Yesterday’s meeting of Union Mission’s Board of Directors was held in the Community Center of the Dutch Town Campus. This is a newly constructed 48 unit apartment complex on Savannah’s south side. It cost $6 Million and it is beautiful. It is also exclusively for people who have been chronically homeless.
So we zipped through the agenda over a lunch of bar-b-q chicken, pork, green beans, and dirty rice. The Starfish Café couldn’t cater the meeting as it usually does and for some reason Lavanda decided that the entire Board should “carp it up” so “Sticky Finger’s” catered. Now Savannah has a hundred excellent bar-b-q establishments, none of which are chains, but Lavanda must have wanted Memphis where “Sticky Fingers” originated so she blew off the good stuff for the average stuff. Any, I digress.
During staff presentations, I go first and then turn it over to one of the Vice-Presidents who spotlight her program. Letitia Robinson welcomed everyone and gushed with pride over the 5 ½ acre site. Nineteen of the 48 units are now occupied and she wanted us to meet two of them.
A petite woman with striking long reddish brown hair stood with a piece of white paper in front of her. Written on the paper were the numbers “5” and “1”.
“Hello, my name is Annette. Before I came here I was homeless. My son could stay with some friends of mine but they didn’t have any room for me. So this was my life. I would be at their house every morning to wake my son up, help with breakfast and walk him to school. Then I would find something to do during the day.”
“When he got out of school, I would be waiting on him. We would return to my friend’s house and I would help him with his homework, and he would eat supper, and I would put him to bed. And then I would have to leave. I slept in the bus station.”
“Then the bus station kicked me out and I had to move into a shelter. I had to be in the shelter at 6:00 so I couldn’t tell my son good night. The “5” represents the number of pounds that I was losing each week while I lived this way.”
“Then I moved here,” she said with a smile. “My son and I are reunited. He is doing great! And I am doing great! The “1” represents the pounds that I have gained every week since I have been here.”
Everyone burst into applause.
Then a short woman in a green sweater with short black hair stood and began to speak. In front of her was a piece of paper with the numbers “4” and “1” written on it.
“My name is Tonya. I am legally blind. I have renal failure. I lived in my car before I came here. I had a bag of clothes but they were not nice things. I survived by spending my days as hospitals as both a patient and a fake. I was in the emergency room all of the time. I also have a mental illness and back then I was taking 18 pills every day.”
“I was also a fake. I would go to the hospital waiting room, usually in ICU, and pretend that I was the member of someone’s family. I would sleep in the chair and bathe in the bathroom as best I could.”
“Then I came here, into the first place that I have ever called my own! The number “4” represents the number of pills that I now take every day. And the number “2”, well, it is actually two ones. The vision in my eye has improved by 1% since I have been here! And the other “1” is this is the first home that has ever been mine! I feel safe here when I lock the door. I love sweeping the floor. I love it all. Thank you!”
Again the room burst into applause. I sat there wiping moisture from my eyes. As horrible as the last couple of years have been --- and as difficult as I am having it right now --- it was all worth it.
Then Letitia said, “Who could follow that? I have nothing else to say.” And Lavanda and I looked at one another and burst out laughing in front of the Board of Directors. It was the first time that we had ever seen anybody shut Letitia up. Ever! But what a way to do it!!
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Amen
I was working the room at Savannah Day in Atlanta, the annual lobby-fest when a thousand people gather in the old train Depot and feast on boiled shrimp, bar-b-q, and steamed oysters. Bars are dotted throughout the room so there is plenty to drink.
Making my way from one end of the giant room to the other and back again, I probably had a hundred conversations that night. One sticks in my head the most, and it is the one that will require follow up.
As I made my way, I came to a less crowded area and there stood Jim Lientz, smiling at me as he took steps in my direction. Jim is Georgia's Chief Operations Officer. All of the various Commissioners of the state's department report to him. He reports directly to the Governor. He and I go way back. My mother used to work for him.
"You never come see my anymore," he said.
And it is true that over the past several years I visited his office countless times and he has visited Union Mission numerous times, often bringing various Commissioners with him.
"That's because I learned that it really doesn't do much good to come see you," I replied.
He stopped dead in his tracks and the smile vanished from his face. "What do you mean?"
"Ah Jim, you try to do good and you certainly have done some good things for me. But those people who work for you don't really follow through because they didn't believe in the same things that we were trying to accomplish. I don't want to do that again."
He just stared at me for a moment before saying, "You need to come see me."
"OK, I'll come see you." And we warmly shook hands and then made our way in different directions which is symbolic of what we're doing anyway.
But I'll go and see him. I owe him that. Jim was the one who orchastrated the Savannah Area Behavioral Health Collaborative to receive state contracts. He was convinced that combining all of the state's resources into one seemless delivery system was the most appropriate and cost efficient way to meet the needs of the poor.
And that is what SABHC was doing. Primary care, behavioral health, oral health care, housing, and employment training and placement were all being blended into one system of care. And it was on a grand scale in little old Savannah. No one had ever done this before. Anywhere! And in in the end it proved to be too ambitious and ahead of its time.
It collapsed and fell apart largely because the people who worked for Jim failed to appreciate what we were trying to do. They were used to things being a certain way and we were forcing massive change. Sure, we had our challenges and some setbacks, but the benefits far outweighed them if you remained focused on the big picture.
And in the end that was what killed it. There were too many people who did not have the ability to see the big picture. They only saw what affected them. They magnified the failures and ignored the successes. They were like drops of water dripping on a large stone and the stone eventually shattered in spite of a few who did everything that they could to hold it together.
So I will go back and see Jim again. And it will be a reflective conversation. I will tell him these things and he will ask a great many questions and take a great many notes. We will talk about this person and that person. Then I will ask him how we could have done things differently so that the next time we do it right.
I owe him that. I owe Union Mission that. I owe Memorial Health University Medical Center that. I owe my community that. I owe it to Julie because it costs her most of all.
But I also owe it to the mentally ill woman who came to me on the last day that SABHC was in operation. We were in the cafeteria where mentally ill people received two hot nutritious meals everyday.
She threw her arms arouund me and burried her head in my chest and pleaded. "Please don't take our lunches away from us! Please! PLEASE!! PLEASE!!!!"
And a chorus of mentally ill people began yelling at us. "Yes!" "That's right!" "Tell him about it!"
I hearded it as "Amen." But I have learned something. Amen is not the end. It is the chorus of believers saying "Yes!"
Making my way from one end of the giant room to the other and back again, I probably had a hundred conversations that night. One sticks in my head the most, and it is the one that will require follow up.
As I made my way, I came to a less crowded area and there stood Jim Lientz, smiling at me as he took steps in my direction. Jim is Georgia's Chief Operations Officer. All of the various Commissioners of the state's department report to him. He reports directly to the Governor. He and I go way back. My mother used to work for him.
"You never come see my anymore," he said.
And it is true that over the past several years I visited his office countless times and he has visited Union Mission numerous times, often bringing various Commissioners with him.
"That's because I learned that it really doesn't do much good to come see you," I replied.
He stopped dead in his tracks and the smile vanished from his face. "What do you mean?"
"Ah Jim, you try to do good and you certainly have done some good things for me. But those people who work for you don't really follow through because they didn't believe in the same things that we were trying to accomplish. I don't want to do that again."
He just stared at me for a moment before saying, "You need to come see me."
"OK, I'll come see you." And we warmly shook hands and then made our way in different directions which is symbolic of what we're doing anyway.
But I'll go and see him. I owe him that. Jim was the one who orchastrated the Savannah Area Behavioral Health Collaborative to receive state contracts. He was convinced that combining all of the state's resources into one seemless delivery system was the most appropriate and cost efficient way to meet the needs of the poor.
And that is what SABHC was doing. Primary care, behavioral health, oral health care, housing, and employment training and placement were all being blended into one system of care. And it was on a grand scale in little old Savannah. No one had ever done this before. Anywhere! And in in the end it proved to be too ambitious and ahead of its time.
It collapsed and fell apart largely because the people who worked for Jim failed to appreciate what we were trying to do. They were used to things being a certain way and we were forcing massive change. Sure, we had our challenges and some setbacks, but the benefits far outweighed them if you remained focused on the big picture.
And in the end that was what killed it. There were too many people who did not have the ability to see the big picture. They only saw what affected them. They magnified the failures and ignored the successes. They were like drops of water dripping on a large stone and the stone eventually shattered in spite of a few who did everything that they could to hold it together.
So I will go back and see Jim again. And it will be a reflective conversation. I will tell him these things and he will ask a great many questions and take a great many notes. We will talk about this person and that person. Then I will ask him how we could have done things differently so that the next time we do it right.
I owe him that. I owe Union Mission that. I owe Memorial Health University Medical Center that. I owe my community that. I owe it to Julie because it costs her most of all.
