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.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
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.
"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.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, April 26, 2010
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!
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!
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Loss
Now the winter has come
to eclipse in the sun
that has lighted my love for some time
And a cold wind now blows
not much tenderness flows
from the heart of someone feeling so tired
So sings George Harrison in one of the saddest songs that I have ever heard. Titled "So Sad," it is about loss.
Over the past year and a half, I have learned all about loss. I've lost a major program, a friend/employee who I trusted completely, a piece of my reputation, my Dad, and my wife. That is a lot of loss in a relatively short period of time! Most of the time I didn't think that I could bear it but somehow I did.
The first two things to know about loss is that it makes you sadder than you ever thought you could be and that it leaves you bone tired. All of the time! The saddess and the weariness are so heavy that it can litterally drive you to your knees on the floor and your own sobs are the only noise.
"Don't they know, it's the end of the world?" as another song goes. And in the aftermath of loss, this is what we quickly conclude and in a sense, that is right, because our world is no longer the same as it was. That world has come to an end.
But life goes on.
And you are amazed that life goes on. How? Why?
Then when you are on the floor sobbing, your dog licks the tears away from your face and you hug that animal as you never have before. Or a friend stops by unannounced and uninvited and makes you get up and deal. Or someone you knew but didn't know cared reaches out and lets you know that you are loved anyway. Or an old friend calls and makes you laugh when laughter is the very last thing that you want to do.
And it goes on like this for a while. Much too long. And you remain sad and tired. and you visit all of the dark places. And you love the darkness.
Then you notice the sun rising. The skies become brilliantly blue. The ocean becomes like glass. Your heart begins to jump when new friends and old friends touch it. And the darkness begins to fade, ever so slowly.
And you can be doing anything. Running around the Washington Monument. Listening to your I-pod. Thinking about new friends who have touched your heart. And without a moments notice, you are reborn. Alive again. Feeling and sensing everything at the same time. On fire! Yourself again! Yet different. Richer because of the loss.
to eclipse in the sun
that has lighted my love for some time
And a cold wind now blows
not much tenderness flows
from the heart of someone feeling so tired
So sings George Harrison in one of the saddest songs that I have ever heard. Titled "So Sad," it is about loss.
Over the past year and a half, I have learned all about loss. I've lost a major program, a friend/employee who I trusted completely, a piece of my reputation, my Dad, and my wife. That is a lot of loss in a relatively short period of time! Most of the time I didn't think that I could bear it but somehow I did.
The first two things to know about loss is that it makes you sadder than you ever thought you could be and that it leaves you bone tired. All of the time! The saddess and the weariness are so heavy that it can litterally drive you to your knees on the floor and your own sobs are the only noise.
"Don't they know, it's the end of the world?" as another song goes. And in the aftermath of loss, this is what we quickly conclude and in a sense, that is right, because our world is no longer the same as it was. That world has come to an end.
But life goes on.
And you are amazed that life goes on. How? Why?
Then when you are on the floor sobbing, your dog licks the tears away from your face and you hug that animal as you never have before. Or a friend stops by unannounced and uninvited and makes you get up and deal. Or someone you knew but didn't know cared reaches out and lets you know that you are loved anyway. Or an old friend calls and makes you laugh when laughter is the very last thing that you want to do.
And it goes on like this for a while. Much too long. And you remain sad and tired. and you visit all of the dark places. And you love the darkness.
Then you notice the sun rising. The skies become brilliantly blue. The ocean becomes like glass. Your heart begins to jump when new friends and old friends touch it. And the darkness begins to fade, ever so slowly.
And you can be doing anything. Running around the Washington Monument. Listening to your I-pod. Thinking about new friends who have touched your heart. And without a moments notice, you are reborn. Alive again. Feeling and sensing everything at the same time. On fire! Yourself again! Yet different. Richer because of the loss.
Friday, April 23, 2010
The Land of the Rich and of the Brave
"Did you see how much those rooms cost?" Herb asked as we made our way down the escalator at Reagan National.
"Yep, that's why it is only the rich who play up here," I replied.
Not that we didn't see the poor. Homeless people are everywhere in Washington D.C. You can't help but step over them as you make your way through the city. They are huddled in blankets or shake cups begging for alms. Mostly they are ignored here.
Then there are the protesters who seem to be everywhere. Peta was screaming about animal rights. Earth Day people were everywhere. In fact, the Mall was assembled for a huge rally. Last night when we were leaving dinner, a lone woman with a loud speaker called us murderers, though I'm not sure why. I had a fish taco and I guess it could have been her fish at one time.
But mostly we found ourselves surrounded by people who have means. They were smartly dressed, very articulate and, well, most were beautiful. At one point I looked at Lauren and said, "If you act like you belong, they will assume that you do."
But we had good friends who are big guns with us. Jane Terry, Carol Holladay and Bob Hurt shepherded us around, making introductions and arranging last minute meetings that we requested. We saw Senators and Congressmen and the people who run the agencies. At the end of it all, we knew that it had been a very good day. Good things are going to come because we were here.
That is how the game is played. It is like everything else. It's all about relationships. Who knows who. Regardless of if you are in a homeless shelter or in Congress. And next week we have a conference call with the White House because of our friends.
And we will do what we've done for the last two days. Explain what we are doing and ask if others can help. Then we will do it again. And again. Then hopefully people will start to believe in us. Because of our track record. But mostly because of the relationships that have been cultivated.
It is exhausing work that didn't end until 10:00 last night. Now I am glad to be heading home to stare at the ocean, laugh with my friends, and surround myself with healing hands again.
"Yep, that's why it is only the rich who play up here," I replied.
Not that we didn't see the poor. Homeless people are everywhere in Washington D.C. You can't help but step over them as you make your way through the city. They are huddled in blankets or shake cups begging for alms. Mostly they are ignored here.
Then there are the protesters who seem to be everywhere. Peta was screaming about animal rights. Earth Day people were everywhere. In fact, the Mall was assembled for a huge rally. Last night when we were leaving dinner, a lone woman with a loud speaker called us murderers, though I'm not sure why. I had a fish taco and I guess it could have been her fish at one time.
But mostly we found ourselves surrounded by people who have means. They were smartly dressed, very articulate and, well, most were beautiful. At one point I looked at Lauren and said, "If you act like you belong, they will assume that you do."
But we had good friends who are big guns with us. Jane Terry, Carol Holladay and Bob Hurt shepherded us around, making introductions and arranging last minute meetings that we requested. We saw Senators and Congressmen and the people who run the agencies. At the end of it all, we knew that it had been a very good day. Good things are going to come because we were here.
That is how the game is played. It is like everything else. It's all about relationships. Who knows who. Regardless of if you are in a homeless shelter or in Congress. And next week we have a conference call with the White House because of our friends.
And we will do what we've done for the last two days. Explain what we are doing and ask if others can help. Then we will do it again. And again. Then hopefully people will start to believe in us. Because of our track record. But mostly because of the relationships that have been cultivated.
It is exhausing work that didn't end until 10:00 last night. Now I am glad to be heading home to stare at the ocean, laugh with my friends, and surround myself with healing hands again.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
No Day But Today
Last night I was at the old Washington Hotel which is now a "W". We were having dinner at J&G's Steakhouse, which is fine dinning experience in what is one of D.C.'s newest trendy spots. The discussion was politics and today's agenda which has us bouncing around the Capitol, beginning with a breakfast with Senator Isakson, dancing through the Departments of Energy, Transportation, H.U.D. and ending late today with Congressman Barrow.
But there was this moment last night when I visited the past. Back in 2001, when it was still the Washington Hotel, I stayed there. I was In D. C. to receive an award from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. Ten of us were being honored as "Community Health Leaders" which is full of recognition and a $100,000 in cash to support whatever it was that I wanted to support.
With me was Julie, Joe Bridges, Melanie Finnacario, Elana Lee, Judy, and Ben and Bettye Barnes. Specifically, it was because of the creation of the J. C. Lewis Health Center that I was honored.
So anyway there was this moment last night when I remembered a reception in the room where we were having dinner and I met Dr. Jose Vargas-Vidot, who is a dear friend to this day. And Sharon Robashach who is amazing. And it was the first time that Union Mission danced on the national stage.
