Charles in Charge

The main thing on my mind right now is Charles, my mentally ill-former bank robber-six feet tall, African-American adopted son. He is Union Mission's janitor and has been a constant in my life for more than a decade. I am his representative payee and Joy and I manage his money and needs. Through most of the staff give him presents of candy, coffee, and cigarettes. Charles wanders in and out of everyone's day, barely speaking because he is too busy talking to himself.

He came to us on parole and when that ended the officer told me that this was the most stable that Charles has ever been. So a shelter became a home and he became a janitor. He is forever wanting me to allow him to go to Augusta where he last remembers being with his family. And I've let him on a couple of occasions. He always brings me a copy of the Augusta newspaper to prove that it was actually Augusta that he went to.

Anyway, he loves me and I love him. He counts the days when I am away from the office and gets visably excited when I return. He brings me presents of coins that he has gotten and will sometimes just wander in and tell me something about his past. He is forever asking me questions like "Who do you think was worse, Nazi's or Barbarians?"

So a big piece of the stability of Charles' life is changing. I will no longer be a constant presence in his life. Joy and I have to figure out how to tell him that I will longer be there. And we will have to figure out how his affairs are going to be managed. And I pray that the relationships that he has with her and the others are enough to keep him from wandering off. The world was not kind to Charles before he came to us and I shutter to think of what it would do to him now.

So there is a lot to figure out. Everyday when I would leave my office for some destination, I would look at him and say, "Charles, you're in charge while I'm gone." And he would smile and wave a finger from the hand that was normally resting on top of his head.

So my dear, dear friend who I love as much as I love anybody, this time I am afraid that you are really going to be in charge.

Musings

"There's only one thing to be sure of mate, there's nothing to be sure of."

So goes a line from Stephen Swartz's play "Pippin" and it is as true as it gets I suppose. No matter how hard you try, or how much you give of yourself, or how much you may screw up while you try, things don't go the way that you want them to. You just can never be sure.

For the past 30 years at Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel and at Union Mission, I've been part of a team that was there to catch people when they fell. Their lives came apart and suddenly they had nowhere to go. There was no family that wanted them. Friends disappeared. They were no longer sure of anything.

So I was one of the ones there to catch the fallen. And I was sure that I could help. No house to live in? Fine, we'll build some. And we did.

No heath care? We can do that. And we did.

Behavioral Health is the problem? We can fix that. And we did.

AIDS? Live here in these houses.

No work? Come here, we can help with that. And we did.

But it takes its toll, you know? And you become successful beyond your wildest dreams because you fix other people's tragedies. But their tragedies become yours in the process. You have to take them on and own them to help them get through. And so it becomes this burden that you carry.

And the success means that more tragedies come to you, from everywhere all of the time. And you are forever managing saddness. Good things happen, but you swim in a sea of tragedy.

And you find ways to survive. Relationships become intense. Gallows humor is everyday language. Intimacy is precious. And the need to have love returned in the same way that you throw it out everyday is the primary goal of life.

But this saddness lives in your heart though you do your very best to project confidence and optimism and succcess to those who so desperately need these things. But the saddness is always there and sometimes you just grow quiet and become alone with it. Because that is the way that saddness is managed. Alone.

And one part of you knows that you've done good because people thank you for what you do all of the time. But another part of you knows that you could have done things better but you are frail and human like everyone.

So you think about the things that you have done. Three little kool-aid stained girls now have a place to live and are happy and thriving. Cooks that you know have their teeth fixed at a dental clinic that you helped to build. Waitress' that you see everyday have health care. You buy things from people that you helped get a job.

And you think about it all. And you wonder what is next?

Sea Legs

I have good sea legs. I suppose it starts with my love of the ocean that was cultivated with a love of Ernest Hemingway's books about Key West and Havana, Cuba. And I made pilgrimages to both places. Throw shag music, the Beach Boys, and Jimmy Buffet in the background and a beach bum is born. Add good friends who love it like you do and it becomes a party.

I am fond of telling people that all of the things that I do at Union Mission is really just an attempt to support my beach bum habit. Now I love what I do at Union Mission but there is this other side of my life that somehow enables me to continue the work year after year. Each one of us has some other outlet for the triumph and tragedy of the work. Mine is salt air and sea.

So yesterday, my friends and I took a sea cruise. A 37 foot speed boat with two outboards and we made our way around the island. We stopped and snorkled a calm bay then sped to a deep reef. I am always mesmerized by the clicking sounds of the fish eating away at the coral. When the fish are plentiful as they were yesterday it sounds like a chorus singing underway.

Then I spied that Patti and Paul were helping Hania back to the boat so I swam over to be point in case other help was needed. The rougher waters were just a bit to much for her.

Back in the boat I had 37 emails that were waiting on me so I sat in the hull and answered them. Union Mission manages a lot of things that hurting and lost people need every day and you can never get completly away from it.

When I came out, it was time for lunch in another bay so I swam in and joined the others. Feasting on ribs, pasta and fruit, Hania was still feeling faint. So she did. But with cold water and surrounded by love, she rebounded quickly.

Then it was back on the boat where another 28 emails were waiting on me. I resumed my seat in the hull and answered them as we sped to the wayward side of the island. These were much rougher waters. Most everyone was in the back but the first mate was riding the bow, standing in the front as the boat crashed through wave after wave. I made my way to the other side of the bow and rode too.

The swells were four or five feet and were relentless and the boat would rise high in the air and then crash into sea again and again. It became a competition between me and the first mate. Ride with one hand up in the air. Ride with both hands raised (though the seas were too rough for that). For almost an hour we were one with the power of the sea. And we pounded waves laughing and throwing caution to the wind as we rode the bow.

And I one point I heard the voice of God in the wind and the spray and the crashing of the bow into the sea with me standing on it. For much of the last few years, this is what my life has been like. Crash after crash occuring in my work and in my private life. Managing people's crashed lives at work. Taken all together, it could have drowned me. Hell, it would have drown anyone.

Yet here I am. Riding the waves. Staying on top of each crash even when the bow would submerge into the sea. This is my life! And so far, I remain on top of the waves though there were times when I knew that I was drowning. But in each instance, I have risen above the crashing things in my life.

And I looked at the first mate and we laughed. And I raised one hand in the hair and we high-fived one another. And that was a holy expression of thanks that I remain in the bow, staying on top of the crashing waves of my life.

Solitude

There is more solitude in my life than there has ever been. I've always had a contemplative side and can lose myself in thought and music sitting on the back deck or staring at the ocean. I'll stand with my feet in the water, swaying from side to side lost in thoughts.

Then Conner will suddenly be standing beside with with a lopsided grin.

"What?" I ask ripping my earphones out.

"What?" he'll ask back.

Conner is a master of deep conversations.

Anyway, I have noticed on this trip the solitude of the night. Solitude far outpaces contemplativeness. And in the night, when there is no music, I lay in the bed and am engulfed in the solitude. It washes over me, surrounding the room and I stare at it.

And I think about finding love in my life again. Romantic love. The love of a best friend who is also my lover. And I lay my hand on the empty side of the bed. And I wish.

My friends here are all couples so I suppose that it is more profound to me that I am not. During the day, it is ok, but solitude commands the night.

It is alright. I know that I am preparing for the love that is coming. It will be richer and deeper and purer than any that I have had before.

Sometimes I talk to my friend Trolly Joe on the pier at Tybee and he shares with me his story and how he now holds love dearly in his life. And I've come to appreciate this time of preparing. And if Joe is right, you get better at it as you go through difficult times in your life. And you appreciate it more after you've known loss.

But in the solitude of the night, as I lay in the quiet, I begin to understand that the night brings longing. And and the longing will bring love. And that I will treat it more tenderly and hold it more dearly than I ever have before.

When Worlds Collide

"OK, it's $60 a couple," Paul announced as we finished our dinner at an outside table in the Village.

I threw the money on the table when Conner looked at me and said, "You're not a couple." Half of the money came back to me.

And I looked at the three other couples that I was with, good friends all, and recognized that as usual Conner was right. I was alone.

Well, kind of. I had my I-phone with me and was carrying on a conversation back home during the course of the dinner when Conner decided that he would leave the dinner conversation with our friends and join in on the one that I was having by texting. So he grabbed the phone out of my hands and jumped on in.

Typical Conner.

And suddenly my worlds were colliding. Savannah and St. Martin were one in the same for a moment anyway. And friends that I love were introducing themselves to one another. And I was pleased.

If I have learned anything over the past several months it is the magic that friends can bring to a life that was been disrupted and damaged. They make healing happen. They restore love. They bring the dead back to life.

Each of the friends that I was with have been to Tybee to visit me. And I have visited each of their homes. And they are curious and protective of me and the things that are going in my life. When I am interested in talking to someone by texting during dinner, they want to be included. Because good friends care.

So Conner has made a date to talk with a friend of mine from back home. And I think that friendship begats friendship. And love begats love. And God knows what is going to happen next. But I love it.

Holiness Personified

I was here when my grandmother died. Throughout my life, I was incredibly close to my grandparents. My second book is dedicated to them and when I wrote "Playing Hide and Seek with God", my grandfather was dying and I wrote about it. It is a sweet dedication but I have a hard time reading it without crying.

My mother remains very protective of me and the public life that I live intrudes even here. Yesterday I was fielding phone calls from Savannah politicians who needed things done or responding to Keller Deal's emails ordering me to do this or do that. It's just like that. So when my uncle died a few years ago, my mother refused anyone to tell me so that I could enjoy being here.