But I also owe it to the mentally ill woman who came to me on the last day that SABHC was in operation. We were in the cafeteria where mentally ill people received two hot nutritious meals everyday.
She threw her arms arouund me and burried her head in my chest and pleaded. "Please don't take our lunches away from us! Please! PLEASE!! PLEASE!!!!"
And a chorus of mentally ill people began yelling at us. "Yes!" "That's right!" "Tell him about it!"
I hearded it as "Amen." But I have learned something. Amen is not the end. It is the chorus of believers saying "Yes!"
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
For the moment, Charles is ok
"I saw the doctor, sir, and my feet are fine."
It was Charles standing in my doorway, wearing a new orange shirt, threadbare pants that were held together with duck tape, and worn flip flops that fail to completely cover the bottom of his feet.
Charles is my six-foot-three, African-American, mentally ill, former bank robber, current janitor at Union Mission and my "adopted son." I am his representative payee. We have been constant in each other's lives for the past eleven years.
A couple of weeks ago, there was growing concern on the part of Union Mission nurses that Charles' feet were swollen and that his health may be seriously compromised. At the same time, Charles was lobbying me hard to allow him to visit his home town of Augusta. I ordered him to see the doctor and he said that he didn't want to. For days, I would corner him and order him to see the doctor and for days he refused.
I got mad. And then for the first time in eleven years, he got mad and yelled at me in my office.
Charles is beloved among the staff and residents of Union Mission. He loves sweets, coffee and cigarettes and people are forever loading him up on these things. So I ordered them all to cut him off until he saw the doctor.
And I stopped speaking to him. We would pass one another in the hall and he would look at me with far away eyes and say, Morning, Sir" and I would just keep walking. After a while I could tell that it was bothering him because he would turn and look at me as I brushed passed him. Either that or he was detoxing from the lack of sweets, coffee and cigarettes.
Then over the last day or so, I noticed him repeatedly walking by my office door. Then Keller Deal came to my office and asked if Charles could have candy now because he had seen the doctor. I told her that I needed verification.
Then yesterday, Charles stood in my doorway, and with his eyes closed and one hand on top of his head, and told me that his feet were fine.
"Bring me a note," I told him. He shrugged and walked away.
Then I receive a text message that Charles was in the office of the psychiatrist. So the band gets lifted and he can resume his normal life of existing in multiple universes at the same time. And everyone will happily load him up on sweets, coffee and cigarettes.
I suppose that this is a victory of some sorts. I don't know. But for the moment, Charles seems to be ok. I've been looking for some ok in life lately. Thank you Charles.
It was Charles standing in my doorway, wearing a new orange shirt, threadbare pants that were held together with duck tape, and worn flip flops that fail to completely cover the bottom of his feet.
Charles is my six-foot-three, African-American, mentally ill, former bank robber, current janitor at Union Mission and my "adopted son." I am his representative payee. We have been constant in each other's lives for the past eleven years.
A couple of weeks ago, there was growing concern on the part of Union Mission nurses that Charles' feet were swollen and that his health may be seriously compromised. At the same time, Charles was lobbying me hard to allow him to visit his home town of Augusta. I ordered him to see the doctor and he said that he didn't want to. For days, I would corner him and order him to see the doctor and for days he refused.
I got mad. And then for the first time in eleven years, he got mad and yelled at me in my office.
Charles is beloved among the staff and residents of Union Mission. He loves sweets, coffee and cigarettes and people are forever loading him up on these things. So I ordered them all to cut him off until he saw the doctor.
And I stopped speaking to him. We would pass one another in the hall and he would look at me with far away eyes and say, Morning, Sir" and I would just keep walking. After a while I could tell that it was bothering him because he would turn and look at me as I brushed passed him. Either that or he was detoxing from the lack of sweets, coffee and cigarettes.
Then over the last day or so, I noticed him repeatedly walking by my office door. Then Keller Deal came to my office and asked if Charles could have candy now because he had seen the doctor. I told her that I needed verification.
Then yesterday, Charles stood in my doorway, and with his eyes closed and one hand on top of his head, and told me that his feet were fine.
"Bring me a note," I told him. He shrugged and walked away.
Then I receive a text message that Charles was in the office of the psychiatrist. So the band gets lifted and he can resume his normal life of existing in multiple universes at the same time. And everyone will happily load him up on sweets, coffee and cigarettes.
I suppose that this is a victory of some sorts. I don't know. But for the moment, Charles seems to be ok. I've been looking for some ok in life lately. Thank you Charles.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
It's Just Another Day
"How was your day?" my mother asked when I called her.
It gave me pause. I used to come home and the first conversation that I had was describe the things that had transpired in my day. Now I come home and take Goddess for a long walk. If I talk, it is to her, or to myself, or to the wind.
"It was just like yesterday," I finally replied. "All of my days are the same."
"I understand that," Mom quickly said. She lost my Dad this past summer and has spent the last six months learning how to live alone. She has good friends who pop in and out of her days, but she has come to relish her alone time.
We talked a long time. After we hung up, I took Goddess for another walk. Then I watched my new DVD of the Cotton Patch Gospel and it made me laugh and tear up just like it did all of those years ago when it first came out. Jubilation indeed. Then, exhausted, I feel asleep.
When I made my way this morning to the beach on my run, I was surprised to see that it is going to be a nice day. The sun burst out above some low hanging clouds and the ocean sparkled with dancing diamonds that seemed to stretch forever. The sky is a brilliant blue. The weather warm. My sweat came quickly and all of the sins of yesterday made their way out of my body.
I have always been a morning person. Nights are not so kind to me. And I love the fact that each new day is the opportunity to start all over again. No matter how screwed up we were the day before, the rising sun offers new chances.
Back home, I take Goddess for her first walk of the day. She jumps up on her hind legs in joy and paws me as I gear her up. She is enjoying herself so much that I take her for an extra long one though I know that this will throw my day behind an already impossible schedule.
Back home, I notice the sun shinning through the trees casting streams of light that have small particles and fog dancing inside of them. I strip and get inside of my outdoor shower. I note that in February I am able to do this and am thankful. I take my time and as the water blast the sweat away I can't stop watching the dancing streams of sunlight through the trees. All of nature seems to be dancing this morning.
So now, it is just another day. Or, is it? I'll see. At least I have the chance to start again. At least I have the chance to join in the dance.
It gave me pause. I used to come home and the first conversation that I had was describe the things that had transpired in my day. Now I come home and take Goddess for a long walk. If I talk, it is to her, or to myself, or to the wind.
"It was just like yesterday," I finally replied. "All of my days are the same."
"I understand that," Mom quickly said. She lost my Dad this past summer and has spent the last six months learning how to live alone. She has good friends who pop in and out of her days, but she has come to relish her alone time.
We talked a long time. After we hung up, I took Goddess for another walk. Then I watched my new DVD of the Cotton Patch Gospel and it made me laugh and tear up just like it did all of those years ago when it first came out. Jubilation indeed. Then, exhausted, I feel asleep.
When I made my way this morning to the beach on my run, I was surprised to see that it is going to be a nice day. The sun burst out above some low hanging clouds and the ocean sparkled with dancing diamonds that seemed to stretch forever. The sky is a brilliant blue. The weather warm. My sweat came quickly and all of the sins of yesterday made their way out of my body.
I have always been a morning person. Nights are not so kind to me. And I love the fact that each new day is the opportunity to start all over again. No matter how screwed up we were the day before, the rising sun offers new chances.
Back home, I take Goddess for her first walk of the day. She jumps up on her hind legs in joy and paws me as I gear her up. She is enjoying herself so much that I take her for an extra long one though I know that this will throw my day behind an already impossible schedule.
Back home, I notice the sun shinning through the trees casting streams of light that have small particles and fog dancing inside of them. I strip and get inside of my outdoor shower. I note that in February I am able to do this and am thankful. I take my time and as the water blast the sweat away I can't stop watching the dancing streams of sunlight through the trees. All of nature seems to be dancing this morning.
So now, it is just another day. Or, is it? I'll see. At least I have the chance to start again. At least I have the chance to join in the dance.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Working Through Lostness
After I had uninvited her, my friend Shirley Sessions showed up anyway. For several weeks she has been after me to join her for cheeseburgers from the Quarter on Tybee on a Sunday evening. I had told her that I would but when it came time to actually do it, it seemed like too much trouble so I told Shirley that we would do it another time.
Then Goddess started barking and wagging her tail as she looked out of the window. In walks Shirley with everything necessary to cook cheeseburgers. She was completely undaunted by by uninvitation.
So, we cooked cheeseburgers and homemade french fries and sat at the kitchen table and talked about our lost loves. We talked about how they may be gone but the feelings and emotions that we have remain the same. We talked the way friends talk.