I smiled as I remembered the awards ceremony at the National Press Club. I thought of how close we were then. Everything seemed special. Everything seemed possible.
Then the conversation turned back to today's politics and I tapped my fingers on the table and fired questions as though they were from a machine gun. It is all about today. That is all that I have. That is all that you have. The past is dead and gone and while I may visit there from time to time it is no place that I want to stay. And I really like what I am now. And what Union Mission is now. It was good then. It is far better now.
Tomorrow is full of hope and I certainly have a lot of that. For healing hands to continue their magic ways. For good times with my friends. For the University of Georgia to win another SEC championship. For more beach time. For a Union Mission that rocks and rolls on a cylinders. For good times with the kids.
But tomorrow may never come in spite of my hopes. Today on the other hand is here. And it is time to grab it by the neck and enjoy the hell out of it. Because there is no day but today.
But there was this moment last night when I visited the past. Back in 2001, when it was still the Washington Hotel, I stayed there. I was In D. C. to receive an award from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. Ten of us were being honored as "Community Health Leaders" which is full of recognition and a $100,000 in cash to support whatever it was that I wanted to support.
With me was Julie, Joe Bridges, Melanie Finnacario, Elana Lee, Judy, and Ben and Bettye Barnes. Specifically, it was because of the creation of the J. C. Lewis Health Center that I was honored.
So anyway there was this moment last night when I remembered a reception in the room where we were having dinner and I met Dr. Jose Vargas-Vidot, who is a dear friend to this day. And Sharon Robashach who is amazing. And it was the first time that Union Mission danced on the national stage.
I smiled as I remembered the awards ceremony at the National Press Club. I thought of how close we were then. Everything seemed special. Everything seemed possible.
Then the conversation turned back to today's politics and I tapped my fingers on the table and fired questions as though they were from a machine gun. It is all about today. That is all that I have. That is all that you have. The past is dead and gone and while I may visit there from time to time it is no place that I want to stay. And I really like what I am now. And what Union Mission is now. It was good then. It is far better now.
Tomorrow is full of hope and I certainly have a lot of that. For healing hands to continue their magic ways. For good times with my friends. For the University of Georgia to win another SEC championship. For more beach time. For a Union Mission that rocks and rolls on a cylinders. For good times with the kids.
But tomorrow may never come in spite of my hopes. Today on the other hand is here. And it is time to grab it by the neck and enjoy the hell out of it. Because there is no day but today.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Replacing a Misplaced Heart
The last time that I went to Washington D. C. my heart had been misplaced and I really didn't want to be there. And I spent an evening and a day boucing around the Capitol in three-quarters time like I was sleep walking. Somehow, I pulled it together enough to say the right things when it was my turn but I was mostly sad and tired.
There was one moment at H.U.D. when I seemed to snap to life and engage in a vigorous conversation, but I faded fast.
Herb McKenzie, Laurene Milmine, Carol Holloday and Jane Talley spent most of their time propping me up. They were all very kind.
That was in January. Today I am heading back and am ready to kick ass! I found my misplaced heart and laid it in some healing hands. It is different from the one that I used to have, but like the beach which changes a little every day, it remains somehow the same too. It has gone through some dark places and survived. It is fuller somehow.
This morning at the Breakfast Club, my extended family wanted to know where I am off to now. I told them and the topic was immediately changed by Val to something that she considered much more important.
"Just what in the hell did yesterday's Face Book status update mean?"
It was "Micheal had a near perfect day until the blister in the sun. Big hands you know you're the one."
This led to vigorous debate on their part over what it meant. Denise though "Big Hands" is God. Val wondered if it was somebody else. I smiled with my filled heart and left them still debating. I am sure that we will pick right back up when I return.
But now it is back to D. C. with Herb, Laurene, Carol and Jane. It will be much different this time. I have my heart back. Washington be warned!
There was one moment at H.U.D. when I seemed to snap to life and engage in a vigorous conversation, but I faded fast.
Herb McKenzie, Laurene Milmine, Carol Holloday and Jane Talley spent most of their time propping me up. They were all very kind.
That was in January. Today I am heading back and am ready to kick ass! I found my misplaced heart and laid it in some healing hands. It is different from the one that I used to have, but like the beach which changes a little every day, it remains somehow the same too. It has gone through some dark places and survived. It is fuller somehow.
This morning at the Breakfast Club, my extended family wanted to know where I am off to now. I told them and the topic was immediately changed by Val to something that she considered much more important.
"Just what in the hell did yesterday's Face Book status update mean?"
It was "Micheal had a near perfect day until the blister in the sun. Big hands you know you're the one."
This led to vigorous debate on their part over what it meant. Denise though "Big Hands" is God. Val wondered if it was somebody else. I smiled with my filled heart and left them still debating. I am sure that we will pick right back up when I return.
But now it is back to D. C. with Herb, Laurene, Carol and Jane. It will be much different this time. I have my heart back. Washington be warned!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Healing Hands
Healing takes time. It doesn't happen all at once.
If I've learned anything in my time at Union Mission and over the past several months, it is this. And as much as we want heealing to take place overnight, it doesn't. It comes slowly and you have to be in a place where you can take it as it comes. You can't force it or be there in the way that you want all at once. Healing takes place according to its own time table and in its own way.
I think that healing takes place in two ways. First, inside of yourself, meaning that you have to want it as it happens. Not when it happens, but as it happens. Healing takes baby steps. But if you don't want it, then nothing happens. So you pray and wish and hope for movement. And slowly, painfully slowly, it begins.
Second, other people become part of the healing process. You can never be quite sure who they will be and are usually surprised as hell when you find out. You would have never guessed it would have been ... that person! Healing usually involves a set of healing hands.
Then, there are those who show up wanting to help or console and as they talk to you you pray that the floor would open up and they would just go away. Overly emphatheic people hender healing.
And you always think that you are further along than you really are. Even when you find yourself in a beautful and perfect set of circumstances, you can suddenly be reminded that you are not yet healed all of the way. These are discouraging and frustrating times. A lot of people walk away from the healing process when such things occur. Those who heal, keep at it anyway in spite of the short comings and the disappointments.
So this sounds like a sermon. No funny stories or broken angels to describe. Just the things that are in my heart from what I learned yesterday.
If I've learned anything in my time at Union Mission and over the past several months, it is this. And as much as we want heealing to take place overnight, it doesn't. It comes slowly and you have to be in a place where you can take it as it comes. You can't force it or be there in the way that you want all at once. Healing takes place according to its own time table and in its own way.
I think that healing takes place in two ways. First, inside of yourself, meaning that you have to want it as it happens. Not when it happens, but as it happens. Healing takes baby steps. But if you don't want it, then nothing happens. So you pray and wish and hope for movement. And slowly, painfully slowly, it begins.
Second, other people become part of the healing process. You can never be quite sure who they will be and are usually surprised as hell when you find out. You would have never guessed it would have been ... that person! Healing usually involves a set of healing hands.
Then, there are those who show up wanting to help or console and as they talk to you you pray that the floor would open up and they would just go away. Overly emphatheic people hender healing.
And you always think that you are further along than you really are. Even when you find yourself in a beautful and perfect set of circumstances, you can suddenly be reminded that you are not yet healed all of the way. These are discouraging and frustrating times. A lot of people walk away from the healing process when such things occur. Those who heal, keep at it anyway in spite of the short comings and the disappointments.
So this sounds like a sermon. No funny stories or broken angels to describe. Just the things that are in my heart from what I learned yesterday.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Broken Angels
Her tiny body was bloody and bruised. She was in the arms of the police officer who had taken her from the brand new home that she had been staying in. Her large brown eyes had no more tears. They were dry and empty and void of light. Though only two, she already had the eyes of a frightened old woman. She will never really be a child again. The innocence has been beaten out of her.
It was her baby sitter, a mentally ill woman that we had been working with for years. A lot of progress has been made as she was stabilized on her medication, became functional and compliant, and was well on her way to becoming one of our success stories. She had moved into her first real home. Everything was working like it should.
