Sit Down Comedy … June 26th, 2020

Jonathots Daily Blog

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It’s a statement I ferociously despise, even though I have kept quiet about it for many years, and in weaker moments have had its drivel tumble off my lips in an attempt to be relevant to my surroundings.

“There but for the grace of God go I.”

If there were a contest for the most arrogant proclamation, this one would certainly be in the running.

What ever gave us the idea that we could express humility, or even gratitude, by simultaneously acting as if we are preferred?

If God is no respecter of persons, then misfortune and blessing are not manifested in His mood swings.

The truth of the matter is, we don’t know what causes the pendulum to swing in our favor or the clock to turn its face from us.

This came to my mind when I was staring at a gentleman in line at the grocery store.

He looked like me.

He wasn’t my twin, but certainly gave me pause to consider myself and my position.

He was about six feet tall with a bald head, and obese—all like me.

His facial hair was much more overgrown than mine, and his clothes suffered from Goodwill.

He also had a slump to his shoulders, welcoming a hump in his upper back.

There were enough differences that I was not startled but there was enough about the man that resembled me that it caused me to consider the nature of things.

Even though I was only twenty feet away, he did not notice me at all. He was staring off in the distance with a slightly perturbed twitch in his brow. He was holding a six-pack of beer, some hot dogs and matching buns.

Before I knew it, he had put his items through the cashier and was heading out the door. I strangely felt compelled to say something to him, but timidity discouraged me. Or maybe it attempted to save me.

I don’t know.

But I clumsily remarked, “I like hot dogs, too.”

He turned to me and replied, “Do I know you?”

He didn’t. And I didn’t know him.

I was doing one of those things that we sometimes do, which seems like it should be done, but should have been left undone.

“No,” I sheepishly replied.

Perhaps fearing that he had come across terse, he added, “I cook the hotdogs in beer. It makes them seem like brats.”

I nodded my head, uncertain of what to reply. Fortunately, years of small talk helped me cough up an answer. “Nice tip.”

He turned, walked out the door and was gone.

I wondered where he was going.

Was he going to someone?

Was he fortunate, like me, and had found a lover who was tolerant to occasional fits of ineptness?

Did he have a collage of children who were grateful and revered him for his efforts?

Did he have a gnawing talent which refused to allow him to slip into the doldrums of mediocrity?

Was he giddy—just downright silly?

Was he stubborn enough to be cute but flexible enough to be giving?

Was he alone?

On my particular journey—not knowing which path to take, nor whether one was even less taken—I stumbled my way along and was salvaged by the love of many friends and strangers.

I did my best to return the favor.

Life is not about the grace of God being extended to one human traveler over another.

It really boils down to one thing:

As you press on and choices come your way, always select the one that excites you.

Even if it also scares the shit out of you.

 

 

Cracked 5 … May 15th, 2018

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Jonathots Daily Blog

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Intriguing Advantages to Being Totally Bald

 

A.  Avoiding the annoying flirtations of pesky women

 

B.  Landing field for woodpeckers

 

C.  Easier to peel off crusty dandruff

 

D.  Allows your ears to stand out

 

E.  Not tempted to try a comb-over

 

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Charlotte’s World … August 5, 2013

Jonathots Daily Blog

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She came to my table and presented me with a picture.

Her name was Charlotte Lee, she was nine years old, and she had graciously and beautifully drawn a portrait of Janet and myself during our performance in Suttons Bay, Michigan, yesterday morning.

I liked her art.

Maybe it was because Charlotte’s representation of me was much skinnier. Matter of fact, I almost look normal

She gave me hair (even though she was very faithful to portray my bald landing strip at the crown),

Very astutely, she made Jan look like there was a horn growing out of her head (which actually would be very helpful and practical for encouraging rehearsal).

It was also magnificent that she made our feet the same size and we were wearing identical shoes, which if you think about it, would be wonderful–because then we could buy footwear in bulk.

I appreciated the vulnerability she expressed by taking one of the images she had launched upon and scratching it out–yet leaving it behind to show us the evolution involved in the process of creating great work. We will never know what was beneath those scratchings, yet for generations perhaps, the critics shall muse and speculate.

