The Music is snoring

I'm sipping coffee.

He's snoring.

The Hotel lobby is festive, a full breakfast bar steams, soft music plays as employees cheerfully wish everyone "Good Morning."

He is balled up in a chair in an alcove behind a column where no on can see him.

No one except me.

Leaving a room full of sleeping girls, I grab my lap top and head for the coffee.

After years of travel I established routines I still maintain; rising early, head to the common area for coffee and time to collect my thoughts, pray and write. To do this I find a corner of the room, away from the televisions, loud families, bleary eyed partiers and laughing business people.

I'm lost in thought and suddenly find myself wondering why the music is snoring?

It takes me a full minute longer to start looking around and ... there he is.

The lobby is filling up and is getting loud covering up his noisey slumber.

From his vantage point, no one can see him unless they walk between my table and him.

It is cold outside.

Certain the cheerful employees will be horrified if he's discovered, I pull my chair ... and the table slowly towards him so that whoever comes this way must encounter me first.

The Holiday season is upon us and I can at least give this poor guy a warm place to sleep for a little while.

Athens Weekend

We're heading to Athens today.

Sarah and I are taking off in a bit, rendezvousing with her girls in Dublin where we'll lunch, then head on up 441 sliding into the Classic City.

After being there every weekend during football season for 2 decades, I've become a slacker and this is my first time there all year.

Life got in the way.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, is in the Savannah Children's Choir and for some inexplicable they perform on Saturday's during football season.

Plus we enjoy hanging out together on the weekends.

Sarah's girls are with their Dad during the week and home with us on the weekends so it's a big deal!

The girls recognize football Saturdays are special and wean UGA garb ... meaning they steal mine ... and Maddie even watches the game with me, learning players names and asking to go to games.

We'll hook up with my son Jeremy and Terenca tonight and will tailgate together along with dozens of friends.

The girls are excited.

I'm about to explode.

We don't have tickets yet ... my brother's using them this year ... but we're unconcerned ... Sarah's working on it but ... it'll work out.

Kristen and Chelsea, my daughters, want to join us but one has to work and the other's spending time with her husband ... an alumni of the North Avenue Trade School who refuses to return to Athens.

His loss! ... and I mean that literally.

Regardless, it's a time with family, friends, tradition and making new memories ... the things Thanksgiving's all about.

Happy weekend everyone!

Jury Duty

"Juror #36," the young Attorney with pimples in a blue suit asks, "you've been a victim of a crime?"

"I have," I answer ... sitting on the third row of the Courtroom gallery with 40 others desperate to not serve as a member of the Jury.

It's a criminal case expected to last a couple of days ... starting the day before Thanksgiving!

I have lots of friends who are Lawyers but I swear if  you put a black robe on one and sit her or him higher than anybody else ... they suddenly think they're God! ... and schedule trials any damn time they want.

"Can you tell us about it?" Pimples in a tie presses.

"Sure," I reply. "Which one?"

Peering over his horn rimmed glasses he asks, "You've been the victim of more than one crime?"

"About 30 or so," I give him the honest truth.

Pimples seems taken aback.

"What were those crimes?" he asks after studying his notes.

"Well, pretty much everything," I confess. "Breaking and entering ... theft ... larceny ... assault ... battery ... I'm sure I'm forgetting some."

The other would-be Jurors sitting on the bench beside me lean forward and take a look at me.

I smile and shrug my shoulders.

"Were the nature of these crimes associated with your business or were they personal?" Pimples inquires.

"Yes," I respond ... and I swear one his Pimples pops without provocation.

 He looks across the room at his co-Counselor who shrugs his shoulders.

"Would these crimes prevent you from rendering a fair and unbiased hearing of this case?" he asks as though throwing out a trump card.

"Well," I say sitting straighter in my seat, "I'd bring my wealth of experience with me but ... it helps me be a better Judge of people."

I think this offends the Judge.

Pimples moves on to question Juror #41.

Everyone on my row continues to staring until, finally, the woman sitting next to me asks, "What do you do?"

How does one answer when I've done a lot?

"Well, I used to run Union Mission ..." I start but she immediately cuts me off.

"You're Micheal Elliott," she says. "I used to work at SCAD and met you every Christmas when we brought toys for the kids.

"Y'all were great," I tell her.

Pimples and the other attorneys go through the "Striking Process" and I think I came in #1.

So I got thrown off the Jury ... sprinted out of the Court House ... calling my baby on Speed dial ... 'cause I got $10 burning a hole in my pocket ... and we're going to have some fun tonight!!

