Jonathots … December 18th, 2018

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Jonathots Daily Blog

(3890)

She approached her shopping cart, unwilling to put her hands on it until she had removed a wet-nap from her purse, full of, I assume, anti-biotic, anti-virus and anti-people juice. She cleaned off the apparatus before she began her shopping.

I apparently was caught staring because she turned to me with a snarl on her face and said, “Nasty stuff. Got to avoid the flu bug.”

Likewise, during the wintertime, I attended a church with a minister in full ceremonial garb. It came time for the “passing of the peace.” He paused and explained to the congregation, “I must ask you not to make contact with your hands with one another. Since it is the flu season, please find another way to express other than physical contact.”

A little gleeful spirit leaped in my soul–I love awkward situations, which certainly are rife with comedy. I watched the people–who didn’t know what to do. Some tried to “fist bump,” but let’s be honest. Fist bumping is certainly not conducive to the sign of peace. Most people just gave up and nervously waved.

Needless to say, even though this was popular for a few weeks, the mass of humanity eventually realized that since we’re all in this together, then “together we will sneeze and cough.”

Even though you can pass the flu bug by touching one another, you can also pass along blessing.

Are you frowning over that statement?

Just like you can’t see the bacteria or viruses that cause the flu it is equally possible that the energy, the kindness, the mercy and the tenderness in human hands are not visible either, but are passed through touch.

And candidly, even the flu bugs that people pass to us give us a fighting chance to manufacture anti-bodies which are much more likely to protect us from the flu than acting like the whole world around us is filled with lepers.

 

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Confessing … September 5th, 2015

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(2683)

XVIII.

I confess so I can heal.

If I deny, I remain sick.

She was married and so was I–but not to each other.

She loved my mind.

I, hers.

We were connected in heart and soul.

From the first day, she sat and listened to my compositions, and I told her I wanted to record them and put them out, while starting my own music group to travel the country, sharing.

She was there.

She signed up.

For eight years, she stayed devoted to the dream as we crossed the nation, appeared on the PTL Club, the stage of the Grand Ole Opry, recorded at Johnny Cash’s studio, and even, in some cities, hit the gospel music charts.

We were close.

She was happy.

I wanted more.

I misinterpreted her consecration and faith in me for romance. I pushed. She pulled back, so I pushed some more.

She didn’t want to lose our friendship and mission, so she would occasionally give in to some awkward situations. Yes, she pretended to be interested.

She wasn’t.

I knew it.

This sometimes made me fussy and mean. We argued.

I turned something spiritual into a carnal nightmare. We never did anything. Honestly, if she had opened up to the boy-girl thing, I probably would have run like a frightened school child. She tried to reason with me.

Then her husband had an affair. She was broken and anguished. They divorced.

But rather than being a friend to her, I was just another source of conflict. She thought about dating, and because we were such good friends she asked me about it, but I discouraged her because of my raging jealousy.

She was so unhappy.But she still stayed as long as she could because she loved the music.

I drove her away–and when she left, she felt like we couldn’t be friends anymore without errupting the volcano of dissatisfaction.

We should have great memories.

We should be contacting each other frequently with updates on our lives.

But you see, I wasn’t happy with mere happiness. I wanted a “more” that I couldn’t explain but still tried to pursue.

I was young, foolish and self-centered.

I am sorry.

I had her full love, deep respect and tremendous honor–and lost it in pursuit of her flesh.

Love isn’t crazy.

I am crazy to have lost a living love … for the prospect of a temporary connection.

 

 

 

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