Lost love is something that I see a great deal of in my life. Union Mission accommodates around 400 people each night. Most of them were either abandoned by their families or were the ones who instigated the abandonment. We have learned that many people who come to us for help were traumatized somehow as children. It may have been domestic violence that the child witnessed or addictive diseases or a parent who leaves them or a hundred other things. But the child never quite comes to terms with it so as they grow into adulthood, they become lost somehow. Not quite able to put it all together.
Everybody loses love in their life. The trick is working through the lostness and finding love again. Over the weekend, I was the recipient of many expressions of love. Katlynn Rae wrote me on Face Book and told me she loved me. Trolly Joe put his arm around me yesterday and told me too. Roma and I took a walk and she hugged me as we did as I told her about things in my life. Cheryl walked into the Breakfast Club and came straight to me for a long hug in the middle of a crowded restaurant. My friend Camile and I talked several times. And Bill Berry. And Jeremy calls and decides that a trip is in order so he calls his sisters and a plan is coming together.
These are the ways that we work through the lostness. At Union Mission, abandoned people fight to overcome the reasons that brought them to us. Staff help them because they don't have families or friends who encourage them with expressions of love. No one offers them opportunities to discover their self-worth. It is a long and difficult work to get them through their lostness. And it can be exhausting and heart breaking work.
But eventually, tragedy often leads to triumph and people rediscover the love that is in their life. And that is what get them through. Because that is what gets us all through.
Then Goddess started barking and wagging her tail as she looked out of the window. In walks Shirley with everything necessary to cook cheeseburgers. She was completely undaunted by by uninvitation.
So, we cooked cheeseburgers and homemade french fries and sat at the kitchen table and talked about our lost loves. We talked about how they may be gone but the feelings and emotions that we have remain the same. We talked the way friends talk.
Lost love is something that I see a great deal of in my life. Union Mission accommodates around 400 people each night. Most of them were either abandoned by their families or were the ones who instigated the abandonment. We have learned that many people who come to us for help were traumatized somehow as children. It may have been domestic violence that the child witnessed or addictive diseases or a parent who leaves them or a hundred other things. But the child never quite comes to terms with it so as they grow into adulthood, they become lost somehow. Not quite able to put it all together.
Everybody loses love in their life. The trick is working through the lostness and finding love again. Over the weekend, I was the recipient of many expressions of love. Katlynn Rae wrote me on Face Book and told me she loved me. Trolly Joe put his arm around me yesterday and told me too. Roma and I took a walk and she hugged me as we did as I told her about things in my life. Cheryl walked into the Breakfast Club and came straight to me for a long hug in the middle of a crowded restaurant. My friend Camile and I talked several times. And Bill Berry. And Jeremy calls and decides that a trip is in order so he calls his sisters and a plan is coming together.
These are the ways that we work through the lostness. At Union Mission, abandoned people fight to overcome the reasons that brought them to us. Staff help them because they don't have families or friends who encourage them with expressions of love. No one offers them opportunities to discover their self-worth. It is a long and difficult work to get them through their lostness. And it can be exhausting and heart breaking work.
But eventually, tragedy often leads to triumph and people rediscover the love that is in their life. And that is what get them through. Because that is what gets us all through.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Soul Mates
I was about to explode and Lavanda and Phyllis could tell. My voice was growing louder and deeper, and I was growing increasingly agitated. All of the pent up frustration and hurt finally had something to focus on and it was taking over.
That something would be one of our area hospitals. They had taken a homeless couple, an elderly lady in a wheelchair, put them in a cab after treating her in the emergency room, and had them dropped off at the J. C. Lewis Health Center. No one followed protocols and called to see if there was room for the patient or if she met our admissions criteria. She did not. She was non-ambulatory.
It seems that the Army of Salvation had no room in the inn for a couple. Especially one in a wheel chair who needed assistance. Even though her companion was happy to be her caregiver as they sought refuge from the cold. So they sent them to the hospital and like Pilate washed their hands of the affair.
The hospital didn't want to admit an uncompensated care patient, especially one with a companion, so they broke the law by paying for a cab to put them in and discharged them to the streets. There have been major lawsuits and publicity over such "street dumping" by hospitals.
My growing anger explosion grew deeper when I learned that one of Savannah's hospital is doing it with some regularity. This after Savannah's hospitals and Union Mission has been repeatedly hailed as a national best practice for its treatment of homeless people and the creative establishment of the J. C. Lewis Health Center.
My questions were becoming louder and more animated, again the frustration of the last several weeks compounding things, and frustration begets frustration, anger grows anger, and I was close to exploding.
"Please Mr.," she said from her wheelchair. "Please help me. Please!" she pleaded.
Turning my head, I looked at her for the first time. She was stereotypical homeless. Multiple coats layered on top of one another. Plastic hospital bags held all of her possessions. A dirty toboggan was pulled low over a cracked leather face. Her eyes were gray. The color of homelessness is gray. The smell of homelessness is mildew.
"Please help me sir," she pleaded again and tears streamed down the gray leather face.
The anger went away and my heart broke for the thousandth time in the past few weeks.
"I got it," Lavanda said, touching my arm. Suddenly, I felt empty for the thousandth time in the last few weeks. No hurt or frustration. Empty.
Phyllis took charge and began barking orders to everyone while talking to the two lost souls at the same.
I nodded to Lavanda and turned to leave. Addressing the woman, I said, "Don't worry baby we're going to take of you."
And I left for home. Drained and exhausted and spent. During yet another sleepless night, her leather face kept appearing with tears streaming down them. And at some point during the night they mixed with my own tears. And for a moment, we were soul mates.
That something would be one of our area hospitals. They had taken a homeless couple, an elderly lady in a wheelchair, put them in a cab after treating her in the emergency room, and had them dropped off at the J. C. Lewis Health Center. No one followed protocols and called to see if there was room for the patient or if she met our admissions criteria. She did not. She was non-ambulatory.
It seems that the Army of Salvation had no room in the inn for a couple. Especially one in a wheel chair who needed assistance. Even though her companion was happy to be her caregiver as they sought refuge from the cold. So they sent them to the hospital and like Pilate washed their hands of the affair.
The hospital didn't want to admit an uncompensated care patient, especially one with a companion, so they broke the law by paying for a cab to put them in and discharged them to the streets. There have been major lawsuits and publicity over such "street dumping" by hospitals.
My growing anger explosion grew deeper when I learned that one of Savannah's hospital is doing it with some regularity. This after Savannah's hospitals and Union Mission has been repeatedly hailed as a national best practice for its treatment of homeless people and the creative establishment of the J. C. Lewis Health Center.
My questions were becoming louder and more animated, again the frustration of the last several weeks compounding things, and frustration begets frustration, anger grows anger, and I was close to exploding.
"Please Mr.," she said from her wheelchair. "Please help me. Please!" she pleaded.
Turning my head, I looked at her for the first time. She was stereotypical homeless. Multiple coats layered on top of one another. Plastic hospital bags held all of her possessions. A dirty toboggan was pulled low over a cracked leather face. Her eyes were gray. The color of homelessness is gray. The smell of homelessness is mildew.
"Please help me sir," she pleaded again and tears streamed down the gray leather face.
The anger went away and my heart broke for the thousandth time in the past few weeks.
"I got it," Lavanda said, touching my arm. Suddenly, I felt empty for the thousandth time in the last few weeks. No hurt or frustration. Empty.
Phyllis took charge and began barking orders to everyone while talking to the two lost souls at the same.
I nodded to Lavanda and turned to leave. Addressing the woman, I said, "Don't worry baby we're going to take of you."
And I left for home. Drained and exhausted and spent. During yet another sleepless night, her leather face kept appearing with tears streaming down them. And at some point during the night they mixed with my own tears. And for a moment, we were soul mates.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Blew my words away
I seem to have misplaced all of my words this morning. They all seem to have blown away. So I need to borrow some from Arlo Guthrie. I hope that he doesn't mind.
Looked your eyes this morning
you were far away
you must have known as I was looking for you
You knew your couldn't stay
All these faces
looking at me
looking through me
I don't mind
I just see your face a'worrying
Loved you when you cried
All these thoughts just rip me open
Who can heal a heart's that's broken?
Like the wind that blows unspoken
Blew the love away
Looked your eyes this morning
you were far away
you must have known as I was looking for you
You knew your couldn't stay
All these faces
looking at me
looking through me
I don't mind
I just see your face a'worrying
Loved you when you cried
All these thoughts just rip me open
Who can heal a heart's that's broken?
Like the wind that blows unspoken
Blew the love away
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Jubilation
When we were on the staff retreat a couple of weeks ago, Lavanda and I got into a conversation about religion in front of an audience. This was not a particularly good idea as I have often gotten in trouble because of my religion.