Then she agreed to baby sit. And then we don't know. The neighbors heard a baby crying. Screaming. Sobbing. The police were called. Something had snapped and years of progress were immediately wiped away.
And the police will take the child to the Department of Children and Family Services, whose budget has been repeatedly raped by the Governor and the elected people who call themselves leaders. Hopefully, enough compassion is still funded to nurse this tiny broken angel back to health.
The woman will go to jail which is the largest provider of mental health services in the state. Another great example of political leadership.
The staff is devastated as they ask questions that have no answers. They did their best, gave their all, only to have success become tragedy in the blink of an eye.
And over the weekend I was reminded just how sad the world can be. Innocent babies are beaten. A friend writes me full of sadness because a friend of hers was murdered by a gang. Rather than embrace the love that surrounds him a man drinks himself to oblivion because he has lost the capacity to give and receive love. Homes are abandoned leaving dejected lovers alone and crying.
Somewhere, a guitar gently weeps.
None of it makes any sense. There is no rhyme or reason. And in the end, we are left with one another to get ourselves through it. We hug. Cry together. Sit in silence. Make potato saled for each other because we can't think of anything else to do.
And then we carry on. Because there is nothing else to do.
It was her baby sitter, a mentally ill woman that we had been working with for years. A lot of progress has been made as she was stabilized on her medication, became functional and compliant, and was well on her way to becoming one of our success stories. She had moved into her first real home. Everything was working like it should.
Then she agreed to baby sit. And then we don't know. The neighbors heard a baby crying. Screaming. Sobbing. The police were called. Something had snapped and years of progress were immediately wiped away.
And the police will take the child to the Department of Children and Family Services, whose budget has been repeatedly raped by the Governor and the elected people who call themselves leaders. Hopefully, enough compassion is still funded to nurse this tiny broken angel back to health.
The woman will go to jail which is the largest provider of mental health services in the state. Another great example of political leadership.
The staff is devastated as they ask questions that have no answers. They did their best, gave their all, only to have success become tragedy in the blink of an eye.
And over the weekend I was reminded just how sad the world can be. Innocent babies are beaten. A friend writes me full of sadness because a friend of hers was murdered by a gang. Rather than embrace the love that surrounds him a man drinks himself to oblivion because he has lost the capacity to give and receive love. Homes are abandoned leaving dejected lovers alone and crying.
Somewhere, a guitar gently weeps.
None of it makes any sense. There is no rhyme or reason. And in the end, we are left with one another to get ourselves through it. We hug. Cry together. Sit in silence. Make potato saled for each other because we can't think of anything else to do.
And then we carry on. Because there is nothing else to do.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Serendipity
So I believe in Serendipity. Sometimes the heavens open up and things happen at the right place, at the right time, and with the right people. It is always full of holiness and is always a surprise. Then it happens so unexpectedly that you are shocked.
So for months I have been living through this shitstorm and struggling just to breath and to keep my feelings in check. Then my beloved son Jeremy accompanied by a gang of Irish Catholics kidnapped me and we all got drunk. We are all vaguely aware of how and when we got home. Somehow we all rose from the dead the next morning. Who knew that healing can begin this way?
Then I had cocktails with a friend. Our plan was to compare shitstorms, but it didn't work out that way. We rushed through those stories and spent the better part of two hours smiling and laughing and confessing ourselves to one another. Two hopeless romantics who really do believe that love is possible.
And yesterday I was having the follow up lunch with Mary Ann Beil. She had threatened this when I was in St. Martin and, true to form, she shows up with a dog eared copy of John Donahue's "Anam Cara", which is Celtic Christianity. She read me passages and then lunch came and we just talked.
I was telling her about this week, when she exploded as she can do. "Let me tell you something, you know more about love than anybody I know." Laying her fork down, her eyes locked mine and she pointed a finger at me, "for Christ's sake, you love homeless people. You love people with AIDS. You love people that the rest of us do not give a shit about. So when it comes to how to love someone else, I think that you know more than most!"
I was stunned. It is hard not to love Mary Ann.
And then it happened. The heaven's opened and serendipity appeared at our table. She was beautiful. A smile that could not be contained exploded on my face. And there was this moment, when I saw all of the possibilities of futures that I had never considered. And every dark thing that had been living in me fled to other places and I found myself again. And Love was all around me, as the song goes. And in me. And through me. And then as quickly as she came, serendipity vanished. But my heart stayed full.
I spent the rest of the day chasing her, and though I came close, I didn't see her again. But my heart remained full. And last night Johnny O, Judy, Whitley, and O Johnny called wanting to go out. Goddess didn't seem to mind so I went. And we had fun, though I kept one eye over my shoulder on the lookout for secrendipity throughout the night.
I came home and crawled into bed and looked at the ceiling fan. The last words that I said last night were to thank secrendipity. And for the first time in months, I slept peacefully throughout the night. And I woke to happiness.
So for months I have been living through this shitstorm and struggling just to breath and to keep my feelings in check. Then my beloved son Jeremy accompanied by a gang of Irish Catholics kidnapped me and we all got drunk. We are all vaguely aware of how and when we got home. Somehow we all rose from the dead the next morning. Who knew that healing can begin this way?
Then I had cocktails with a friend. Our plan was to compare shitstorms, but it didn't work out that way. We rushed through those stories and spent the better part of two hours smiling and laughing and confessing ourselves to one another. Two hopeless romantics who really do believe that love is possible.
And yesterday I was having the follow up lunch with Mary Ann Beil. She had threatened this when I was in St. Martin and, true to form, she shows up with a dog eared copy of John Donahue's "Anam Cara", which is Celtic Christianity. She read me passages and then lunch came and we just talked.
I was telling her about this week, when she exploded as she can do. "Let me tell you something, you know more about love than anybody I know." Laying her fork down, her eyes locked mine and she pointed a finger at me, "for Christ's sake, you love homeless people. You love people with AIDS. You love people that the rest of us do not give a shit about. So when it comes to how to love someone else, I think that you know more than most!"
I was stunned. It is hard not to love Mary Ann.
And then it happened. The heaven's opened and serendipity appeared at our table. She was beautiful. A smile that could not be contained exploded on my face. And there was this moment, when I saw all of the possibilities of futures that I had never considered. And every dark thing that had been living in me fled to other places and I found myself again. And Love was all around me, as the song goes. And in me. And through me. And then as quickly as she came, serendipity vanished. But my heart stayed full.
I spent the rest of the day chasing her, and though I came close, I didn't see her again. But my heart remained full. And last night Johnny O, Judy, Whitley, and O Johnny called wanting to go out. Goddess didn't seem to mind so I went. And we had fun, though I kept one eye over my shoulder on the lookout for secrendipity throughout the night.
I came home and crawled into bed and looked at the ceiling fan. The last words that I said last night were to thank secrendipity. And for the first time in months, I slept peacefully throughout the night. And I woke to happiness.
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Lady of the House
I think that Goddess is dealing with abandonment issues. For the better part of the past two weeks, I have been gone and Kim Fitz has been looking after her for me. Kim is actually thinking about quitting her full time job at United Way because it far more lucrative pay watching Goddess.
When I returned home Sunday, Goddess jumped around the house like a money humper, running into my leg, rolling over wanting me to rub her, trying to lick my face...basically trying to convey every single expression of doggie love at the same time. It bordered on obscenity. Kim blushed. It is evident that Goddess loves me.
Anyway that night, I had dinner out with Kristen. The following night, I met my new friend for cocktails. And on Tuesday night, some kids just out of college with lots of corporate money to spend took me out wanting Union Mission's business.
On Wednesday night I planned to stay in a cook and just take it easy. After my Mom and Kim's admonishment of decorating my house as though it is Ethiopia, I actually went to the grocery store and stocked up. Food was everywhere. But when it came down to it, it just didn't seem worth the effort, so I shut the door to the fridge and decided to run up to Stingrays for shrimp.
Goddess was laying on her bench underneath the window. "Come on! Let's go potty," I commanded.
