I Believe...?

I believe in God.

For some people, that sounds like a naïve statement. They ask, “How can you believe in God when there so much evil in the world?”

“Where is he?”

“If God is so good, why are things so bad?”

“If God cares, why does it seem that he’s never there?”

I know a number of preacher-type people who have snappy answers to questions like that. They’ll say it’s all about being faithful in trying times or that God is testing us, or that it’s all part of a plan that we are too small to see completely if we can see it at all. There are a lot of quick answers delivered from pulpits and heard on radio and television that sound deep and full of wisdom. They are not. They are shallow, pietistic platitudes. Often these statements are followed by a plea and a passing of the offering plate.

If someone actually has the temerity to point out how shallow and devoid of real truth these platitudes are, they are accused of having weak faith, or of being against God. As if these pious pontificators have a pipeline directly to God that is not available to you and me! They are quick to point how spiritual they are and how in tune they are with God and the Bible while they sell their books and their DVDs. “Come on and sing these deeply meaningful choruses while we tell you what to think, how to think and where to think.”

I’ve had enough.

I’ve had enough of religion that is based solely on feelings. I’ve had enough of religion that is based solely on inductive reasoning or on examining each phrase and word of the Bible under a biased microscope of whatever the popular theological method is today. I’ve had enough of an overemphasis on orthodoxy, orthopraxy and ecclesiastical correctness. I’m tired to death of the theological theme park we’ve made of out faith.

Do I sound bitter? I won’t apologize for that. I’ve seen too many good people who were seeking God be hurt by those who claim to be his messengers. They came with open hearts looking for truth only to find that truth was being jealously guarded by self-appointed spiritual storm troopers. The religious Nazis doled out minute quantities of the bread of life, quickening the hunger for the whole grain of truth. They then slammed the doors because someone didn’t look like them or sound like them or think like them or was not a supporter of the same political party.

Now, back to my opening statement. I believe in God. I just believe less and less in those who claim to have a hammerlock on his truth or his will for this world. It will be very interesting one day, when these very self-important people find that God is so much bigger than they are, bigger than their church is and bigger than their faith is.

I still don’t know the answers to many of the hard questions about suffering and evil. I’m very willing to explore the questions with someone who is a fellow seeker. I’m not as willing to sit still and be told to conform to someone else’s choices of acceptable faith.

Faith should be more than “acceptable.” It should be transforming. The problem is that so many people want to make God’s choices for him as to who should be transformed and what form that transformation should take. That’s a very dangerous game that I’m not willing to play. The costs of that kind of conformity are just too high.

Goosed

I was walking the dog the other day and saw some geese flying over my neighborhood. This is a common occurrence, as we have a pond nearby and Canada Geese are wont to make it their semi-permanent home. I find this interesting because there are much more interesting places to spend your time than Oliver Hardy Lake in Milledgeville, Georgia. Notice that the name is Oliver Hardy Lake and not Oliver Hardy Pond even though it’s about the size of the average the cattle watering hole on area farms. People do enjoy making things sound grand, especially when they’re not.

Having a background in both ministry and leadership, I have heard my share of goose stories over the years. Usually it’s the same stuff about why geese fly in a ‘V’ formation and why they continuously give off that honking sound while flying in said ‘V’ formation. The prevailing wisdom that comes from people who are not really in a position to know these things is that geese use the flying ‘V’ because it creates less drag and makes flying easier. Therefore the geese can fly much farther. It’s an example of working together, cooperation and, I suspect, knowing your place in the overall structure. The moral of the story is that we should all cooperate and know our place. The high paid gurus of leadership and evangelism will say it differently, of course. It’s their job to make it sound that acting like a flock of geese is something to which we should all aspire.

Then there is the idea that geese continuously honk at one another as a method of encouragement as they fly. I find this interesting, because I’ve never heard of anyone who spoke fluent goose. Who knows what they are really saying or if they are saying anything at all. Maybe they just enjoy making noise.

On the day that Maya and I spied the geese flying above us, I noticed that there were at first only two of them, honking their black-and-white heads off as they flew. Then a moment later a third goose appeared, honking and doing his best to catch up with the other two. I was fascinated to see that the first two geese did not slow down nor did they appear to even notice their cousin who had, apparently, gotten a bit of a late start. As the flying leadership lesson passed above, I saw the third goose trying to head in the same general direction as the other two, but he was never included in the formation and so was on a bit of a different path. He had to make his way on his own.