As my old friend John Ferguson used to say to me and about me, “You know Mike would be a pretty good minister if he ever got saved.”
Regina Smith on the staff now keeps his message alive and well. John has gone on to be with God and I am certain uses every opportunity to convince God to make special efforts on my behalf.
And there are a great many others who advance my salvation too. When I wrote “Playing Hide and Seek: A non-Church Goers Guide”, the Tybee Island Methodist Church put my name at the top of their prayer list for the better part of a year. I think that the Church is in the Guinness Book of World Records for most consecutive weeks of prayer on behalf of one individual, though I am not mentioned by name.
So, I’ve been spending a lot of time alone these days so that naturally leads me to You Tube where I search for all kinds of things. Last night I found an excerpt from “The Cotton Patch Gospel” by Tom Keys and Harry Chapin. Based on Clarence Jordon’s magnificent translations of the New Testament by the same name, it depicts Jesus being born in Gainesville, Georgia and being crucified in Atlanta (though let’s be honest, Atlanta can crucify most anybody).
Country music does the New Testament. When it came out, it was one of the funniest things that I’ve ever seen, poking fun at all of the things about religion that deserve to be made fun of. I’ve probably seen it five times and it is finally on DVD so I immediately ordered it.
In addition to the wicked humor, the music is touching (it was the last songs that Harry Chapin wrote before he was killed in a car crash). But there is this one song. “Jubilation” It covers the Last Supper scene which takes place in a barn with biscuits instead of bread and God knows what kind of wine. Muscatine?
“Everybody wants to touch his dream just one time.”
“I’ll never ever get this close again.”
“Everybody wants to feel this feeling sometime.”
“That’s why I don’t want this day to come to an end.”
So goes the lines and Jesus and his followers are all having that special moment where holy love is personified. They hug as they sing and smile and feel that the Kingdome has come on earth as it is in heaven.
Then Jesus stands and sings over the above words, “Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, soul and mind. Love your neighbor as you love yourself.”
It is a powerful image. And it reminds me of my core beliefs. Many years ago when professional Christianity threw me out, the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel where I had been the minister, presented me with a plaque that hangs on the wall in my office today. It has my favorite verse from the New Testament in 1 John. “Beloved, if God so loved us, then we should love one another.”
It is a variation of what Jesus said and what is sang in the Cotton Patch Gospel. We profess our love for God by loving others. Locking one’s self in a prayer closet and praying to God while others go hungry is an unpardonable sin as far as I am concerned.
Anyway, all of these years at Union Mission, the song made me remember that when you boil it all down, this is what I have tried to do. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. It can be a bitch and cost you a lot! But it can also make you touch your dream some times. It can make you feel that feeling sometime. And that feeling is God. And I don’t want it to come to an end.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwUdb3sxYa4
As my old friend John Ferguson used to say to me and about me, “You know Mike would be a pretty good minister if he ever got saved.”
Regina Smith on the staff now keeps his message alive and well. John has gone on to be with God and I am certain uses every opportunity to convince God to make special efforts on my behalf.
And there are a great many others who advance my salvation too. When I wrote “Playing Hide and Seek: A non-Church Goers Guide”, the Tybee Island Methodist Church put my name at the top of their prayer list for the better part of a year. I think that the Church is in the Guinness Book of World Records for most consecutive weeks of prayer on behalf of one individual, though I am not mentioned by name.
So, I’ve been spending a lot of time alone these days so that naturally leads me to You Tube where I search for all kinds of things. Last night I found an excerpt from “The Cotton Patch Gospel” by Tom Keys and Harry Chapin. Based on Clarence Jordon’s magnificent translations of the New Testament by the same name, it depicts Jesus being born in Gainesville, Georgia and being crucified in Atlanta (though let’s be honest, Atlanta can crucify most anybody).
Country music does the New Testament. When it came out, it was one of the funniest things that I’ve ever seen, poking fun at all of the things about religion that deserve to be made fun of. I’ve probably seen it five times and it is finally on DVD so I immediately ordered it.
In addition to the wicked humor, the music is touching (it was the last songs that Harry Chapin wrote before he was killed in a car crash). But there is this one song. “Jubilation” It covers the Last Supper scene which takes place in a barn with biscuits instead of bread and God knows what kind of wine. Muscatine?
“Everybody wants to touch his dream just one time.”
“I’ll never ever get this close again.”
“Everybody wants to feel this feeling sometime.”
“That’s why I don’t want this day to come to an end.”
So goes the lines and Jesus and his followers are all having that special moment where holy love is personified. They hug as they sing and smile and feel that the Kingdome has come on earth as it is in heaven.
Then Jesus stands and sings over the above words, “Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, soul and mind. Love your neighbor as you love yourself.”
It is a powerful image. And it reminds me of my core beliefs. Many years ago when professional Christianity threw me out, the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel where I had been the minister, presented me with a plaque that hangs on the wall in my office today. It has my favorite verse from the New Testament in 1 John. “Beloved, if God so loved us, then we should love one another.”
It is a variation of what Jesus said and what is sang in the Cotton Patch Gospel. We profess our love for God by loving others. Locking one’s self in a prayer closet and praying to God while others go hungry is an unpardonable sin as far as I am concerned.
Anyway, all of these years at Union Mission, the song made me remember that when you boil it all down, this is what I have tried to do. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. It can be a bitch and cost you a lot! But it can also make you touch your dream some times. It can make you feel that feeling sometime. And that feeling is God. And I don’t want it to come to an end.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TwUdb3sxYa4
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Smile a little smile
Yesterday was free dental care day at Union Mission's Brassler Dental Clinic. I wandered over to see a packed waiting room of people who were actually smiling as they waited because they knew that their smiles were soon to be made better.
The dental clinic is state-of-the-art, with four exam rooms, a laboratory, x-ray machines, and everything that is necessary for oral health care. It is the County's only dental clinic that serves the poor, uninsured, and under insured. Anybody can walk in and be seen for a small fee. Homeless folks who don't have anything can be seen for free. In addition to the staff, a number of volunteer dentists, hygienists and students donate their time to care for others.
Last year the clinic treated 1,160 different patients which is higher than the previous year. The clinic is a growing business for us and there is no question about the need! And some of the before and after photographs are nothing short of miracles.
So it was rewarding to see so many smiling people jammed inside of the waiting room and spilling out into the hallway of the Center. Making my way through, I couldn't help but to feel good as I smiled back at them.
The dental clinic is state-of-the-art, with four exam rooms, a laboratory, x-ray machines, and everything that is necessary for oral health care. It is the County's only dental clinic that serves the poor, uninsured, and under insured. Anybody can walk in and be seen for a small fee. Homeless folks who don't have anything can be seen for free. In addition to the staff, a number of volunteer dentists, hygienists and students donate their time to care for others.
Last year the clinic treated 1,160 different patients which is higher than the previous year. The clinic is a growing business for us and there is no question about the need! And some of the before and after photographs are nothing short of miracles.
So it was rewarding to see so many smiling people jammed inside of the waiting room and spilling out into the hallway of the Center. Making my way through, I couldn't help but to feel good as I smiled back at them.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Longing for Home
I finally made it home about 1:30 Saturday night. Saturday morning when I arrived at the airport for my 7:30 a.m. flight I found that all of the morning flights had been canceled. So, after a long wait to see a ticketing agent, I learned that there were only possibilities of getting home. But at 4:30 I learned that this was a 6:30 flight that I was booked for. It was delayed, of course, but I finally made it home.
Saturday made for a long and depressing day. Yet when I sleepily strolled into the Breakfast Club my friends cheered that I had made it back to this clump of sand that is Tybee.
Knowing that I didn't have one, Ryan Sadowski told me that he would be my Valentine. I suspect that Ryan is going to have a long life as a single man because he really sucked at being my Valentine. I told him as much this morning.
Goddess got a lot of attention from me with extra walks and a great deal of wrestling in the floor.
At the Bored meeting at Fannies, Trolley Joe welcomed me back and Johnny O held court until Roma arrived and took over. The skies were bright blue and the sun danced on the ocean. It bordered on being balmy.
Jim Withers called me from Pittsburgh to make certain that I was doing alright. And as I told him that I was, I looked at lovers strolling down the beach, hand in hand.
I also slept a lot yesterday so today I feel fresh and ready to begin. There is nothing profound about today. Other than I have a great deal of love in my heart and a longing for home. Everyday I work with people who have lost their homes. They are fragile and frightened and timid about how to make a new one. And it is hard, hard work to do so.
Frederick Buechner, my favorite author, wrote a book titled "The Longing for Home" in which he describes preparing to die and the desire to be with God, however we chose to define that. I understand that longing part today. Even though I am here, I find myself longing for home.