Now normally, she will leap from the bench, run across the living room, through the kitchen and out of her doggie door. She may or may not actually do anything because she knows that she gets a treat, I shut the doggie door (Goddess was actually given 6months probation by Tybee Court once, but that is another story), and I leave.
When I commanded her to come, she stared at me as though I had lost my mind. She didn't budge. She just stared at me. And I looked at her and my heart broke a little.
"Fine, have it your way," I said with a laugh and I stayed home and cooked and brushed her and took her for a long meandering walk. That night, she slept literally as close to the bed as possible.
Then last night it was back to town again for United Way's Beacon Society gathering. We had always enjoyed this and I didn't want to go alone this year so Keller Deal went with me. As soon as we arrived, someone said, "Mike you've lost weight!"
Beaming,I answered loudly as though on an infomercial, "That is because I have discovered the greatest secret to weight loss ever!"
Keller giggled and turned her head.
A bit later, Kim Fitz and I were standing talking when a couple walked up. They greeted me and asked me how I was doing with sympathetic concern in their eyes.
"I'm good! Meet Kim," I answered, "she is the keeper of my house."
Their eyes grew wide and Kim took half a step backwards with a smile and a nod of the head as though to say, "It's true."
So it was like this for a couple of hours, then it was back to Tybee. When I got home, Goddess acted like a money humper, running into my leg, rolling over wanting me to rub her, trying to lick my face...basically trying to convey every single expression of doggie love at the same time. I was home.
So I laid in the floor and I loved her back. Then I promised the Lady of the House that the weekend was all hers.
When I returned home Sunday, Goddess jumped around the house like a money humper, running into my leg, rolling over wanting me to rub her, trying to lick my face...basically trying to convey every single expression of doggie love at the same time. It bordered on obscenity. Kim blushed. It is evident that Goddess loves me.
Anyway that night, I had dinner out with Kristen. The following night, I met my new friend for cocktails. And on Tuesday night, some kids just out of college with lots of corporate money to spend took me out wanting Union Mission's business.
On Wednesday night I planned to stay in a cook and just take it easy. After my Mom and Kim's admonishment of decorating my house as though it is Ethiopia, I actually went to the grocery store and stocked up. Food was everywhere. But when it came down to it, it just didn't seem worth the effort, so I shut the door to the fridge and decided to run up to Stingrays for shrimp.
Goddess was laying on her bench underneath the window. "Come on! Let's go potty," I commanded.
Now normally, she will leap from the bench, run across the living room, through the kitchen and out of her doggie door. She may or may not actually do anything because she knows that she gets a treat, I shut the doggie door (Goddess was actually given 6months probation by Tybee Court once, but that is another story), and I leave.
When I commanded her to come, she stared at me as though I had lost my mind. She didn't budge. She just stared at me. And I looked at her and my heart broke a little.
"Fine, have it your way," I said with a laugh and I stayed home and cooked and brushed her and took her for a long meandering walk. That night, she slept literally as close to the bed as possible.
Then last night it was back to town again for United Way's Beacon Society gathering. We had always enjoyed this and I didn't want to go alone this year so Keller Deal went with me. As soon as we arrived, someone said, "Mike you've lost weight!"
Beaming,I answered loudly as though on an infomercial, "That is because I have discovered the greatest secret to weight loss ever!"
Keller giggled and turned her head.
A bit later, Kim Fitz and I were standing talking when a couple walked up. They greeted me and asked me how I was doing with sympathetic concern in their eyes.
"I'm good! Meet Kim," I answered, "she is the keeper of my house."
Their eyes grew wide and Kim took half a step backwards with a smile and a nod of the head as though to say, "It's true."
So it was like this for a couple of hours, then it was back to Tybee. When I got home, Goddess acted like a money humper, running into my leg, rolling over wanting me to rub her, trying to lick my face...basically trying to convey every single expression of doggie love at the same time. I was home.
So I laid in the floor and I loved her back. Then I promised the Lady of the House that the weekend was all hers.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Union Mission Death Watch List
It was going to be a big day for Union Mission. We were hosting the launching of Georgia's first shared medical records system and many visiting dignitaries from across the County and the State would be visiting the J. C. Lewis Health Center. The launching would be covered by the media and we had been working for days to make sure that everything was in tip top shape.
Aretha Jones, Vice-President of Health Services, arrived at 8:30, and was already on the phone with Lavanda Brown, Executive Vice-President of Union Mission. There was still a great deal to do before the 11:30 event.
As she purposely walked through the lobby, out of the corner of her eye she saw him. He was one of the hard core homeless who live in one of the camps scattered throughout Savannah. These folks will come to the Health Center but refuse to stay at the Army of Salvation or Inner City or the other city shelters. He was easily recognizable because of the guitar that was always slung around his back and was a frequent patient.
He was alone, sitting in the lobby of the Health Center, watching CNN on the flat screen that was normally set to health care infomercials. He had a plastic water bottle filled with Seagram's Seven and was happily nursing it.
"What are you doing?" Aretha demanded.
"Waiting to see the doctor," he calmly replied.
"Uh-huh," Aretha pointed to the door, "you gotta go."
He looked at her. "I got to wait to see the doctor," he said loudly, before taking a sip.
"Out!" Aretha commanded.
He stood and stared at Aretha. "I'm going to kill you!"
Picking up his guitar and handing it to him, she said, "I'm sorry you feel that way."
He took his guitar and stumbled outside.
"I'm sorry you feel that way?" Lavanda asked on the phone. She had heard the entire encounter and was laughing as she asked. "I'm sorry you feel that way?"
"I don't have time for this today," Aretha continued.
So the rest of the day went off without a hitch. Unless you count the client who wanted to kill Regina, but that was far away from the event.
So the Union Mission Death Watch list grew a bit. I'm on it, but my guy is in prison. Lavanda is on it. Joy is on it but there is an asterisk by her name because it is only other members of the staff who want to kill her. Aretha and Regina are the newest members. There have been several of us through the years. It goes with the territory I guess and thankfully nothing has ever happened, but it speaks to the desperation that we sometimes see in our work. And Lord knows these are desperate times.
So after the event we were all sitting around celebrating it's success and congratulating Paula Reynolds and Diane Weems. Then the story telling began and Aretha told how her day began with Lavanda providing running commentary. We laughed hard. Because sometimes, when you are faced with desperation, all you can do is laugh.
Aretha Jones, Vice-President of Health Services, arrived at 8:30, and was already on the phone with Lavanda Brown, Executive Vice-President of Union Mission. There was still a great deal to do before the 11:30 event.
As she purposely walked through the lobby, out of the corner of her eye she saw him. He was one of the hard core homeless who live in one of the camps scattered throughout Savannah. These folks will come to the Health Center but refuse to stay at the Army of Salvation or Inner City or the other city shelters. He was easily recognizable because of the guitar that was always slung around his back and was a frequent patient.
He was alone, sitting in the lobby of the Health Center, watching CNN on the flat screen that was normally set to health care infomercials. He had a plastic water bottle filled with Seagram's Seven and was happily nursing it.
"What are you doing?" Aretha demanded.
"Waiting to see the doctor," he calmly replied.
"Uh-huh," Aretha pointed to the door, "you gotta go."
He looked at her. "I got to wait to see the doctor," he said loudly, before taking a sip.
"Out!" Aretha commanded.
He stood and stared at Aretha. "I'm going to kill you!"
Picking up his guitar and handing it to him, she said, "I'm sorry you feel that way."
He took his guitar and stumbled outside.
"I'm sorry you feel that way?" Lavanda asked on the phone. She had heard the entire encounter and was laughing as she asked. "I'm sorry you feel that way?"
"I don't have time for this today," Aretha continued.
So the rest of the day went off without a hitch. Unless you count the client who wanted to kill Regina, but that was far away from the event.
So the Union Mission Death Watch list grew a bit. I'm on it, but my guy is in prison. Lavanda is on it. Joy is on it but there is an asterisk by her name because it is only other members of the staff who want to kill her. Aretha and Regina are the newest members. There have been several of us through the years. It goes with the territory I guess and thankfully nothing has ever happened, but it speaks to the desperation that we sometimes see in our work. And Lord knows these are desperate times.