Christmas ... Not Soon Enough

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Cassidy softly sings, sitting in the floor putting on her shoes getting ready for school.

Her voice is sweet and low ... her face angelic ... a child's heart already full of the Season.

At the same time, shots are fired in Ferguson ... dozens of vehicles are ablaze ... businesses are destroyed and looted.

The words spoken are all bad ... INJUSTUCE ... RACIST ... VIOLENCE ... DESTROY ... KILL!

The 8 year old skips out of her bedroom which looks like a TOY R US truck had a major collision with her bed leaving toys scattered everywhere.

Grabbing her doll, she hugs it tight.

"This ain't Iraq! This is the United States!" someone screams at a line of policemen.

At the same time, someone throws a rock hitting a reporter on the head ... making things very Iraq-like.

"Come on," Sarah says to Cass, "we're going to be late."

"Okay," the 8 year old sings in response ... sounding like a choir of Angels.

The Ferguson Fire Department is refusing to leave their barracks because of the gunshots and the looting taking place.

Hell has come on earth ... as it is in Hell.

I've never been one to get into the increasingly early celebrations of Christmas but these days Sarah sings along with carols on the radio while sipping morning coffee and I love when
she sings.

Her girls are already beaming with anticipation of celebrating the birth of Christ by singing Yuletide songs and being gifted for it.

Hip-Hop Artist J. Cole has a "heartaching, tearful song called 'Be Free'" inspired by Michael Brown's death.

Public Enemy's Chuck D, one of rap's most powerful voices, says "These people have actually stood up ... and that has to be saluted" ... for rioting and standing up to the Police.

Sarah and Cass leave for school and work.

I sigh.

I have Jury Duty today ... money to find ... bills to juggle ... and a car with the "Check Engine" light on.

"Oh well, it's not as bad as Ferguson," I say out loud in the quiet house, "or Savannah where far more people are regularly killed."

The childlike sweetness of Cass's voice singing rings in my head.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

Not soon enough.

And certainly not everywhere.

Hell's Breaking Loose

It strikes me I'm doing the exact same thing today I was doing 34 years ago.

Standing on stage at Bar Church ... yep it's Church in a Bar ... playing guitar ... as the "Unprofessional Christian" ... is the exact same thing I was doing on a Sunday 34 years ago.

Then ... I was asked to go a church in the inner city of Louisville, Kentucky because there was no one to play the piano or organ ... so I went ... and it changed my life.

I was enrolled in Seminary but only to figure some things out about God.

There were no intentions whatsoever to become a Minister.

Ministers are crazy people!

Yet there I was ... standing in the Pulpit with a guitar slung over my shoulder, singing "I Saw the Light."

The tiny congregation consisting of five little old ladies ... a few homeless people getting out of the cold for a while ... and thirty guys in jail who came for the service accompanied by two officers with rifles ... asked me to come back.

So I did ... becoming a regular with ... the music.

One Sunday, the Crazy ass Minister resigned and after the service the little old ladies asked if I'd take over for him.

It was the last thing I wanted to do ... I was meant to a Rock Star ... not a member of the Clergy!

But I couldn't tell them "No."

That Church went on to do many  great things but was eventually kicked out by the Southern Baptist Convention for breaking too many Commandments ... like ordaining women ... taking care of people with AIDS  ...turning unused Sunday School rooms into apartments for the homeless.

I was called to Baptist Corporate Headquarters in Nashville to explain these things.

"Where does it say a penis is mandatory equipment to be a Minister?" I asked ... starting with broken Commandment #1.

The conversation went downhill from there ... quickly followed by my career as a "Professional Christian."

I left organized religion but continued advocating for women, taking care of people with AIDS, housing the homeless ... somehow staying in trouble through it all.

Like all things, it eventually came to an end and I bounced around doing various things ... International Street Medicine ... social media content development ... consulting ... but most importantly being found by the love of my life.

These days, I find myself in front of a tiny congregation with a guitar slung over my shoulder ... there's food for the hungry ... fellowship for the lonely ... a place to be warm when there's no place to go.

It's Deja vu all over again.

What ensued the first time was one Hell of a ride and lots of people being better off!

"This all feels very familiar," I say to myself as Sarah makes announcements.

I've got this feeling ... a Hell of a ride is starting slow but ... I know better.

I've been here before.

All Hell's getting ready to break loose of lots of people's lives.

Everything's going according to plan

"God's got a special plan for you."

I've heard that a lot the past several days.

Of course I have no real idea of what the plan is.

God's keeping pretty mum about it.

It must be a secret plan.