Saturday made for a long and depressing day. Yet when I sleepily strolled into the Breakfast Club my friends cheered that I had made it back to this clump of sand that is Tybee.
Knowing that I didn't have one, Ryan Sadowski told me that he would be my Valentine. I suspect that Ryan is going to have a long life as a single man because he really sucked at being my Valentine. I told him as much this morning.
Goddess got a lot of attention from me with extra walks and a great deal of wrestling in the floor.
At the Bored meeting at Fannies, Trolley Joe welcomed me back and Johnny O held court until Roma arrived and took over. The skies were bright blue and the sun danced on the ocean. It bordered on being balmy.
Jim Withers called me from Pittsburgh to make certain that I was doing alright. And as I told him that I was, I looked at lovers strolling down the beach, hand in hand.
I also slept a lot yesterday so today I feel fresh and ready to begin. There is nothing profound about today. Other than I have a great deal of love in my heart and a longing for home. Everyday I work with people who have lost their homes. They are fragile and frightened and timid about how to make a new one. And it is hard, hard work to do so.
Frederick Buechner, my favorite author, wrote a book titled "The Longing for Home" in which he describes preparing to die and the desire to be with God, however we chose to define that. I understand that longing part today. Even though I am here, I find myself longing for home.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Beauty In Pittsburgh
Well, I remain in Pittsburgh watching the snow, grateful for friends yesterday, but longing for a home where only my dog waits for me. Well, and the carnival of friends at the Breakfast Club are also waiting for me; and the other carnival of friends who hold the daily Bored Meeting at Fannies too! But I digress.
I had a wonderful evening with my friends Dr. Jim Withers, who is the champion of street medicine, and Dr. Suzanne Atkinson, who does, well…everything. Jim and I picked up wine and Chinese from a really good place, and drove through Frick Park, until Jim plowed into a mountain of snow proclaiming that it was our parking space. We grabbed the wine and Chinese and trudged through the snow to Suzanne’s house.
“Winese!” she exclaimed. She and Jim have been friends a long time. He had said the same thing when I said I wanted wine and Chinese and it wasn’t until Suzanne said it that I understood they were combining the words. All of this snow surely has serious impacts on people’s ability to think.
Anyway, she has a great house and Suzanne has perfected the art of keeping it clean and cluttered at the same time. She stuck the wine in the snow to chill and we opened the containers of shrimp fried rice, spicy shrimp, broccoli and cheese, Tai soup, and egg rolls. We fixed plates and drank a glass of warm wine and sat in her living room and talked and caught up. Well, Suzanne and I did. Jim promptly fell asleep in the middle of the meal. He rallied a half hour later, finished his plate and proceeded to talk with Dr. Dave Buck in Houston.
Suzanne asked if I was ready for the hot tub and I told her that I was indeed. The fact that I had no shorts or bathing suit would not prevent me from taking advantage of her offer. I would go in the buff. She threw me a robe and she changed into appropriate wear and we left Jim on the phone with Dave.
Suzanne gave herself the hot tub for her 40th birthday present. She had shoveled the sidewalk to the tub and we made our way on snow and ice in bare feet. We retried a bottle of wine from the snow and jumped into the tub. And I must say that it was magical. The bubbling water, the snow covered trees above us and the deep snow on the ground surrounding us. We poured ourselves wine and told one another stories, catching one another up as friends do.
Jim eventually made his way out in his underwear and joined us. As I said, these prolonged periods of snow affect the way that people who live in Pittsburgh think.
Anyway, at one moment, I was struck by how special the moment was. My life is at a difficult place right now. Things are happening that I do not want to happen. But here I was in Pittsburgh, a city that I love, with friends whom I love, in a hot tub, surrounded by snow covered trees and grounds. I was as thankful as I have been in a long time.
Then Suzanne decided that we had to make snow angels then jump back in the hot tub because that is what you are supposed to do. And I guess the snow was affecting the way that I think like it does the people who live here so she and I jumped out and made snow angels and jumped back in the hot tub.
I have never cussed so much in my life!
So we talked some more and kept pulling the bottle of wine out of the snow and watched planes above the snow covered trees. And for a moment I was not aware of the struggles or the pains or the loneliness of life. For a moment, there was only this. And it was beautiful.
I had a wonderful evening with my friends Dr. Jim Withers, who is the champion of street medicine, and Dr. Suzanne Atkinson, who does, well…everything. Jim and I picked up wine and Chinese from a really good place, and drove through Frick Park, until Jim plowed into a mountain of snow proclaiming that it was our parking space. We grabbed the wine and Chinese and trudged through the snow to Suzanne’s house.
“Winese!” she exclaimed. She and Jim have been friends a long time. He had said the same thing when I said I wanted wine and Chinese and it wasn’t until Suzanne said it that I understood they were combining the words. All of this snow surely has serious impacts on people’s ability to think.
Anyway, she has a great house and Suzanne has perfected the art of keeping it clean and cluttered at the same time. She stuck the wine in the snow to chill and we opened the containers of shrimp fried rice, spicy shrimp, broccoli and cheese, Tai soup, and egg rolls. We fixed plates and drank a glass of warm wine and sat in her living room and talked and caught up. Well, Suzanne and I did. Jim promptly fell asleep in the middle of the meal. He rallied a half hour later, finished his plate and proceeded to talk with Dr. Dave Buck in Houston.
Suzanne asked if I was ready for the hot tub and I told her that I was indeed. The fact that I had no shorts or bathing suit would not prevent me from taking advantage of her offer. I would go in the buff. She threw me a robe and she changed into appropriate wear and we left Jim on the phone with Dave.
Suzanne gave herself the hot tub for her 40th birthday present. She had shoveled the sidewalk to the tub and we made our way on snow and ice in bare feet. We retried a bottle of wine from the snow and jumped into the tub. And I must say that it was magical. The bubbling water, the snow covered trees above us and the deep snow on the ground surrounding us. We poured ourselves wine and told one another stories, catching one another up as friends do.
Jim eventually made his way out in his underwear and joined us. As I said, these prolonged periods of snow affect the way that people who live in Pittsburgh think.
Anyway, at one moment, I was struck by how special the moment was. My life is at a difficult place right now. Things are happening that I do not want to happen. But here I was in Pittsburgh, a city that I love, with friends whom I love, in a hot tub, surrounded by snow covered trees and grounds. I was as thankful as I have been in a long time.
Then Suzanne decided that we had to make snow angels then jump back in the hot tub because that is what you are supposed to do. And I guess the snow was affecting the way that I think like it does the people who live here so she and I jumped out and made snow angels and jumped back in the hot tub.
I have never cussed so much in my life!
So we talked some more and kept pulling the bottle of wine out of the snow and watched planes above the snow covered trees. And for a moment I was not aware of the struggles or the pains or the loneliness of life. For a moment, there was only this. And it was beautiful.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Time Out
I am supposed to be in the air flying back to Savannah from Pittsburgh right now but my flight has been canceled so I am sitting in the hotel coffee shop watching it snow. Pittsburgh didn't cancel my flight. Atlanta did. The weather gods have alleged that snow is coming to Savannah and Pat Prokopf is beside himself with glee.
So I have a day to myself. I am watching it flurry here and there is 30 inches already on the ground so I will spend the day walking in a winter wonderland. I can't get that damn song out of my head.
I am here because the Board of Directors of the International Street Medicine Institute met yesterday. About half of the Board participated via conference call because their flights were canceled. Everyone else made it out except me. But this evening I am having dinner with Dr. Jim Withers, founder of the Street Medicine Institute, and Dr. Suzanne Adkins, who seems to do a little bit of everything, and they are good friends and evidently a hot tub will be involved.
Sometimes, life calls "Time Out!" Today is a time out day. I had plans and a lot of things to do but last night my flight was canceled and Delta couldn't offer any viable options so here I sit.
I suppose that Life knows when you need it. Or you get lucky. Or God intervenes. Who knows? But work has been intense and my personal life has been intense and Goddess took to eating her bed the other night and now here I sit in time out.
My friend Herb McKenzie keeps telling me to live "one day at a time" and I keep thinking about my friends in A.A. when he does. And I suppose I have been living life one day at a time, just getting through them. Time out gives you the opportunity to step outside of your day and really reflect. Watching it flurry on top of trees already draped in snow is a good reflecting environment. So I suppose that I am sitting here for a reason. And I suppose that I should thank life, or luck, or Delta, or God for calling "time out" and giving me this day.
So I have a day to myself. I am watching it flurry here and there is 30 inches already on the ground so I will spend the day walking in a winter wonderland. I can't get that damn song out of my head.
