Fake News and Real Faith

Sarah and I are on a rare lunch date, dining outside because the day's so nice, waiting for our food while talking about the girls.

From the corner of my eye, I spy Jim and Cathy wander up, request an outside table and take a seat nearby.

Sarah and I have an abundance of subject material as Maddie, the 17 year old who knows everything ... if you need to know something, it doesn't matter what, and you don't know, just ask Maddie, she knows ... has a boyfriend she loves, has narrowed her college choice down from 110 to 13 and is pretty certain her major is going to be "Reckless spending."

Our vivacious social butterfly Laurel, the 14 year old, is so busy and popular she has a difficult time focusing working things like homework into her schedule. Laurel's always up to something and has already been banned from after school activities for the rest of the year unless accompanied by a parent.

Cassidy, the 12 year old, only comes out of her room to eat, by which I mean wreck the kitchen as she prepares food to take to her room where she will conduct science experiments in dirty empty glasses we'll find weeks later. The only time we dare go in Cassidy's room is to drag her out of bed to go to school ... that's when we find the plates and glasses.

Throughout their lives, all three believed they were only children ... until Che was born.

Now each claim they have one sister while acknowledging the existence of the others through an intense competition to determine who is Che's favorite.

"Who's your favorite sister?" each asks the baby in her own way.

Of course Che has three different answers depending on what she's up to but her most common reply is ... "Daddy."

Sarah's burger and my Flounder sandwich arrive so we dig in continuing our conversation.

Afterwards, we pay the tab and make our way out when Jim smiles broadly and says, "Micheal! We thought that was you."

It's been forever since we've seen one another so I introduce them to Sarah.

"We go way way back," I say and it's true 30 years ago our lives intersected often through work, kids, Church and life on the island that Tybee use to be.

"Let's see," I explain, "Jim's in real estate and ... let's see, what was it? ... Cathy just had surgery but's doing fine ... I just can't remember what she had done."

"Both knees were replaced," she tells Sarah pointing to her legs. "I'm fine now."

"How did you know that?" Jim wonders out loud.

"Facebook," I laugh.

"He keeps up," Sarah explains.

It's true.

"You know all our news," Cathy laughs.

"I know the important stuff," I smile putting my arm around my wife and strolling away.

Growing up we watched Walter Cronkite every night at 6:30 ... my Dad was suspicious of Huntley and Brinkley ... he never said they were gay but in hindsight I believe it's what he thought.

When President Kennedy was assassinated and Cronkite cried on television reporting the News, my Father ... the ex-Marine, twice Prisoner of war and survivor of being shot through the mouth while escaping ... cried right along with him.

After Walter retired and I moved away, I continued getting my news through television at 6:30 becoming a Tom Brokaw man.

Then I fell in love with Jane Pauley.

I was an avid reader of newspapers too and loved spending Sunday afternoons reading "The New York Times," "The Atlanta Journal-Constitution" and "The Savannah Morning News."

When on the road, I loved reading the local newspapers!

For most of my life, I was a news junkie.

Of course when the Internet happened, television news watered down to partisanship and newspapers dwindled into a relic only used by old people who can't adapt to instant everything.

These days we're overwhelmed with what passes for news.

A group of people who may, or may not, be making their way from Central America are a caravan of terrorist sponsored invading hordes ... the latest mass shooting keeping the unbroken string of white male shooters intact ... Democrats regained control of the House of Representatives but Republicans have checkmate retaining the Senate ... as of right now there are no Hurricanes forming.

Honestly, I no longer care about these things ... except the Hurricanes ... I keep up with those.

The rest of it is same as it ever was.

I'm fond of saying, "The news is the same every single day ... only the names, time and date change."

This is the news I care about and follow these days.

How's Chip doing managing his Mom's onset of Alzheimer's? ... what are Jim and Sam Sahr's test results? ... Is Clark doing okay since his Mom died after spending the last five years as her primary caregiver? ... Did Victor do okay with heart surgery? ... Where's John Iacovini going to end up? ... what's Benny going to do now that the Bar can open at 11:00 if he serves food?

What's going on in our girls lives?

Are my kids okay?

Is my wife happy?

That's the real news I'm looking for. the meaningful events that shape my world.

The stuff on television and Internet these days has a fakeness to it and none of it's as true as it's made out to be.