"Everything happens in God's time."

I've also been told repeatedly.

I have a hard time believing God has a calendar ... or a watch.

Nor do I believe in "predestination" ... it reminds me of a joke.

A man fell down the stairs, broke his arm and said "Thank God that's over!" ... meaning it was according to God's plan that he fall down the stairs on that particular day at that exact moment.

And I don't think God works with military precision, making plans and launching campaigns that involve bad things happening to people.

I think Santa Claus has to do that kind of planning to take everything to everybody in one night but ... not God.

"God will not give you more than you can bear," is another thing I've been told.

It doesn't say that in the Bible.

Somebody made it up.

And I've certainly witnessed people completely succumb to things they could not handle.

It does say in the bible that "He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear" (I Corinthians 10:13).

I'm not certain about that because I've certainly been tempted WAY BEYOND what I could bear and the results were not pretty.

Things do get unbearable sometimes and while we may live through them it doesn't mean we're not crushed leaving broken hearts, ruptured faith, a dimmer sense of hope and a fear of the future.

"God is love," nobody has said lately.

I do believe this.

I got more love in my life than I've ever had.

I work very hard to appreciate, enjoy and accept it.

It's hard work.

But when I get it right ... occasionally ... I do love that a plan's come together ... at this stage in my life ... making unknown things bearable ... healing my hurts ... giving me hope.

Quite the Gift

It is quiet aside from the soft music I have streaming on the Laptop in front of me.

Our home is full of sleeping girls in bedrooms with curtains drawn to keep them dark.

Well ... not our bedroom where Sarah sleeps bathed in light through windows.

Sitting in the kitchen bright sunshine floods through sliding glass doors that lead to the Beloved Back Deck.

The chill in the air and the brisk breeze prevent me from sitting outside where I prefer to think, pray and write.

Goddess meanders from her bed to lay in the floor and stare at me intensely.

Pancake batter sits on the counter for the girls and I enjoy cooking them.

I am full of Thanksgiving though it's days away.

There's food in the fridge, wine on the shelf, comfort in the furniture and a coziness here in spite of cabinets in desperate need of paint and a light that doesn't work.

The only agenda today are multiple birthday parties and to simply enjoy spending time together.

Sarah and I have to practice for Bar Church tomorrow but we delight in making music as we make fun of each other.

Winston The Little Gay Dog prances into the kitchen wanting to be let outside.

That means Sarah's awake so I quickly slide the glass door open and shut then make my way to her for a kiss to start this day.

Everything is not perfect in our life ... we've got our fair share of worries and major concerns ... but there are times like this when it feels pretty damn perfect.

So I'm going to enjoy it because it's quite the gift to just be here right now.

I've been on bottom mostly feeling on top

I've been on some rocks and I've certainly been on some rolls.

Hitting the rocks means you survey the damage, see what's salvable and wait ... for the Tide to come in, some one to throw you a rope or for God to answer your prayers.

Divorces, the loss of loved ones, job changes, terrible accidents ... each rock left me ... asking "How bad is it?" ... "What have I lost and what do I still have?" ... Admitting I could use some help ... and waiting in fearful silence that nobody's going to be here for me ... God's silence is deafening when I really need to hear.

But we get incredible rolls too ... riding the wave perfectly, thrilled by what we're doing, lavishing in the attention, having the Midas Touch and marveling at how blessed we are!

Terrific kids, wonderful friends, professional accomplishments, travels to exotic places, awards and public recognitions ... each roll leaves me shaking  my head, full of wonderment ... yelling "GOD THIS IS GOOD! I WANT MORE!" ... "I am Happy!" ... "I've got the best friends!" ... "God is good!"

As the Minor Prophet Dan Fogelberg proclaimed ... "I've seen the bottom and I've been on top but mostly I've been in-between."

Who can argue with that?

I'm in between right now.

On the one hand, I'm incredibly happy ... for the first time in my life ... I adore Sarah ... her kids make me laugh ... my kids give me tremendous satisfaction ... my circle of friends is small but fiercely loving ... we live at the Beach and clothing is optional.

It's an utterly satisfying blessing!

On the other hand, work stuff is not working out ... it's driving me crazy ... leaving me sullen ... not giving my best to Sarah and the children ... spending too much time alone ... and questioning God.

Put them both together and ... I see the bottom ... but I'm on top too ... so I guess that leaves me in-between.

Then again as the Minor Prophet says ... "Lessons learned are like bridges burned ... you only have to cross them once ... is the pleasure worth the price of the pain?"

HELL YEAH!

