Jonathots Daily Blog
(3993)
A. Warmer weather thaws out the dog turds
B. Nature is humping all around you
C. Companies try desperately to make Easter non-religious
D. Pants too warm, shorts too cold
E. Spring cleaning is exposed as a farce
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Jonathots Daily Blog
(3991)
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation for this inspirational opportunity
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3990)
art by smarrttie pants
The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation for this inspirational opportunity
It is definitely a word that needs great clarification before it’s spoken in a room occupied with human beings. After all, I don’t know whether you’re talking about the one who blesses, or damns.
I don’t know what intention you have in referencing the Almighty. The name of God has been used to foster genderism, racism and nationalism, not to mention rape, war and murder.
It’s just too easy.
The Great Fix: when in doubt, mention God.
Your political campaign circling the toilet? Make some reference to your faith and how you feel God has called you to pursue government position.
Get caught abusing young boys and girls? Explain that your work for God left you desolate of the fortitude to withstand your own temptations.
Is this a God that blows up buildings, or a God who laments the loss of the unicorn?
Is this G-O-D you’re tossing in my direction a blanket of comfort or a hand grenade to blow up my dreams?
We can no longer allow people to utter the word “God” in parlor conversation, and then turn around on a whim and assign all sorts of duties, actions and even atrocities to Him.
I would much rather hear you explain what your faith is going to do than have you hand me a book of text verifying how old and sacred your belief truly is.
“God” is a word we need to stop using—unless we’re prepared to back it up with a life that honors His creation instead of decimating it.
Because even the One who was proclaimed to be the Savior of the World said to beware those who come crying, “Lord, Lord”–but know nothing about the Heavenly Heart.
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Speak it out loudFears prefer silence.
Fears love to hide out and pretend they don’t exist.
Fears love to control our internal hope and choke out the faith we require.
Just speak it out loud.
You will be astounded how many people share the same apprehensions that you do. You will be equally amazed at how many allies you rally to your side simply by making it clear that the fear that once ruled you is now being exposed and “ratted out.”
Some fabulous things happen:
First, hearing your fear actually builds your faith because faith comes by hearing. It is the silent terror inside us that keeps us from believing.
Secondly, there is the fear that inhabits us and the fear that controls us. Once fear is brought to the forefront, it may hang around for a while, but it no longer has the key to your choices.
And finally, without sharing your fear, you never really have fellowship with anyone else—because simply trying to disguise your nervous energy prevents you from offering your true heart. And because you are never known, you cannot truly know.
It’s up to you–but if you’d like to chase your fear away, speak it aloud.
It’s always beneficial for a fresh cleansing of your soul, and many times a good hearty laugh.
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Jonathots Daily Blog
(3987)
A gentle moment of tenderness swept over the heart of Karin Koulyea.
At first she didn’t recognize the emotion, having not encountered it for some time. She found it best to protect her soul just short of the border of bitterness. She never felt comfortable, she was never assured, and she always found herself defending her life because she was born a woman.
But standing there in the desert, she realized that these two young boys had captured her imagination, as immature and foolish as they obviously were. There was a devotion that linked the two of them which was unmistakable, and nearly brought the hard-bitten reporter to tears.
Confused by her feelings and realizing that she was flirting with becoming part of the story instead of reporting it, she asked, “So, what is my story? What do you know about me? Are you just setting me aside because you’re rejecting everyone who isn’t one of you two?”
“You don’t have a story,” Iz explained, leaning forward. “We didn’t ask you to come here. We didn’t ask to be bothered. We don’t want to solve any problem. We just don’t want anyone to take away our friendship.”
Karin shook her head and scoffed. “How about that soldier down there? How about the grenade?”
“You brought him,” countered Iz.
Karin took a deep breath for dramatic effect. “Actually, he brought me. My jeep gave up on the way here and I hitched a ride.” She gazed steadily at the pair. “And I will tell you right now—he wants his grenade back and he will not leave until he gets it.”
Pal carefully considered her words. “Tell him he can have his hand grenade if we can have his gun.”
Iz loved the idea and clapped his hands. Karin, on the other hand, chuckled before realizing that Pal was serious. “No, I don’t think he’ll do that,” she said. “Matter of fact, I can pretty well guarantee you that he’ll nix that suggestion. But calm down—let’s drop this for now. Just listen. For my story…” She held up her hand. “And listen, boys, I am going to walk away from here with a story. So for my story, I need your names.”
“We have new names,” said Iz proudly. Pal nodded in agreement.
Karin, grateful for the conversation, asked, “All right. What are your new names?”
“I am Iz and this is Pal,” he replied.
Karin nodded her head. “I see,” she said. “For Israeli and Palestinian.”
Pal was very aggravated at how quickly Karin figured out their cleverness. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, disappointed.
“Well, it sure ain’t Gordian’s knot,” she replied.
Iz and Pal looked at each other, confused. Karin reconsidered her comparison and replaced, “Well, it sure ain’t algebra.”
The two boys bobbed their heads, understanding. Karin continued. “Well, Iz and Pal, you’ve got a problem. You really can’t stay here—especially with a hand grenade, which is going to gather great interest. Let’s be honest. What’s to keep that big, burly soldier down there from running up the hill and whipping your butts, and carrying you off to jail?”
“The hand grenade,” said Iz simply.
Karin pointed at him. “You mean the hand grenade you don’t know how to use?”
“The soldier doesn’t know that,” responded Pal.