But ... how's my friend Chip? ... is Jim and Jam holding up okay? ... is Clark moving on? ... Is Victor recovering? ... is John ready for the changes? ... will Benny understand Bar Church will help business should he chose to open at 11 on Sunday mornings?

That's real news there!

It's the kind of News God cares about most.

Remembering the Band

"Good Morning!" a jovial Eric Johnson bellows entering the Bar a little after 8:30 on Sunday morning.

He's all smiles lugging his guitar and microphone stands inside Benny's where I'm moving Bar stools and tables to clear the stage to set up the sound system.

"What can I do to help? Eric asks though he already knows I've got the routine down to a science so he busies himself setting up his space.

The door opens as David pulls a speaker on wheels for his bass guitar.

"Good morning," he says with an Impish smile, plugging in at the back of the stage.

Gordo strolls in without speaking, lays a suitcase of harmonicas on the bar, hands over a wireless to connect to the sound system and begins to make ready.

I ask Eric to run through his songs and as he does, I meander around the Bar making sure the sound system's doing it's job.

Monty stumbles in wearing sunglasses, looking like he just woke up, immediately plugs his guitar into the board and plays.

Mary shuffles around the bar making coffee, decorating the Pool tables, arranging food for the Pot Luck, lighting candles before taking her stool at the end of the bar.

Tommy and Margaret rush in carrying a Stratocaster guitar, fiddle, harmonica, Dobro and a speaker which he plus in taking a seat in front of the stage. 

For the next 10 minutes we follows Monty through a Jam until everyone's fully awake, can move our fingers with ease and sing without cracking voices.

Chip opens the door and I instantly start unplugging things because he's bringing a better sound system so, as everyone stands in place, he adds a monitor, replaces the board and plugs everyone back in, including himself as our lead guitarist.

Davy appears out of nowhere playing the drums.

A person or two meander in early for worship, take a seat and listen to practice.

This is my favorite part of Bar Church.

The coming together of musicians and others, each bearing the gift of themselves and their talents to become part of something bigger than who they are individually ... becoming a band ... but more than that, transforming each other into creators of joy.

"Do this in remembrance of me," Jesus asked at the Last Supper, and at Bar Church we do a bit more than remember ... Band members mold themselves into something new ... re-membering themselves into the body of Christ ... with guitars, harmonicas and drums.

There's always a moment when we're starting to come together and part of it's captured in this video.

It's what Holiness looks like being born.

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THIS SUNDAY AT BAR CHURCH!

Are you seriously wondering? It's only Monday.

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My Bookends!

Magic moments that take your breath away.

This is one.

I'm sitting at the dinning room table beside sliding glass doors with an expansive view of a giant yard of fine full trees.

On the other side of the room are two large windows with terrific views of large front yards, again of fine full trees.

Living here gives the impression of almost being being in a cabin in a forest ... though it's not ... but it often seems it.

It's actually a subdivision where the girls walk to school, work's easily accessible, Grocery stores are an option and every conceivable manner of fast food is near.

Salt water marshes, rivers and Palm Trees abound as the end of the mainland is only a couple of miles away. The Beach is minutes away and I'm there often enough. My dress code remains unchanged.

Catching the corner of my eye my wife and my baby kiss on the sofa and I believe it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

They're on the sofa that sits under the two large windows showcasing the front of our home.

Che's sneaking peeks of what's happening outside as she kisses Sarah.

Gypsy the old cat plays with Ollie the young cat while Winston, the Little Gay Dog (LGD) barks on the porch everyone likes to sit on when it rains.

Che loves the outdoors like her ol' man!

Our child's kisses are rare so I stop to really appreciate the wonderfulness of living ... Sarah's so busy working, raising kids and taking care of everyone and the almost two-year-old is taking in everything at once.

It's rarer still I'm on the outside looking in ... like I am now.

Grabbing my phone I snap the picture.

It's one I'll relish the rest of my days.

Maddie, the 17 year old who knows everything (if you need to know something ... doesn't matter what it is ... just ask her) blows in ranting about which college she's applying to next.

Laurel, the 14 year old social butterfly who loves challenging boundaries wants to know what's for dinner?

Cassidy, the 12 year old recluse, thinks we don't see her sneaking more Tupperware to her room for whatever art project she's working on at the moment.

Sarah jumps up to solve their problems.

Che returns to watching her phone ... how does a not quite 2 year old already know how to masterfully navigate an I-phone?

It's all craziness!