A third thing we in the leadership biz sometimes hear about geese is that each goose in the formation gets a shot at being the leader as they rotate in and out of the point position in the flying ‘V.’ So far as I can tell, there is no real evidence to confirm that. Still, it’s a good story and helps keep people happy. "Don’t worry," we’re told. "You geese in back will get your turn eventually, just be patient. Be supportive. Conform."

I have nothing against geese. They are a great part of nature and I love to watch them fly. The wild goose is an ancient image for the Holy Spirit, being untamed and free. Still, I have to wonder if a flock of Canada Geese is the example we should follow in leadership and in faith. Well paid people use this idea to “goose” us toward working in cooperation with the establishment. Is that where we need to be? Do we need to be in a group in which we are simply interchangeable parts? What if we take off late? Will there be no place in the formation for us if we don’t meet someone else’s schedule?

I’m not sure where I “should” be. There are a lot of people who are glad to tell me where I should be, if I ask and sometimes even when I don’t. I have decided that there is a big difference in where people say I should be and where I think I am.

Let the flock move on. My heart is with the wild goose that flew alone.

I wonder where he ended up.

Behind the Masks

 We are one week past Halloween at this writing. I really enjoy Halloween and I don’t care who knows it. For some, it has become fashionable to crusade against the day, calling it an occasion to honor Satan or to glorify evil or be otherwise anti-Christian. Most of those people haven’t done any real research into the history of the day or to consider its origins. That’s not really why I’m writing just now. If you’re interested, there is a wealth of real information on the subject. Just steer clear of the obviously biased and/or fictional writings of those who want the day abolished completely.

I will say, however, that there are those who have taken the day hostage and are forcing us to pay exorbitant prices to survive the event. I refer, of course, to anyone over the age of 12 who goes from house to house demanding candy under the threat of property damage. There really ought to be a law that if you are old enough to shave, you are too old to “trick or treat.” That was driven home to me when I saw someone in a Halloween mask driving an Escalade into my neighborhood.

Still, Halloween makes me think. This year, as I watched the many people from other neighborhoods and even other counties clog the streets of my own neighborhood causing traffic tie-ups and worse, I thought about masks.

There are all kinds of masks. There are masks specifically for Halloween, made to resemble things familiar, scary or unsettling (clown masks are the worst). There are masks used for dramatic purposes on stage. There are masks worn by health professionals to limit the spread of potentially harmful germs. The greatest mask of all time is worn by one of the greatest fictional heroes of all time. He embodies strength, mystery and justice with a little violent fun thrown into the mix. He stands head and shoulders above all others. You know who I mean…

Batman.

Yes. The Caped Crusader himself. Not the one in the silly TV show of the ‘60s. I’m speaking of the Dark Knight, the one whose name is whispered by criminals and malefactors of Gotham City. Batman was created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger in 1939 and was arguably at his best when written Frank Miller. Batman is the coolest of all comic book characters and not because he has the best toys and gadgets (although who wouldn’t kill for a real batmobile?).

What makes Batman the most interesting of all the masked heroes is the fundamental question of his identity. The iconic mask/cowl of Batman hides the face of Bruce Wayne – we all know that. The real question that must be asked is this:

Is Batman really Bruce Wayne or is Bruce Wayne really Batman?

It’s all about who the character really is. Is Batman a persona put on by Wayne in order to fight crime or has Batman become the dominant personality who uses Bruce Wayne as a mask to function in society? Believe it or not psychiatrists, psychologists and writers have discussed this at length without coming to a final conclusion.

The question, or course, is much more than an armchair analysis of a comic book character. It’s the question that we all need ask ourselves about ourselves. Do I wear a mask and does anyone know the person behind the mask? What face or mask do I present to the world? Is the face that I choose to show others a true reflection of who I am or is it a character I create for my own purposes? Do I hide my true self in order to protect myself from the world? Is there anyone actually behind the mask?

We live in a society that values image over reality and style over substance. Because of that, the temptation to create a mask that reflects what society wants to see can become overwhelming. We succumb to the demand and we create faces that allow only a small portion of ourselves to be seen. We hide the parts of ourselves that seem afraid or weak or simply contrary the political and social constraints around us. We become afraid to tell anyone else who we are inside – our “secret identity.”