Don’t you like the fact that she made us smile? No–they really aren’t smiles.  More like grins. A smile can be pasted on for convenience, but a grin says the face has been surprised.

I like Charlotte’s world. It’s full of good cheer, mercy for our size and appearance, practicality for shoes and admission of flaws–by leaving behind the remnants of first drafts.

As I think about it, all of those things put together may be a delightful definition of love.

Thank you, Charlotte.

And we also appreciate the fact that unlike many fledgling artisans, you didn’t object to distribution or fuss with us about royalties.

 

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about personal appearances or scheduling an event

Petering Out … April 26, 2013

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Long before we abandon our faith, we lose our perspective. Our passion “peters out” because we forget how to use what we are.

It reminds me of a story of a guy named Peter. He was a fisherman–at least, that’s how the story goes. But considering he was a fisherman, this dude had more trouble with boats and water than any “landlubber” ever dreamed. Somewhere along the line he had convinced himself that his particular occupation, pursuit of life, and dreamscape was difficult.

Matter of fact, the first time he met Jesus, he was casting his net into the sea from the shore. Now, this is not exactly the most effective way to catch fish. Everyone knows that only the little guppies exist near the shoreline. But apparently, the previous night’s escapades in the boat were not successful, so in desperation, he just started throwing in a net from the sand. Or who knows? Maybe his ship was full of holes.

He was in a boat one night in the middle of a storm and his friend, Jesus, came walking on the water to join him and his buddies. For some unexplained reason, Peter decided he needed to walk on the water, too. It wasn’t necessary. Jesus didn’t come strolling to their aid to get everybody in the pool. But Peter was so insecure that he wanted to be better than everybody else around him in the storm, so he ended up nearly drowning in the process.

And after Jesus was killed and Peter felt great guilt over denying him to the officials, he stomped off in a huff to go back to fishing–even though his life had been permanently altered by the experience of being with his Nazarene friend.

He is an excellent example for us because at one moment, he’s being heralded as “a rock” and in the next moment he goes back to his former behavior and is dubbed “satan.”

What causes all of us to “peter out?” We make one of two mistakes, which actually end up being the same error:

1. “I’m so bad that no one could ever love me, so I will pretend that I am not worthy of being blessed.”

2. “I’m so good that everybody should love me, so what the hell is wrong with the world?”

What’s missing in both cases? An honest assessment of who we are.

Let me be the first: I am a fat, bald, aging man with bad knees who has been blessed with talent, which I have multiplied, and in the process of doing so, I have learned to be more tolerant of others and generous in my spirit with the world around me.

There you go. As long as I keep that in mind, I am balanced, humorous and useful.

Tonight I head to St. Peter Lutheran Church in Elgin, Texas. They named their church after that fisherman, who thought he could get a good catch by standing on the shore instead of getting in the boat.

Are we much different? No. But remember–God doesn’t love us because we’re going to be saved and escape humanity. God loves us because we’re humans and we can escape the fear of being so, and end up saved.

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Balder … April 18, 2013

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I like hats.

I think I always have liked hats, even though I don’t remember wearing one until I was into my mid-thirties. Before that age, I took great pride in having hair. Matter of fact, in my twenties I grew it down to my shoulders and flipped it in the air when I sang, pretending I was Roger Daltry from the Who onstage at Woodstock, although obviously metabolically challenged.

But as I lost my hair I started wearing hats, the premise being that if you covered up the disappearing area of locks, people would not know that you were actually bald and you could still pull off being extraordinarily youthful and virile.

But I always ran into one problem: sooner or later you have to take your hat off.

Even though I would arrive at my engagements and set up for my show wearing a hat, it was generally considered inappropriate to sport one during the presentation. So actually, donning the beanie on top of my head for the first part of the event made the removal of the same more noticeable–and truthfully, I ended up looking … balder.

I know that sounds odd. But if people don’t know what’s under your hat, when you do finally expose it, it’s even more shocking. So about four or five years ago I stopped wearing hats so as not to send unnecessary electrical waves through the minds of those who meet me. Instead I establish my baldness from the beginning and never have to appear balder.

It’s a powerful idea–and can be applied in so very many ways.