So after the event we were all sitting around celebrating it's success and congratulating Paula Reynolds and Diane Weems. Then the story telling began and Aretha told how her day began with Lavanda providing running commentary. We laughed hard. Because sometimes, when you are faced with desperation, all you can do is laugh.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Chaplin of the Breakfast Club
One of my many responsibilities as we work to save this corner of the world is to serve as the Chaplin of the World Famous Breakfast Club on Tybee Island. Apparently, while I have been away the last couple of weeks things at the Club went to hell.
Without its moral compass, the staff evidently committed all seven deadly sins. Some more than once. The place was in disarray and, inexplicably, the only one who stayed out of trouble and refused to involve himself in all of the depravity was...Justin!It got so bad that Ryan Sadowski took to taking police mug shots of himself and posting them on Face Book!
Sitting on the beach in St. Martin, basking in the sun, I felt the call of God, walked to my room and turned on my computer. When I saw Ryan's picture, the Spirit of God led me to write him immediately and tell him that he looks stupid. When I did, about 300 other Face Book'ers all wrote "Amen!"
I told Ryan that things seems out of control and he responded. "Things are really bad - your presence is sorely missed - the absence of prayer in the BC is extremely evident - one John doesn't come in til nine to get coffee, the other John nearly kills the new guy in the dish room. Dad was busing tables in his golf attire and the delivery truck somehow forgot ... Bacon!( we've been out for 2 days) Please hurry back - We're struggling!"
Jodee busing tables in golf shoes? No bacon at the BREAKFAST Club? Damn this was bad. I knew that my work was cut out for me.
So, I've been back for two days now and while it took every single one of those 42 hours, I would like to describe this morning's scene. I stumbled in the door marked "Exit Only", wished a quiet, hard working crew, a good morning. They looked good with ironed Breakfast Club tee shirts. Each had Brill Cream in their hair, except Chris who had simply smeared it on his shaved head. Each pleasantly wished me a good morning and continued working hard.
I peacefully strolled around the counter and poured myself a cup of the cook's coffee which is sometimes used as fuel in jet airplanes. Sitting on my normal stool, I opened the morning paper. Soft contemporary Christian music played on the radio.
The door marked "Exit Only" burst open and Johnny O, right on time, greeted everyone with his customary verb and pronoun. He grabbed his cup of cook's coffee, sat beside me and immediately began to break the law (I still have some work to do with Johnny O).
Caroline arrived dressed sharply in a Catholic School girl's uniform and immediately went to work making customer coffee. Then sweet Jamie joined her. (Now I have a serious crush on Jamie. She is perhaps 19 or 20 and if I were younger, say 49 or 50, I would be all over her! But alas, I am not.) Then the rest of the crew arrived, all on a prison release work program.
When Dave and Sandy arrived at 7:00, I knew that it was safe to turn things over to them and get to my real job at Union Mission. I wished everyone a good morning and they all waved bye in unison.
As I walked out the door marked "Exit Only" Val was entering and she was looking rough. She was holding up her pants with one of her hands. As the person who would be running the cash register, I knew that this was a bad omen. The moment she began to make change, well...there go the pants. Alas, this would have to be tomorrow's project.
So, Mrs. Sadowski, I am back and working quiet hard.
Be the way, can you tell me where Ryan is?
Without its moral compass, the staff evidently committed all seven deadly sins. Some more than once. The place was in disarray and, inexplicably, the only one who stayed out of trouble and refused to involve himself in all of the depravity was...Justin!It got so bad that Ryan Sadowski took to taking police mug shots of himself and posting them on Face Book!
Sitting on the beach in St. Martin, basking in the sun, I felt the call of God, walked to my room and turned on my computer. When I saw Ryan's picture, the Spirit of God led me to write him immediately and tell him that he looks stupid. When I did, about 300 other Face Book'ers all wrote "Amen!"
I told Ryan that things seems out of control and he responded. "Things are really bad - your presence is sorely missed - the absence of prayer in the BC is extremely evident - one John doesn't come in til nine to get coffee, the other John nearly kills the new guy in the dish room. Dad was busing tables in his golf attire and the delivery truck somehow forgot ... Bacon!( we've been out for 2 days) Please hurry back - We're struggling!"
Jodee busing tables in golf shoes? No bacon at the BREAKFAST Club? Damn this was bad. I knew that my work was cut out for me.
So, I've been back for two days now and while it took every single one of those 42 hours, I would like to describe this morning's scene. I stumbled in the door marked "Exit Only", wished a quiet, hard working crew, a good morning. They looked good with ironed Breakfast Club tee shirts. Each had Brill Cream in their hair, except Chris who had simply smeared it on his shaved head. Each pleasantly wished me a good morning and continued working hard.
I peacefully strolled around the counter and poured myself a cup of the cook's coffee which is sometimes used as fuel in jet airplanes. Sitting on my normal stool, I opened the morning paper. Soft contemporary Christian music played on the radio.
The door marked "Exit Only" burst open and Johnny O, right on time, greeted everyone with his customary verb and pronoun. He grabbed his cup of cook's coffee, sat beside me and immediately began to break the law (I still have some work to do with Johnny O).
Caroline arrived dressed sharply in a Catholic School girl's uniform and immediately went to work making customer coffee. Then sweet Jamie joined her. (Now I have a serious crush on Jamie. She is perhaps 19 or 20 and if I were younger, say 49 or 50, I would be all over her! But alas, I am not.) Then the rest of the crew arrived, all on a prison release work program.
When Dave and Sandy arrived at 7:00, I knew that it was safe to turn things over to them and get to my real job at Union Mission. I wished everyone a good morning and they all waved bye in unison.
As I walked out the door marked "Exit Only" Val was entering and she was looking rough. She was holding up her pants with one of her hands. As the person who would be running the cash register, I knew that this was a bad omen. The moment she began to make change, well...there go the pants. Alas, this would have to be tomorrow's project.
So, Mrs. Sadowski, I am back and working quiet hard.
Be the way, can you tell me where Ryan is?
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Life is living in the Light
"You're depressed!" she told me as the door was slammed in Keller Deal's face.
"I am?" I asked.
"I think so!" she said standing up from her desk.
" And this diagnosis is predicated on reading my blogs?"
"You have lost weight," she said eyeing me up and down.
"Well, I have been on the greatest weight loss strategy ever invented," I explained.
"You don't think you're depressed?" she pressed.
"I don't think so," and I opened the door to emphasize my conclusion.
Now it is true that I have lived through a pretty major shitstorm and there are times when you are in the middle of one when a little depression can be healthy. Late night thoughts are often full of melancholy. Things are always worse at night, as Julie used to tell me. But to quote the Bare Naked Ladies, "We believe in the Prozac nation, mental health is over rated."
I am not making fun of her concern. Nor do I deny exploring the dark places where roots grow strong, babies are conceived, and Messiah's rise from the dead. I have certainly been a frequent flier in the dark places of late.
But my energy and attention drives me to the light. Sun rise over the ocean is one of my holiest moments every day. My daily run begins in the darkness but as I make my way, the sky turns from black to purple-red and then up comes the sun, like Jesus rising from the dead, and I find myself bathed in light.
And I make my way through the day trying to help other people's lives find the light again. Depressed people run from the light. I see them every day at work. We take our time helping them to slowly learn how to climb out of the dark holes that there lives have become, full of addiction, disease, serious mental illness, and a host of other sad things.
But I choose to be surrounded by several collections of friends who are also full of positive energy, each of them seeking the light. They dance, laugh, sing, and hold one another dearly. This is living in the light.
So while I may explore the dark places and write about it from time to time, I refuse to stay there. Life is all about light. Now I have to find my sunglasses, I got a lot to do today.
"I am?" I asked.
"I think so!" she said standing up from her desk.
" And this diagnosis is predicated on reading my blogs?"
"You have lost weight," she said eyeing me up and down.
"Well, I have been on the greatest weight loss strategy ever invented," I explained.
"You don't think you're depressed?" she pressed.
"I don't think so," and I opened the door to emphasize my conclusion.