And in the midst of it, I completely understand how incredibly blessed I am.

I'm 62 years old and already have wonderful children changing the world like I once did, blessing me with a new son and a new daughter who are giving us grandchildren.

Lot's has gone wrong in my life ... and in spite of a divorce or two ... family is not one of them.

Sarah and Che are my bookends.

Just the two of them are enough!

But I've got so much more in between!

Bar Church Bible Study

1. In the beginning the earth was void and without form. It was dark and wet and thus saith the Lord, "It sucks."

2. And God said, "It needs sun!" and a big yellow ball bubbled out of the Ocean and the water was blue. And God put on sunglasses and said, "Looks good. Nice day!" And where the sun did not shine God called "Night" so that people would have a place to park and make out.

3. And God said, "It needs sky" and since blue is God's favorite color, the sky was blue. And it was dry and the water was wet. And this was the first day and night.

4. And God said, "Needs a beach!" so the water was gathered into the sea and behold, there was sand. And God saw that it was good.

5. And God said, "Need Palm Trees! Mangoes and fruits with seeds!" And it was so. The Palm trees produced coconuts and the other trees produced oranges, lemons, bananas and other fruits to make tropical drinks with tiny umbrellas. And God saw that it was good. And there was a cool evening and  warm sunny morning and that was the third day.

6. And God said, "Needs stars!" And behold, little twinkling lights, appeared at night to make it more romantic. And God said, "Needs a moon so couples can see what they did with their clothes." And it was so. And so the forth day God said, "Looking good."

7. And God said, "Needs fish." And there were fish, dolphins, sharks and for a laugh, jellyfish. And on the beach there were lizards, sand crabs for kids to chase and boiled peanuts. And in the sky there were pelicans and seagulls, And God saw that it was starting to look really cool.

8. And God said, "Needs people" so God created a dude and a babe placing them on the beach. And they strolled hand-in-hand in the surf, enjoying the water, the dolphins, the seagulls, the fruit drinks with tiny umbrellas and the geckos. And when the couple started making out God said, "It is good."

9. And God gave thumbs up and commanded unto them, "Have fun kids! Enjoy! And try not to screw it up."

10. And God saw all that was made and it was very good. So he opened a beer and sat in a beach chair and God said, "I need a day off."

Genesis 1: 1-10

Not a Normal Day

Everything's fine until she realizes I'm leaving her at the Mother's Day Out program.

One tiny hand grabs my shirt ... the other starts hitting my shoulder as she cries, "Daddy! Daddy!"

Handing her to the Teacher, I turn only to stop dead in my tracks as my baby wails, then repeatedly cries, "My Daddy! My Daddy!"

A young Mother dropping off her child, looks at Che and says, "Poor Baby."

Spying me watching from the hall, she frowns and says, "Poor Daddy."

Salt water pours from my eyes as I rush to the car and home to Sarah.

"How was it?" she asks, head down, fingers dancing across the keyboard, behind a pile of books with papers spread across the table.

I tell her.

"You need a hug?" she asks without getting up.

"I'm okay," I say sitting across from her.

And I am in that I know it's time for our almost two year old to broaden her Universe, meet kids her age and slide down bigger slides!

I did it with my kids when I was younger, in a hurry and demanding my own space.

"It's what's best for her," Sarah says.

It is.

But, I'm no longer in a hurry.

Every single day for almost two years, I've spent with Che ... most as her primary care giver while Sarah works to keep me from working anymore ... and I have loved every single second.

Throughout her life, she's in the stroller I constantly pushed around Tybee Island ... hanging out with the Breakfast Club crew before it opens ... chasing seagulls on the beach ... riding my hip as we meander into Benny's for Bar Church business ... watching her sisters paint her toenails ... her mother sing her lullabies before bed.

The four hours she's held captive at Mother's Morning Out is ... excruciating!

"It's so quiet," Sarah sighs.

On a normal day ... like yesterday ... Che and I are on the Beach, playing in the water ... climbing the rocks on the Jetty ... chasing seagulls ... waving at planes flying overhead ... rolling in the sand ... eating the sand ... ducking under rolling waves in my arms.

Che's growing up way too fast for her ol' man.

If it were up to me, I'd live every damn second all over again.

Finishing work, Sarah busies herself with household chores as I wipe my eyes with one hand and type with the other.

We're both counting the minutes until we can get her and celebrate the most unlikeliest of blessings ... in a most unusual blending of family ... in the most compelling love story ... during the most wonderful of times.

