Many, many moons ago, I had a best friend who’s name changed from Bolifer to Joe quite by accident.  I’d gone through a phase of saying “Hey, Joe” to people as a I greeted them.  I think I picked it up at the record store I was working at which must have been tied to Jimi Hendrix.  I even believed that the true name of God must be Joe, because I believe that God is truly in everything and every man and the every man is best made concise through the name, Joe.  Mind you, I don’t believe God to be a man-like figure with any concern for names, but that’s another discussion.

While coming home to my porch community in Oakland, CA, my habit extended to my cat who would wait outside to greet me.  The neighbors picked up on it and began calling my lovely kitty, “Joe.”  When I finally discovered they truly thought my buddy’s name was Joe, the name stuck and so he became until the day he died.  When we moved to Detroit, he became “The Joe” after the local sports arena named for a boxer, or Joe Louis Arena as a riff on my last name.

This morning, hitting another valley in this long climb I’m making out of poverty and depression most definitely directly tied to the lack of opportunity where I’m living, I left a services agency in despair and wailed all the way home.  Having lost clarity on tapping into a spiritual source, I suddenly started asking Joe to help me.  Asking God, Mother Nature, the Moon, the stars, the Universe, or any other creator I could think of in the last two years hasn’t yielded any results, but it struck me… I believe in Joe.  The commonality that ties us together.  So I asked Joe for help.

I wiped my teary eyes and saw neighbors sitting outside.  After parking the car and dismissing the wretched mess I must have looked, I went to join them and met two new people.  The neighbor I’m most friendly with asked if I wanted to head to the next town, where I was going to turn in an application anyway.  I changed my clothes, put on a bit of makeup, and gathered my things. 

In the parking lot, he reminded me the owner of the small market was named, Mark.  I walked in and saw the new friend I’d made only minutes before at my neighbor’s.  We exchanged a few jokes and I set off to meet Mark.  While talking with Mark about what I could contribute even though they recently hired quite a few people, that new friend came over to “sell” me. Our upbeat personalities together made that sale.

I have a job one day a week with Mark’s hope that he’ll be able to use me much more.  Me, too.   Thanks, Joe.  I could always count on you.