Now it is true that I have lived through a pretty major shitstorm and there are times when you are in the middle of one when a little depression can be healthy. Late night thoughts are often full of melancholy. Things are always worse at night, as Julie used to tell me. But to quote the Bare Naked Ladies, "We believe in the Prozac nation, mental health is over rated."
I am not making fun of her concern. Nor do I deny exploring the dark places where roots grow strong, babies are conceived, and Messiah's rise from the dead. I have certainly been a frequent flier in the dark places of late.
But my energy and attention drives me to the light. Sun rise over the ocean is one of my holiest moments every day. My daily run begins in the darkness but as I make my way, the sky turns from black to purple-red and then up comes the sun, like Jesus rising from the dead, and I find myself bathed in light.
And I make my way through the day trying to help other people's lives find the light again. Depressed people run from the light. I see them every day at work. We take our time helping them to slowly learn how to climb out of the dark holes that there lives have become, full of addiction, disease, serious mental illness, and a host of other sad things.
But I choose to be surrounded by several collections of friends who are also full of positive energy, each of them seeking the light. They dance, laugh, sing, and hold one another dearly. This is living in the light.
So while I may explore the dark places and write about it from time to time, I refuse to stay there. Life is all about light. Now I have to find my sunglasses, I got a lot to do today.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Real Health Care Reform
This week Union Mission's J. C. Lewis Health Center is launching the use of electronic medical records with Memorial Health University Medical Center. This is part of an initiative by the Chatham County Safety Net Planning Council and will eventually include all of the providers of health care for the uninsured and underinsured in the County.
This means that when a patient is seen in the emergency room and then shows up at the Lewis Center, we don't have to run all of the same tests that the hospital did. We can share treatment plans. It makes everything more efficient and less costly. Now this is an example of real health care reform!
And it happens at the local level when individuals and institutions overcome their turf protection and egos and do what is best for the community. And for themselves because as the old adage goes "united we stand, divided we fall."
That is not to say that there isn't room for desent. There certainly has been some robust conversations in this effort. And, like everything else, it has taken longer than it should. But now it is being accomplished.
Not too long ago I wrote about a sick homeless woman who lived her life by going to the ICU waiting room at Memorial and pretending that she was part of someone's family. She would bath in the bathroom and eat what people threw away.
Of course, she was often sick and would merely take the elevator down to the emergency room where she would check in and get a real meal. And she is one of millions who do this and this is one of the reasons health care cost is out of control.
Today she is housed at Union Mission's Dutch Town campus, is healthy and is no longer a burden. The reason is because of efforts that this. And all of us are better because of it.
This is real health care reform!
This means that when a patient is seen in the emergency room and then shows up at the Lewis Center, we don't have to run all of the same tests that the hospital did. We can share treatment plans. It makes everything more efficient and less costly. Now this is an example of real health care reform!
And it happens at the local level when individuals and institutions overcome their turf protection and egos and do what is best for the community. And for themselves because as the old adage goes "united we stand, divided we fall."
That is not to say that there isn't room for desent. There certainly has been some robust conversations in this effort. And, like everything else, it has taken longer than it should. But now it is being accomplished.
Not too long ago I wrote about a sick homeless woman who lived her life by going to the ICU waiting room at Memorial and pretending that she was part of someone's family. She would bath in the bathroom and eat what people threw away.
Of course, she was often sick and would merely take the elevator down to the emergency room where she would check in and get a real meal. And she is one of millions who do this and this is one of the reasons health care cost is out of control.
Today she is housed at Union Mission's Dutch Town campus, is healthy and is no longer a burden. The reason is because of efforts that this. And all of us are better because of it.
This is real health care reform!
Friday, April 9, 2010
Strong at the Broken Places
Strolling down the beach yesterday I passed him. Having suffered a stroke, he drug one leg behind the other as he walked. His good hand held the other one which was curled and withered. I had seen him throughout the day as he made his way up and down the beach, again and again. And the man has one hell of a tan! This time, his bright blue eyes met mine and he flashed an incredible lopsided smile. We kept walking in different directions but his beauty and determination remain in my head.
Ernest Hemingway once said, "That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger. You become strong at the broken places." My friend reminds me of this. He has survived and is doing his best to make things better. And he finds that he can still give of himself through lopsided smiles.
And I saw my tiny dancer again. She passed me on the beach and our eyes locked and she smiled as she waved at me with her withered hand. My eyes grew moist.
And then last night, friends who had left unexpectedly came back and fetched me for dinner. We laughed more than we ate. They left early so I sat and listened to the music for a while. My friends who work here checked on me throughout the night to make certain that I was fine.
I am grateful for all of these things. While I may have been broken, the gifts of friends reaching out is making me strong at the broken places. This is what really gets you through.
In the Bible, St. Luke is the author of two books, the Gospel of Luke and the Book of Acts. I prefer Clarence Jorden's view of them. Luke is about Jesus the man. Acts is about Jesus, the men and women. In the Gospel, Jesus demonstrates how we are to treat one another. In Acts, we are expected to treat one another that way and that is how Jesus came back from the dead. When we resurrect him.
So yesterday, I found myself surrounded with holy acts of kindness. People who had been broken showing me that they can celebrate their life anyhow. In spite of the brokenness. Because of it! And there is grace in that. And healing.
And today I will embrace myself. And become stronger at the broken places.
Ernest Hemingway once said, "That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger. You become strong at the broken places." My friend reminds me of this. He has survived and is doing his best to make things better. And he finds that he can still give of himself through lopsided smiles.
And I saw my tiny dancer again. She passed me on the beach and our eyes locked and she smiled as she waved at me with her withered hand. My eyes grew moist.
And then last night, friends who had left unexpectedly came back and fetched me for dinner. We laughed more than we ate. They left early so I sat and listened to the music for a while. My friends who work here checked on me throughout the night to make certain that I was fine.
I am grateful for all of these things. While I may have been broken, the gifts of friends reaching out is making me strong at the broken places. This is what really gets you through.
In the Bible, St. Luke is the author of two books, the Gospel of Luke and the Book of Acts. I prefer Clarence Jorden's view of them. Luke is about Jesus the man. Acts is about Jesus, the men and women. In the Gospel, Jesus demonstrates how we are to treat one another. In Acts, we are expected to treat one another that way and that is how Jesus came back from the dead. When we resurrect him.
So yesterday, I found myself surrounded with holy acts of kindness. People who had been broken showing me that they can celebrate their life anyhow. In spite of the brokenness. Because of it! And there is grace in that. And healing.
And today I will embrace myself. And become stronger at the broken places.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Dark Places
"Where are you?" Mary Ann Beil demanded. "I've left messages at your house and at your work."
"I am in St. Martin," I answered.
"Oh good," she shot back. "I've spent the last seven days in the woods."
"Why would you do that?" Mary Ann doesn't strike anyone as a lumberjack.
"Studying Celtic Christianity. That's is why I'm calling you."
"I guess that explains you being in the woods," I said wondering what one has to do with the other. Several weeks ago, Mary Ann forced me to listen to several hours of Celtic Christian theology.
"Tell me what is going on," she suddenly demanded.
"Oh, I dunno," I stood in the bright sunshine beside the calm ocean trying to think of an answer. "My writing has been pretty dark lately."
"I knew it!" she replied with great enthusiasm. "That's good! Roots take hold in the dark places! Life begins in the dark places! Jesus was resurrected out of a dark tomb! You are being re-born! You just don't know it yet!"
It is hard not to love Mary Ann. Her ability to kidnap a confession and completely transform it in a nano-second is nothing short of miraculous.
"Really?" I ask.
"Of course! How can you not see it? It is all about exploring the dark places. That is where love is born! That is where healing happens! That is where God lives!"
I stare at the sun dancing on the water. "Well, Mrs. Beil you have given me another perspective."
"Good! Chew on that while you are there. Learn to love the dark places! We'll get together soon and I'll tell you all about the woods."
"OK."
"Love you!" and she hung up in as much of a flurry as when she first exploded through the phone. In the aftermath of a phone conversation with Mary Ann, what was already a calm day suddenly seemed much calmer.
"I am in St. Martin," I answered.
"Oh good," she shot back. "I've spent the last seven days in the woods."