The Last Grand Daughter's Dance

My Dad loved being outside ... in the sun ... the smell of the Marsh ... the sounds of the Sea.

When they moved into their dream home, Mom built Dad his own beach ... with truckloads full of sand hauled into the backyard until ... between the St. Augustine grass and the Marsh ... there's a beach.

Billy's Beach.

William Frederick Elliott, aka Billy, was my Dad.

I'm the kid who inherited his love of Ocean ... the pungent aroma of the Marsh ... losing laundry to sit in the Sun ... spying smiling Dolphins ... Beach music ... Beers ... knowing the difference between dirt and sand.

It's difficult coming to terms with the fact Dad's been gone almost a decade now.

We had a crazy relationship as most Fathers and Sons do.

I drove him crazy and he wanted to kill me ... but our love got us through it all ... and at the end of it all ... I was the one he asks, "What do you think I should do Mike?"

"I dunno Dad," I answer, placing my hand on his knee in the dark hospital room with my brother and Mom looking on.

He stares at his hands a long time before replying. "I think I'm ready."

So he moves to Hospice and sure enough he was ready.

Last night ... somehow ... we don't know how ... Sarah, Che and I made it to Mom's house for a party she's having for our friend Bill.

All our teenage girls have different things to do so it's a logistic nightmare NASA would have a hard time solving.

But we make it.

And Che, the only grandchild my Dad never met, can't wait to get outside.

There's a party going on and I'd promised Sarah to not leave her stuck babysitting while I talked about old things from the past, so I take our almost two-year-old daughter outside.

Heading straight to the floating dock, we sit and I hold her as she splashes naked feet in the tidal creek my ol' man loved.

I have to drag her back to the yard.

"Ohh Nooo," she repeats as I force her in the right direction.

Until we hit "Billy's Beach" and she stops.

There's a Life Guard stand Mom had built because ... well it's funny ... and apparently Dad required Life Guards ... and Che runs straight to it ... climbs in a way I've never seen ... and on top ... dances, clapping her hands and laughing.

I'm not sure but I think ... I believe ... Dad met his last granddaughter.

Little Pillars of Faith

It's quite daunting to stand up on Sunday morning, with a crowd gathered and everyone's enjoyed themselves up to now, and it's up to you ... to speak ... on behalf of God.

I mean it's daunting if you take it serious.

Who in their right mind presumes to speak for God?

Okay ... I admit ... politicians, preachers, Newscasters, bankers, masters of business and most everyone involved in the academic community speak for God every day ... telling us there's one way ... theirs.

Crazy zealots, racists, bigots, the mentally ill, the over medicated, the under medicated and all those in search of the right medication tell us they know what God wants from us too ... and they're all crazy!

Just like those who listen to them all are crazy!

There's way too much crazy in the world already without crazy people adding to it.

The truth of the matter is every single day we're overwhelmed by those speaking on God's behalf, shoving their interpretation of truth down our throats.

After six decades, I've finally stopped listening to all of them.

I no longer seek the news ... I let it find me.

What I get comes from Sarah ... the girls ... the kids ... Facebook ... Twitter ... and occasional friends reaching out in old fashion ways for something or another.

Unless a Hurricane's bearing down on me, I don't pay much attention to the headlines any more.

I used to live in headlines but it's like getting high ... you can only stay front page news for a little while ... then you crash ... and have to figure out how to do it again.

It's been a long struggle coming to terms with the fact that I'm not the center of the Universe and the world doesn't revolve around me.

It did for a while.

It cost a great deal more than I got to spend.

And I'm not willing to pay those prices anymore.

There was a time though, I paid it all.

I read everything ... did everything ... picked the righteous battles and fought 'em all ... won more than I lost ... beat everyone, including people I really liked ... some whom I really love ... and stayed on, or near, the front page as a result.

I had the Midas touch.

Everything turned to gold ... the rusty girls I slept with ... the shady successful business people who cut deals ... the politician's promises which are only good the moment they're spoken ... the pontificates of the Preacher which are mostly made up ... and the crazy people who drew me in as one of their own.

It was one Hell of a ride.

I guess you had to be there.

Yet, here I am standing  on a Sunday morning and everyone's waiting  ... on Holiness to hit ... lightning to strike ... Angels to sing (sorry boys) ... the sick to heal ... the lame to walk ... the dead be raised ... for the Kingdom to come on Earth as it is in Heaven.

