Once again dear flock, permit me to apologize for my extended absence. Your pal the Reverend Buddy has been hard at work in the vineyards, toiling diligently towards the maturation and development of his own pathetic instrument, in the interest of improvement and enhanced performance, particularly in the areas of redemption and salvation.
Hallelulia!
I have foresworn (most) libations, deigned to abstain from gluttonous and otherwise careless nutritional behaviors, and have begun to engage in more therapeutic forms of nocturnal wandering than I had previously performed; and the effects, my children, of these positive actions have been wondrous, yea miraculous, even.
How, Reverend Buddy you may ask, how have the miracles come to you?
Have you been made privy to fantastical visions?
Have you heard the voices of angels?
Have you glided above clouds, touched Salvation's hem, smelled the fresh morning's breeze of Victory?
Have you, Reverend Buddy?
And I must answer, my sweet naive charges,
No.
I have not.
For I am, as are you all, outside the Gates, and awaiting entry.
I am, as yet, unfit to tread upon the Path of Peace;
my ears are not yet tuned to the frequencies of the angelic host.
My eyes may not yet gaze upon the prophets, saints, and mystics in their serene glory,
nor smell the perfumed air in the Uncloudy Sky.
I may not yet touch that sky, for I have not yet obtained the Key, and made my passage.
But I ask you, my children:
Does that mean I should just wait, standing there with my mouth open and the properly-colored wristband on my arm, waiting like a drone for the doors to open and the show to start?
Shall I sit in my pew, nose to the sky, decomposing morally as I smugly judge others, lazily awaiting my perceived-to be-deserved eventual reward?
Should I recline before the Cyclops, in supplication to the false gods of momentary distraction, numb in the false comfort that my birth, faith, address, checkbook, or club membership will be all I need to flash as I pass on in?
Well?
I say unto you, it does NOT.
HELLS NO.
You got to prove it, people.
You got to bring it.
Every day.
All night.
You got to do it.
Your best.
Do your best, and forgive the rest.
Stay off the yellowbrick road of fanciful dreams; jog the cinder path as best you can. Put one foot in front of the other, thinking not of the finish line, but only the next step.
Don't imagine the sounds of heaven, when you can actually hear Buddy Guy, Stephane Grappelli, Emmylou Harris, and Ramsey Lewis provide the soundtrack to your grunting exertions as you try your best to move the body GOD GAVE YOU to a better place.
Celebrate the sweat that pours out of you, the result of honest toil, or butt-busting play, or the best dang karaoke version of You Shook Me you could possibly do.
Let the workout clothing and dedication of your gym-mates inspire you, as long as your inspiration, and their outfits, are not inappropriately revealing.
Amen.
Ahem.
As I was saying, children, I am here to tell you, as your humble homilist, that I may never attain the body of an athlete, or the mind of a scholar, or the spirit of a holy man. I will wind up my pursuits at their destination, wherever that may be. For my responsibility is the race, not the finish line. My duty is the action, not the result. My obligation is my best effort, and my best effort only.
Friends, Reverend Buddy the exercise guy will probably never achieve a six-pack, because I more closely resemble a keg-barrel. But that won't stop me exercising. I intend to bring it, every day.
And I may never compose a best-selling book. or become a self-help guru, because, as I have amply demonstrated, my talents, such as they are, are humble at best. But that won't ever stop me from straining my feeble mind to come up with stories and messages that make you smile, and entertain you.
And, despite my prayers, meditations, and supplications, I may never reach the summit of holy mysticsm that will allow me to purely impart the wisdom of Almighty Love to you. I'm not worried, though, because I will always spend each moment in my message bringing you laughter, love, and light, reminding you in every dopey way I can that you are loved, completely, just because you're you, and you always will be.
God loves us all, and God is in us all.
Love yourself, so you may better love God.
Love yourself, because God loves you.
There is Love, pouring like light from the Center of All Things, straight to your heart.
Open your heart, and let the Light shine in.
Let yourself get better.
Get better, or not.
We each of us have that choice, every minute of every day.
You're either getting better, or you're not.
Love always makes you better. The more you love, the better you feel.
So choose to get better, people.
Choose love.
Love yourself.
Choose love.
God loves you, and always will.
Choose love, and
Surf on into the Light,
Your Loving Friend,
Reverend Buddy Lee
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