As crazy as it is ... and it's crazy ... I wouldn't trade it for everything or anything I've ever had in my life.

It makes no sense whatsoever.

It doesn't feel in-between.

Though I can see the bottom ... I am on top!

American Airlines and Delta Suck!

It's a crazy world but we live here.

I'd move if I knew where to go ... but I don't.

The Moon's not colonized yet ... Mars doesn't have a beach ... and no one's heard from that Comet since we landed on it.

I have a gazillion Airline Miles but can't use them because neither American Airlines or Delta Airlines ... say I have enough.

Honestly they say I have enough to get there ... but not back.

When I explain I want to take Sarah with me ... they laughed.

American Airlines demands we change our lives to accommodate their schedule and Delta only cares about the constant business traveler.

They're both crazy ... about profits.

I guess we're staying in the craziness of the world ... until we get enough miles to go somewhere else ... wherever that is.

We'd like to move to Belize.

I know it's still in the world but it seems far enough away ... plus we really liked it when we Honeymooned there.

We're tired of murders in Savannah ... the Island Police Department ... FOX News ... anybody elected to public office ... the way the Atlanta Falcons are playing ... Meteorologists ... Wall Street ... Pharmaceutical Companies ... Southern Baptists ...  Jerry Rainey ... parades on Tybee ... Miley Cyrus ... and the positions Missionaries take.

At the very least we'd like to visit Joey Finch and Billy Bray in Key West to check out their new place.

It looks nice ... and Bill's got this guitar that I want to steal when they're showing Sarah the view from the bedroom.

BUT ... American Airlines and Delta suck!

Which means we're stuck.

But we're determined!

And we love each other!

It's just a matter of time before we escape this crazy world.

God's touch

An absolutely great day went to absolute shit when I got the email I'd never conceived getting.

I'm not wanted.

I don't understand that.

I'm pretty good ... done lots of cool things ...been everywhere ... am incredibly successful ... and married to the most wonderful person ever born (except for those times when she's mad at me for something I obviously had little to do with).

Everything was rocking and rolling ... then I got the email.

"No Thanks," they said to everything I have to offer.

There's that moment when you stand there alone ... in disbelief ... wondering how ... searching for logic ... getting angry ... filled with frustration.

Goddess comes out of her slumber to lick me.

"How do you know?" I ask our beloved Golden Retriever with a bit of Border Collie in her.

Winston ... The Little Gay Dog ... prances in and licks me too.

And they make me cry so I slide into the kitchen floor and they just love me.

I call Sarah and tell her.

Fierce love and protection explodes in my ear.

Finishing, I tell myself, "I got to get out of here."

I go to my other home ... The Breakfast Club.

"HEY!" everyone yells because I'm never there at noon.

"I've had the shitiest day," I say plopping on my seat at the counter.

Every single person who's employed at the Club stops what they're doing ... looks at me ... washes me in love.

I order then can't eat.

I just want to go home.

When I leave... Caroline of all people ... and Denise ... hug me at the same time and tell me they love me.

"Are you Micheal Elliott?" someone I don't know asks tapping me on the shoulder.

Caroline and Denise are immediately on the defense and ready to take him down.

"I am," l say.

"Stacy Jennings told to read your blog and I do every day."

Caroline and Denise release the intense grip they have on my arm and return to delivering food, pouring coffee, wiping tables and waiting on customers.

"That's nice," I reply ... really needing nice ... at that moment.

"I love what you do man," he says hugging me.

I just cry.

Caroline ... of all people ... caustic, profanely wonderful, recently married and pregnant ... places her hand on top of mine for a slight second.

And the world stands still.

"I got this" she says pouring coffee.

She's been there for me before ... storming out into the middle of Butler Avenue ... crossing her arms into an "X" ... screaming "That Bitch is not wanted in here!"

"What are you and Sarah going to do?' she whispers.

"I don't know," I answer.

She just nods ... but it's a nod completely full of love.

And if that doesn't make you believe in God ... then there's no God.

Savannah ... Fare thee well!

"Why'd you write that?" Philip Solomon asks. "It was disgusting."

He was talking about my Savannah book ... "Tour of Homes" ... in a scene where a black maid spits in the food on the plate she'll serve her employer ... a wealthy "Old Savannah" family in their mansion on Taylor Street.

"It's fiction Philip," I reply. "I made it up."

"I know those people," he snaps.

Sitting back at my desk I study the intensity on his face and he's obviously angry.

"Sure," I say breaking the heavy silence, "characters in the book are based on real people but ... they're made up. They're not those people."

"It's all too close to home," he shoots back.