I don't believe I do that.

In fact, I know I can't.

I know others who believe they can ... but they're not here ... they're out convincing the world they know what God wants everyone to do to make it all perfect ... like it's perfect in Heaven.

In the meantime, it's just me and I'm speaking on behalf of God.

Just like my sources for News is tiny, my faith rest upon little pillars.

The first tiny little pillar is family ... even if you don'e have them anymore ... you remember them ... Parents, Grandparents, Brothers and sisters, and those closer than blood relatives never really go away ... and not a day that passes we don't feel the void they left.

And Sarah and the girls ... and the kids and the craziness of living life with a house full of girls ... AT MY AGE! ... but they're the things I care about most every day.

They bring me the important news of the day ... Maddie and her boyfriend Parks continue to grow closer ... Laurel's so excited about this weeks Homecoming Dance and date with Conner ... Cassidy's going to babysit her sister for the first time tomorrow ... Che speaks new words every day.

This is the news I can use.

It's by far the most important news in my life.

The second tiny pillar is life itself ... I'm still here ... I'm not sure how but I am ... though I'm increasingly mindful that I don't have as many days before me as I do behind ... so they're more precious. Waking up like a kid on Christmas morning, I say to myself, "I have another day! It's all mine!! YEAH!!!!"

So I try my best to enjoy the Hell out of the gift of still being alive ... HERE! ... NOW!! ... WITH MY FAMILY!!! ... and WITH YOU!!!!

The third little part of my foundation is love.

I've done my my very best to love as I've lived and, sure enough, I loved lots of the wrong people ... the wrong things ... the wrong hopes ... and the wrong dreams.

But I loved enough of the right ones too ... which is why I'm so happy to be here now ... because it's the things I love ... and that love me back ... that make living worthwhile.

Last, my geography continues to shrink.

I no longer have to go and conquer the world.

It can come to me if it wants.

Don't get me wrong, I love to travel and have been fortunate enough to see lots of it and can't wait for all the places Sarah and I are discovering but ... it's far more important who I'm traveling with than where I'm going anymore.

So those are the legs that the stool of my life stand on.

Take away one and the stool falls.

Leave them together and I've got something to stand upon.

But the ground that legs of the stool stand upon ... I believe that's God.

I believe ... I know ... God is somehow responsible ... for me being here at all ... for the people I love the people who love me ... the time I have ... the survival of mistakes ... the forgiveness of my sins which were all self inflicted ... and the chance to stand here in front of you to not speak on God's behalf.

I have nothing to say on God's behalf though I do have something to say to God.

"Thank you Lord for thinking about me ... I'm alive and doing fine."

Taking the Call from the Beach

The Beach called today so I took it.

Yesterday too for that matter.

Che, our 20 month old daughter, and I sail through the marsh in the car, stop at the Breakfast Club for hugs and juice, then ... because the Beach neglected to tell us about the cold front moving through, dragging the temperature all the way down to the mid-80's ... we go to Ally 3 to get out of the wind.

Ally 3 is where Kayaks put in, islanders go to get away from the crowds, sunsets are glorious on the Beach and City Council members walk their dogs.

Che and I enter the warm 84 degree Sea water with a spectacular view of Little Tybee, the mouth of the Ocean, Wilmington Island, abandoned boats run aground and boaters having a good time.

An African-American lady wading in waste deep water is the only other person.

"I'm conducting a Spiritual ceremony," she smiles. "There may be fish and such."

"Cool," I reply.

Ally 3 is a deep drop into the Sea.

Take five steps into the water and you're in over your head.

Che and I spend an hour with her wading into the Ocean as I kneel five baby steps in, so she can fall in my arms before potentially drowning.

We have great fun and laughter erupts consistently.

The Lady pauses her ceremony, holding a red rose she pulls petals off throwing them in the Sea between prayers.

"The joy and laughter you two are casting into these waters," she solemnly proclaims, "is going to infiltrate the entire city of Savannah and there will be peace for the next few days."

Che could care less, rushing out of my arms to the shore so she can do it again.

But I am touched.

"Thank you," I say, salt water welling in my eyes.

"No," she smiles. "Thank you," as she plucks another petal, tossing it into the Ocean while saying another prayer.

You never know when God sends you a blessing.