I am here because the Board of Directors of the International Street Medicine Institute met yesterday. About half of the Board participated via conference call because their flights were canceled. Everyone else made it out except me. But this evening I am having dinner with Dr. Jim Withers, founder of the Street Medicine Institute, and Dr. Suzanne Adkins, who seems to do a little bit of everything, and they are good friends and evidently a hot tub will be involved.
Sometimes, life calls "Time Out!" Today is a time out day. I had plans and a lot of things to do but last night my flight was canceled and Delta couldn't offer any viable options so here I sit.
I suppose that Life knows when you need it. Or you get lucky. Or God intervenes. Who knows? But work has been intense and my personal life has been intense and Goddess took to eating her bed the other night and now here I sit in time out.
My friend Herb McKenzie keeps telling me to live "one day at a time" and I keep thinking about my friends in A.A. when he does. And I suppose I have been living life one day at a time, just getting through them. Time out gives you the opportunity to step outside of your day and really reflect. Watching it flurry on top of trees already draped in snow is a good reflecting environment. So I suppose that I am sitting here for a reason. And I suppose that I should thank life, or luck, or Delta, or God for calling "time out" and giving me this day.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Coming and Going
When I arrived at the office, Charles was wearing the same pants that I had ordered him to take off yesterday. My mentally ill adopted son is driving me crazy because he refuses to be seen by a doctor and his feet are swollen and he won't listen to me. In fact, he yelled at me for the first time in a decade.
"Sir!" he bellowed down the hall, "can I see you in your office?"
I walk in and he immediately begins talking very loudly, "Sir, I grew up impoverished and my father gave me this suit to wear to school and the coat fit but the pants were too short and came up to here." He pointed just below his kneecaps.
"And they made fun of me and this was the first pants that ever fit me right." I looked at his tread bare pants that were mostly held together with duck tape.
I sighed. "OK, Charles, so change your pants and see the doctor."
"Sir why don't you just give me $2000 and I'll go to Augusta like I want to."
"Go Charles! Get out of my office." he left.
Charles yelled at me. For the first time in a decade. He yelled because I am ordering him to do things that he doesn't want to do. I understand that. Things are happening in my life that I don't want to happen. It's part of living, I guess.
People come and people go in our lives. None of us know how long we will have them. Here today could very well be gone tomorrow. Charles wants to leave and I want him to stay because this is the best he's ever had it in his life and he isn't capable of understanding that. For a decade he has been content but the contentment is fading away.
I know that it really is his choice in the end. Not mine. He can walk away anytime that he wants. Anybody can walk away anytime that they want. I suppose the lesson in this is to realize it and relish the time that you have with those who are in your life. Because in life, it doesn't last.
"Sir!" he bellowed down the hall, "can I see you in your office?"
I walk in and he immediately begins talking very loudly, "Sir, I grew up impoverished and my father gave me this suit to wear to school and the coat fit but the pants were too short and came up to here." He pointed just below his kneecaps.
"And they made fun of me and this was the first pants that ever fit me right." I looked at his tread bare pants that were mostly held together with duck tape.
I sighed. "OK, Charles, so change your pants and see the doctor."
"Sir why don't you just give me $2000 and I'll go to Augusta like I want to."
"Go Charles! Get out of my office." he left.
Charles yelled at me. For the first time in a decade. He yelled because I am ordering him to do things that he doesn't want to do. I understand that. Things are happening in my life that I don't want to happen. It's part of living, I guess.
People come and people go in our lives. None of us know how long we will have them. Here today could very well be gone tomorrow. Charles wants to leave and I want him to stay because this is the best he's ever had it in his life and he isn't capable of understanding that. For a decade he has been content but the contentment is fading away.
I know that it really is his choice in the end. Not mine. He can walk away anytime that he wants. Anybody can walk away anytime that they want. I suppose the lesson in this is to realize it and relish the time that you have with those who are in your life. Because in life, it doesn't last.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Brutal Demands
Yesterday was a brutal day to be in the business of helping others! In this economy, business is booming and the need is relentless. It came to me like one wave after another, overwhelming at times and it was all that I could do to catch my breath.
I learned that Charles may have diabetes and refuses to see the doctor. Charles is my mentally ill adopted son who functions as the janitor at Union Mission. He has been with us for over ten years. His feet are swollen and he refuses to wear anything other than old flip flops that are now causing a fungus to develop on the already swollen feet. I dress him down in front of everyone ordered him to a shower then ordered staff to throw his clothes away while he was doing so. I asked that Dr. Pope be waiting on him when he gets out of the shower so that she can look at his feet.
In my office I call a retired clergyman whose daughter and husband are penniless, homeless and in very poor health. I’d gotten them enrolled at the J. C. Lewis Health Center and we are trying to help with housing. The clergyman and his wife are devastated. The more that we work with their kids however the more problems we find. Sometimes helping a poor couple is like peeling an onion. The clergyman's wife burst into tears as I am on the phone with her and my already broken heart breaks all over again.
A local family business is evidently falling apart with brothers and sisters not talking to one another. They call begging me to help. Where is this in the job description? But Union Mission is in the business of helping so we arrange for the possibility of a counseling intervention.
I get buzzed and am told that Charles is standing in the shower with his clothes on with nurses in with him ordering to take them off. He is telling him that women are not allowed in the men's restroom. I storm into the shower yelling at Charles who is now naked and bathing.
I return to my office and some woman staying on Tybee calls, begging me to come see her at the Roadway Inn. She told me that Gloria is a witch who has prevented her from talking to me for the past 3 years. I don’t think that I want to meet an outraged woman at a hotel is a good idea.
"Why don't you come here?" I ask, and she explains the GBI are involved and they may follow here and she doesn't want to talk on the phone and it would be better if I come there. I shake my head wondering how other President/CEO's field such calls.
I get buzzed again. Charles is out of the shower but refuses to be seen by Dr. Pope. I again storm into the men's dorm where Charles is at least dressed in clean clothes and again yell at him.
"See the doctor," I demand.
"Uh, no sir," he says with one hand on the top of his head that rests on top of his six foot tall body, and his eyes are closed and I know that he is in another one of the many universes that he occupies.
Frustrated I return to my office. I glance at the clock. It is only 10:30.
"To whom much is given, much will be demanded," says the Biblical verse. I've been given a lot in my life. The demands are now coming relentlessly. I got it God. Can we move on to the next lesson now?
I learned that Charles may have diabetes and refuses to see the doctor. Charles is my mentally ill adopted son who functions as the janitor at Union Mission. He has been with us for over ten years. His feet are swollen and he refuses to wear anything other than old flip flops that are now causing a fungus to develop on the already swollen feet. I dress him down in front of everyone ordered him to a shower then ordered staff to throw his clothes away while he was doing so. I asked that Dr. Pope be waiting on him when he gets out of the shower so that she can look at his feet.
In my office I call a retired clergyman whose daughter and husband are penniless, homeless and in very poor health. I’d gotten them enrolled at the J. C. Lewis Health Center and we are trying to help with housing. The clergyman and his wife are devastated. The more that we work with their kids however the more problems we find. Sometimes helping a poor couple is like peeling an onion. The clergyman's wife burst into tears as I am on the phone with her and my already broken heart breaks all over again.
A local family business is evidently falling apart with brothers and sisters not talking to one another. They call begging me to help. Where is this in the job description? But Union Mission is in the business of helping so we arrange for the possibility of a counseling intervention.
I get buzzed and am told that Charles is standing in the shower with his clothes on with nurses in with him ordering to take them off. He is telling him that women are not allowed in the men's restroom. I storm into the shower yelling at Charles who is now naked and bathing.
I return to my office and some woman staying on Tybee calls, begging me to come see her at the Roadway Inn. She told me that Gloria is a witch who has prevented her from talking to me for the past 3 years. I don’t think that I want to meet an outraged woman at a hotel is a good idea.
"Why don't you come here?" I ask, and she explains the GBI are involved and they may follow here and she doesn't want to talk on the phone and it would be better if I come there. I shake my head wondering how other President/CEO's field such calls.
I get buzzed again. Charles is out of the shower but refuses to be seen by Dr. Pope. I again storm into the men's dorm where Charles is at least dressed in clean clothes and again yell at him.
"See the doctor," I demand.
"Uh, no sir," he says with one hand on the top of his head that rests on top of his six foot tall body, and his eyes are closed and I know that he is in another one of the many universes that he occupies.
Frustrated I return to my office. I glance at the clock. It is only 10:30.
"To whom much is given, much will be demanded," says the Biblical verse. I've been given a lot in my life. The demands are now coming relentlessly. I got it God. Can we move on to the next lesson now?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Becoming Ourselves
And then one day you wake up and everything is ok. You realize that you are dealing with whatever it is you are dealing with. Living the life that you are living. And you accept it for what it is.