"Well good," I reply. "Then I got Savannah right."

"You got it terribly wrong," he says storming out, taking his anger with him and sucking all the air out of the room.

I sigh heavily.

You can't please everybody.

There have been times in my life when I can't please anybody.

I try real hard because it's my nature to please people ... make them feel better ... do my part to make the world a better place ... one person at a time ... only to discover making one person feel better often makes another feel worse.

Actually, that's what "Tour of Homes" is about ... for every good there is an evil.

No matter how much religion you wrap around it ... people do bad things to others ... just as others do wonderful things for people.

Last night Sarah and I went out for pizza and there's no one on the island this time of year so we were the only customers ... sitting alone for the first time in days because her girls were here and "Girls Rule" when they're home ... plus we've been busy making plans ... so it was nice to simply be alone ... and to just be "us".

Our conversation was intense though ... very lovingly we fought to understand each other.

Two hours later, holding hands we stroll to our car with stomachs and souls completely filled.

During the night, snuggled to my wife, an old memory comes in a dream and there's nothing "made up" about it.

I wrote a book that hit my city with a THUD ... thoroughly angering "Old Savannah" ... even those I love.

"I can't believe you wrote that," Rev. Benny Mitchell told me several days later. "You wrote what we all think and do ... but never say."

Benny was the African-American pastor of Conner's Temple Baptist Church in Savannah.

"What?" I ask grinning. "I didn't get it right."

"I wouldn't want to be you," he laughs. "You've made lots of people angry ... but you've made lots of us happy."

I don't have a response as he hugs me.

"You love everybody," Sarah sighs at dinner.

"Well I try," I answer ... but the truth is I don't and we talk about that too.

And certainly everybody doesn't love me ... and I can name names.

But I sure loved Sarah this morning as she manages her morning routine.

A love for Philip remains somewhere in a corner of my heart though we have no relationship these days.

And there's a spot for the woman who owns the house on Taylor Street "the character" was based upon.

They are not part of my life anymore ... though I remember them ... with more fondness than not ... but I'm wired that way ... Sarah tells me most aren't ... people come and they go.

What's real is the love I have for Sarah ... her girls ... my kids ... and the life we live.

It cost a lot people to get here.

They were worth it.

This is better.

Much better.

I'm not making that up.

Anything you want

I want to go Alice's Restaurant.

I want to take Sarah and the girls.

I want my kids to meet us there.

I want the Carnival of Friends to go too.

I wouldn't mind you coming either.

Because we all deserve everything we want.

We're just not getting it and Thanksgiving's coming on so it's time to start thinking about such things.

Rumor is we "can get anything we want at Alice's Restaurant" and ... DAMMIT! ... it's about time we get anything we want!

Because we're not.

I know ... I know ... "you can't always get what you want."

BULLSHIT!

I believe you can.

I think we do.

Of course it's never enough.

Every single time we get what we want ... we want more!

I do.

That's why I want to take Sarah ... her girls ... my kids ... their lovers ... the O'Neill's ... Sadowsky's ... members of the Bored ... Shirley and Sandy ... Monty Parks and the Tuesday Night Jam ... Roy and Martha Swindelle ... all my Facebook friends ... and everybody that goes to Bar Church.

My Mom of course!

And I think it will be fun if "Brown Boy" comes from "The Breakfast Club" so long as he brings his brother TJ because ... TJ's funny ... Brown Boy's just brown.

Then we can get anything we want.

Through ... honestly ... I can't believe everything I already have.

The most incredible wife ... her wonderful girls ... the best children ever ... a Carnival of Friends ... a Church that feels like home ...

I think I want it more for them than I do for me.

Because I owe them all so much.

Sitting here thinking about it ... I've already got everything I want.

I hope you do too.

But if you don't ... I'm ready for a road trip.

We'll go where you can get anything you want.

Because we all deserve that.

A Letter to my Wife

Dear Sarah,

I never knew how much joy can be stuffed into my chest until you.

Watching you sleep fills me with happiness because ... you love to sleep ... and I love you getting what you want.

Anticipating what you're going to wear every day is insanity that always leaves me completely satisfied ... and full of sinful lust.

You have the most delightful way of mocking me when you're blowing me off which always leaves me unaware you're blowing me off because of how much delight I get in the ways you mock me.

I never mind when you're angry ... unless it's at me ... because you hold nothing inside, which is a pretty healthy way of dealing with anger ... and I sit watching you harness dark clouds in your eyes and black feelings in your heart KNOWING the expressions of love that will soon follow.