But then my grandmother died and I can still remember Mom calling me and how I cried in paradise. Then it was a rush to change airline tickets and get back home as quickly as possible.

There was this moment though that I will never forget. I walked outside of the tiny studio that I was in and there was a crowd of perhaps thirty people. Friends from all over the world. They hugged me and cried with me and it was the greatest church experience that I've ever had. Holiness personified. Love without boundaries.

Many of those same people are here with me now. There is a closeness that we share. Hugh and Patti arrived yesterday and he immediately let me know that we have lots to talk about today. Hugh lost his father recently and we will talk about it on our beach walks.

Patti and I danced last night as she celebrated my survival of recent months as only good friends can celebrate with one another.

Paul and Nancy rounded out the dinner crew and I was struck last night how we act like family more than anything else. We order for one another, share things off one another's plates and resume old conversations as though they'd never stopped.

Conner and Hania arrive tomorrow and then the collection will be complete. And the beach patrol will be reunited. Denise is waiting as the only female member. And we will talk up and down the beach a thousand times. And we will talk. And we will laugh. And we will celebrate the pasing of Hugh's Dad and remember my Dad and my grandmother and the birth of Conner's grandchildren and all of the experiences of our lives. We are bound. And it is a speical and holy friendship that we share.

And I am humbled to be blessed with friends such as these.

Suddenly Single

When I am here, I wake up, turn on the coffee pot, stumble to the ocean, wade in up to my knees, and fall face down in the water. I think that this is the way that God intended us to wake up. The ocean is like a huge body kiss! Not quite an orgasm but as close as it gets.

Except for today. I stumbled to the ocean, waded in up to my knees, and fell into the arms of Rick and Cook. They are old friends who live on the west coast and both make me laugh a lot. I've stayed with them in their house during my travels and they are two of the nicest people that I've ever met. Plus they are funny. Both are very different, you would never put them together, but they make me laugh. We spent time together last night and they had me laughing before I was even standing in the water.

"Mike, I have a question," Rick begins. I am convinced that Rick talks in his sleep. He is never at a loss for words.

"What?"

"Well, you are here alone, but you have two towels and you make up two chairs when you are on the beach. What is up with that?"

"Ah, thank you for asking Rick. I am making it up for the beautiful woman who is going to be laying beside me."

"Who?" Rick asked with his eyes growing wide. Cook leaned in to listen.

"Uh, I don't know yet but I am planning for when she shows up."

They burst out laughing.

In reality I had the exact same conversation with my Irish Catholic friends and Jeremy. We were at the bar in the Athens Holiday Inn when Walter asked if I was going to Colorado alone. His wife doesn't want to go and he doesn't want to be a fifth wheel and he knows that I am going and I am single.

"No, I am not going alone," I told him. "I just don't know who is going with me yet."

The room exploded in laughter and Walter said "Excuse me" and turned his chair around. (Jeremy can validate this conversation as Irish Catholic males are not especially trustworthy.)

A few months ago I was at dinner with my Irish Catholic friend Bill, and Charlie and somebody else at Rocks on the River. Bill was making introductions. "This is my friend Micheal. He is suddenly single!"

They laughed and I just looked at Bill. He had been suddenly single a few times in his life and is an expert at recognizing it when he sees it. So he saw me and recognized it when I didn't.

Then the most expert suddenly single person that I know is Johnny O. He has been suddenly single three-and-a-half times and he has been coaching me through this transition.

So last night on the dance floor I realized how suddenly single I am. I was dancing as I always do. She was pretty with long brown hair and I was throwing her around and catching her by her hand, when she crashed into me and kissed me long and deep in the middle of a crowded dance floor. Suddenly single suddenly had deeper meaning than it did before. Serendipity indeed.

So we danced through the night. Then we took a beach walk. And now I am trying to wake up but Rick and Cook are making it fun.

And they tell me that I am going to need more towels. So today I am getting four. By the time that Hugh and Conner get here, I may be way too busy for them. After all, being suddenly single means that I am a very busy man.

Now

Sometimes there is nothing else to say. So the quiet comes. And it takes a while to get used to the quiet after you have spent years talking to someone. But you do get used to it. From time to time you remember the unfinished conversations, the halted dialogue, the tremendous pain in words. Your stomach still turns at the memory of the pain. At first the quiet is oppressive.

Evenutally you grow somewhat accustomed to it but it doesn't seem completely natural. You embrace it the best that you can but quiet is not intimacy and that is what we long for.

And you begin to do all of the things alone that you used to do together. And you learn to do things for yourself that you always relied on someone else to do for you. You take inventory of what you have lost and you hold dearly onto the things that you have left.

Then the miracles begin to fill the silence. Friends randomly call or stop by and new discussions begin. And you focus on them intensly because voids have to be filled. And there is no going back so you move forward. And you become very intent on filling the voids with good things, wonderful friends, holy purposes, and as much love as you can gather and hold on to. Serendipity happens.

Today I sit in the same place that I did on Easter morning. I was angry that day and I had let it be known the night before. And the anger was returned in kind. And while a dying love wasn't raised from the dead that day like I prayed, I was. I found the beauty of life again watching a tiny, deformed woman dance in the water and I realized that I could heal my own brokenness. And I began to dance in new ways. Better ways. Deeper and richer and fuller because of the brokenness.

Then I celebrted. Jeremy and Irish Catholic friends made me laugh and drink and love the hell out of the life that God had given me and that had been tainted. Mostly by me, but tainted nevertheless. And I dove into my life again with the wild abandon that is at the core of me and that I had traded for something else.

So I look at the day ahead of me. I did my very best in the ones that are behind me. For whatever wrong I've done, I hope that I'm forgiven. But there isn't anything that I can do about it now except my best to learn from it.

And today I want to laugh. I want to dance. I want good discussions with good friends. I want to celebrate God's creation. I want to embrace serendipity. I want love. I want to do all of these things with wild abandon because that is who I am.

So, I will sing along with John Mellancamp,
Your fathers days are lost to you
It is time for you to do what you must do
Your life is now,
Your life is now,
In this undiscovered moment
raise your head above the crowd
We could shake this world
if you would only show us how
Your life is now.

A Journey of One

And I am off on an adventure of one. Traveling back to a place that I love. Alone. It is an interesting mix of feelings with this trip. I've been alone before on two different occasions. The first was a true boy's trip with Conner and me just having a good time. Then this past April, I went with Conner again but I was coming to terms with the conclusion of a transition that I'd been experienced.

Now the transition is long complete. So those feelings are not with me on this trip. Though I will be surrounded with people who will remember me as someone else. Someone who was connected with somebody else. They will remember me as part of an "us" but that is no longer who I am.

I am just me.

I am looking forward to sliding into my contemplative side as I stare at the ocean and swim to the reef. And God knows what laughs Conner, Hania, Hugh and I are going to have. Patti will just kind of float around us as she does, when she's not counting the number of beers that Hugh is having. Nancy and Paul are always a hoot. Rick and Cook are back for the first time in a while. Marty and Denise have already written wanting to know when I arrive.

In many ways I will be introducing myself to them for the first time. But the new me isn't quite the same as the old me. I am an altered boy.

And I had a harder time saying bye to Goddess this morning than I usually do. I've become much more of a home body than I was before, just enjoying sitting at the kitchen table or on my beloved back deck. And I worry about my plants that represent promises of good things to come. And there is this serendipity that has been floating in and out of my life that I am anxious to keep.

And I have a lot that I need to accomplish while I am away. There is a manuscript that I have to complete for a new book. I've started it but it has become very difficult to give it the conentration it needs when I am home. There are too many distractions from work. Now I'll have the time to love it to completion.

So I am off. On a journey of one. Reintroducing myself. To myself.

Memorial Day Serendipity

When I got up to pee in the middle of the night, I stepped directly in the nest that Goddess had made while I slept. I jumped a mile in the air and cussed. "Dammit Goddess!" I screamed into the darkness.

Whenever I am traveling, I'm not certain if Goddess misses me or not because she loves her other keepers. It had been Chelsea and Sam this time. But it could just as easily had been Kim or Tony and Margaret or Jeremy and Marie, like it will be tomorrow. And when I'm home consistently here she just goes to sleep in the floor beside where I'm sleeping.

When I'm gone, as I was over the weekend, the first night that I'm back she builds a nest beside me on the floor and then sleeps in the doorway protecting me from whatever it is she thinks might get me. Of course I never remember this and step onto several palms and sticks.

But it is hard to be mad with her. A dog finds a way to let me know that I was missed and she is glad that I am home and that we are together again.

I was in Richmond, Virginia to do the homily at the wedding of Micah and Mary Catherine Berry. Micah is the son of Bill Berry, not the former drummer for R.E.M. but the other one. The one that I went to seminary with.

At one point we were cracking up because it was the first time that we had been to church together in ten years. And it was the first time in twenty-five that we both had ties on at the same time.

The last time, we had committed some unpardonable sin at the seminary and had been summoned to someone's office. We had been ordered to wear ties. So we did. We tied them around our heads as headbands and calmy walked into whosever's office it was. I've forgotten which unpardonable sin that we had committed but I do remember that I got in more trouble than Bill did. Come to think of it, I always seemed to get in more trouble than he did even though he was with me the whole time that we were committing whichever unpardonable sin that we were committing.

So Bill's daughter Amber snapped a picture of us wearing ties and posted it on Face Book. Then Stretch, the offical photographer wanted one of us so we recreated the while tie-as-headband-for-committed-unpardonable-sin thing. I swear I got in more trouble than Bill did again!