About eight years ago I lost eighty-one pounds. I was VERY, VERY fat. I succeeded in shedding enough tonnage that I became just VERY fat. At that point there was one remaining goal–don’t get fatter. Traditionally, those who lose weight put all their weight back on. So even though I may be fat my whole life, I don’t have to get fatter. There is a certain regality to that which I shall rejoice in, even as I attempt to address losing additional ounces.

You want to know what the problem is with being angry? No one takes the advice of the Bible, which states, “Be angry and sin not.” So instead of getting angry and getting over it, we try to put a hat on it–a lid–and in the process, we become angrier.

Have you ever been hurt? If we’re not able to express the emotion of that pain, crying out some of the frustration, there is a great danger that people who are hurt become hurters.

We have a decision to make. Are we going to take what we are and share it from a pure heart, unashamed, or are we going to put a hat on it and pretend for a while that we really don’t have a problem?

Because I will tell you, I sin–but I am not a sinner. A sinner is someone who attempts to hide from what is done by sporting some fig leaves over the problem area, and end up looking more ridiculous.

• I am bald–but I will not wear a hat, cover up, and end up looking balder.
• I am fat, but plan on being conscientious enough not to become fatter.
• I have been hurt, but I am going to work it out to keep myself from becoming a hurter.
• I can’t lie to you–I do get angry. But I express it so I don’t become angrier.
• And God and I both know that I sin. But I like to let my Daddy know when I break a vase in the house, so I don’t become a sinner, hiding out in my room and missing out on the blessings of the household.

So I am bald. But ironically enough, if I try to hide it under my hat, it really does become … a hairy situation.

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Peace with the Pieces… March 10, 2013

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It was odd.

I was suddenly overwhelmed by the notion of my own inadequacy.

Thinking about the sharing I would be doing tomorrow morning at Cornerstone United Methodist Church in Houston, Texas, I was confronted with my lacking. I am a bald, aging man with limited mobility, who has suffered–or at least struggled–with obesity all my life.

To say that I feel humbled by the notion of offering exhortation, edification or even insight into the lives of others would be an oversimplification of my vacancy. I don’t know whether anybody is worthy to be a voice crying in the wilderness–especially entrusted with the concept of challenging people to “prepare the way of the Lord and make His paths straight.”

Somehow or another it seems prudent for me to straighten some of my own paths before instructing others in path-straightening.

But what does that mean? Am I to sit around and wait until I am a worthy representation of goodness in order to praise goodness, point to goodness or even stand in awe of what goodness can do?

I am pieces, trying to make peace with myself.

I am chunks of what could be a whole, but doesn’t really promise to ever coagulate.

I am an incomplete vessel who really has only one responsibility–don’t lie about my insufficiency. Don’t exaggerate my qualification. And don’t pretend to be anything other than the subtotal of my pieces.

When my knees gave out on me late last year, I thought my time  of speaking in front of audiences and pouring out my heart was over. I honestly did not want to be a disgrace to the kingdom of God through my weakness. I was determined to develop an excuse for escaping my continued participation in the unification of the human spirit with the presence of God by pulling up lame–literally.

Maybe it’s just that I felt stupid. Maybe “wheeling” my way in front of an audience to hobble to my keyboard was just a little too much hyperbole of uselessness.

I don’t know. It wasn’t that I wanted to quit. It just seemed that quitting was an honorable thing. Make room for someone who’s more … whole.

And then I remembered the words that God said to Adam in the Garden when his little buddy was hiding among the fig leaves.

“Why are you hiding?”

“I’m hiding because I’m naked,” said Adam.

“Who told you that you were naked?” asked God.

Yes–who told me I was unworthy? Who told me I was weak and beyond redemption? Who told me that it was time to graze in the grass instead of  shepherding people to greener pastures?

I did.

I decided what was righteous.

I decided what was beautiful.

I decided what was marketable.

God hasn’t worked with me for these many years and seen me crash and bounce to the earth to not allow me to continue to speak my mind.

I’m finding ways to be at peace with my pieces. For after all, being complete is over-rated. When we express our weakness, those around us perceive us as stronger by the confession. When we pronounce our strengths, yet obviously sprout flaws, we are only made weaker by our boasting.

I come to you in pieces, trying to find a way to have peace with them.

You can decide … whether it’s worth hearing.

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