You mystify me in the way you devour books ... reminding me of me and the way I used to devour books.

When I cry ... which is often ... it always makes you stop dead in your tracks ... and you either take great delight in poking fun at me ... or you throw your arms around me and share whatever it is I'm crying about.

Sometimes I catch fleeting glimpses of you watching me with your girls ... as I play with them, poke fun at them, laugh with them and remind them they're perfectly capable of picking up their own damn stuff ... and I know that you know that I love them.

I love the way you love my children ... always including them in everything.

Your writing is something you don't do enough and world deserves your writing.

Our travels will soon be legends because God we have fun when we go anywhere ... except for that one time at Disney World when you refused to leave ... because it was your first time and as sleepy as I was it made  me happy to see you so happy.

The struggle you have over my complete adoration of UGA football used to confuse me until you started wearing the red UGA panties on game day ... which remind me of how much I love the way you dress.

Mornings you are so focused on work and I'm regulated to pouring your juice, making your coffee and fixing your breakfast (yes I'm Southern ... and fix breakfast!) then we have short minutes to sit together before you head out and conquer another day.

Goddess, Winston The Little Gay Dog and I can't wait to go outside and wait on you every day to come back and make this house a home again.

The touch of my leg on yours when we go to sleep at night makes me know it really is a beautiful world.

I could go ... and am already crying ... but it's time for Bar Church ... and I'm preaching and need to think about what I can possibly say on God's behalf ... whatever it is will be rooted in love ... because I've never known love like you.

ME

Don't Test Me

Recently I took several tests for a job possibility.

Two psychological examinations, a logic test and a personality profile proved interesting as it's been several decades since I was required to take a test.

By the time I completed my academic career I'd mastered test taking.

At Seminary the Baptists requires all incoming students to take a battery of test to weed out women, gay people,  those with scientific tendencies and intellectuals of any kind.

Since I'm not any of these I was allowed in ... only to be thrown out later because of theology.

Afterwards I was forced to go take tests administered by "Christian" psychologists employed by the Home Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention.

Sitting in the waiting room with other potential "Professional Christians" I watched husbands comforting their crying wives.

"Everything okay?" I ask flipping through the "Rolling Stone" I'd brought with me to pass time waiting to be called ... (Get it? That's a great joke!)

"It was horrible," the wife explains. "He asked very intimate questions about our sex life."

"Really?" I ask completely intrigued dropping the magazine to the floor.

At that precise moment I'm called inside and the "Christian" psychologist asks me to describe myself.

"Aren't you going to ask me about my sex life?" I retort.

Leaning back with a frown he intertwines his fingers in front of face like Mr. Spock on "Star Trek" flipping open my very thick file.

"You have two children," he says staring at the large brown file. "I assume you've mastered sex."

"You shouldn't make assumptions," I remind him. "They can make an "Ass" out of "U" and "ME."

"Get out," he yells.

I have no idea what I made on that particular test but I passed and became a "Professional Christian" until I was thrown out several years later.

I hadn't remembered these things until I took the 4 tests the other day.

THEN ... on Face book I get countless invitations from friends wanting me to take  a test ... "Which Rock Star am I?" ... "Which President would I be?" ... "What book is the real you?" ... "Which Michael Jackson body parts would he grab that mostly represents you?"

I haven't taken any of them.

I already know who I am.

Sarah's husband ... the Father of my children ... One of the best friends her girls will ever have ... a believer in others ... a encourager ... a writer ... a man with many talents who really who really wants to be a Rock Star.

Oh ... and someone who apparently has mastered Sex.

According to the tests.

Holy Heart Attack Batman!

My religion has always been rooted in Love, Acceptance, Skepticism, Optimism, Music and Humor.

I take it serious but ... not too serious.

Like the time I oversaw Bruce Day's ordination to the ministry at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in the inner city of Louisville where I was inexpiably the Pastor.

It's a beautiful service where the highlight is the "laying on of hands" of the person kneeling in the floor accepting the mantle of Christ.

In front of the Alter Bruce kneels ... hands folded in prayer ... head bowed in Holy anticipation ... a host of ordained Clergy ready to lay hands on his head and pray with him.

As Pastor of the Congregation I go first.

Leaving the Pulpit I solemnly make my way to stand in front of Bruce with my back to the 200 witnesses in the congregation.

Slowly I place my hands on his bowed head.

Softly playing on the piano is Breathe On Me.

Bruce's wife Jaki's eyes are moist as she stands to the side.

Moving my lips close to his ear, I whisper ... "Your pants are unzipped."

He doesn't move.