We're waiting on Stretch to post the picture.

But I digress. It is Memorial Day. A lot has happened since last Memorial Day and I am spending this one alone. I don't remember the last time that I did that. In fact, I don't think that I have ever spent Memorial Day alone. It's always been filled with family, beach, cookouts, music and love.

Today there is the beach. Music is playing. And there is me.

Well, and Goddess who is laying flat on her back, with all four legs up in the air, tail just a wagging, wanting me to lay in the floor and rub her stomach.

I'll take my serendipity where I can get it.

A New Beginning

I am off to Richmond, Virginia today for tomorrow's wedding of Micah and Mary Catherine. Micah is the son of Bill Berry, not the former drummer for R.E.M., but the other one. The one that I went to seminary with and seem to get into all kinds of trouble with.

In spite of this, Micah and Mary Catherine are obviously foolishly in love because they have lost their minds and asked me to deliver the homily. The last time I delivered a homily, I was in St. Martin's of Tours Church in Louisville and Vernon, the Priest and dear friend, got drunk afterwards. I remember it as being pretty good.

Anyway, Micah and Mary Catherine are childhood sweethearts. Their lives have dipped and swooned and they fell in and out of one another's lives until they fell into each other's arms. And now that stand at the beginning of a new life together which is going to be much different from their old life together.

Oh they have been in love for some time and I enjoy watching them together. Not too long ago they were visiting me and we sat on my back deck and Micah played songs on his guitar and Mary Catherine watched him sing, knowing all of the words and encouraging him. It was sweet.

Micah is a musician and an electrician. Mary Catherine seems to beleive that he is a magician. Anyway, he plays music most nights and is on the road playing in different bands. His music has carried him around the world. He is a lot like Bill and doesn't mind trying new things. Mary Catherine is more conservative and sweet. He looks like a musician, meaning he could pass for a homeless guy most days while she wears cute dresses and always looks good. The are opposites. Then again they are not. That is what love can do.

Love is a pure and holy thing. People are not. We are flawed and we have our moments and no matter how hard we try not to, we screw up. And we have some incredible knack for wounding one another even when doing that is the furtherest thing that we have in our minds. And were it not for love, we would kill one another and everyone would live the life of a hermit.

But their is love, thank God. And so long as we focus on the love it will get us through. Micah and Mary Catherine are no different from the rest of us. There will be moments when without meaning to, they hurt one another. Or they hurt themselves. Many couples do not have what it takes to love each other through these times. I think that they do. There is a serendipity that surrounds them.

So I will be celebrating with them tonight at the rehersal and tomorrow at the wedding. And after the incredible homily that I am going to deliver, I can't help but wonder how drunk they are going to get after the ceremony.

Follow Your Heart

Bliss and beautiful or crash and burn.

Following your heart can lead to either and most often all four of these emotions occur in the same relationship. Yet, it is our hearts that we follow in spite of where we land. Other people or other things may lead for a while, but in the end it is our hearts that we follow.

Or we are so lost that we just give our lives away. To abusive others. To religions or focus groups. To drugs. To ... a thousand other things where the heart doesn't necessarily want to go.

And our hearts are always looking for love.

So I have followed mine most of my life as hopeless romantics often do. Looking for serendipity which leads to love. But...things happen.

Skip in the office was talking to some folks about this. They had been married for 40 and 50 years respectfully. They did not comprehend how couples cannot be together. After all they had so how come everyone can't? He explained how they had not been through it so they would never understand.

The heart leads you to another heart and they touch and they love and ... then? It ends and it leaves you different. If you survive.

So as I've said I've followed my heart and I've learned some powerful things.

First, it can make quite a difference. In Louisville and in Savannah, things are different because I aligned myself with others who did incredible things following their hearts. And wonderful and great and miraculous things happened. The widow, the orphan and the sojourner found peace. The dead came back to life! The Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven for a little while.

But I lost two things as great things were accomplished. Something that I never thought I would have ever imagined. Especially the second.

The first, we were babies. I discovered what I do after we had discovered one another. Then we discovered birth control. We did our best and conceived wonderful children who are my best friends today. And she is a wonderful person who does good things.

Then I found the love of my life. Until I learned that I wasn't the love of hers in the same way. And I learned darkness that was so deep and so painful that I never thought I would survive. And the thing is that I understand. She is doing what she needs to do for her and I support that. Though the painfulness of coming to this cannot be worst than the worst parts of hell.

I wish them both peace and happiness. Life is too short for anything else.

Afterwards, I moved on and followed my heart and touched bliss and beautiful again. For a second. Then it was crash and burn. I am expert on all four.

And I sit here and wonder how over thirty years, homeless people, and sick people, and mentally ill people; the prostitutes and the junkies, and the infirmed and poor can love me without ceasing. And their families call often, asking me to love their sons and daughters and mothers and fathers. And how we are all always here for one another without question. Never have we so much as questioned our allegiance to the other. We are bound. But this is a sad and oppressive love that sometimes leads to moments of happiness but it teaches you how we are all bound in life together if we are going to get through it.

But dear ones whom I have given my heart to cannot maintain the ebb and flow of love that we do with one another. And I understand that there is injustice in the world. And in my life. And that resurrections do not always occur just because you pray.

So...I look for the love in my life. Again.

Goddess is panting behind me and wants me now without question. Those crazed flawed wonderful collection of friends at the Breakfast Club remind me of weariness and laughter at the same time. The Bored meeting is another carnival of friends who thrive mostly on laughter. Then there is this smattering of the Diaspora ... friends who are scattered throughout the world who remain in touch and we share love. And the people of Union Mission who love the people who have loved me most for thirty years.

And I pine for the bliss and the beauty because once you have had it you always want it.

But these things are not mine right now.

So I ponder what to do for a while.

Then I stand and know. I will do what I have always done.

I will follow my heart.

Life Down Here On Earth

Every morning when I run the beach I can't help but notice the difference from the day before. Especially if I'd been on the beach the day before or have taken a beach walk like I did last evening.

In the daytime people have left trash and cigarette butts and other stains on the shore. All kinds of things wash ashore from condoms to beer cans to pieces of boats. God's beauty is stained.

But as I run the water mark, I see where the ocean has cleansed the beach, swallowing these things into her belly. And what was once dirty is not clean. The sins have been washed away, as an old hymn goes.

There are times when I wish that life was like this. As i've gone through mine, I've pick up stains by doing things that hurt myself or hurt others. And try as I may to hide them or sweep them under a rug, at some point they usually come out. These things then become part of who we are as individuals. We may only do something once but it remains a part of who we are.

Halos fall to one side. Angels fall and when they get back up they are dirty never as pure as they were.

Yet this is what living life is, I think. We go through with the purest of intentions but we do selfish things or stupid things or hurtful things. Almost always we immediately regret them, but they have been done. They are now part of our history and they alter us. I see it every day at work as people fall into poverty, addiction, and homelessness as decisions become patterns in one's life. I am certainly an altered boy, to quote Jimmy Buffett, and can never be quite what I was before I made some of my choices.

There is a song I love by Nashville songwriter Kevin Welch called "Life Down Here on Earth." Singing about life with our carnival of friends and highlighting our flaws, he gets to the line:

I killed a lot of time
that was my biggest sin
but I forgave myself
and I'm alive again!

The point being that we are flawed people and that overcoming crooked halos or dirty white robes begins with forgiving ourselves and jumping right back into living life!

So while I am sorry for some of the things that I've done, especially those things that hurt others, I have forgiven myself and I'm alive again. And I'm going to do my very best to not repeat myself as I live my life down here on earth.

Sountracks

My friend Sarah likes to dance in the rain. I like to run in it. It has though God herself is baptizing me with holy water thrown down from above. There is something cleansing about running in the rain.

This morning it was coming down steady when I took off from my house and made my to back river. My I-pod is on shuffle and as I top the sand tune, The Beatles are singing "Octopus Garden" from the "LOVE" remix so the song begins with searing strings before exploring into George Harrison's crisp guitar. It is the perfect song for the rain beside the sea.

Then I turn the protection of the back river for the south beach and the wind blast my body with blowing sand and rain. I am running against it and John Anderson's "Seminole Wind" blows through my earphones. A song about the winds of change and how beautiful things get ravished and I think to myself, "I've taken worse than this lately and survived," and I keep running.

Making my way to Butler Avenue, the main drag, "Counting Blue Cars" by Dishwalla carries me beside the traffic and it is hard not to laugh. "Tell me all your thoughts on God, cause I'd really like to meet her, and ask her who and what we are?" A dear friend of mine explained that the writer believes that God must be a woman because a man is incapable of creating such beauty in the world.

On Twelth Street, I begin my return to home when it is replaced by "Here Comes the Sun" by George Harrison, and right now cue out it pops, brilliant and bright. The rain stops and the wind dies a little. I wonder if angels have programmed this shuffle.

Slowing down on my street, Yvonne Elliman sings "Everything's Alright" from the "Jesus Christ Superstar" Soundtrack and I beleive that it is. After several waves of major shitstorms where I often felt that I would drown and never get my head above water again, the sun is now shinning. Warm winds blow through my heart again.

And this is the message of the day. Sometimes holiness touches us in funny ways. A random succession of songs hit the bull's eye dead and center. And I feel that God is indeed answering my questions of who and what we are.

So I begin the day with a pray. Cause I really want to thank her.

My Beautiful Enemy

The night time sky was repeatedly fractured with tremendous bolts of lightening. I was sitting on my back deck last night watching with my feet propped on the railing, thankful that I had replaced the umbrella. The old one had a mental stem and this one was wooden. The last thing that I needed was to be sitting under a lightening rod. I've had enough going on in my life.