Today I'm fortunate enough to catch it.
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BAR CHURCH IS SUNDAY! Eric Johnson is singing some sick songs and we're talking about "Healing Thyself!"
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Date Night

Our beloved friend Joey Finch starts it when he suggests, "You should do 'Drag Queen Bingo' on Sunday. It's fun and it's for a good cause."

So Sarah and I head to "Drag Queen Bingo' on a Sunday afternoon and fall in love.

It's exactly what it sounds like ... Drag Queens playing Bingo and everyone else is invited too.

The money goes to charity.

All the prizes are "Gay Porn" related.

It's priceless watching a little old lady scream "BINGO!" sitting at a table full of friends and winning a DVD called, "Packing Meat III."

Next time you're in Key West, do yourself a favor, help out a good cause and enjoy 'Drag Queen Bingo'."

(I'm talking to you Jenny and Santa John Dreggors!)

We haven't been to Key West in a while and my beloved wife's obviously missing it, needing an infusion of Gaiety in our lives ... there's been lots of changes ... so Sarah plans "Date Night" at Club One Jefferson to see the "Bathhouse to Broadway" show.

Tim and Jess get wind it so it becomes "Double Date Night."

Nanci hears about it, invites herself, drives in from Rincon and suddenly we're a "Five-some" ... (Google it).

Club One is Savannah's famous Gay Night Club.

It's quite the late night scene but we're there for a Sunday 7 PM show so the crowd's light.

Receiving two complimentary drinks each with our tickets ... $20/each ... it's a real deal.

Strolling down the staircase into the Bar, a lady in a white tank top ... no bra ... waves, bouncing up and down and smiling over.

"Do you know her" Sarah asks?

"Maybe," I answer as we take our table.

Greasy, cheap food's available ... obviously for the drinking crowd needing sobering up before going home ... so we split burgers.

"You mean there's no avocado salad," an incredulous Nanci asks.

The tables fill and 32 people clap as the show starts.

"Electra" does terrific and funny impersonations of Bette Midler ... and Barry Manilow and Cher ... and works the crowd for all we're worth ... so we tip $1 bills, laughing and singing along.

Throughout his show, our Fivesome's cracks jokes and, for a little while anyway, the pressures and problems of the world are gone as we're baptized in merriment.

Afterwards we hang around until until the Club One staff strips the table tops,  signifying this part of the evening's over.

Jess rushes to take "Selfies" with Electra, now dressed like Elton John.

Climbing the dank staircase to a warm breeze on a Savannah night, no one's ready for the date to end so we meander over to City Market for snacks and afterglow.

We hang out talking, extending the night, people watching, telling stories and enjoying warm Southern breezes under a canopy of stars between buildings built hundreds of years ago.

After walking Nanci back to her car, we make our way home, exchange hugs goodnight and Sarah and I stumble inside.

Che's asleep under babysitter Laurel's watchful eye.

Cassidy's nowhere to be found.

Maddie hasn't even begun to think about coming home on her last free night before school starts.

It was a good date night with good friends, each of us transitioning in life but calling time out, to celebrate where we are at the moment ... and who we're with ... cause none of it last.

That's really what date night is all about.

Who you're with ... and celebrating the now of it while you can.

Not doing Date Nights means wasting damn good time.

Our next one is tomorrow for cheap Cheeseburgers near the water.

Eliminating Homeless Camps

"Homeless camps are on the rise. 50% of encampments have 11-50 residents while 17% have 100+ people" (National Health Care for the Homeless Council).

You can't help but see them and once you do, it's like a bad wreck, you keep looking whenever you drive pass.

The one under the Truman Parkway receives the most attention because it's the most visible ... and it's wretched.

Religious banners and Port-a-lets?

Really?

City officials, the Georgia Department of Transportation, Chamber of Commerce, Business Community, Developers and the Faith Community express outrage, mobilize resources and fail to address the problems of public human squalor in a tourist town.

Religious zealots romanticize it while asking for funds!

Talk about a lovely lady with a dirty face!

Why are there homeless camps when shelters exists for people in need of a roof over their head?

The awful answer is homeless shelters are not designed to end homelessness. They are designed to manage it and for a couple of centuries they did that quite well.

Then homelessness changed but the shelter system didn't.

Shelters are predicated on rules, expectations of self-help, sobriety and mandatory religious expression.

The Salvation Army is a church before it's a shelter and if this point is pressed ... "Do you exist to help the homeless or to convert them" ... the answer is "save their souls."