I watch people come into Union Mission all of the time and they are in denial about these things. They struggle with who they are and do not accept the things that make their lives what they really are. They sleep walk through their days and it is not really life that they are living but something else.
Then one day they wake up and see things as they really are. They accept who they have become and are clear headed for the first time. Then they decide who they want to be and begin making good choices that helps them become that person. They become whole and holy.
When I wrote TOUR OF HOMES, I told the story of Jossuff X, a homeless man running from the premature death of his mother, racism in the South, and the stigma of not being accepted by his race because of the light color of his skin. Then one day, he wakes up and realizes that everything is ok. He is not who is wants to be. He wants to become himself, Anthony Tyrone Collins. And then he begins doing the things necessary to be that person.
This is something that each and everyone of us go through in our lives. Some of us are at the beginning of the process, others in the middle, and a few of us are done. But all of us are in the middle of becoming the person who we really want to be.
I watch people come into Union Mission all of the time and they are in denial about these things. They struggle with who they are and do not accept the things that make their lives what they really are. They sleep walk through their days and it is not really life that they are living but something else.
Then one day they wake up and see things as they really are. They accept who they have become and are clear headed for the first time. Then they decide who they want to be and begin making good choices that helps them become that person. They become whole and holy.
When I wrote TOUR OF HOMES, I told the story of Jossuff X, a homeless man running from the premature death of his mother, racism in the South, and the stigma of not being accepted by his race because of the light color of his skin. Then one day, he wakes up and realizes that everything is ok. He is not who is wants to be. He wants to become himself, Anthony Tyrone Collins. And then he begins doing the things necessary to be that person.
This is something that each and everyone of us go through in our lives. Some of us are at the beginning of the process, others in the middle, and a few of us are done. But all of us are in the middle of becoming the person who we really want to be.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Hearts Ashore
Running the beach every day I have witnessed a lot of stuff that washes ashore. Boats with holes in them. Lobster traps. Bottles, clothing, seaweed, dead fish, and shells galore. The ocean throws out those things that it chooses not to keep.
Yesterday, I made my way beside the sea on a six mile run. Just passed the Pier I saw some pink, oval shaped, sponges that lay discarded on the sand. They looked like hearts that had been lost or thrown away.
This gave me pause and I thought about all of the people who have lost their hearts that I have met in my career. Every day at Union Mission they arrive with holes in their chest where their hearts used to be. Their eyes are hollow and stare back at you with no emotion. Their hand shakes are limp and empty. They are surviving but not living.
So we go to work trying to encourage them and challenge them and love them back to a life that is worth living. The hardest part if helping them find their hearts again and putting them back in.
Yesterday, I made my way beside the sea on a six mile run. Just passed the Pier I saw some pink, oval shaped, sponges that lay discarded on the sand. They looked like hearts that had been lost or thrown away.
This gave me pause and I thought about all of the people who have lost their hearts that I have met in my career. Every day at Union Mission they arrive with holes in their chest where their hearts used to be. Their eyes are hollow and stare back at you with no emotion. Their hand shakes are limp and empty. They are surviving but not living.
So we go to work trying to encourage them and challenge them and love them back to a life that is worth living. The hardest part if helping them find their hearts again and putting them back in.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Simple Acts of Kindness
Last night at Lobby-fest, which is Savannah Day in Atlanta, I was talking to Bob Hurt, principal of Hurt, Norton and Associates, a very prestigious lobbying firm in Washington D. C. Bob represents the Chamber of Commerce, Chatham County and Union Mission at the moment while we look for $2.5 Million during very difficult times. He hosted me in Washington last week as we toured the Capitol, but last night it was more informal as we talked quietly for a moment in the midst of a thousand people.
He told me something that surprised me. I was commenting on how cynical he must be of politics after representing this and that for so many years. He must be after playing the game that balances educating an elected official when so many do not wish to be educated. They already think that they know everything.
Bob has this way of looking like he is reaching for far off thoughts as he talks. He take a few seconds to collect his words before he speaks, cocking his head to the left and looking somewhere inside of himself before he speaks.
"You know Micheal, I often meet with former politicians for lunch or for drinks, and I always ask them what they are most proud of. At first, they tell me about some bridge that was built because of them or some road or building or something. But as we move later into the discussion, they circle back around to the question."
"How so?" I asked.
Cocking his head to the left again, he stares inside of himself again for a second, then looks at me with blazing, captivating eyes.
"They say, you know what I am proudest of? There was this women I helped once. Or there was this family that was reunited. Or it was something that was nothing more than simple acts of human kindness."
I was completely surprised. Simple acts of human kindness?
Then I was swept into the crowd and again, talking to this person or that person. Ron Stephens, Cathy Love, Bill Hubbard, Jason Buelterman, Jared Downs, Glen Jones, and a hundred others. This morning I have a long list of things to do as a result of all of these conversations.
But Bob's story is sticking in my head. For all of this bravado and image projecting that we do. For all of the great things that we rattle off as our proudest accomplishments. What is really important and memorable in life are the times that we are kind to one another.
It sounds so easy but it really is one of the hardest things in life to be consistent about. We get so caught up in ourselves that we forget to be nice. We drive for what we want so hard that we forget to be kind. We project so hard what it is that we want people to think we are that we do not recognize that someone is hurting and could really use a touch.
As the night wore on, I recognized the times that people stopped and expressed kindness to me. Margret Mary Russell. Jane Terry. And Bob Hurt.
Simple acts of kindness. The greatest things are also the hardest things to do.
He told me something that surprised me. I was commenting on how cynical he must be of politics after representing this and that for so many years. He must be after playing the game that balances educating an elected official when so many do not wish to be educated. They already think that they know everything.
Bob has this way of looking like he is reaching for far off thoughts as he talks. He take a few seconds to collect his words before he speaks, cocking his head to the left and looking somewhere inside of himself before he speaks.
"You know Micheal, I often meet with former politicians for lunch or for drinks, and I always ask them what they are most proud of. At first, they tell me about some bridge that was built because of them or some road or building or something. But as we move later into the discussion, they circle back around to the question."
"How so?" I asked.
Cocking his head to the left again, he stares inside of himself again for a second, then looks at me with blazing, captivating eyes.
"They say, you know what I am proudest of? There was this women I helped once. Or there was this family that was reunited. Or it was something that was nothing more than simple acts of human kindness."
I was completely surprised. Simple acts of human kindness?
Then I was swept into the crowd and again, talking to this person or that person. Ron Stephens, Cathy Love, Bill Hubbard, Jason Buelterman, Jared Downs, Glen Jones, and a hundred others. This morning I have a long list of things to do as a result of all of these conversations.
But Bob's story is sticking in my head. For all of this bravado and image projecting that we do. For all of the great things that we rattle off as our proudest accomplishments. What is really important and memorable in life are the times that we are kind to one another.
It sounds so easy but it really is one of the hardest things in life to be consistent about. We get so caught up in ourselves that we forget to be nice. We drive for what we want so hard that we forget to be kind. We project so hard what it is that we want people to think we are that we do not recognize that someone is hurting and could really use a touch.
As the night wore on, I recognized the times that people stopped and expressed kindness to me. Margret Mary Russell. Jane Terry. And Bob Hurt.
Simple acts of kindness. The greatest things are also the hardest things to do.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Losing Words
Sometimes you give yourself completely away. And sometimes, someone gives you back. It is funny, when you fall in love there are no words. There are just feelings. When you find yourself by yourself, there are also no words. It happens coming and going.
Today there are no words. I can't seem to find them. Or someone has taken them away.
Today there are no words. I can't seem to find them. Or someone has taken them away.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Lobby-fest
I am heading to Atlanta today for Savannah's annual lobby-fest, the Chamber of Commerce's annual gorge of seafood, bar-b-que, steamed oysters, and booze to honor the elected officials of our state. They have gathered together again with the promise of fixing a budget with major deficits with budget cuts. Like most states, Georgia's collection of revenues are down again this year. The last couple of years the Governor has cut the budget and this year there are words of "cutting bone". Now that's leadership huh?
Anyway, this is probably the 20th time that I've been to "Savannah Day at the Capitol". A thousand people will gather in the old railroad depot near the Capitol and it will seem that all of Savannah is present. The politicians will all arrive after another hard day at what they profess to be "leadership" and then the ass kissing will begin.
Sadly, it is part of the work. Fixing health care, homelessness, affordable housing, and the things that Union Mission does requires that I am here. You can't do much anything in Georgia without going to Atlanta. I want to get things done so I go to a city that believes that it is the center of the universe. I have had my successes there. I have had my failures there. Met people that I have come to love. And have met...others.
Today I am thinking about some of my favorite moments at lobby-fest over the past two decades.