"Why would you do that?" Mary Ann doesn't strike anyone as a lumberjack.
"Studying Celtic Christianity. That's is why I'm calling you."
"I guess that explains you being in the woods," I said wondering what one has to do with the other. Several weeks ago, Mary Ann forced me to listen to several hours of Celtic Christian theology.
"Tell me what is going on," she suddenly demanded.
"Oh, I dunno," I stood in the bright sunshine beside the calm ocean trying to think of an answer. "My writing has been pretty dark lately."
"I knew it!" she replied with great enthusiasm. "That's good! Roots take hold in the dark places! Life begins in the dark places! Jesus was resurrected out of a dark tomb! You are being re-born! You just don't know it yet!"
It is hard not to love Mary Ann. Her ability to kidnap a confession and completely transform it in a nano-second is nothing short of miraculous.
"Really?" I ask.
"Of course! How can you not see it? It is all about exploring the dark places. That is where love is born! That is where healing happens! That is where God lives!"
I stare at the sun dancing on the water. "Well, Mrs. Beil you have given me another perspective."
"Good! Chew on that while you are there. Learn to love the dark places! We'll get together soon and I'll tell you all about the woods."
"OK."
"Love you!" and she hung up in as much of a flurry as when she first exploded through the phone. In the aftermath of a phone conversation with Mary Ann, what was already a calm day suddenly seemed much calmer.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Tiny Dancer
Standing on the beach, I was in a trance watching the green, aqua water and the bright blue skies. Music played in my ears through the magic of my I-pod and I was content. This is how life should be lived.
Then I saw her. She was a woman with two very distinct halves. One side was blond and full and healthy. But when she turned, her other side was purple and defective. A tiny arm did not match the fullness of its companion. One leg was much thinner than the other. One side of her face shown beauty but the other side was shrunken.
I noticed these things as she skipped past me into the warm ocean waters. At knee length, she twirled around throwing both hands up in the air, and she danced in joy. And my eyes filled with water at the sheer beauty of it. This tiny dancer was exuding so much joy and happiness at simply being here. And the darkness that has held my heart fled away.
Turning, I saw a man walk pass me. He drug one leg behind the other in the sand. one of his hands was curled and seemed useless. But he walked anyway. And the man had one hell of a tan! He smilled at me and I smiled back.
Looking back into the water, my tiny dancer continued to twirl and sing. And I found that my feet began to move in concert with her, and I swayed and turned. And the sun joined us and danced on the ocean surface. And for as far as I could see, everyone on the beach was smiling and dancing. And because of my tiny dancer, for a moment yesterday, the Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven.
Then I saw her. She was a woman with two very distinct halves. One side was blond and full and healthy. But when she turned, her other side was purple and defective. A tiny arm did not match the fullness of its companion. One leg was much thinner than the other. One side of her face shown beauty but the other side was shrunken.
I noticed these things as she skipped past me into the warm ocean waters. At knee length, she twirled around throwing both hands up in the air, and she danced in joy. And my eyes filled with water at the sheer beauty of it. This tiny dancer was exuding so much joy and happiness at simply being here. And the darkness that has held my heart fled away.
Turning, I saw a man walk pass me. He drug one leg behind the other in the sand. one of his hands was curled and seemed useless. But he walked anyway. And the man had one hell of a tan! He smilled at me and I smiled back.
Looking back into the water, my tiny dancer continued to twirl and sing. And I found that my feet began to move in concert with her, and I swayed and turned. And the sun joined us and danced on the ocean surface. And for as far as I could see, everyone on the beach was smiling and dancing. And because of my tiny dancer, for a moment yesterday, the Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Hurt
"You've lost weight," she told me.
"Yep."
"Which diet did you go on?"
"That would be the weight loss strategy that Julie left me."
"Well," she replied not knowing what to make of my explaination, "you look good."
"Thanks," I said as I strolled away.
It is true that my diet is much reduced. Many days I have to remind myself to eat. Or Chelsea will call me or Keller will to make certain that I am. My Mom told me that there is nothing in the house as far as food goes and I suppose that she's right.
I've also become nocturnal for the first time in my life. I still go to bed early but around 1:30 I'm listening to Goddess snore while she sleep on the floor as close to the bed as she can manage. And who knew that I can literally spend three hours watching the ceiling fan go round and around?
And I've noticed that I can literally feel myself losing weight. There is hunger in my stomach that feels like loss nibbling away my fat. Loneliness abounds.
After June Carter died, Johnny Cash had a hard time going on. He rallied to make some of his finest recordings during these final lonely years. And his recording of "Hurt" keeps playing over in my head.
I wear this croww of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
And Goddess continues to snore, and the loss nibbles away my fat, and the ceiling fan goes round and around.
"Yep."
"Which diet did you go on?"
"That would be the weight loss strategy that Julie left me."
"Well," she replied not knowing what to make of my explaination, "you look good."
"Thanks," I said as I strolled away.
It is true that my diet is much reduced. Many days I have to remind myself to eat. Or Chelsea will call me or Keller will to make certain that I am. My Mom told me that there is nothing in the house as far as food goes and I suppose that she's right.
I've also become nocturnal for the first time in my life. I still go to bed early but around 1:30 I'm listening to Goddess snore while she sleep on the floor as close to the bed as she can manage. And who knew that I can literally spend three hours watching the ceiling fan go round and around?
And I've noticed that I can literally feel myself losing weight. There is hunger in my stomach that feels like loss nibbling away my fat. Loneliness abounds.
After June Carter died, Johnny Cash had a hard time going on. He rallied to make some of his finest recordings during these final lonely years. And his recording of "Hurt" keeps playing over in my head.
I wear this croww of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
And Goddess continues to snore, and the loss nibbles away my fat, and the ceiling fan goes round and around.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Transitioning
Some times you just need to be quiet. Today is one of those days, I think. Not that Conner is aware of this as he broke into my unit last night wanting me to go out somewhere with him. The fact that everything was closed didn't matter to him. Conner loves a challenge.
But I stayed in bed, pulling the covers over my head and eventually he went somewhere else.
So this morning, I opened the curtains to the sliding glass doors and they went flying to the floor. So I poured myself a cup of coffee and stared at the 27 hangers that used to hold the curtain to the rail. I suppose that I have a project of somehow refastening all of them so that I can hang it back up. Conner is no where to be found. Where is he when I need him?
So I poured myself another cup of coffee and am sitting outside listening to the sounds of the palm branches dancing in the breeze. There is silence and then there are the noises beneath the silence. Birds softly singing. Waves kissing the shore.
There is nothing profound today. Just living through the life that I have been given, which is somehow in shambles and has order and stability at the same time. I am transitioning, to use the word that Lavanda chooses. But for a moment, I am quiet and contemplative.
It will not last. Conner will eventually show up and we have Beach Patrols to do. And tonight I will dance. Maybe even wear the fallen curtains around me. And get on with this life that I have been given. And enjoy it again.
But I stayed in bed, pulling the covers over my head and eventually he went somewhere else.
So this morning, I opened the curtains to the sliding glass doors and they went flying to the floor. So I poured myself a cup of coffee and stared at the 27 hangers that used to hold the curtain to the rail. I suppose that I have a project of somehow refastening all of them so that I can hang it back up. Conner is no where to be found. Where is he when I need him?
So I poured myself another cup of coffee and am sitting outside listening to the sounds of the palm branches dancing in the breeze. There is silence and then there are the noises beneath the silence. Birds softly singing. Waves kissing the shore.
There is nothing profound today. Just living through the life that I have been given, which is somehow in shambles and has order and stability at the same time. I am transitioning, to use the word that Lavanda chooses. But for a moment, I am quiet and contemplative.
It will not last. Conner will eventually show up and we have Beach Patrols to do. And tonight I will dance. Maybe even wear the fallen curtains around me. And get on with this life that I have been given. And enjoy it again.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Easter Anger
I'm normally not one to get angry. It is useless and is not especially productive. It rarley finds its way into the way that I live my life. But I understand the stages of grief...shock, denial, anger, acceptance...so I suppose yesterday I entered into the 3rd phase. And I was pissed. And I let it be known! By texting.