I was pondering the weekend which had been filled with family and friends and serendipity. On Sunday evening Goddess and I are alone. Well, I am alone. Goddess is hiding at the bottom of the stairs from the lightening. And the kids have gone home. My friends are all at their places. And serendipity can disappear at a moments notice in the same way that she comes in the first place.

One of the things that happens to many of us is that Monday steals part of Sunday and we find ourselves gearing up for work already. I was because I know the things that I will be dealing with today. They began last week with desperate phone calls and meetings from families who were watching loved ones be repossessed by their demons. These were heart wrenching conversations full of desperation. They were asking me to work miracles.

But mental illness is reclaiming one and the other is reclaiming his allegeance to crack cocaine and there is little that anyone can do. I heard from both families over the weekend and could hear the hope draining out of their voices as I mostly listened and said that we would be there for them when the time is right.

So I am gearing up already because I know that the time will not be right any time soon and the families will need help managing through replacing hope with loss. I've learned all about loss. The trick is replacing it with better things than before.

It's not that there isn't anything that we can two for these two repossessed people, just that they have to be the ones asking. Not their families. And the allures of a crazed mind or highs of crack cocaine make for beautiful enemies.

Over the weekend a friend I adore told me that it took her two days to read a story that I had written about three little blond haired girls whose lips were stained with Kool-Aid as they sat in the lobby of Unionb Mission and witnessed their sobbing mother and sick brother begging for help. She asked me how I could keep doing what I do?

Well, that Mom and those three little girls and their baby brother are all doing fine today. They live in our permanent supportive housing program and are thriving. Sometimes we can work miracles. So we get high from these moments and they help us get through the devestation of the losses.

All of these images are in my head as I run through the fog this morning. Like the lightening was perfect for the conclusion of an emotional weekend, the fog is perfect for a Monday that is likely to be sad business.

I am still thinking these things as I climb into my outdoor shower and wash away the thoughts so that I can take the weight of the world on my shoulders for a little while longer. Then I notice that I have forgotten my towel. I will have to streak into the house.

Christ! It's a Monday.

Replacing Love

My old friend Frank Stanton unexpectedly stopped by my office because he wanted to tell me goodbye. After 55 years of living and prospering in Savannah, Frank and Clara are returning to their home town of Augusta, Georgia where their children live. The reason is because the ravages of age are starting to add up and they can envision days of much less activity and want to settle with their kids and grand kids in the time that they have left.

As he was telling me these things, his eyes grew moist and he struggled with his words. Leaving Savannah is proving to be very difficult for them. But after two years of contemplating the move, the decision has now been made.

Frank and I go back a hundred years to when he had asked me to speak at his Rotary Club. My first book had recently been published and he asked me to bring copies, so I did and Frank ended up buying one.

"The Society of Salty Saints" tells the story of the rag tag inner city church in Louisville that I had been at. It tells the stories of the people who came and some of the things that we did together. Because I was a professional Christian at the time I threw in a some prayers and a few of my sermons which were different from real preachers (My favorite is "What Jesus did in High School" where we glean that we're not always supposed to listen to our mothers! But I digress.)

So the next afternoon I am sitting in my office at Union Mission and in walks Frank unexpectedly. He had my book in his hands.

"Who wrote this?" he demanded.

"Hi Frank," I replied. "That is my name on the cover."

"Don't give me that," he shot back, "there is no way that you could have possibly written these prayers. I mean look at you!"

In those days my fashion was built upon the Kroeger look. Jeans with a button down shirt and a tie. I also had a pony tail. I guess Frank thought that people who dressed and look like me are incapable of praying.

Anyway, we became good friends and we were partners in crime together, as another dear friend of mine like to say. Our ability to pull off practical jokes on people like Joe Daniel, then at Bank of America, are legend (once had a bunch of homeless people enter into his office one after the other unannounced. They simply stood their staring at him while he asked if he could help them. His secretary was buzzing security. Then they sung him Happy Birthday and left. And that was a pretty tame one!)

Frank also arranged for me to meet people and to go to places that I would have never been able to accomplish by myself. If he would notice that I was working myself into exhaustion, I would be surprised by tickets to some resort with the expenses paid. And he was forever bringing visiting dignitaries by the office to meet me. The man is freaking amazing.

Yet stretching across two decades now, Frank and I have remained friends. Several years ago he asked me to do things when he dies.

All of these things flashed through my mind at one time when I saw his eyes go moist and his words falter as he told me goodbye. I felt my throat close and my heart break a little.

But that is life, right? People come and people go. Relationships begin and they end. Age happens in spite of our best efforts to prevent it from occurring. David Bowie was right. "Ch, Ch, Ch, Changes. Turn and face the strange. Changes."

But the love and the experiences and lessons that Frank and I share will remain. Love never dies, St. Paul says. I think that this is what he meant. We carry these things with us until we die and then those who love us carry us with them.

And when love leaves our lives, we immediately look for it again. Through others. We are forever replacing love with other love. Because in the end, love really is all you need.

The Promise of a future with new possibilities

It was a fascinating meeting.

Sitting in conference room 107 at the Georgia State Capitol, Georgia's Chief Operating Officer Jim Lientz had us all introduce ourselves. The Commissioner of the Department of Human Services, the Commissioner of the Department of Community Health, the Commissioner of Behavioral Health Services, and Director of the State Medicaid System, and the Assistant Commissioner of the Department of Community Affairs along with the Director of the State's special housing programs.

With me were Lauren Milmine, Aretha Jones, Letitia Robinson and Terry Cassidy from Union Mission. Mike Pollack was there representing Memorial Health University Hospital. We were there to share with them the sad story of the Savannah Area Behavioral Health Collaborative or SABHC.

Union Mission and Memorial led an effort to change the way mental health services are provided in Georgia. It was the nation's most ambitious attempt to blend numerous funding streams into one seamless delivery system.

Two other partners, the Chatham-Savannah Authority for the Homeless and Recovery Place of Savannah began with us but developed other agenda and contributed to SABHC crashing and burning.

But before it did, it accomplish fantastic success! Over a 15 month period, the number of people seeking help doubled to over 300! They came and were not only treated for mental health or addictive diseases, but also received primary care, dental care, nutritious meals and access to over 400 housing opportunities. Never has such an ambitious attempt occurred. And in Savannah, Georgia of all places!

But it failed because while Jim Lientz and Commissioner B. J. Walker supported it, all of the people who worked for them did not. In fact, many worked hard to un-do it. The Homeless Authority and Recovery Place jumped ship and joined these folks. And compassion on a grand scale crashed and burned publicly.

I will never forget on the last day walking through the cafeteria and a mentally ill woman bursting into tears and burying her head in my chest begging me to not take away their meals. The next day they would be gone and there was nothing that I could do. I can still feel the helplessness and the smell of her hair and being overwhelmed with agony.

But time passed and the emotion went away. And Union Mission and Memorial were left with all of this great capacity but no ability to use it for what it was designed for. So human need being what it is, we used it for other things.

Then back in January I was sleep walking through Savannah Day in Atlanta when I ran into Jim. "You never come see me any more," he said with a smile.

"Ah Jim," I answered shaking his hand, "that's cause I learned that it doesn't do any good to come see you."

"What?"

"You"re a great guy but all of those people who work for you...not so much."

"You need to come see me," he ordered.

"Sure. Why not?"

So two weeks ago Lauren and I did.

And we told him the story of SABHC. He listened and then asked if we would come back to Atlanta and tell the story again. So yesterday we did to the most impressive of audiences. For two hours we talked back and forth. We went into details and talked about who did what and who did not. And when the meeting ended we all stayed another half hour talking in small groups with one another.

So what was a sad past has now become a future with new possibilities. We'll see what happens.

But I promised that old lady who cried in my chest that I would get it all back for her. Because she deserves it. And God dammit one day, I swear she will have it again.

Another Day of Chasing the Rainbow

My adopted mentally ill, former bank robber, current janitor, adopted son Charles was sitting on the front steps of Grace House. I was heading in from a budget meeting that had been difficult and frustrating. I saw him sitting there in his bright orange shirt, talking to himself as he does, so I stopped and sat beside him.

"Hey Charles."

"Hello Sir." Charles mostly calls me sir.

"You ok?" I ask.

He nods his head with his eyes closed.

"You want to talk?"

He shakes his head from side to side with his eyes closed.

I sigh. Then I pat his shoulder and get up. Some things you just can't figure out. Charles is certainly one of them but yesterday was filled with things that I just couldn't figure out.

There was the budget process that the staff has worked on for months but it still seemed disconnected. I wondered why.

There was the fact that everything didn't happen in real time but it was all late and behind schedule somehow.

A simple presentation before the Step Up Board of Directors that I made turned into an eruption of suppressed frustration and emotion. Politicians pontificated and I ended up defending something that should not have needed defending.

A wonderful and magical evening slipped away somehow.

I hope today is better though I have my suspicions. First off I have to go to Atlanta today and meet with Jim Lientz and the heads of four government agencies. Jim is the state's Chief Operations Officer. We are giving a two-and-a-half presentation about what went wrong with our attempt to fix mental health services in Savannah.

This was Jim's idea and I don't expect much out it. Yesterday I kept expecting more and ended up late at night sitting on my sofa wondering what had gone wrong. Today?