Once, I was on fire and it was one of those trips when everyone wanted or needed to talk to me. I can't recall what I was on fire about, but I do remember thinking to myself, "Wow, I've never been here before." Then I spied then Gov. Roy Barnes and said to myself, "What the hell, I may as well since I seem to be hot tonight!" So I made my way to him, he turned, looked at me, shook my hand, and said, "Mike, I'm tired and I'm going home. Bye," and he turned and left without giving me a chance to say anything. So much for being on fire.
Then there was my friend Johnny O standing in the receiving line with all of the other members of the elected even though John wasn't elected to anything. Yet there he was shaking hands, smiling, patting people on the back and most everyone in line was kissing his ass just like they were kissing everyone else's not having a clue that he was simply having fun.
Once my dear friend Terry Ball showed up and we mostly stood in a dark corner eating seafood and talking through the evening. I think that this was the only time that I actually ate at Lobby-fest.
And there was the time that Department of Human Resources B. J. Walker spied me in the crowd, walked up with her arms outstretched, and said, "What are you doing to me. Please call your boys off!" I remember hugging one another as we said goodbye that night.
I sure that more of these memories will come to mind as I head up. So it is that time of year again. Let the games begin! Who knows what is going to happen this year.
Anyway, this is probably the 20th time that I've been to "Savannah Day at the Capitol". A thousand people will gather in the old railroad depot near the Capitol and it will seem that all of Savannah is present. The politicians will all arrive after another hard day at what they profess to be "leadership" and then the ass kissing will begin.
Sadly, it is part of the work. Fixing health care, homelessness, affordable housing, and the things that Union Mission does requires that I am here. You can't do much anything in Georgia without going to Atlanta. I want to get things done so I go to a city that believes that it is the center of the universe. I have had my successes there. I have had my failures there. Met people that I have come to love. And have met...others.
Today I am thinking about some of my favorite moments at lobby-fest over the past two decades.
Once, I was on fire and it was one of those trips when everyone wanted or needed to talk to me. I can't recall what I was on fire about, but I do remember thinking to myself, "Wow, I've never been here before." Then I spied then Gov. Roy Barnes and said to myself, "What the hell, I may as well since I seem to be hot tonight!" So I made my way to him, he turned, looked at me, shook my hand, and said, "Mike, I'm tired and I'm going home. Bye," and he turned and left without giving me a chance to say anything. So much for being on fire.
Then there was my friend Johnny O standing in the receiving line with all of the other members of the elected even though John wasn't elected to anything. Yet there he was shaking hands, smiling, patting people on the back and most everyone in line was kissing his ass just like they were kissing everyone else's not having a clue that he was simply having fun.
Once my dear friend Terry Ball showed up and we mostly stood in a dark corner eating seafood and talking through the evening. I think that this was the only time that I actually ate at Lobby-fest.
And there was the time that Department of Human Resources B. J. Walker spied me in the crowd, walked up with her arms outstretched, and said, "What are you doing to me. Please call your boys off!" I remember hugging one another as we said goodbye that night.
I sure that more of these memories will come to mind as I head up. So it is that time of year again. Let the games begin! Who knows what is going to happen this year.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Gifts Around Us
Rinnie Painter died yesterday. Rinnie was in his 70s, had a pony-tail and an ear ring that dangled from his left earlobe. Years ago he had retired from Savannah Electric where he had climbed poles to repair the wires. Over the past ten years he would climb my palm trees and trim them. I hope that I can do that when I'm in my seventies.
Rinnie shared my aversion to clothes in true beach bum fashion, though he was more committed than I am. He rarely wore a shirt, even in the dead of winter. He would walk his little Jack Terrier dog up and down 12th Street on the marsh side several times each day. As I walked Goddess, we would stop and chat. Rinnie was always stirred up about something. National politics. Tybee politics. He would immediately launch into whatever it was he was stirred up about.
There were several times when he would show up at my house wanting to talk about how Union Mission might be able to help someone that he was concerned about. Rinnie could talk so when he came by I mostly listened and struggled to get a word in edgewise in counsel.
A couple of days ago I was walking Goddess and there was Rinnie's little Jack Terrier dog running up to us. The dog wore no lease and obviously had gotten out. I mentioned this to Julie and we both wondered if Rinnie was alright. Then I learned over the weekend that he was in Hospice. Then Johnny O called me yesterday to tell me that Rinnie had died.
I liked Rinnie. He was a true Tybee character! And it has left me mindful that none of us know how long we have one another in our lives. There are periods when we are together with friends or co-workers or significant others and it is intense and it seems as though we will always be together. It is rare that such relationships transcends the span of our lives. It happens, but mostly people come and people go as we live our lives.
So this morning I am mindful of all of those who have been there for me in the past. I would not have arrived at this moment without them. I am grateful for all of those who hold me dear right now. I shudder to think what life would be like without them. I say prayers of thanks for those whom I love and know that I love them completely. I look forward to new friends in the future. These are the gifts that are all around us and as Rinnie has moved on to whatever is next, I know that his passing makes me appreciate them more than ever.
Rinnie shared my aversion to clothes in true beach bum fashion, though he was more committed than I am. He rarely wore a shirt, even in the dead of winter. He would walk his little Jack Terrier dog up and down 12th Street on the marsh side several times each day. As I walked Goddess, we would stop and chat. Rinnie was always stirred up about something. National politics. Tybee politics. He would immediately launch into whatever it was he was stirred up about.
There were several times when he would show up at my house wanting to talk about how Union Mission might be able to help someone that he was concerned about. Rinnie could talk so when he came by I mostly listened and struggled to get a word in edgewise in counsel.
A couple of days ago I was walking Goddess and there was Rinnie's little Jack Terrier dog running up to us. The dog wore no lease and obviously had gotten out. I mentioned this to Julie and we both wondered if Rinnie was alright. Then I learned over the weekend that he was in Hospice. Then Johnny O called me yesterday to tell me that Rinnie had died.
I liked Rinnie. He was a true Tybee character! And it has left me mindful that none of us know how long we have one another in our lives. There are periods when we are together with friends or co-workers or significant others and it is intense and it seems as though we will always be together. It is rare that such relationships transcends the span of our lives. It happens, but mostly people come and people go as we live our lives.
So this morning I am mindful of all of those who have been there for me in the past. I would not have arrived at this moment without them. I am grateful for all of those who hold me dear right now. I shudder to think what life would be like without them. I say prayers of thanks for those whom I love and know that I love them completely. I look forward to new friends in the future. These are the gifts that are all around us and as Rinnie has moved on to whatever is next, I know that his passing makes me appreciate them more than ever.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Running on Empty
An angry wind blows across and angry ocean and bites right through the layers that I am wearing. Water wells in my eyes and a deep sigh makes it way out from somewhere deep inside of me. I run against the wind.
The sky is a grey blue. The sand a deep gray from where the high tides blanketed it during the night. Sea foam blows across the beach in front of me as though it seems it is running from the ocean that made it. It rolls and with each turn it loses a little of itself until it disappears entirely.
There is no one else on the beach. For miles I only see the hues of gray and the white sea foam blowing. No morning walkers. No lovers holding hands. No children playing at the shoreline. Only me. Alone on an empty beach.
This is a day that matches where I am. Emptiness can ache.
To make matters worse, it is Monday. I have things to do. People are relying on me to be there for them but I feel that I am going through the motions somehow. Still you have to do the things that you are supposed to do.
I can't help but think that this is what many of my homeless friends must feel like every day. Discarded by the ones who once loved them or they are fleeing from someone or something, they arrive and they sit waiting to be seen. They look lost. There eyes are empty. I can see them ache.
So that is the reality of this day. Some days there are no great insights or revelations from the heavens. Some days are just days to get through doing the best that you can. So I start with a prayer that the wind will blow all of the emptiness away.
The sky is a grey blue. The sand a deep gray from where the high tides blanketed it during the night. Sea foam blows across the beach in front of me as though it seems it is running from the ocean that made it. It rolls and with each turn it loses a little of itself until it disappears entirely.
There is no one else on the beach. For miles I only see the hues of gray and the white sea foam blowing. No morning walkers. No lovers holding hands. No children playing at the shoreline. Only me. Alone on an empty beach.
This is a day that matches where I am. Emptiness can ache.
To make matters worse, it is Monday. I have things to do. People are relying on me to be there for them but I feel that I am going through the motions somehow. Still you have to do the things that you are supposed to do.
I can't help but think that this is what many of my homeless friends must feel like every day. Discarded by the ones who once loved them or they are fleeing from someone or something, they arrive and they sit waiting to be seen. They look lost. There eyes are empty. I can see them ache.
So that is the reality of this day. Some days there are no great insights or revelations from the heavens. Some days are just days to get through doing the best that you can. So I start with a prayer that the wind will blow all of the emptiness away.
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