The Wish

“I waited patiently for the Lord

He inclined and heard my cry

He lifts me up out of the pit

Out of the miry clay”- U2 from the song “40”

What a beautiful song.

Beauty beyond exaggeration.

The best songs transport you. This song surely does—the Irish rock band U2 is among the best ever.

‘40’ was the last track recorded for the “War” album. Bono called the song “40” because he took the lyrics from Psalm 40, written by King David.

Psalm 40 reminds us that a higher power holds onto us during the good and the bad days. It’s a reminder that G-d isn’t done with us yet. Though things may look grim now, there’s hope for better days to come.

Not to get all spiritual with you, but hey tis the season to do just that.

2023 has been a tough year…war, terrorism, mass shootings, political division, ghastly weather events you get the drift.

It’s easy to get lost in the miry clay, as the song says.

But I don’t want us to get stuck, I don’t want us to get lost. I long for us to build a resilient community, adaptable to change, proactive, not reactive, empathetic not vindictive.

We desperately need some counterprogramming and that’s what I am going to serve up for my last blog of the year.

We live in an increasingly complex world and yet the keys to contentment are simple: good love, good friends, a safe place to lay your head, health, hope and meaningful work/purpose.

May you have all those things and fun too.

I’ve come to believe in the power of traditions—and recently I had a chance to continue one. The best traditions are something you look forward to, they enrich you in ways that cannot be quantified.

Every year, around this time, I meet old friends at Arturo’s, a wonderful restaurant oozing with old world charm.

We are an eclectic bunch, most are retired Delray cops, a former pro baseball player, a legendary local restauranteur, a has-been former mayor (me) and this year— for the first time ever— we invited a retired firefighter to join us.

Why?
“Because everyone loves the firefighters,” according to my police officer friends. That is true.

We tell old stories, catch up on the new stuff in our lives, eat wonderful Italian food, laugh, and generally bask in each other’s presence.

It’s a brotherhood of sorts. The affection is palatable. There is nothing these guys wouldn’t do for each other.

I love listening to the stories—police officers have the best stories. They have seen so much.

As I listen, I secretly wish there was a way to share these tales with everyone who lives in our city. They would hear about how North Federal Highway was once a “den of iniquity” with prostitutes, hourly motels, and an adult bookstore.

They would hear tales of long-ago closed nightclubs rife with violence and stories of how gory crimes were solved. And I can’t help but believe that if my neighbors heard these stories, they would be amazed at what’s transpired in our village. Those who know… well they know. But there are so many newcomers, so many doubters and so many people who just don’t know where we came from.

I think our story is a remarkable one. That’s what drives me to write every week.

I have so much respect and admiration for what the Delray Beach Police Department brings to this town. The Fire department too. There’s a reason why “everyone loves the firefighters.”

It is because they are there when we need them to protect our loved ones and our property. The profession attracts good people—wired for service and able to make sense out of chaos. They save lives every day. It’s extraordinary and wonderful.

At the end of the evening, we gather for a group photo. We’re closing the place.

Every year, we have a little less hair on our heads and the hair that’s left is grayer. But the camaraderie grows stronger every year. So does my appreciation. Friendship deepens with time if we open our hearts.

Yes, traditions are good.

Men are notorious for bottling up our feelings. We don’t say out loud what we feel in our hearts. But as we get older and we lose friends and see others enter the waiting room so to speak, we begin to feel a sense of urgency. We reach out, we speak out, we say words out loud. And it feels good to do so.

We summarize because we don’t know if there will be another year. We hope the tradition continues until the last man is standing, but we don’t know when that time will come, and we are keenly aware of our mortality.

Everyone at the table last week has experienced loss: Loss of a loved one, personal health struggles, loss of a career or an identity, loss of innocence and loss of infinite possibilities. Life is finite and time is precious.

But the best part of aging is that we let our let our guard down. And so, when we meet, we sum up. This year, I was given the gift—unexpected– of some kind words from a group of men I deeply admire. And that’s the kind of gift that makes someone rich.

Maya Angelou said people will forget what you said, but they won’t forget how you made them feel.

If you make people feel good about themselves and about their contributions, you have given them the best gift possible.

I want to thank you for visiting with me every Monday. Extra thanks to those who read to the end. Have a wonderful Christmas and see you in 2024.