Thanks to Susan Green, who gave me New York City.
I'm gonna be here for ya baby
I'll be a man of my word
speak the language
in a voice that you have never heard
I'm gonna love you
like nobody loves you
--Keith Urban
EIGHT Things I Want to do Before I Die
1. fall in love
2. take/send my friend Joy to Europe so she'll stop complaining about her
empty passport--Ang, are you coming/going?
3. sing backup vocals on tour with Keith Urban
4. IRONMAN
5. motorcycle trip down the west coast--Seattle to San Diego
6. renovate my house
7. work in ministry to the homeless community
8. get out my Holga 120 and actually take some pictures
Exit Mike, stage right, on Thursday. I'm finishing stuff up, writing policies and procedures, trying to get lots of spring break money in, clearing out my email account. There's a lot to do in 4 days, but there is an end. There is a final falling of the curtain, a culmination. (Joy, I see that green light...!)
I'll be channeling all my energies toward getting done. So not much blogging this week.
"I am deeply convinced that the Christian leader of the future is called to be completely irrelevant and to stand in this world with nothing to offer but his or her own vulnerable self. That is the way Jesus came to reveal God's love. The great message that we have to carry, as ministers of God's word and followers of Jesus, is that God loves us not because of what we do or accomplish, but because God has created and redeemed us in love and has chosen us to proclaim that love as the true source of all human life."
--Henri Nouwen
Some will carry the message in backpacks, some in homemade bread, some in the words of sermons or songs or honest conversation, some on skis, some with their long hair and body piercings and loud laughter, some with the paints and markers and beauty-making tools they drag from one bohemian place to another, some in their healing kiss, some in their recliners of frustrating old age, some in their hands which hold yours in the darkest hour. This we carry, for we are created, redeemed, and chosen.
Mrs. Butler is a long-time, long-term friend. I think we have one of those cross-gender friendships that has safely negotiated the potential blunders of romantic entanglement and we've now been friends for so many years that we occasionally wish we lived in the same place. (Ok, maybe they don't wish that, but I sometimes do. Any chance of the BeeHive moving to Charleston SC?) I'd love to babysit her kids. I'd love to play her piano occasionally. I'd love to sit around and talk with her and Mr. B. I especially would love going to the movies with them, as they're the sort of folks who are highly analytical but also see tons of humor. "Sweet Home Alabama" is now one of my favorite films, and it's their fault.
LBB, I love your blog already. But I love ya'll more.
Tomorrow I'll write about how this friendship started.
maybe a splash of water on the face,
a palmful of vitamins--
but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso
--Billy Collins
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
I just heard (slight breakdown in communication which resulted in mini-hysterical fit on J's part) that he's doing well, that he sat up for a family visit, that his colour is back, that he's pretty tired and uncomfortable, but that's to be expected.
We appreciate your prayers. Or, as my friend M would put it, 'positive thoughts'.
You know, I need to give people more leniency. There's no telling what kind of a day they're having.
When we went out for lunch yesterday, who knows what our server thought--we could've been three really great friends, could've been taking a break from shopping, could've been husband and wife and a friend, could've been on a really late lunch break. Wait, no that one's not possible, weren't even possibly dressed for work. We were probably just another demanding table that walked in at the end of that server's lunch shift. (By the way, lunch shifts are always the pits--people just don't drink or tip well at that time of day.)
But there was something pretty significant happening. We got really excited about really good food, we laughed like crazy like we always do, we sent a salad back because of the red peppers, we had a minor fight over the bill, but just down the road, B was naked, still under anaesthesia, sprouting tons of tubes, swabbed down with that orange antiseptic stuff, recovering.
Tomorrow you may run into a stranger who's just gotten the worst news of their life.
I remember sitting in one of the Tiftonia Waffle Houses with Dan Polk and saying, "Some of the people driving down that interstate are having their best day ever, and someone is just crying their eyes out." It's funny what I remember from 1998.
My step-dad arrived at the hospital at 5:30 this morning. I arrived at the hospital at 10, due to my refusal to start driving to ATL at 3:30 in the morning, and also due to my refusal to deal with a lot of rush hour traffic. Mom and sisters were all glad to see me, and I think I was a welcome addition to the mix. C grabbed the iPod, "Oh, you have Madonna!"
At about 11:15 they told us that B was out of surgery, and at about 12:30 they told us they were taking him back to surgery, as he was draining more blood than they liked.
C decided that she couldn't deal with the cafeteria food and also just wanted to bust out of the hospital, so she, M, and I to this great Italian place and whaddayaknow, we all had a drink. Thus fortified we went back to the hospital, saw B in the cardio-vascular intensive care unit, they told us he was doing well and that the numbers looked good. B moved his fingers and his toes for us. We prayed and left and I hit the road back to CHA.
At 8:30 I come out of the YMCA, my phone is ringing, it's my sister J. "Have you talked to Mom? They took him back to surgery again, there's too much blood draining."
So that's THREE times the inside of his chest has been exposed today. Not good. Even though S assures me that they don't take someone back to surgery unless they think they can fix the problem.
I may still go back to ATL tonight. I'm going to bed, but the phone's on. Pray all you want.
Those are the facts. All thoughts are on hold. Well, here's one--it was weird to be introduced in sibling chronological order. Without any distinction at all. "This is M, she's the oldest, then there's L, Mike is next, then C, and the youngest wasn't able to be here today."
A said I did a good job tonight. Of course, he was mostly behind the bar, so he didn't see where/when I really screwed up. But I am lovin' the affirmation.
And it's coming after a day of driving, to Jackson, Tennessee and back. S is back in the same town, unfortunately not the same house as his family. Picked him up in Nashville, went to breakfast, drove for another hour and a half and dropped him off. Started driving home, looking forward to a great nap upon returning. Then the phone rang, it was A saying, "Can you work tonight, I really need you here." "Sure, but I'm gonna be late, as I'm driving east from west Tennessee." "That's all right." "Ok, see you when I get there."
I don't know how sleep deprivation and nine hours on the road contribute to a great night at the restaurant. Mystifying.
Another thing about tonight--was very embarassed to not recognize now-married ex-girlfriend. Fortunately I was able to talk to her and say, "I really wasn't trying to ignore you, sorry about all that."
Time for sun, sand, ocean water, sushi, a couple of beers, a couple of drinks, 7 hours on the road to get there, and SISTERS.
Yep, sibling weekend. I'm outta here in the morning, back Monday night for A and M's baby shower.
If my stepdad's heart doesn't act up again. He went in for a stress test this morning, and they wouldn't do it. Turns out he needs a new valve. Which he'll get sometime next week. That's the really short version. The long version includes heart catheterization, sister J packing really quickly and getting to the hospital, aunt J kind of saying, "Does anyone realize that this is pretty serious?", lots of phone calls, J trying to get Mom and B to go to bed "but they're STILL eating", and realizing that some information has been withheld during the last week. Hm. That's out of control and it's got to stop. And oh yeah, did you know that they're sending people home after their open heart surgeries in THREE DAYS?
We're gonna callously party this weekend, then get back to Atlanta (I really really hope we're not caravanning, that'd be a real drag) and be good children and step-children. If necessary.