There’s never been anybody quite like him. His real name is Ken. His nickname is “Georgia” as he grew up in Savannah. Raised in a middle class home, Georgia was an average student with nothing unusual about him. Then in 1967 he joined the army, serving with distinction in the Vietnam War, awarded the Air Medal, a Purple Heart, and Bronze Star during his deployment. But something happened in the jungles of Southeast Asia. I’ve been told at one point he was separated from his battalion, captured by the Viet Cong, and wasn’t seen for months. When he reappeared, he wasn’t the same man.
I met him here in Laguna, late 1972, one of the dozens of hippies who every day streamed up Canyon Acres Drive as the sun would set, heading for the caves high up on the hill. Jittery, wary of others, with piercing eyes, long hair and a cascading beard, he didn’t say much at first. But I kept at it and we eventually became friends.
Georgia talked in rhymes. Skipped when he walked. Would run with dolphins when he saw them swimming off Main Beach. Chatted/prayed endlessly with himself, his arms often flaying wildly as he skipped down the beach. I talked to him about Jesus every day and he eventually became a follower. We’d read the Bible together, pretended we were prophets, laughed about the craziness of life, took a camping trip to Yosemite. But he would never talk about the war. Never. He’d stare off into the horizon when it came up.
In the late 70’s his mother became ill and he returned to Savannah. She eventually died and he inherited her small rustic cottage, located in a poorer section of town, built the year I was born – 1942. As the years went by Georgia increasingly became depressed and isolated and the house began to deteriorate. I’d call him every so often and try and pull him out of one of his dark episodes. Five years ago Nikki and I visited him on a trip back east. I was glad to see him face to face again.
Last year Hurricane Matthew ripped two trees out of the ground, hurtling them onto his roof and damaging much of his house. He never really recovered. When I saw on the news last week that Hurricane Irma was headed for Savannah, I called. Never had I heard him so low. “If my house is leveled,” he said, “I’ve got nowhere to go. I’ll end up in a facility somewhere and I couldn’t bear that.” I tried to encourage him, assuring Georgia God would take care of him.
I called Monday but he had evacuated, staying with friends. But Tuesday morning he was back home and answered his phone, sharing how overjoyed he felt that his house was not affected by the storm. What a relief. We blessed God together and he even cried a little.
In a season where we have been teaching about praise here at Little Church, I give God high praise for shepherding my friend Georgia through Hurricane Irma. I am immensely grateful.
“Georgia” – my eclectic/eccentric friend.
Prayer Needs This Week…
- Pastor Sam and the interns just got back from a retreat in Fallbrook, planning and praying for the upcoming school year. Pray the high school and junior high are greatly impacted for Christ.
- Denise de la Torre – full and complete victory in her cancer battle; also John Burns and Blanca
- Andrea – not a member of our church but just diagnosed with a triple negative carcinoma tumor.
- Alexey, who danced at the church recently, a safe trip to Ukraine.
- Izzy Ray’s concert Saturday night.
- Pastors, Elders, Deacons
Remember: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble.” Psalm 46:1
Pastor Jay