Well, I know me. I will still expect more. Hopeless romantics always do. And there is Charles to think about. He reminds me of the need to keep trying even when I have failed or when things have gone wrong. So here I go. Another day of chasing the rainbow.

Chaplain of the Breakfast Club Comes through Again!

In my time I have been associated with some very bad softball teams. It is nothing that I am proud of or bring up often, but let me say these teams (and I use the term loosely) took bad to depths never previously touched by human kind.

Back in Louisville, Bill Berry and I fielded a homeless softball team and joined the church league. This was the meanest league I've ever played in. Those church people think soft ball is a life-or-death contact sport.

Our homeless team was intimidated as hell. In the middle of one game David, our second baseman and full time schizophrenic became overwhelmed by the experience and laid down on the ground hugging second base and crying. We couldn't get him to stop and knew it was a lost cause when he started sucking his thumb. We had to forfeit the game but the laughing church people said they would pray for us. I think I flipped them the finger.

There was the Beach Bum team. I joined in their second year. One June afternoon I showed up at the park to see two of my team mates, Gordon Varnadoe and Jim Green playing second base and short stop, respectfully. For some reason they thought it would be a good idea if they wore ski masks while they played. I suppose to throw the other team off. Anyway, they fainted from the heat in the second inning and had to be carried off the field. We forfeited the game. The Bums were a very bad softball team but we had a lot of fun.

Then there is the Breakfast Cubs sponsored by the Breakfast Club. Jodee was once a die hard Cubs fan and fielded a team that was just as bad as the one in Chicago. I played shortstop. Our badness rivaled the Beach Bums. This was a co-ed team and I remember we once played a team that had David Ring on it. David is a big man who could really hit a ball. And he did way out past center field. All three of our outfielders ran after the ball and we lost them in the darkness of the night. Fifteen minutes they had not returned and we had to forfeit the game.

And now there is the latest incarnation of the Breakfast Cubs. Because today is Ryan Sadowski's birthday (and because he whines without ceasing if he doesn't get his way) I showed up at last night's game. These latest Cubs are proudly carrying on the tradition that we began all of those years ago. They have yet to win a game all year.

As soon as I saw them warming up, I knew that I had made a mistake. They were tossing the ball to one another, meaning it came close to hitting a glove before falling to the ground. I turned to leave but saw that smartly dressed Jamie (who I have a serious crush on) was a member of the team.

I was moved by the Lord to help this sad excuse for a team (and I use the term loosely). I gathered them all in the dugout for a pre-game prayer.

"Lord, please forgive these people
for sucking so badly at softball.
They have yet to win a game
but it is because of Satan's evil ways
and not necessarily their incompetence.
PLEASE have mercy on the rest of us
who have to hear about this crap everyday
and lead them to the promised land of victory!
Amen"

And the game started. I hung around to see if things would work out. When Caroline stepped to the plate I told her to spit towards the pitcher to intimidate him. She didn't and quickly grounded out.

Then the very white Ryan Sadowski/birthday boy stepped to the plate. I told him to grab his crotch in the direction of the pitcher. For once the whiter-than-most-white people Ryan listened and did what I said. He got a hit and scored the first run.

I knew that the Chaplain of the Breakfast Club had come through again. So I left. And of course, they won their first game.

I couldn't hang around, I had more important things to do. A friend whom I love and I were going to share music videos.

Oh and Ryan. Happy Birthday!

Now if everyone else out there will please begin praying for me because I am deathly afraid that they are going to make me go to more of these games for pre-game prayers.

Jesus Shaves

Bill Berry spent the weekend with me. Not the Bill Berry who used to be the drummer for R.E.M. but the other one. The one that I went to seminary with and have had countless adventures with. There is something about the two of us. Put us together, especially if we are on the road, and it is spontaneous combustion! Stuff happens.

It started in seminary when we were both on fire to change the world at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, KY, a sad little inner city church that had lost its mind and hired me as the minister. We were painting the sanctuary one Saturday night and had finished three walls. We were all tired and Bill told us all to go home and rest. He would finish the last wall for us. So we thanked him and left.

On Sunday morning, I stumbled into the sanctuary to find that Bill had painted the words "Jesus Shaves" and the wall and nothing else. He'd left about ten minutes after we did.

I busted out laughing at what was obviously going to be the over ridding message of the morning.

A few years later, the two of us kidnapped a train in Prague and rode it to Krakow, Poland looking for Auschwitz, the infamous concentration camp. The train was a tiny sleeper car with three beds fixed to one wall. Bill pulled out a screw driver and took down the top two beds, meaning we had a sofa. We placed the other two beds in the hall, sat on the sofa and drank Chech beer. When the conductor came to get our tickets he burst out laughing at the crazy Americans.

That night, the border patrol stopped the train and entered into our birth. Two guards demanded to inspect out passports and Bill jumped out of bed in his underwear, handed over his passport and saluted at attention. I covered my head and just stuck my arms out from under the sheet to hand him mine.

Not too long after that we hitched a ride on a British tour bus to the concentration camp and then jumped off, much to the dismay of the tour guide. And we spent a cold snowy day alone in the death camp. We saw no one for ours. As darkness began to fall, we had no idea how we were going to get back to a train station. So we walked the tracks out of the camp and eventually lucked onto one. And we made it back somehow to Prague after another salute to the border patrol.

Then there was the time that we went to Cuba together. We had many adventures there which I cannot tell for fear of reprisal of the Cuban government. I will confess that after I was busted by American Immigration agents when I entered Nassau, Bahamas I called Bill.

"Did we have official U.S. permission to go to Cuba?" I asked.

"Shit!" he said, "I knew I forgot to give you something!"

U. S. Immigration did not seem to care for this explaination.

So those are some of the highlights of things that we have done. There are far more. He is leaving today after a weekend of minor infractions. That is a good thing. Were he staying longer I am certain that we would get in some kind of trouble. And I've had too much of that in my life lately.

A Brave and Courageous Man

Over 200 people donned tuxedos and evening gowns last night for the Starfish Gala and I must confess it was a beautiful crowd. They mingled and auctioned and enjoyed one another. And the women of Union Mission were all stunningly beautiful last night. Skip and I pulled up the rear.

There was this moment though that will always stay with me. Elmo Weeks is 90 and is the very successful owner and operator of a family run funereal home. He has also served on the Union Mission Board of Directors for 60 years and last night we recognized such a contribution.

He was sitting with his family when Chairman of the Board Jerry Rainey joined me on the stage to present Elmo a plaque and announce that the Chapel in the J. C. Lewis Health Center will bear his name. As I spoke I was looking at Elmo who was looking at me.

"Back in the late 80s and early 90s Union Mission opened the Phoenix Place, a residence for people with AIDS. In those days, there was a lot of hysteria surrounding the disease and people were afraid they would catch it merely by being in the same room with someone. It was also a time when AIDS was a death sentence. And we certainly cared for many who died."

"When they did," I continued, "none of the funeral homes in the city would take care of the bodies of people who had died because of AIDS. So I would call Elmo and he told me, 'Of Course' and that is the kind of man Elmo Weeks is. A compassionate and courageous person."

And when I said this I watched Elmo burst into tears and bury his face in his hands. His wife tenderly rubbed his back. And then the tears flowed freely from my face in front of over 200 beautiful people. I cried because he cried and because it is rare that one gets to pay tribute to someone brave enough to care when the rest of the world is afraid.

Elmo gingerly made his way to the stage and Jerry gave him his plaque. They returned to their seats and I had to introduce Dr. Kathy Love of Savannah Technical College. When I finished I jumped off the stage and walked straight to Elmo. I hugged him and kissed his forehead and we both cried together.

I think that we cried for all of those that we buried. And for all of the people who had been too afraid to give a damn. For all of the prejudice and discrimination against people who were gay or addicted. We cried because too few care about these things still. And we cried because we lived through it and remember it.

The rest of the night is really a blur to me. But that moment with Elmo remains. And it will remain with me for the rest of my life.

Breath In, Breath Out, Move On

In my office is one of my most prized and cherished possessions. It is a gift from my friend Terry Ball, a watch that doesn't have any hands or moving parts. The face is white and painted across it in black letters is the word "Now". It originates from a Jimmy Buffett song that we share.

According to my watch the time is now
the past is dead and gone
Don't try to explain just bow your head
breath in, breath out, move on

And I have moved on.

For much of the last several months, breathing was sometimes difficult. I sucked wind for much of it and was precious little use to those around me. But people did miraculous things at just the right time when breathing seemed damned near impossible. If I ever doubted that miracles can happen, I believe again. People are capable of them every day.

And dogs are too. Goddess has licked tears from my face and made me laugh when laughing was the very last thing that I thought that I could do. She's even blocked the door and prevented me from going out one night. The bitch somehow knew that I needed to stay home and brush her and roll around in the floor with her. And I love her as much as I love anything for it.

And God can too. Sunrises or cloudy days appeared at just the right time. As did heart shaped sponges on the beach or a double rainbow over the ocean that I could reach out and almost touch. Or the birds that are sent to sing me awake in the morning, even on those nights when I barely slept because I watched the ceiling fan go round and round and round.

But that was then. I have moved on.

When the hurricane blew the love out of this house it left a lot of empty spaces. My Mom filled most of them for me as I was incapable of doing so at the time. She filled all except one. In the red room that I write and where Goddess lays her head on my foot, there was a large painting of flowers that hung. Mom missed replacing it and the empty space has hung there reminding me of what was in the past.

Until last night. My daughter Chelsea is quite the artist and showed up with paintings for tonight's Starfish Gala. But she had one just for me. It is a silhouette of palm trees surrounding a beach house and in the background is a firey red sky and the hints of the rising sun, which is one of the most holy things that I am blessed to witness with regularity. We filled the last empty space together.