We may fool others but we confuse ourselves. After a while, we have no idea who we really are. Are with the person or are we the mask?

My hope and prayer is that the question will be answered before it becomes irrelevant – before the mask and face merge forever and a person is lost in the process.

Allergies of the Soul

I had intended to visit my local purveyor of fine coffees this morning. I was looking forward to sitting at one of the tiny tables while writing or reading or observing human coffee house behavior while sipping the special blend of the day. It’s one of the simple pleasures that I enjoy immensely. A coffee house excursion gives me a sense of purpose without giving me anything specific to do. What more could a young-ish retired job-hunter ask for?

As it usually happens, life’s plans didn’t coincide with my own. Instead, I awoke with a headache. I hate when that happens! It slows down the day and slows down my mind. It’s an allergy thing. Something unidentified seems to enjoy sneaking up on me and striking me when I’m defenseless, like when I’m watching the World Series or trying to be creative with words.

After a couple of Excedrin Migraine caplets, I decided that it was time to take the dog for a walk. Maybe a dose of brisk fresh air would help. Also, Maya was giving me that goofy grin and acting like a puppy instead of the supposed 2 ½ year old adult that she is. So I hooked up the leash, grabbed a jacket and hat and off we went, looking at squirrels and stray cats, sniffing anything and everything (her) and looking for quiet inspiration while ignoring an ache in the brain (me).

After our stroll through suburbia, we returned home and the sneezing started. Not only had I not shaken the headache, I had apparently walked through some invisible plague of which sneezing fits are the first sign. Can becoming one of the living dead be far behind? Sigh. Allergies strike again. So what’s a frustrated writer to do? He considers what gives him various types of grief and writes about it. In my case, I began wondering about all the things in life to which I’m emotionally and intellectually allergic. As cruel as nature can be to me sometimes, there are other things in life that give me an even more adverse reaction. Today, one of them seems to leap to mind – Cruel Intolerance. We are a society that, no matter what we say or what’s written on the base of the Statue of Liberty, desires conformity and uniformity. We have little patience or compassion for different points of view or the people that hold them. You say you want examples? Here’s a small taste of my heebie-jeebie hit parade:

- Reactions to Occupy Wall Street. This is a grass-roots movement that has spawned similar events in other cities. People have taken to the streets to make public their displeasure in the injustices of the corporate system in America. Some agree with their stance while others do not. I have no problem with the ones that don’t agree. The same America that permits dissent permits disagreement with said dissent.

My problem is with the ones that are contemptuous of the Occupiers. Instead of simply disagreeing with the conclusions or strategy of the movement, some have resorted to name-calling and questioning the patriotism of the participants. Some have even called the movement un-American. Really? It seems to me that demonstrations were at the heart of the beginnings of our country. Perhaps if the Wall Street occupiers had called their movement a tea party, they’d be more popular with conservative pundits, politicians and Wall Street champions.

- Religious litmus tests. More and more these days we use religion to determine if someone is worthy to be elected to public office, worthy to do business in a local community or even worthy to be a friend. It’s not about personal faith, integrity or honor. It’s about religious labels. If one is labeled “different” in their professed religion, the chances of being accepted or even treated with decency decrease dramatically. Being too “liberal” or “un-Christian” (which is different depending on which Christian you talk to) is enough to make you a pariah these days. People aren’t interested in you – they’re interested in the convenient label you’ve been given. It’s the kind of thing that will get you nailed to a cross.

- Reality TV. Do I really need to elaborate?

- Televised panel discussions. Whether it’s about current events or football, the so-called creative minds of television have decided that adding more and louder people to the mix will somehow give us more insight. Now it’s not about the subject whether it be political, social or something else. Now it’s all about being loud, super-opinionated and talking over one another. If you can shout someone down, you’re obviously right. We don’t need reasoned discourse. We need vitriol and volume. When did this happen? When did we become a society that elevated loud-mouthed pundits to the status of sages? All any of us needs to be an “expert” is a childish attitude and a good vocabulary.

This is only a limited list of the things that give my soul the allergic heebie-jeebies. The list grows longer as we become more fragmented and intolerant as a society. Where will it all end? Probably when everyone has his/her own TV show and an audience of one. After all, if things keep going the way they have been, we won’t be able to accept anyone except ourselves.