Isn't that funny? I suppose that I was pressing the key pad harder than normal. But I cussed and I threw my words across the world wide web and let the incredible amount of grief and hurt and sadness that I have been living out. And like every other time that I've been angry, it didn't do any good. I certainly don't feel any better.
And today is Easter. I have risen. The sun is up and is bright and glorious. The coffee is good. The birds are singing. The ocean is kissing the shore. The branches on the Palm trees dance in the breeze. I am quiet, thinking deep thoughts about lost love.
So today is the day that Jesus danced himself out of the tomb. Somehow the stone was rolled away and out he came. Back from the dead. According to the Gospel of Mark, the oldest Gospel, the orginal ending has the story concluding here. The tomb was empty. And it was left to the imagination of the reader what that meant.
I prefer this ending. Mystery abounds. We are left in wonder.
Throughout his living years, Jesus spent more time talking about love than he did anything else. God is love. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. Treat others as you wish to be treated. These things pretty much sum up what he had to say about living life.
So I am sitting here on this Easter morning wishing for lost love. Believing against all hope that it can rise from the dead.
Isn't that funny? I suppose that I was pressing the key pad harder than normal. But I cussed and I threw my words across the world wide web and let the incredible amount of grief and hurt and sadness that I have been living out. And like every other time that I've been angry, it didn't do any good. I certainly don't feel any better.
And today is Easter. I have risen. The sun is up and is bright and glorious. The coffee is good. The birds are singing. The ocean is kissing the shore. The branches on the Palm trees dance in the breeze. I am quiet, thinking deep thoughts about lost love.
So today is the day that Jesus danced himself out of the tomb. Somehow the stone was rolled away and out he came. Back from the dead. According to the Gospel of Mark, the oldest Gospel, the orginal ending has the story concluding here. The tomb was empty. And it was left to the imagination of the reader what that meant.
I prefer this ending. Mystery abounds. We are left in wonder.
Throughout his living years, Jesus spent more time talking about love than he did anything else. God is love. Love your neighbor as you love yourself. Treat others as you wish to be treated. These things pretty much sum up what he had to say about living life.
So I am sitting here on this Easter morning wishing for lost love. Believing against all hope that it can rise from the dead.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Being Connected
I changed from a black berry to an I-phone the day before yesterday and really liked it until I got to St. Martin where it no longer works. No phone service. No access to emails. No connectivity. No worries.
At some point yesterday, I did get in touch with Keller Deal and told her to get it fixed. I have a lot of work to do and a lot of phone calls to return. I borrowed a friend's french phone and while I do not speak french, I somehow managed to get through. So hopefully that will be worked out.
After about half an hour of trying to figure out internet access, I was able to log on and manage 157 emails this morning. Then I jumped on Face Book to let the kids know that I am ok, and now I sit writing this.
This is a special place for me. It is an old place and has no television. The phones in the rooms only connect to the other rooms. The small studio that I am in is tiny with a kitchen, a bathroom, room for a chair and a bed. Of course, I hardly spend any time there so it is enough. Julie and I have a container that stays here and it holds a radio, my mask and fins, assorted Christmas decorations and kitchen ware. The radio plays old music that is in keeping with the ambiance.
My friend Conner is here and he keeps me laughing. Nancy is also here and Carlos about caused an accident when he saw us, slamming on his breaks, jumping out of his still moving vehicle, and runing over to give me a giant bear hug in the middle of the road. Karmia did the same when we arrived, running around from the other side of the desk to hug us welcome.
So I guess that I am connected, just in a different sort of way. A more basic sort of way. So Keller Deal will figure out how to get me connected back to the universe, but in the meantime I'll just heal in this tiny corner of the world.
And Trolly Joe, yes, I am having coffee and watching my neighbors. And enjoying myself as I find healing.
At some point yesterday, I did get in touch with Keller Deal and told her to get it fixed. I have a lot of work to do and a lot of phone calls to return. I borrowed a friend's french phone and while I do not speak french, I somehow managed to get through. So hopefully that will be worked out.
After about half an hour of trying to figure out internet access, I was able to log on and manage 157 emails this morning. Then I jumped on Face Book to let the kids know that I am ok, and now I sit writing this.
This is a special place for me. It is an old place and has no television. The phones in the rooms only connect to the other rooms. The small studio that I am in is tiny with a kitchen, a bathroom, room for a chair and a bed. Of course, I hardly spend any time there so it is enough. Julie and I have a container that stays here and it holds a radio, my mask and fins, assorted Christmas decorations and kitchen ware. The radio plays old music that is in keeping with the ambiance.
My friend Conner is here and he keeps me laughing. Nancy is also here and Carlos about caused an accident when he saw us, slamming on his breaks, jumping out of his still moving vehicle, and runing over to give me a giant bear hug in the middle of the road. Karmia did the same when we arrived, running around from the other side of the desk to hug us welcome.
So I guess that I am connected, just in a different sort of way. A more basic sort of way. So Keller Deal will figure out how to get me connected back to the universe, but in the meantime I'll just heal in this tiny corner of the world.
And Trolly Joe, yes, I am having coffee and watching my neighbors. And enjoying myself as I find healing.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
A Block of Wood
There is this block of wood in my office. It is sanded and carved and polished so that it glistens. It was given to me by Steven who is now dead.
A couple of decades ago, Steven, his wife, his daughter, and his Mother all moved into the Magdalene Project. Christi, the daughter was as cute as they come. Shirley, the mother, quickly became a receptionist and held that position for more than a decade. Steven and his wife soon moved on and found their own home, but Shirley and Christi were constant presence in my life.
Christi would come to see me every day when she returned from school. Giving me a hug, she would quickly tell me a summary of whatever it was that happened.
Shirley would tell me she loved me every day and asked me if I loved her. And I always told her that I did.
Several months after Steven had moved out, he presented me with the block of wood as an expression of gratitude. He was obviously proud of his handiwork. It was an odd gift but then again homelessness is an odd thing.
So yesterday Shirley called me and it was the first time that I have spoken to her in several years. She told me about Steven. He had always been in poor health and it finally cost him his life.
Would I speak at the memorial service. Steven always though so highly of me, she explained.
So I said I would as my eyes glanced at the block of wood. And I wondered how Christi was doing and how old she is now. Shirley had also been in poor health and I imagined that it was even poorer now. I couldn't remember the wife at all.
"Thank you, Honey," Shirely said, in a voice that carried me back two decades.
I hung up and sighed. It had already been a rough day. And it was one of those days that just kept getting rougher. But as I stood and touched the block of wood, I knew that it wasan't as bad as what Christi must be feeling. Or Shirely who had to say goodbye to her son. Or to Steven, who was far too young to die.b
A couple of decades ago, Steven, his wife, his daughter, and his Mother all moved into the Magdalene Project. Christi, the daughter was as cute as they come. Shirley, the mother, quickly became a receptionist and held that position for more than a decade. Steven and his wife soon moved on and found their own home, but Shirley and Christi were constant presence in my life.
Christi would come to see me every day when she returned from school. Giving me a hug, she would quickly tell me a summary of whatever it was that happened.
Shirley would tell me she loved me every day and asked me if I loved her. And I always told her that I did.
Several months after Steven had moved out, he presented me with the block of wood as an expression of gratitude. He was obviously proud of his handiwork. It was an odd gift but then again homelessness is an odd thing.
So yesterday Shirley called me and it was the first time that I have spoken to her in several years. She told me about Steven. He had always been in poor health and it finally cost him his life.
Would I speak at the memorial service. Steven always though so highly of me, she explained.
So I said I would as my eyes glanced at the block of wood. And I wondered how Christi was doing and how old she is now. Shirley had also been in poor health and I imagined that it was even poorer now. I couldn't remember the wife at all.
"Thank you, Honey," Shirely said, in a voice that carried me back two decades.
I hung up and sighed. It had already been a rough day. And it was one of those days that just kept getting rougher. But as I stood and touched the block of wood, I knew that it wasan't as bad as what Christi must be feeling. Or Shirely who had to say goodbye to her son. Or to Steven, who was far too young to die.b
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