And I am reborn and alive. I cherish my friends like I never have before. I love what is around me in deeper and richer ways. And I believe in serendipity and wait on it to reveal itself to me.

And there is no going back. According to my watch the time is now. The past is dead and gone. And I bow my head and thank God for the now. And I breath in. And I breath out. And I continue moving on.

Laughing to Survive

In a blatant attempt to make me feel better not too long ago, my carnival of friends at the Breakfast Club carried on the following conversation between 6:30 and 7:00 in the morning while we had coffee and the cooks made their last minute preparations for the day.

"Well, when I got divorced the first time," Johnny O explained, "we kind of stood there before the Judge and it was awkward. Nobody knew what to say. So I looked at her and asked, "You want to go out to dinner?" She said yes and so we went out and celebrated our divorce."

We all stared at him laughing as this is a typical Johnny O thing to do. "We may have made love that night," he continues, "I don't remember."

The laughter grew.

Whitely then cleared his throat. "I waited until she had fallen asleep. When I knew that she was dead to the world, I quietly slipped out of bed, retrieved the bags that I had already packed and hidden, took all of the money out of her purse and snuck outside."

"I threw the bags in the back and climbed in. I turned the key and ... the battery was dead. I laid my head on the steering wheel."

"Then I snuck back in the house. Put the money back in her purse, hid my bags back in the closet, undressed and crawled back in the bed. I would have to do it the next night."

Laughter exploded in the room and even though I was in as dark a place as I've ever been in my life, I couldn't help but join in.

"Well, that's nothing," Nancy said from the other side of the counter. "I was in this really bad relationship and had no way out. No money. No plan. Nothing. So one day when he was working and I was off, I went to all of the military recruiting stations in town and asked each one who could get me out of town the quickest."

Hysterical laughter became even louder, and I was crying from laughing so hard and in harmony with my friends.

"It was the Army," she concluded. "Two days. So when he went to work two days later, I went to the Army."

"Did you tell him?" someone asked.

"Oh, yeah," she answered, "I'm not heartless. I left him a note. It said, "Gotta Go! Love Ya, Nancy".

The laughter was now a frenzy and in the middle of a very dark place, my friends were telling me stories of survival of lost love or bad love. They were also bearing witness to the fact that they had healed and could laugh again. And they drew me in. And they have helped me to survive.

And for that, I thank them all.

Post Mother's Day

Charles, my adopted six-foot-give, African-American, former bank robbing, mentally ill son who is also the janitor at my office approached Keller Deal's desk. Eyes half closed, he has one hand on top of his head.

"Mam, I know that you're white and I'm black, but will you be my mother for Mother's Day?"

Stifling a giggle, Keller tells him that she would.

"Well," he says, "I know that I'm a day late but 'Happy Mother's Day!'"

"HEY!" Joy screams from her office next door. "What about me?" Joy is the one who actually handles Charles money for him and she sneaks him candy which he loves and makes certain that he buys new clothes from time to time.

Unfazed, Charles says that she can be his mother too. I suppose that you can never have enough Moms.

And that's the kind of day it was at Union Mission yesterday. John Stephenson of the J. Bulow Campbell Foundation in Atlanta spent the morning with us touring the Magdalene Project as he contemplates helping renovate the now unoccupied housing program for homeless mothers and children.

Then it was lunch during which we reviewed the plans for the upcoming Starfish Cafe gala. Keller has everything under control. Or she can lie really well.

Then Skip, Lavanda and I reviewed plans for the future. Lavanda laid out her plans to us as she will soon be leaving us after 17 years for broader horizons. Lavanda's been the one in daily operations for the past six years. She is the Mom of Union Mission. It was a good meeting though and we ended in a group hug.

I was heading to Tybee for a dinner meeting when my cell phone buzzed a bit of serendipity presented itself so I made a U-Turn that Nascar would envy and headed back to town for cocktails and laughter.

Eventually I made it back to Tybee and Lucy Hall, Director of the Mary Hall Freedom House in Atlanta and I walked to dinner. Lucy is currently on a reality television show and I poked fun at her for it. She was already famous having won national awards and being covered by "Essence" and other magazines. We talked into the night about changes and what the future holds.

At 10:30 I took Goddess for a thoughtful walk and reviewed what ended up being a really great day. Now I'm off to meet Lauren for a meeting that may hold promise and it starts all over again! I hope!!!

No Focus On Monday

The day had just begun and I had stumbled through the door marked "Exit Only", poured myself a cup of coffee and sat on my normal stool. Whitley was followed by Johnny O who greeted Justin with his customary one finger wave and yelled out a verb followed by a pronoun. The day seemed to be starting as it normally does.

Then in walked a dude wearing only shorts. His white body had red splotches all over it as a result of a haphazard application of sun screen. Blond hair was filled with sand. He was having trouble standing still.

"I need a cigarette!" he bellowed. "And I have to be in court by 9:00."

His words were slurred but we understood enough to break out into laugher.

"No body here smokes," Justin lied. And the dude left.

Then Johnny O asked me if I had seen Dean yesterday. I had not. "Well, Jake asked him if he had shot his sofa and made a shirt out of it."

Now that's an image.

On my run down the beach, I notice the large number of Jelly Fish that have washed ashore. Normally this time of year, only the non-stinging Canon Balls litter the beach, but I see only the bright colored stingers that usually show up in July and August. I wonder why.

Then I take Goddess for her walk while I cool down from the run. My neighbor Art walks up with treats for the pup and a gift for me. He had taken yesterday's newspaper which had announced this year's Cotillion Club debutantes. There were nine beautiful girls pictured. He drawn another box and wrote in it "Picture not available". Underneath he had written "Elliott". I burst out laughing.

A couple of weeks ago, Art had an oyster roast and as it began he stood and thanked everyone for coming to Micheal's Cotillion Party. "He's finally coming out," he had quipped.

And now I can't get the song "Sweet Soul Sister" out of my head. Yesterday on Mother's Day, my daughters spent the day with their Dad. Driving back from brunch with my Mom, the two of them sang the song to the top of their lungs with happy glee. They really sucked and when I told them they sang it again. So I guess that I understand why so many Mom's don't make a big deal out of Mother's Day.

So this Monday is beginning slightly out of focus. And there is no point to this blog. And I have to go to work. And I would much prefer to hang out on the beach with my sweet soul sister.

My Inventory of Sins

I never made it to Chicago yesterday as nobody was in control of air traffic in Atlanta. Though I'm fairly certain that no one is in control of much anything in Atlanta. Or Washington. Anyway my plane kept getting delayed and after several hours it became apparent that I would arrive long after the Board meeting of the International Street Medicine Institute had began. So I informed Delta that they were not ready when I was and flew back to Savannah.

And in the late afternoon, I found myself with the twin gifts of time and solitude sitting on the back deck. I was surrounded by a multitude of colorful flowers that are promises of growth and love.

Then out of nowhere, came an inventory of my sins. It is a larger list than I care to admit but I spent time reviewing each and every one. It is hard to do but if we are going to grow as individuals we have to understand the mistakes and bad things that we have done. I'm still trying to grow.

It was most painful to understand that sins lead to hurting other people and mine certainly did. And they hurt me too. In each and every case, I resolved to not repeat it and to learn from it and to move on. In each instance, I woke up the next morning resolved to make amends and atone for them. For the most part I think that I did.

During all of the trauma of the past few years in my life, I saw that I was in a bad place and didn't understand it. I think you have to finally be well before you can understand how sick you were. And as I reviewed my sins, especially the last few years, I understand how bad of a place I was in. I can see that now.

After reviewing the inventory, I said prayers to the stars asking for forgiveness and for those whom I have hurt to find happiness and fulfillment. Life is too short too not spend our energy reaching out for happiness and fulfillment. And trying to help others do so when you have the opportunity.

This morning, I ran and sweated out the sins I committed yesterday. Then I baptised myself in the holy water of the outdoor shower. Then I watered the growing promises on the back deck. Now I embrace this day knowing that I will heal just a little bit more. And I hope that those I have hurt heal too.

Dancing with Change

A while back I wrote that it was time to grab hold of change by the throat and dance! And I've danced through loss and abandonment. And I've danced with friends old and new. And yesterday the dance continued.

Lavanda Brown announced that after 16 years at Union Mission, the past seven as Executive Vice-President, she is leaving. I have known for a while as she told me in my office several weeks ago but am still getting used to the idea. If Lavanda is anything, she is steady and if we ever needed anything over the past year or so it has been that. And she has consistently delivered.

We've also had good times together. Good talks. Good laughs. And a cultural dialogue about race in Savannah that has shaped the way that Union Mission is today. I call her style "front Porch management". People come and sit on her sofa and talk while she stares at her computer screen because of her inability to completely focus on one thing at a time. Somehow it works and people leave feeling that they have gotten the things that they need from her.

It will be several more weeks before she finally leaves for good and I know that, in this case, she will never really leave for good. Unlike the other changes in my life, Lavanda and I will continue to be friends. We will continue to talk. She has a life time invitation to the Union Mission holiday party.

And for that, and for all of the things that she has done for our community, I am grateful.

Follow You Heart

"I think that you should have T-shirts made with Goddess on them. They would sell."

I was having dinner with my friend Terry. It had been too many months since we had seen one another and were catching up. When the conversation turned to my blog, he started with Goddess.

"It could have her picture on it and underneath could say 'Love Really Is A Bitch!'"