Karin looked around the desert as if seeking divine wisdom, and then continued. “Listen, kid—there is no threat you will ever make that you won’t eventually have to back up. That’s why countries go to war. Because somebody somewhere was stupid enough to threaten somebody else. Then they end up needing to back it up by killing a bunch of innocent people.”
Iz and Pal listened very carefully. Karin was once again moved by their sincerity, but completely unnerved by their foolish innocence. They did not realize how dangerous it was to live in this land, where threats always became violence. They were ignorant of how a weapon in the hand eventually became a casualty on the ground. Whether they knew how to use a hand grenade or not, they were still in great peril.
She had no idea what to do. Perhaps they were small enough that she could take them on herself—at least one of them. Maybe if she overpowered Iz and pulled him down the hill, then Pal would dutifully follow. As always, the problem was, there wasn’t much time to think it over. And she didn’t trust Minioz. Was he concerned about the boys, or just intent on retrieving his hand grenade and making sure no ranking officer was aware he had lost it?
She looked toward the jeep. Suddenly, it was even more problematic. The sergeant was heading up the hill, weary of waiting. He was definitely not to be trusted. How desperate was he to cover up his error? Would he harm the boys?
Karin made a quick decision. “Listen,” she said. “Here he comes. I am probably the most stupid woman on Earth—but watch carefully. Here’s how the hand grenade works. I had to learn about them when I was a correspondent in Lebanon. First, look at the pin.” She pointed to the pin dangling from the grenade. “When you remove that pin, it opens a fuse. You have no more than five seconds to toss it and get away from the grenade before it explodes. Be careful. Some people know how to put the pin back into the grenade, but I don’t.”
Iz and Pal focused intently. Fidgeting, Iz fingered the pin.
“No!” screamed Karin, pulling his hand away. “It’s not a toy and this is no game. I did not tell you this so you would kill yourselves, or me, for that matter. I just don’t want the soldier to hurt you.”
Minioz was very near. It was all heading toward a very precarious conclusion.
Karin had been right.
Could any good thing come out of this story?
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A voice writing in the wilderness
Sit Down Comedy …March 22nd, 2019
Jonathots Daily Blog
(3992)
I bought a loaf of bread. I didn’t eat it all.
So on the eighth or ninth day, I visited the cupboard to see if I could get another slice of life and discovered that the bread had been overtaken by mold.
I paused.
I considered removing the wrapper, cutting the mold off and eating the rest, but the mold also came with a smell—actually, similar to beer. So reluctantly—maybe even a little aggravated—I took my last five or six slices, now moldy, and tossed them into the garbage.
I was a little surprised how fussy I was about it. I don’t know if I just had my heart set on a sandwich or if I felt cheated because my bread gave up.
But I knew this: mold does not get better. I couldn’t do some “treatment” to my bread and return the next day and find it unmoldy. Once mold arrives it takes over. Quite aggressive. And it isn’t pretty—grayish-green with little hairy arms.
It’s a nasty substance and it turns bread into shit. (You can hear by my words that I was really put off.)
Welcome to America.
I’ve heard us called “the breadbasket of the world.” I was told as a youngster that our farmlands could feed the nations. Not much talk about that of late—nowadays farmers are trying to survive and make their beans and corn cover their budgets. No one trying to feed the four corners.
But we once were the breadbasket. Then one day, we reached into our souls, our mind, our heart and into our principles and pulled out moldy bread. Really bad mold.
And as I told you earlier, mold doesn’t get better. You can’t reform mold. You can’t try to find a way to accept it and develop a taste for it. You have to throw the whole damn thing out.
That’s unfortunate. It’s unfortunate but it’s necessary.
Truth is, one apple does not spoil the whole bushel—but one little piece of mold does spoil the whole loaf, because the climate necessary to breed that mold permeates all the way to the crust.
Likewise, the insolence, selfishness and meanness that have brought about the present American way of dealing with each other has spoiled many of the treasures we used to hold dear.
Some things have just got to be thrown out. There isn’t a choice. It’s because the mold has taken over the “bread of life” in America and the mold is a simple poison. Here it is:
And,
There’s the mold. It’s gotta go.
You can try to save some of the stuff, but the arguing that we call politics has to be thrown in the trash, even if we lose some “debate.”
The beliefs we call religion have to be dumped even if we ignore a verse or two of holy writ.
And the definition of family needs to expand to include everybody twenty-five thousand miles in any direction throughout the entire Earth.
If we don’t do this, we’re going to start believing that the worst parts of the bread can be cut off, and the rest will be just fine, even though it tastes a little pukey.
We are permeated with the mold of those who are too old, too bold and too cold. Some things must be thrown away.
I, for one, am going to go into my cabinet, where I keep my soul, and start clearing out the nastiness. Anything that makes me believe that I’m better than you, or that my ideas are more God-like, or that my politics have the touch of grace while yours are imbedded with the sinister, will be dumped into the trash.
Buy fresh bread. Don’t get more than you need.
Matter of fact, start thinking of it this way:
“Give us this day our daily bread.”
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on March 22, 2019 at 8:54 pm Leave a CommentTags: America, apple, Bread, bread basket of the world, bushel, commentary, debate, dog, earth, evil, faith, garbage, give us this day our daily bread, grace, holy writ, humor, mold, nastiness, orgasm, politics, procreation, selfishness, sinister, Sit Down Comedy, social, spoils