The same is true for today's Union Mission.

"You never expect it to happen to you until it does," homeless people explain, for the thousandth time, most recently in the Savannah Morning News.

As tragic as it is, the last thing a homeless needs or wants is judgement, cookie-cut rules not applicable to reality, mandated morality and that the one answer is "Jesus."

They've already asked for Jesus' help and they're still homeless.

In response, they've developed a working viable alternative ... shelters without walls ... communities with few rules ... no judgement ... self medication is allowed ... and religion is what a person needs it to be without strict admonishment for lack of adherence.

The new approach is obviously working for the homeless.

Camps are growing like crazy.

The antiquated shelter system continues to demonstrate failure justifying itself with successful exceptions rather than the rule.

There is a solution though it's not an easy one.

It's not rocket science either.

The reason people are homeless is there is a lack of significant social relationships in their lives.

No family, church, best friend, AA Group, support system or, most importantly, health care network to prevent the fall into nothingness.

Current societal structures no longer weave a comprehensive tapestry of anything resembling a safety net.

What's the answer to the growing alternative developed by homeless people themselves, an obvious preferable alternative to Government and Religious responses?

Homeless camps exist because people are building significant social relationships where none exists.

They're helping themselves ... pulling themselves up by their own bootstraps ... and weaving together a tapestry where viable ones don't exist.

The obvious solution to the camps is to help them accomplish what they're doing without us.

The answer starts with health care going to where the sick live rather than demanding they come to the sterile environment Doctors, Nurses, Psychiatrists, Mental Health professionals mandate.

Health care has to move into the camps, becoming a permanent foundation and part of the community building already taking place.

Treatment of health care comes first so better decision making takes place as the community is built.

Physical, mental, domestic and societal health must be met first and the only way to do it is to become part of the community.

The Health Care Profession must reinvent itself by becoming part of, and no separate from, the community it serves.

It's not as radical as it sounds.

Doctors make house calls again ... only this time where in shelters without walls ... "house-less calls" with consistency and discipline the profession requires.

Street Medicine is already an international movement but, sadly one Savannah ... more importantly Chatham County who manages health for the community ... ignores.

Health care must become part of the community building, elevating it to a higher level, which is the ultimate purpose of the discipline in the first place.

The helping professions ... Social Work, Clergy, Teachers, Lawyers ... follow suit.

Jesus himself healed the sick first before other things follow and the community grows stronger as individuals grow healthier.

With the infusion of health, community building's foundation grows into a stronger base as the most basic of ills are addressed enabling stronger decision making and purpose.

Social work, clergy, teachers, lawyers expand the base of personal freedom through decision making empowerment.

The community continues to elevate.

In the ultimate of ironies, housing options come last.

It's only after the homeless person is strong enough in recovery of whatever the ails, has a strong enough support system in place, is capable of contemplating the management of housing, a most arduous task under the best of circumstances as things break, fall apart, neighborhood tensions mount, societal norms are enforced and Governmental regulation overwhelm.

The healthiest of persons has difficulty managing multiple systems simultaneously but one recovering from homelessness ... scared and failed by each helping discipline ... demand the appropriate supports to retain housing once established.

It is a long road to recover but ... not an impossible one.

Making what is real to a homeless person our reality, beginning with health care, followed by the other helping professions, last of which is housing ... is the road map to eliminating homeless camps.

Look At Me

Look at me.

I'm pastoring a Church ... in a Bar ... on an Island ... as part of a band ... without shoes ... pants ... pretense.

It's pretty much me.

"I yam what I yam," Popeye says.

"I am who I am," God explains to Moses (Exodus 3:14).

I should be more dignified at 62 years of age but God Damn I'm having a good time.

And there's nothing wrong with saying "God Damn."

"Thou Shalt Not Take the Lord's Name in vain" ... means don't call yourself a "Believer" ... a "Christian" if that's not who you really are.

God doesn't give a shit about cussing.

God does care who you are ... what you are ... how you are ... if you're happy ... and if you're taking full advantage of the gift of life you're given.

Mine's been a crazy gift but there's little question I'm still taking advantage of it ... with lots more plans for what's left.

Most pictures, we don't like ... 'cause we don't think we look good ... they're bad photos ... or we're a little shocked at ourselves.

But I like this one.