I cracked up but he kept going. It seems that Goddess is developing a cult following. There are evidently many people who read what I write every day not so much because they give a damn what's going on in my life but because they are huge fans of Goddess. I have become a minor character in my own life!

And it's true! I make my way around town and people ask, "How's Goddess?" They never ask how I'm doing.

When I'm walking her on the island, passing cars will roll their windows down and yell, "Hello Goddess!" without ever looking at me.

Who knew these people are part of a cult?

Now I love the Goddess and she is one of the cards that my life has been dealt and I am grateful for that. Each of our lives have been dealt a stack of cards. Some of the cards we cannot change. Our race. Our gender. Our families. Where we are born. How we were raised. We hold onto these cards throughout our lives.

Other cards we pick up or we discard. Our jobs. Our lovers. Where we choose to live. Who our friends are. These are cards that we choose to keep if we think that they are worth it or we throw them away because they don't prove to be all that useful in our game of life.

The stack of discarded cards grows and some may end up being useful again. An old friend shows back up. Someone who made you a promise years ago delivers when you call it in. You return to some place that you loved and it still holds all of the alure and magic that it did the first time.

The trick about playing the cards in your life is that you always have to follow your heart. It guides you in what you hold onto and what you throw away. The game of life is all about having the fullest heart at the end.

I thought these things last night. Terry is a card that I hold onto. Goddess is for sure! And where I live and what I do and who I love.

Then the bill came and Terry made me pull out a dollar bill so that we could play poker to see who would pay for dinner. He called out numbers printed on the face of the dollar and I called out numbers. He won and I had to pay. Dammit.

I would have won had we been playing with cards.

Or if Goddess would have been with me.

The Rising Tide

“For God’s sake,” Keller Deal sighed, “will you write about something funny tomorrow?”

“Is that a woman’s perspective?” I asked. While Keller can be a self-professed cruel angel, she was right. Yesterday’s “Low Tide” hit a lot of people in ways that I never intended.

Someone I care deeply about called crying after reading it and broke my heart.

Herb wrote and told me that I was killing him and that I needed to smile and act like everything was ok.

Stacy and Dedra and Judi all send positive thoughts and prayers even though I hadn’t asked for them.

Lauren read it and said, “I can see how they would think that!” just like a lawyer.

Aretha read it and looked over the top of her glasses at me and said, “I get it.”

Barrie read it and said, “I completely understand.”

But it ended up being a rogue blog. When I write these things, I am never quite sure how they are going to end up. I have some vague notion of a point I want to make or a story to tell. Sometimes I just sit at the computer with my eyes closed and start to type. But I am never quite sure what it is that is being born. So I go with the flow.

So I am going to do something that I have never done before. I am going to pretend like Toto has pulled the curtain back and exposed the Wizard of Oz. Then I am going to explain how it came about. Then I am going to write about what I really want to write about.

So last week ended kind of roughly. Well, it did and it didn’t. Lauren and I went to Atlanta to put the last nail in the coffin of SABHC only to find that we have more opportunities staring us in the face then we could have ever imagined. So that was good. But then on the personal side, things that I wanted to happen didn’t happen quite the way that I wanted them to and I slid into the weekend unsure of where my future was going.

Then Jeremy showed up. Now my son and I are an odd pair. We really got along as man and child but we really enjoy one another as adults. In fact, he is a best friend. And I am to him. And we give one another permission to be these things with one another. And we have fun. So we listened to live music and we drank and I think we shot pool (not sure) though there are pictures of me on Face Book singing country music karaoke, so I guess that I did that. John and Judy were also there so who knows?

And it was a great weekend except I remained a little shaky on where my future was going. Then Jeremy left. And Kristen showed up and we had dinner with Ryan Sadowski and those crazy, wonderful, insane friends of mine who run the Breakfast Club. (OK nobody really runs the Breakfast Club. Jodee owns it and keeps it open somehow, but I’m not convinced that anybody has actually ever been in charge.)

Then it was Monday. And it was low tide. And it was a stunning low tide that went for miles. And way over there in the distance was the ocean with the sun shining on it, sparkling and playful. And I was struck by the difference. Where I was running was barren wet sand. No life.

Way out there, were the dolphins and the sun and the life and the warmth. I sat for a moment and noticed the difference. Appreciating it! I mean if God was going to go through all of the trouble to create it, the least that I could do was notice. So I sat down in the wet sand and noticed.

Then I thought about the last several months. The empty barren wet lifeless sand was what I have been living through. Way out there, where the sun was dancing on the water and the dolphins were smiling, was where I wanted to be. And I got up and ran that way. Smiling! Because I know where I want to go!

So I went through the day dealing with this rogue blog, confused and befuddled that things went the way that they did.

But then a little serendipity happened. And then I bought $100 worth of flowers and plants and brought them home. And I spend the afternoon planting them and singing to the songs on my I-pod.

As I did this, I tried to remember the last time that I did this. I get gardening from my Mom. She is a gardener on steroids! I am a bit more natural about it. But over the last three or four years I had stopped doing something I love.

And I thought to myself (Jerry, this is going to offend you so let me apologize now but as a writer it is what it is) “Fuck this! I want to be surrounded by living and happy things.” So I bought dirt and plants and living things and I went home and I worked myself silly.

And I wondered where this had gone? But I am not one to get glued to the past. And things that I love are coming back. And I thank God that the flowers are back. And I thank God that it was God who started giving them back. And I believe in serendipity with everything that I am. And the flowers will grow like love will grow in life again.

And I am never going back again to the low tide. The rising one is going to carry me away.

Low Tide

As I topped the sand dune, I saw that it is low tide and the exposed ocean floor seems to go on forever. It is barren looking and empty and the sea seems to be miles away. I keep running across the lifeless wet sand and then suddenly and unexpectedly, the life seems to get sucked out of me too and I stop.

Sweat pours down my face and I catch my breath. I curse. Then I sit down in the wet sand and lay my heart down beside me. The sun sparkles on the ocean and I want to be a part of that but it is so far away from where I am. I am surrounded by emptiness.

My heart is dark and brusied but I notice that it is getting its color back and it continues to beat through I could have sworn it had stopped. I fall backwards in the wet sand and let the barren emptiness engulf me.

"It is ok," I tell myself.

And I think about all of the love that used to be here, like a full ocean teaming with life. Now it is at low tide and the love is elsewhere. I used to hang on her every word but now her words have no meaning behind them. They are empty and barren. I am numb as I read them.

I refuse to stay here. I get up and put my heart back in. Then I race to the sea and the sun and when I get there I will dance upon the water. And I will not look back.

Glorious

I stumbled through the door marked "Exit Only" where Jodee and the boys were busy prepping for the day.

"Whoa!" Jodee yelled, "you are early!"

I ignored him and stumbled straight to the coffee pot only to find that it was empty. "Shit!" I muttered.

Taking sympathy on me, Jodee left the 200 pieces of bacon he was frying and led me through making a large cup on his newest gadget.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Going to Atlanta," I answered.

Fruitful trip?" he cheerfully asked.

"Are you kidding?"

He seemed to understand. I waved goodbye and left through the door marked "Exit only"

I drove back home and took Goddess for a walk in the dark sipping on the coffee. This day was beginning like yesterday ended.

Yesterday had been a perfectly good day that somehow slipped away as it went along. Like a handful of sand that I was trying to hold onto, ever so slowly, the goodness fell away, and it ended a bummer.

When I got home, Goddess was happy to see me but I wasn't in the mood to respond correctly so I went through the motions but with little feeling. This morning I was feeling bad about that so took her on a walk at 5:15 before heading to the airport to travel to the Center of the Universe, which is what Atlanta believes it is.

Then I saw the moon lightly kissing the Back River and leaving it aglow and full of love. I wanted to jump in but Goddess pulled me in the other direction. That's the way it is right? We discover the love that we want to explore and things pull us in the other direction. So it becomes a fight to get there. And if we are committed to it, we continue the struggle until we finally find ourselves submerged in love.

Or we walk away from it. I believe that a lot of people walk away from it because they refuse to fight for it or because it is not love that they want but something else. Or because they love themselves more than they are capable of loving someone else.

Now a bright sun is rising and I see that it is going to be a glorious day. I want to be glorious today. I want to be surrounded by glorious people. I want to hold someone who is glorious.

And the rising sun gives me hope. To be where I'm going. In the sunshine of your love.

A Better Offer

Once during a concert, Arlo Guthrie was talking and suddenly stopped and said, "I know I'm supposed to be singing but you can't always do what you're supposed to do."

The crowd applauded and he continued telling his story.

And it's true, you can't always do what you are supposed to do.

Sometimes in life you have to do something else which is normally frightening and scary. It's like jumping off of a cliff. You hope you land in a better place though there is always the possibility of crashing and burning. Still it is something that you know with everything inside of you that you have to do it.

Your friends will both encourage and discourage you as you contemplate making a change. Everybody hates change and does their best to avoid it. But in the end only you decide because you know you have to do what you have to do. You just pray that there are no regrets.

And that is how we live our lives.

Lovers leave one another. Marriages begin and they end. Jobs are found and they are lost. A new born baby is brought into a home as a teenager leaves another one. Careers are discovered and they are destroyed. Commitments are made and they are broken. These things happen every day.

And in the end, it matters most when these things are happening to us individually. I suppose it is best when we are the initiators of doing something else because we know where we are trying to get to. But our actions effect someone else and they are left to cope with change that they did not ask for but have it anyway.

