smile and laugh, oblivious to the reality of it all.

I run on, madly hitting the wheel on my I-Pod searching for something that soothes my soul but nothing seems to fit. I keep hearing the click through my ear buds.

The rainbow grows.

The rains slow to a drizzle.

The brilliant blue sky in the distance comes closer.

Squalls are part of life. We're hit with the unexpected all of the time. Nights we'd planned are wrecked by unanticipated interruptions. Things we desire from others go unrealized. Dreams are smothered by stark realities. The hand of Death reaches up snatching someone we love. God seems to hide behind thick clouds like the sun.

We notice we're standing alone in the dark.

Rain falls on us.

On a warm day, cold winds blow from nowhere or everywhere.

But ... just over there ... where the rainbow is ... the skies are blue, the sun is shinning, the ocean gleams, dolphins jump, the glow of God is peeking over the clouds.

I see it in the rain.

Hope is right over there.

Summer Solstice

I love summer!

I love Summer Solstice!

It's a day of gathering for the Druids, of whom I am extremely fond. Druids were uninhibited people who were very spiritual. I'm as much Druid when it comes to my religion as I am anything else.

It's the longest day of the year in terms of sunshine!

Yesterday I actually walked inside the YMCA to pick up one of Sarah's girls and Jim Klutz exclaimed, "MICHEAL! WHAT ARE YOU DOING INSIDE!"

"Hey Jim," I replied, extending my tanned hand to his white one. "What you doing?"

"Got a meeting," he beamed.

"Ouch," I said. "I don't do those anymore."

"Laurel," I told her as we left, "if you go to meetings in your life you will get very, very white. It's not a good thing."

"Sssh," she said. "I'm very peaceful right now. I love yoga."

"How can a 9 year old love any ...?

"Sssh," she demanded.

We went home, put leashes on Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, and told them outside on a walk to Shirley's sad little holy dock. Sitting in the middle of the marsh we celebrated Summer Solstice Eve as one with nature.

Summer Solstice is also my beautiful daughter Chelsea's birthday. She is a summer girl who is currently in Paris finishing up her honeymoon. Two weeks ago she married on the beach as the sun set and the moon rose simultaneously in a dark blue sky. When she gets back she'll be Jones-ing for the beach as all children raised Druid do.

Plus everyone wears less laundry during the summer. The Druids blazed this practice and considered it holy.

If all that weren't enough, Summer Solstice falls on a Friday!

To which I say, "Surf's Up! Party on Dude and Dudettes!"

This is a great day to enjoy!

My Award Winning Church

The Church that employed me as its "Professional Christian" had won an award. Miraculously, the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel had morphed from a broken down, rag tag congregation of little old ladies into a vibrant, diverse, constantly-in-the-news group because we'd turned Sunday School rooms into apartments so homeless people would have a place to live and the Baptismal Pool into a bathtub so they would have a place to bath.

We reasoned that Church buildings are poor examples of stewardship. They sit vacate six days each week and we decided there was a better way to use a building to glorify God.

Having homeless people live in Sunday School rooms brought a life into the building that hadn't been there before. Before long, people who thought it was a cool idea began attending. Attendance went from 5 little old ladies to a couple of hundred.

Now as the Southern Baptist teach us, "Our Lord told us to count his sheep. Not feed them."

And someone in Baptist Corporate Headquarters in Nashville saw that our numbers were the roof!

Of course I was also counting every bath the homeless guys took as a Baptism and reporting that to sheep counters in Baptist Corporate Headquarters.

We'd received noticed that we were going to receive a trophy for shattering the Kentucky state record for Baptisms in a year AND it would be presented by the President of Kentucky Baptist Convention.

Obviously proud, we decided to spruce things up before they arrived on Sunday.

The building looked a little lived in and it needed painting. A group of church volunteers assembled and worked all Saturday to finish. Late in the day everyone was tired and ready to be finished. Besides we all wanted to be ready for Sunday morning trophy presentation.

So Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, "Brothers and sisters in Christ. Go home. There's only one wall left. I'll finish it."

We protested but he remained adamant. So we left.

Everything was perfect as I waited for the Baptist Ayatollah. The sanctuary was packed with proud members who I heard laughing and celebrating in anticipation of our award. When the Ayatollah arrived I proudly led him into the church.

His face went white.

In bold red letters on one wall of the sanctuary, Bill had painted the words "JESUS SHAVES!"

We never did get the award but we had one hell of a celebration.