Won’t the world be lonely then?

An American Malady

It's Tuesday as I begin this writing process and the weekend is over. Why wait until Tuesday to declare an end to the weekend? Because Monday night football is done for another week. For a significant percentage of America, the weekend begins and ends with the first and last football games on the schedule. That used to mean Friday nights for high school, Saturday for college and Sunday for the NFL. The NFL never scheduled on days when colleges were playing. Nowadays that line has become so blurred as to be downright invisible. You can find college and pro football on Thursdays (as well as the occasional high school game), Fridays and Saturdays. That means that you can get your football fix four days out of the week. You can use the three non-football days to talk about what went right and what went wrong with your favorite teams on the other four days. Then there's fantasy football, which is another story altogether.

Really, do we need fantasy football to fill in the small gaps in our American pigskin panacea? Face it, if your fantasies are about football, you're not doing it right.

As we got closer and closer to the opening of the spectacle that is American football, something strange happened to me. It's never really happened before and I'm not sure how to handle it. Perhaps I should see a doctor or a counselor. At the least, I may need the help of a support group. Somewhere in the process, I realized that I was suffering from Football Overload, a sub-category of something called Sports Saturation. I knew that if I sat through one more analysis of the college Top 25 and whether or not Texas A&M would somehow relocate to the Southeast Conference or heard another story about Peyton Manning or even heard the name Brett Favre, I would begin screaming and possibly projectile vomiting. It's not a pretty image, but it describes the syndrome pretty well.

Being the detective that I am, I decided to evaluate my condition and try to determine it's origin and thereby figure out a cure. After all, can this be normal? What could have led to my unfortunate situation? After hours of painstaking research and experimentation (don't ask), I hit upon it. It's not complex or hard to understand. It's not a bizarre confluence of events. It's actually something very simple. I'm suffering from the continuous football hype that inundates the airwaves continuously. The various networks have decided that what America needs today is not jobs, clean energy or a climate of honest debate instead of jingoistic attempts to take the public hostage to a political viewpoint.

No, my friends. What America needs is to be force fed a diet of football bowl projections, NFL salary information and continuous dirty laundry from the personal lives of players and coaches. We apparently need it 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Relax and let the Purveyors of Hyperbole take us to a better place. We'll all feel better about ourselves and won't have the chance to think about real life.

I suppose we must lay the blame somewhere. I suggest that a certain sports-oriented network that shall remain nameless but whose initials are ESPN are keeping the public mesmerized with a dizzying array of colorful graphics and meaningless numbers delivered with the gravity and seriousness of a Baptist preacher confronting an empty collection plate. It boggles the mind. Do we really need to know where some NFL quarterback went on vacation? Are we really interested in how many coaches are on the “hot seat?” I think that when we're honest, the answer to both questions is “no.” Still the Nameless Network (initials ESPN) tells us that we should be interested, so we make ourselves keep up with such stuff.

It's gotten to the point where a friend of mine was called “un-American” when she wanted to watch the U.S. Open tennis match instead of football. Really? The United States Open is un-American? We've come to a sorry pass indeed if that's the case. We've become victims of a huge conspiracy. We've become a populace that is misled, misguided and mistaken in its priorities. We're buying the lie of the people who tell us that they know better than we what is important. We are dumbed down and done in by our quiet acquiescence to the well-groomed, well-spoken personalities that keep us pacified while they call it keeping us informed.

Sadly – no tragically – this is not merely a sports phenomenon. This “sports is life” attitude is just a symptom of the larger issue. Americans have become a poorly informed society. We are content to let the attractive people on cable news networks and talk shows tell us what we should be concerned with and outraged about. They tell us what our priorities should be and how we should respond. They brazenly try to think for us and like so many herd animals we accept it, grateful that we don't have go to all the trouble to think for ourselves. After all, thinking is hard and we're happier when someone else does it.

Oh, we try to give the appearance of thinking for ourselves. We can quote our favorite politician's 10-second sound bite. We can deliver the party line and join a bandwagon or tea party and feel good about it. Honestly, is that the best we can do? So far, the answer seems to be in the affirmative. Until more of us have finally had enough and decide that we do indeed have functioning brains, these Sultans of Self-Importance will continue to tell us what to think and when to think it. They will still give us our opinions when they want us to have them.

