In March of 2002, my Uncle Ed died unexpectedly. He had a long history of cocaine abuse, and while he never had an autopsy, we believed he died from a heart attack. He was only 46 years old (three years older than I am now.)
In the LGBT scene in South Florida in the 80s, cocaine flowed like powdered sugar. I mean, who hasn’t seen Miami Vice?
Since Ed and his partner lived in Ft. Lauderdale at the time, my Mom chose to hold two different memorial services for him. She chose to have one in Ft. Lauderdale and one in South Alabama.
The service in Ft. Lauderdale was officiated by a dear friend of his who was a monk of some kind. It featured a performance from the Lambda Chorale — which is a LGBT chorus. They performed Over The Rainbow, a recording of which was played at my Mom’s funeral seven years later.
I did not attend the memorial in South Florida. But I did attend the service in South Alabama.
I drove down from Eufaula where I was living to my parents’ home about 45 minutes or so away.
A couple days before the service I watched my Dad hang up the phone. He had a shellshocked look on his face. He walked back into the living room and said something to my Mom that will haunt me for the rest of my days.
He got off the phone with the pastor at their local church. And that pastor said something to my Dad that I’ll never forget.
This is all because Ed was gay, let’s not forget.
“I don’t mind doing the service, but I can’t preach him into heaven.”
My uncle was a complicated man. He had his issues. But he was a GREAT person. He was a great man! And the nerve of that pastor — a so-called man of God — to say such a callus and evil thing was the final straw!
I was raised in the church. I have many fond memories of Hargrove Memorial Methodist Church in Tuscaloosa.
I’ll never forget this one Sunday in the middle of the summer. I believe I was around 10 years old or so. Our pastor was a man named Rev. Ken Chapman. My family LOVED this man. He was the genuine article and practiced what he preached on Sundays.
The sermon that morning was about old souls.
Ken is walking down the aisle and I’m sitting in an aisle seat. He turns to me during the sermon and says “Look at young Mr. Hall here. He’s got a soul older than any of us any in here.”
To his credit, he came up to me after the service and asked me if it upset me, what he said. I didn’t understand it at the time.
To be honest, I wished I’d just been able to hide. But that’s a story between my therapist and me.
In the early 90s, Ken left that church and eventually the ministry. From what I understand he got tired of the church politics. He eventually got his PhD, founded a leadership consulting firm, and has written several books.
And I’m dying to have him on my podcast.
Back to that moment in 2002. I’d been turning away from God and the church for a while. But that moment, my God, that moment.
I don’t know if I ever went full atheist, but I got turned off from any kind of relationship with God. I mean, how could anyone say that to someone grieving the sudden death of a loved one?
But it seems to me like as of late, even in the current circumstances of my life right now, I am being drawn back to God. Even though I feel like God has taken so much from me.
One of my first friends outside of my coaching circles I made after I moved up here was a lady named Jessica. Jessica is the pastor of a Methodist church in Neptune, NJ. And she is about as genuine as they come. She was horrified when I told her that story about my uncle, by the way.
Most of my friends are deeply spiritual and have a deep faith.
I’ll never forget my absolute treasure of a friend Noreen. Her father was a chief in a Shawnee Indian tribe, and her mother was Catholic. Noreen was a practicing Catholic. But she taught me so much about the melding of Native and Christian spirituality. Even though she’s passed over, I’ll never forget those lessons.
For so long, I thought God hated me. I thought he spited me. Like he was angry with me.
· Why would he take my Grandfather — my hero — just when I was just starting to really get to know him?
· Why would he make my Dad get addicted to crack?
· Why would he make my parents both be alcoholics?
· Why would he TAKE both my parents before I turn 40?
· Why would he cause me such strife in my living situation? Getting kicked out of two homes in less than 12 months.
- Why would he rupture my gallbladder and almost kill me?
The other day on my morning run, I put on an Eric Clapton mix. And shuffling through some of the pop-y side of Slowhand to get to his good stuff, I almost shuffled past a song that dropped me to my knees.
After Traffic and Cream both broke up in the late 60s, members from both bands put together an all-star band called Blind Faith. It was Clapton, Steve Winwood on keyboards and rhythm guitar, Ric Grech on bass, and Ginger Baker on drums. Tragically they only released one album. But that album is an absolute Magnum Opus!
The song that dropped me to my knees was from that very album.
“I know that I don’t have much to give,
But I can open any door.”
That’s a line from a song called Presence of the Lord. Clapton wrote it, and Winwood sings lead.
The emotions that came up for me as I’m listening to this song as I’m running, taught me an important lesson.
I really can’t do this without Him. I really can’t.
Even though I live in a hotel, and have other circumstances working against me, my life is tremendously blessed.
- I have so many amazing friends who See me, wholly and completely.
- I was blessed to share my story in a — let’s face it — a hit book.
- I spent a miraculous few minutes this afternoon on a work break planning the outline of my memoir.
- My podcast is taking off, and I’m having a BLAST doing it.
- My body feels as good as it ever has.
- I am meeting amazing people.
- And I’m falling in love with myself.
I’m blessed. I really am.
I’m learning day by day what God means to me. It’s a daily process. But it’s one I’m really excited to take.
Some of my spiritual beliefs — which I have always had — tend toward the eastern side. I believe that chakras are real and I see a lot of value in what Buddha taught.
I don’t believe that God is somebody living in the clouds.
I believe that God is within us all.
We are God.
We are all souls with skin suits.
But…y’know…maybe there’s something in the teachings of this guy from Nazareth…born in a manger in Bethlehem…