Standing ... I give way to the next minister who lays her hands on Bruce and solemnly prays in his ear, confirming the Presence of the Lord for the rest of his life.

"I was afraid to open my eyes after that," he explains after the service before calling me an SOB and then we both laugh heartedly.

Thirty years later it still makes me laugh.

Today Bruce and Jaki have a rich life, tremendous ministry and numerous blessings.

He recently had stints placed in his heart because a lifetime of ministry is stressful stuff and he almost had a heart attack.

Bruce doesn't deserve that.

Especially after I gave him his first one. 

Alone in the Man Cave

"Does she know you write about her?" Sandi asks.

"I write about a fictitious character based on her," is my answer.

"Does she know?"

Shrugging my shoulders as a response, I honestly don't know.

"I almost yelled 'HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY' when I arrived but your windows were shut."

"Well, she is famous but I don't know if she knows she's famous," I explain swinging in the chair on the porch.

It's silent for a moment on a pleasant Saturday afternoon, sitting on the porch ... which is a "Man Cave" where I watch football, M*A*S*H, Historical documentaries and Marvel Movies.

Sarah and the girls are in New York City so I'm home alone ... without adult supervision ... sitting on the porch.

Often Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, sits with me to talk about life ... "School is boring" ... She likes a boy but they haven't kissed yet ... "I got boobs!" she announces puffing her chest out. "What do you think?"

"They've got something for that," I answer watching football.

"What?" she asks hopefully.

"Clearasil," I answer turning up the game.

Sometimes Maddie, the 13 year old who knows everything without understanding anything, comes down to talk.

"Mike, if I tell you something will you promise to not tell my Mom?"

I turn the football game volume down because this is always good.

"No Maddie," I say, "I love you but I'm not getting in trouble with your Mom. Why don't you tell me what you don't want her to know and ... if you need to tell her ... I'll let you know."

And she tells me.

"Yeah," I say turning the volume of the game back up, "you need to tell your Mom. I'm not getting in trouble over this."

Every once in a while, Cassidy the 8 year old, gets lost appearing on the porch, is frightened and crawls in my lap.

"Do you want to play with me," she sweetly asks, curling in a ball in my lap.

"No," I reply in equal sweetness, "do you want to watch football with me?"

"No," she answers making her way back upstairs as I turn the volume back up.

I love the girls.

They're nutty as fruitcakes ... just like my kids were ...but everything's always interesting because of them.

Who wants a life that's not interesting?

"So she has no idea," Sandi asks on the pleasant Saturday afternoon.

"I have no idea," I say swinging in the chair.

And at that precise moment, Winston The Little Gay Dog pounces on Sandi's husband's crotch.

Dave, who was sleeping through the entire conversation, screams like a Pentecostal slain by the Holy Spirit.

Goddess rolls over and sighs.

"What are you doing today?" Dedra asks ... who's been remarkably silent throughout this conversation.

"Watching football," I tell them.

They immediately leave.

I turn up the volume.

And wish the girls were home.

Literally

I want to be back on my Honeymoon.

Honestly though ... it's like I never left.

Sure sometimes Sarah gets frustrated with me and throws around her New York moxie which I mostly ignore because I'm staring at her ... HER.

In a non-literal way our Honeymoon never ended.

But I'm literal today ... something I rarely do ... and something Sarah will love once she gets over the initial shock.

I want us to go back to Belize.

It's where we physically spent our Honeymoon ... at Robert's Grove ... if we weren't at the Barefoot Bar.

You can tell why I fell in love with the Barefoot Bar!

Flip-flops mean you're overdressed!

Definitely my kind of place!

We went everyday because the band was a bunch of Rastafarians who'd expatriated from Jamaica ... does that make any sense?

The answer is "No" but Sarah and I fell in love with them!

The food was good and the drinks were frozen.

This literal interpretation commenced yesterday when my daughter Chelsea texts "It's time for a dive trip. Where should we go?"

"Belize," I text back. "We gotta dive the Blue Hole."

THEN ... and this is why I believe in God ... SARAH TELLS ME ... "It's time for us to take a trip ... just us" ... and I can't agree more.

Because literally speaking this means we're going back to Belize TWICE in the not-too-distant-future!!!

I couldn't be happier!

I have no idea when these things are going to happen ...

or how we'll pay for them ...

but I believe they going to happen ...

LITERALLY!

My Daddy's War

"Tell me about war," I say to my Dad at the kitchen table one sunny afternoon.

He'd just gotten up ... Dad worked nights and woke up about the time we got home from school ... in fact many days David and I were the reason he didn't finish his sleep.