Tommy Hall's singing a song about shaking the dust off the Bible ... I'm playing with David and John on Dave Cahill's Cajon ... cause he's getting coffee in the middle of the service ... which is perfectly acceptable behavior in Bar Church ... and I'm trying to get out of the way so Tommy can sing ... Chip falls in with a lead guitar ... Gordo adds some Harp ... David slaps the bass strings ... John makes love to the skins on the Congas ... so I start to play drum.

Dave spies me as he sips coffee .. whips out his phone ... takes this picture ... sends me a text.

Church goes on and I'm caught up in it, as are several others, as Davy resumes playing drums and the music's elevated into a jam induced by the Holy Spirit so that even the tourists pause passing the open doors to Benny's to see what's happening.

Monty and I end up dancing as we play at the end ... Eric smiles and sings new verses to an old song ... people clap ... smile ... eat ... enjoy and celebrate.

I wish Sarah were here.

She enjoys me being me every bit as much as God does.

And at the Church in the Bar on Sunday, I'm certainly enjoying myself ... caught up in the Holy Spirt ... and Tommy Hall's song ... David bass ... Chip's lead guitar ... Gordo's Harmonicas ... John's skins.

Sometimes ... nowhere near enough ... but every now and then ... the Kingdom comes on Earth as it is in Heaven ... and you just can't get enough of that shit.

That's really what this picture is about.

It's worth way more than a thousand words.

A Morning Gift

On my birthday, I planned to take Che, an even earlier riser than her old man, to the Ocean for a swim as the sun rises.

Alas, the weather does not cooperate.

So this morning, after Breakfast Club coffee because they're up prepping to open and kind enough to let me in, my 20 month old daughter and I make our way to the Beach.

I want to let my wife, who is sweeter and kinder to me than anything I've ever known, sleep late without the squeals of a child or constant "pitter-patter" of tiny feet.

We arrive to God finger painting the sky glorious reds, pinks, purples, blues, blacks and whites ... soon whitewashed away by a fiery red sun bubbling out of the Sea.

Che grabs a gardening shovel from the stroller and writes her own note of thanks to God in some foreign language I do not understand.

Sipping coffee, warm waves break on my feet as I watch the Sun turn yellow, then bright white, casting millions of diamonds on the Ocean.

Che holds up both hands and I lift our baby wading into shoulder deep water.

Tapping the top of my head, she wants me to take off Sarah Elliott's baseball cap I'm wearing and sun glasses to hold her up while I go under.

Submerging, her laughter sinks to my ears. I hold her under the armpit with one hand and my cap and glasses in the other.

Coming up I spit salt water in her face and she laughs before cupping her lips on my chest and blowing air, which makes me laugh.

The Sun continues casting off the blankets of clouds it slept in, as we build a sand castle together.

She mimics my every move, occasionally interrupting construction to stare me directly in the eyes and intensely speak in tongues I do not understand.

Finished, she laughs, hysterically knocking the castle down, just before a wave washes it over.

Latching onto my finger she pulls me down to the sand ... just as her mother once did ... to sit in the surf.

Side by side, we watch people pass, walking or jogging, before she crawls in lap, tells me more things I don't comprehend, then covers my chest in wet sand.

Returning to the Ocean, we watch as an enormous school of Manheden splash atop the surface chased by other fish or plucked by Pelicans circling overhead.

It's a majestic and glorious thing to witness ... standing mere feet away from Dolphins slicing the Sea eating breakfast.

Lapsing into God's time, it could have been a minute or it may have been a thousand years, we are one with the world.

Pointing to the Beach signifying Che's ready for her Mommy so we make our way towards the crosswalk where she puts on her favorite shoes ... clogs that light when she walks, gifted by Marci Reiber ... she walks the entire seven short blocks to our house, taking her sweet time to appreciate and enjoy everything we pass.

Rocks in driveways, Palm fronds, discarded cigarette packs, American Flags planted to prevent parking in someone's yard capture her attention.

She plays hide-and-seek with me behind parked cars, street signs and bushes.

Jim Simmons rolls pass us on his bicycle but circles around to stop for a visit.

Che hides behind the Palm frond she's determined to carry home.

Forty-five minutes after beginning the journey, we arrive home.

"Did you enjoy that?" I ask, carrying her sandy wet body up the stairs.

"Yea, tea," she nods and smiles, pacifier in mouth.

Upstairs I change her, change me, turn on the coffee for Sarah, pour the Orange Juice and wait for the love of my life to meander up and join us.