meaning of it all

For decades, Saturday mornings have been my time.

While my wife and girls sleep in, I wander through the woods, shelters, or streets.

Helping myself by helping others.

Made a life of it.

Writing while wondering and wandering.

Teaching step recovery devotions and Jesus-stories (parables).

Passing out supplies and sustenance, building relationships.

Guiding the wayward, yet willing.

Even been bestowed a nickname for it- Sleeping Bag Guy- Ha!

Recently, however, my eldest princess, Savannah, has been shooting arrows in archery with the 4H on Saturday mornings.

So my semi-selfish, silent-Savior-sharing Saturdays have dissipated and disappeared.

My girls graciously gave me other outlets though.

Writing and wrestling with the weak during the week now.

Like on a Friday (last night) when a series of storms ran riot. The warm waters of the Gulf collided with some kind of atmospheric front and caused wave after wave of storms.

Wave after wave crashing the shoreline under the bridge.

The radar squealing and rain squalling.

(Elizabeth is a certified weather reporter and can explain it all. Beautiful and brilliant!)

Nothing…then dark green, yellow, red, red, red, yellow, red, dark green, light green.

Tornado watches and/or warnings.

Or just, peaceful… as I refer to it.

While this may seem to be the worst possible time to be out-and-about wandering and serving my family and friends, it is, in fact, among the best.

For all my forever and firefly friends congregate (like a book-of-Acts church) under bridges and overhead awnings everywhere.

To seek shelter from the torrential rains.

And the flash flooding.

As it forces them…us… to scurry from the neglected and negated areas like the rodents or roaches society deems them…us…to be.

And I am one. For I am present, among and affiliated with them.

Addicted and abandoned.

Adroit and ashamed.

With them.

Like some of our struggling students.

So, with the blessing of my beloved bride and babies on the Home Team, I steer toward the storm and the bridge.

And there, after sprinting through the pounding precipitation from the vehicle, I meet a ferocious and frothing dog doggedly guarding two guys.

Antonio and Geno.

Tensions ease as the canine concedes and we transition to conversation.

Tell them I’m here to help.

Ask of any needs.

Yes!

Are you an angel, they inquire.

Perhaps a fallen one, I quip.

They don’t get my dad joke but are open to some food, socks, rain gear, and, of course, sleeping bags.

As we depart the protection of the overpass, the rain trickle devolves to torrent.

You got an umbrella, Antonio yells as we speed-walk like those ladies at the mall (or my school).

Nope. And the rain gear is in the vehicle.

Since you’re not an angel, what are you, a pastor?

God, no! Why would you do that to me?

I’m a loser (homage to the MS Gulf Coast’s own 3 Doors Down) and…a teacher.

Poking, puffing my chest out and pulling the sides of my flannel apart a la Superman to reveal the complimentary shirt the Mississippi Geographic Association gave me for doing a summer camp for them last summer.

It probably would have been funnier and famous if we weren’t all getting soaked… as I now rummaged for the supplies in the back.

After basically throwing stuff at them, we sprint back to the camp of concrete.

And in some sort of eternal irony, the rain stops.

We chit-chat, small talk, swap stories.

Build relationship.

Before departing, I make my rounds checking for others.

They say they have another friend around that could use some stuff.

We meet on my return from the beach.

Are you the guy with the sleeping bags?

Usually…But I just gave my last two away.

I’m hearing Kurtz voice from Heart of Darkness in my head (among the others…ha).

The horror! The horror!

How can Sleeping Bag Guy be without his namesake???

Got food and hoodies and other stuff.

Cool.

What’s your name?

And this inevitably leads to another flickering firefly friendship.

With Ai.

Who reminds me of Indian Joe.

One of my best friends down here.

He asks who I am with?

Jesus, I confess.

Then add, Arms of Mercy provides me the faith and funding to do what I do to give back.

And James from Invisible People inspires me to press on.

And…

Cool, Ai curtly concludes.

He wasn’t prepared for such a long-winded rebuttal.

Or was just hungry.

I can relate.

After all the conversations, my wife and girls call. They’d like Cokes and Icees from the Circle K on the way home.

I comply.

And as I amble toward the door, I notice and note a disheveled guy.

A broken bike lingers and loiters with him. An attached basket of soiled sundries.

You got a light, man? he asks.

Oh, I have a light, I think.

Then I have a flashback friday episode.

For one time, about two thousand years ago, someone asks another Jesus Freak, Peter, about the same question…

3When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for some money.

4Peter and John looked at him intently, and Peter said, “Look at us!” 5The lame man looked at them eagerly, expecting some money. 6But Peter said, “I don’t have any silver or gold for you. But I’ll give you what I have. In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene,a get up andb walk!”

Needless to say, I had no light.

Or, at least, not that kind of light.

No light, I reply. But I do have some Savior stuff if you’re interested.

While I didn’t heal anything, he follows me back to the vehicle.

I graciously gift what I have been generously gifted.

We name names and swap stories.

Like most of you, I’ve been nominated for, won, received and (whole-scale) rejected every reward and recompense this (educational) world has to offer.

And among all the professional flattery and personal failure, I have yet to accept and absorb such a powerful and profound compliment as the next phrase Nate utters…

Dude, you’re Sleeping Bag Guy? You’re a legend on the streets…with your own mythology and everything.

Okay, okay, that’s not what he actually says.

Only my romantic, literary take on it.

It was more along the lines of, Really? That’s cool. All the tramps talk about you.

(Author’s Note/Artistic Interjection:

Before you judge…he’s talking about either “rubber tramps” who hitch rides in vehicles OR “leather tramps” who drift everywhere on foot. Not THOSE tramps…Get your mind (and your neighbor) out of the gutter. )

You know James?

James with Invisible People? Yeah, I do.

Man, you don’t know how much appreciate this.

Actually, yes I do.

Take it easy.

You too.

Nice to meet you, we simultaneously say together.

And part ways.

A firefly friendship.

Flickering…floating…fizzling.

And I drift home.

Finally.

Understanding yet again, the meaning of it all.

Then I step through the threshold of my hallowed house among the woods and water.

And learn it yet again.

I help heal while hurting myself.

Divine paradox.

Delivered parable.

Dysfunction personified.