He looked at me long and hard sitting at one end of the table and me at the other.

"How bout them Dawgs?" he replies sipping coffee.

"Seriously Dad," I protests. "Tell me."

"I don't want to talk about that stuff," he answers with a snap.

I'd learned a long time ago when the snap in his voice appears to keep  my mouth shut so we sit in silence.

Standing, he pulls things from the refrigerator to make dinner. Mom's at work so Dad does the cooking ... and he loves it!

Mom gets home at 6:00 and David, Angi and I are expected to be at the kitchen table for family dinner ... and we eat, talk, laugh and are lectured about life ... at least I'm often lectured because I'm the one mostly in trouble.

"Here," Dad says handing me a $5 bill.

"Go to Crosby's and get one pound of hamburger meat. Ground Chuck ... not hamburger meat! Make sure he grounds it."

I ride my bike to the little store and Mr. Crosby grounds the chuck.

Returning to an aroma filled kitchen, Dad says "Sit down Son."

Laying the ground chuck on the counter, registering the snap in his voice, I sit at one end of the table and he at the other.

Sighing heavily, he wipes his eyes, clears his throat and says, "There is nothing good about War. It's best to forget them."
.
And my Daddy starts crying.

I sit frozen in fear.

Wiping his eyes he stands again, walks to me and puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Why don't you help me cook?"

Five decades later, I love to cook ... passionately hate War ... and have no hesitancy whatsoever to cry.

Happy Veterans Day Dad.

For what it's worth.

Forgiving Myself

John Cleese, the famous Monty Python comedian, recently said that in writing his autobiography, he was able to revisit the episodes of his past and forgive himself.

How do you forgive yourself?

"As you get older," he explains, "you look back and realize nothing matters anymore. You look back on those times when you sat there thinking 'Am I going to kill myself?' ... 'Why did she dump me?' ... or "I did a bad {thing}' ... and you realize none of it matters."

"You look back on it completely forgiving yourself and not taking all the pain and angst as yours."

Later he says, "I love my life because I just don't give a FU$K anymore ... I remember very clearly watching the American election results and Nixon was elected and I actually cried ... I cared that much at that point."

I found myself completely nodding in agreement as he says these things.

Maybe it's because I'm older too ... though I don't think of myself that way ... Hell, I play in a rock band again and combining it with Church! ... something I started attempting when I was in my teens!

Perhaps it's because I think John Cleese is both funny and insightful.

Certainly we agree politically.

"If someone asked me," he continues, "if you'd like to have dinner with David Cameron (The British Prime Minister), I would say 'No.' I'd like to stay home and play with my cats."

I completely get that!

I'd rather stay home with Sarah and the girls than have to endure politicians, famous people and most religious functions.

I'd prefer to talk to my kids on the phone.

Honestly, looking back, I did the best I could given where I was at then so I really don't think much about it.

I did the best I could.

I gave everything I had to give in those days.

Thank God they're over.

I am completely in love with the now!

And as crazy as a ride as it's been to get here, I'm completely in love with me too!

And I'm crazy as a loon about Sarah.

That's how you forgive yourself.

By loving yourself.

And then giving yourself away to someone who loves you back.

Heaven On Wheels

When Sarah's not home, Winston The Little Gay Dog, sleeps on the sofa.

When my wife is home, he sleeps cradled with her in the bed.

It's like he's ticked off that she's not here.

Goddess, our Golden Retriever with a  bit of Boarder Collie in her, remains the same ... sleeping in the bedroom doorway as though to protect us from whatever may come in the night.

The house is incredibly quiet.

Well except for the Beach Music I blast anyway but other than that ... I don't hear three little girls slamming doors, watching Netflix from bed or dropping plates while fixing breakfast.

Winston, TLGD, isn't head butting the bedroom door after being let outside to get back in bed with Sarah.

Gypsy, the formerly gender confused cat, doesn't shoot up and down the stairs to caress the girls then suddenly remember we're here too and rush back to show us love.

Even the happy sounds of the Beach Music sounds muted.

Plus it's raining.

Talk about a melancholy morning!

A few short years ago it was always like this.

It was just Goddess and me then and I blasted happy music to numb myself to the constant hurt, depression and loneness.

Then Sarah and I threw caution ... and most everything else ... to the wind, got married, doubled the number of children and it's HELL ON WHEELS ever since!

Actually HEAVEN ON WHEELS is a better description.

Heaven isn't perfect with it's slamming doors, constant Netflix, dropping plate and head butting dogs but ... I'm sure missing it today.