It's time for a new type of American Revolution. Not a violent revolution, mind you. We've a violent society already and the last thing we need is more of that. I'm not asking anyone to “take back America” like some of the politicians want us to. What they want is to take America for their party or special interest group. The time has come for us to do something incredibly radical. We're not used to it and it may be a bit painful at first, but it's time. I'm talking about a revolution of thought. The time has come for Americans everywhere to take the bold step of being thoughtful people. Whether we're thinking about something as ultimately meaningless as sports or as important as how we choose to relate to one another and the world, we have do it for ourselves. It's not up to the TV personalities and pundits to determine our opinions and how we translate those opinions into action. It's up to you and me to do that. Don't wait for some pronouncement from the denizens of the Vast Wasteland. Don't wait for a panel of pundits. Think. Now.

The revolution will not be televised.

What Passes for a Hero These Days

I've passed it on the road a couple of times now and I still can't believe it. There are all kinds of things that we see on highway signs. We glance at them and immediately banish them from our minds. We've got more important things to think about - our destination, the music on the CD, what we did that day or what we're going to do. The only signs I really think about are telling me about the nearest gas station or where I can get a cup of coffee. That changed one day as I made my way through Dublin, GA.

As I came into town, my eyes moved to the left, prepared to move immediately back to the road. Instead, I did a classic double-take. There, staring at me from a huge sign, was a giant sized image of Joseph McCarthy, one time U. S. Senator from Wisconsin. The writing under McCarthy's picture read: “Joseph McCarthy, The Real American Hero.” It was subtitled: “Right All Along.”

Apparently, according to this sign and a couple of web sites I've found, Joseph McCarthy has become some kind of misunderstood saint, a guardian of the democratic spirit and the embodiment of Truth, Justice and the American Way (sorry about that, Superman).

Joseph McCarthy grossly exaggerated and lied about his military record when running for office while slandering his opponent for the Senate, Robert La Follette, Jr. Three years after being elected, McCarthy suddenly claimed the spotlight by claiming to have a list of members of the Communist Party that had infiltrated the State Department, the administration of President Harry Truman, and the United States Army. For the next three years or so, McCarthy took advantage of America's Cold War fears to lie and slander his way to Washington D. C. influence. In the process, lives were ruined, a climate of fear and hatred was nurtured and we are still seeing the effects of McCarthy's witch-hunt style of politics. McCarthy died in 1957 at the age of 48. The cause of death is listed as acute hepatitis and inflammation of the liver. Other sources list the cause as acute cirrhosis of the liver brought on by alcoholism.

We're getting ready for another election season in the U. S. A. (color me underwhelmed). Already we've been seeing more than the usual level of name-calling, half-truths and out-right lies. The once honored system of American politics has become a dirty system that uses dirty methods to achieve selfish results. It's not about making America a better place for all of us. It's now about making America a place that gives us what we want at the expense of anyone and everyone else. People who are the best at making accusations and using vitriolic rhetoric will be called things like “pundits” and “sages.” The true extent of their wisdom is shown in their inability to have a rational discussion and their refusal to entertain the possibility that they may be able to learn from another person's point of view. This is what passes for statesmanship and political acumen in America now.

So now Joseph McCarthy is being seen as a hero by the masters of revisionist history. Is it really any surprise that we're seeing a renewed emphasis on McCarthy-style politics? It doesn't matter who may be right or wrong. It doesn't matter if anyone is right at all. All that matters is which candidate (or pundit or sage or whatever) can speak loudest for the longest time. They are confident that you and I will accept decibels for dedication and tricks for truth.

And they're right – we will.

Year after year Americans make choices (at least those of us who vote) based on who looks good and sounds good. It really doesn't matter what they are saying. All that matters is that they give us the rhetoric that makes us feel important and powerful or makes us feel vulnerable and persecuted. Either way works for them, as long as we vote their way. They like it better when the public is uninformed and would rather watch Big Brother or some other brainless “reality” TV show than spend a little time searching out the truth for ourselves.

Until we do that, our American heroes will continue to look more and more like the late Joseph McCarthy and less like those who founded our country on the ideals of true freedom and cooperation. The sad truth is that we will get the American heroes we deserve. If we demand more of our politicians than inflammatory speeches and divisive policies we might actually get what we want. The trick is to stick to it, which we rarely do. We are content with saying that we want honesty, commitment and bi-partisanship but we continually elect people who embody the opposite. As long as we refuse to change, the system will not change.