The other day my son Jeremy was talking about taking the time to appreciate the good things that come your way as they are happening. Because they do not last. "We're gonna love it while it last," goes the song.

So we spend our lives looking for those moments. Because there is no day but today. And really no moment but this one to really live. Too many spend too much of their time just getting by or existing in the situation they find themselves in. That isn't living. So you always have to be on your toes to discover the opportunities that make you come alive.

So yesterday I had promised Shirely Sessions that Keller Deal and I would attend the United Way Volunteer Recognition ceremony. I love Shirely and would do pretty much anything that she asks, but yesterday I got a better offer. So Keller and Sarah covered for me and I didn't do what I was supposed to do.

I did something better.

Father Phil

"Is this my friend the Beach Patrolman and the Baptist?" the called asked.

"Who is this?" I replied. "My friends do not call me names like that."

"You Catholic friend from Cleveland," he answered.

"Oh Hi Phil," I quickly responded.

Phil is a priest who has become a friend over the past several years. We like to stand on the beach and conserve seriously about the state of religion.

"Phil," I once told him as we sipped beer and stared at the sea, "My dearly departed friend Vernon Robertson once told me that every successful organization has at least one Son-of-a-bitch. And that is why the Catholic Church has the Pope."

"What?" he exclaimed.

"The people want Priest to marry. The Pope says no. The people want birth control. The Pope says no. The people want Nuns to have more authority in the Church. The Pope says no. See what I'm saying?"

"Well the problem with you Baptist is that you have a hundred thousand Sons-of-bitches all wanting to be the one."

He had me there.

Anyway, he called out of the blue as he ran across my phone number while he was cleaning out some things and immediately dialed.

"I was thinking about you the other day as I baptized Issac," he began.

"Who's Issac?"

"A homeless schizophrenic. A couple of Alter boys had to hold him still as I did the baptism."

"And this reminded you of me?"

Phil laughed. "Well, not you really but your work. I've still got your books and refer to them from time to time."

"Oh, you're the one," I answer.

"So what's been going on?" he asked.

And I told him. From the last time I saw him in June until yesterday. I confessed it all and didn't have to worry about entering one of those musty booths. When I finished he was quite for several long seconds.

"Do you believe in God?" he finally asked.

"What?"

"I think that it was God who made me find your phone number so that I would call you."

"You think God doesn't delegate these less important matters to someone else?"

"Micheal," he chided.

"OK, I believe in serendipity."

Then he went on to tell me that we should talk more often and that if I don't call him, he will call me so I'd better get used to it. Then he told me that I was going to be the focus of his prayers in Mass until we see each other again in June. Then he hung up with a quick blessing of thanks for my life.

I laid the phone on the table on the back deck and propped my feet on the rail. I looked at the bright sun and the blue skies and the green leaves dancing in the salty ocean breeze. And I thought about Phil. And Stacy. And Shirely. Bill. Mary Ann. Keller. Mom. Healing Hands. And the other gifts who somehow appeared over the past several months.

And I thought that in spite of shitstorms that we sometimes live through, God is indeed good.

Getting the Call (For Mandy)

Dr. Guy Gaines Sayles, Jr.is the pastor of the Baptist Church in Ashville, N.C. He is also the person largely responsible for me becoming a minister in the first place.

Our friendship is also the reason Guy has moved so much throughout his ministry. As soon as people discover that he was the person who first suggested that I attend seminary, they partially blame him for everything that I have done as a clergyman. After a while, he can’t take it anymore and God calls him to a new church.

To set the record straight, I was completing my college career, having crammed four years into five, learned about birth control with the birth of Jeremy, and had finally conceded that the band that I was in would not replace the Beatles.

The telephone rang. Upon answering, I learned that it was Guy, who had graduated on time and was now in his first year at the seminary in Louisville.

“Mike, I’m just calling to ask you a question,” he began. “What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

It was a good question. I had absolutely no idea. College was finishing with me more than I was finishing school. In the past couple of years, my education had finally become important to me (a new born son is a great motivator) and I was determined to learn everything that I had previously missed in life. Because I was raised in the church and cared about my religion, I began taking classes in the area and soon met the seminary bound, already called, Guy.

“I have no idea,” I answered.

“Well, why don’t you come to seminary.”

After thinking about it for a few seconds, I said that this sounded like a good idea, thanked him for the suggestion and hung up the phone. This is how God called me to attend seminary. This is as close to a direct call from God as I have ever received.

During seminary, I became the pastor of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in the inner city of Louisville, and Guy was pastor to a country church in Tunnel Hill, Indiana. We were together often and shared a great deal of our experiences as “professional Christians” with one another. A professional Christian is someone who is paid to follow in the footsteps of Jesus while everyone else has to volunteer.

Our churches were as different from one another as they could possibly be. Guy’s was pretty much a traditional church with trustees, deacons, budgets, an organized and functional Sunday School, excellent music and a lot of neat stuff for the kids to do.

Jeff Street, as it was called, had no deacons, no budget, only one Sunday School class, no music and nothing for neighborhood kids to do except try to break into the normally empty church. In fact, the congregation at Jeff Street actually consisted of only five old ladies who apparently never bothered to learn that a man had to be involved for a church to be in good standing with the Southern Baptist Convention. I suppose that this is why they hired me.

Under Guy’s leadership, his church grew in every area. They even paved a new parking lot while he was there to accommodate all of the people who came to listen to him preach. Guy is one of the best preachers that I have ever heard and probably the smartest person I know.

At Jeff Street, I had to get up early on Sunday mornings and drive around trying to convince barely sober homeless people and prostitutes to attend and listen to me deliver a sermon. No one in the inner city could drive and they certainly wouldn’t walk to church, so if I wanted a congregation on Sunday mornings, I had to do round them up. Having never preached a sermon in my life, I developed an alternative style of preaching. This occurred because those who did congregate with me normally slept through my sermons. I tried to develop a delivery that was both interesting and kept Ms. Wynn from snoring.

While Guy continued to grow as a preacher, I developed a sense of showmanship. For example, I looked for ways to speak God’s message without preaching.

At Jeff Street, we were every bit as likely to have alternative worship rather than a traditional service. For example, one Christmas Sunday we held a trial instead of a sermon. Instead of having a choir sit in the choir loft, we chose twelve persons in attendance to sit on a jury in their place. Because I had a robe that came with the church, I served as the judge. Two other members of the church served as the attorneys.

On trial was none other than Santa Claus. His charge was selling out and making Christmas too commercial. (On the previous Sunday, we had watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and everyone agreed with Lucy’s assessment that Christmas is a big commercial racket sponsored by the Syndicate.) Santa Claus himself entered the sanctuary turned into a courtroom, dressed in his red suit with long flowing white beard and was seated across from the jurors in the choir loft. Everyone in the church was wide awake and gave their utmost attention to the trial.

This was Santa Claus, after all, and no one wanted to make him mad lest he not show up at their house on Christmas Eve. Compelling arguments were given by the would-be attorneys, but in the end, he was acquitted by the jury.

As judge, I should have thrown the case out anyway as I observed two members of the jury slide their Christmas lists to the defendant during the closing arguments. This was typical of the Jeff Street approach to formal worship services.

As the years passed, Guy eventually graduated from seminary on time and decided to distance himself from me by being called to another church. At his new church, Guy made friends with a black minister and called me one night to inform me that the people of his town thought so much of his idea to invite this new friend to preach at the revival he was hosting that they were burning a cross in his yard to show their appreciation. Soon afterwards, Guy was called to another church in the more northern part of the state.

It took me several more years to graduate from seminary as I crammed three years worth of education into six. A couple of years later, I resigned my life as professional Christian and began working with homeless people on a full-time basis. Guy has since been called by God to pastor a half-dozen churches and I have now worked with the fragile people for all of these years. He now avoids me at all cost but has become incredibly successful.

I, on the other hand, am having fun.

Taking and Giving

Goddess didn't want me to run this morning. When I got on the floor to stretch and do push-ups she crawled up under me and wanted to play. She had me giggling at 7 a.m. Then I wrapped the bandanna around my forehead and grabbed my I-pod to go for my run anway. She blocked the door in defiance. She can be a real bitch sometimes.

But she was so cute and her tail was wagging at the speed of light so I laughed again and conceded. We went for a long walk instead. The tides are very high and the wind is whipping and Goddess loves this weather.

Making our way to the end of Shirley's sad but holy little dock, Goddess stood still with her head held high. Her gaze was across the marsh and I watched her watch the Back River. This is the first time that I've ever noticed Goddess lingering. She was in no hurry to leave the dock.

So I pet her and give her loves and ponder the day. I feel like a million bucks as I have since Thursday when I ran around the Washington monument and felt myself being reborn.

I ponder the wealth of friends who have been incredible over the pst few months. Each and every one has been incredible. And I think that I have been doing all of the taking lately. I've had so little to give. But the good friends didn't seem to mind so they kept it a one way relationship for a while.

Goddess decides to lick my knee as I think these things. She is ready to go. So we walk. Throughout the past few months I have tried to express thanksgiving for a lot of people. But now I am back and it is time for me to start giving. It feels good to think these things.

Back home, Goddess continues to play while I jump on the phone and call a friend who is handling some rough stuff right now. There is the sad weariness that I have come to know too well as I traveled through the dark places. But there is also laughter that erupts through. And I hold on to the laughter and tuck it in my heart because I want to grow it so that it becomes a constant thing.

And Goddess backs up between my legs wanting me to rub her. So I hang up the phone with a lighter heard and play with her. It is the start of a great day!