So, who is to blame for the failure of the system? Everyone. Who is responsible for making it work? Everyone. Who is taking the lead? No one. The revisionists are winning. They haven't completely won yet, but things are heading in that direction. Is that what we want? If not, it's time to get up off our complacency and stop being led around like so many sheep. Become the kind of person that we say we want our politicians and leaders to be. Speak the truth and expect it of others. Be compassionate and require it of our collective society. That is at the heart of true heroism.

You want a hero? Be one.

Two Islands and the Spaces in Between

I've never lived on an island, but I've visited a couple. I have a dear friend who makes Tybee Island his home and makes his home open to friends who want to experience island living. It's a great chance to feel the ocean breeze, to meet characters that you never believed existed outside of a novel, and try to match your internal clock to “island time” - which is harder than you might think.

The first time I visited Tybee Island was when I was in college and I really didn't get the flavor of it then. I was there with a bunch of college friends and all we cared about was the fact that there was a beach. And girls. And food. Hey, it was college. I had the opportunity to rediscover a whole new (to me) Tybee much later.

I forgot all about islands as I tried to make a place for myself in the so-called “real world.” It was what I was raised to do and if I didn't do that, then I had failed. I went to school. Then I went to graduate school. I got a job working for a major religious denomination as part of my search to answer the “call” to whatever it was I was created to do. There's nothing wrong with any of that and I'm glad for the learning and growing experiences I had in the process. It took years for me to discover or admit that there was more to life.

It began with the call of an island.

I first truly encountered Ireland through music. I heard the ancient and the traditional music of the Emerald Isle and it spoke to me. It told me of green hills and valleys as old as time. It spoke of spirituality and humanity blended and inseparable. I'd never been there, yet it spoke of home. Once I found a book of Wyoming County, West Virginia history, the place my great-grandfather called home. It mentioned our family and that we were of “Irish descent.” I'm not sure exactly what that means, but there you are. There are Wesley's in Ireland and perhaps there is a very old connection to them. I like to think so.

When I visited Ireland, I did a lot of the touristy things – walking through cathedrals and shopping districts and going to shows. I also spent some time trying to open my mind and soul to what the island might be saying to me. I sat in the silence of Glendalough, the site of a former monastery, and listened. I looked at the ancient tombstones, worn to the thickness of half an inch, chipped and ragged around the edges, any names long ago worn away by wind and rain. Ireland spoke and I listened.

It seems that there is more to life than I had experienced and it was time that I knew it. I may never go again (I would in a heartbeat if I could afford it), but now I understand more fully that I am part of the Great Connection – spirit of humanity and spirit of the divine meeting in the harmony what it means to be alive. The song is forever. Ireland is ancient and eternally young and I love her.

Sadly, I had to come back to where everyday life waited. It was too easy to become immersed in paying bills and taking care of mundane things. It was too easy to let the lessons and spirit of Ireland become memories to be visited instead of life to be lived. I had left the island and was in the doldrums of the space in between, where the lack of breeze or current leaves you foundering.

Not too long ago, I reconnected with some incredible friends from the old days of college. We arranged to meet at Micheal's house on Tybee Island and see what happened. A lot happened, including the rediscovery of relationships that had been lacking in my life and had left an empty place where they once lived. Now they are back. It was magical and it still is.

In subsequent visits, I've met more of the folks of Tybee and gotten a small glimpse of what it means to be part of that place. It's a different pace and relaxed attitude, but it's more than that. On Tybee there is a community that loves its members. They take care of one another and lift one another up. They forgive one another when it's necessary and move on. They celebrate life and living. It's epic and intimate at the same time.

Then there are the spaces in between – the uncertainty and lack of direction. It's like the trough between the waves. There air in the troughs is stifling. No breeze, no current to move me forward or carry me back to the island. The doldrums.

There is no way around the doldrums. One can only wait for the wind to change and the ocean to decide to move. Then we can find our way to the shores we long for, be they sandy beaches or green hills. It'll happen. When? In it's own time and in it's own way.

I love the islands I've been to. Whether or not I spend extended time there, they continue to teach me lessons about life and especially about myself. I've still got a lot to learn, but the islands are patient. They will always be there. The winds will blow and the currents will move.

I'm just waiting to go with them.