Upon occasion, something written by Jonathan long ago seems downright prophetic. When I happen upon one of these, I shall publish it under the category, “From the Stacks.”
The little essay was below written in 2017 (though never published on Jonathots Daily Blog).
It is both prophetic and funny–no easy feat in this day and age. –J Clazzy
The Thirty Second Philosophy
Watching television yesterday, my program was interrupted by a testing of the Emergency Broadcast System–thirty seconds of beeps and buzzes, making me wonder why it was necessary.
But it got me thinking.
What if that broadcasting system started to proclaim that a disaster was in the making?
Maybe a meteor struck the Earth, an atomic bomb?
Or what if a tidal wave from an angry ocean was descending upon us?
What if I had just thirty seconds to live?
What would I do?
I was amazed at how quickly I came up with an answer.
Four things came to my mind:
1. “Thanks, God.”
After all, no need to get grumpy at this point, right?
2. “I love you all.”
Getting picky over people right now seems really ridiculous.
3. “I hope we’re right about that heaven thing.”
Worse than dying in thirty seconds is the whole idea that you’re REALLY, REALLY dead.
And finally:
4. “You can have anything left in my refrigerator.”
Honestly? There’s some pretty good stuff in there.
As the Emergency Broadcast System test ended, I paused and thought over my list.
I liked it.
Matter of fact, I’ve decided to adopt it, even when I’m NOT threatened by termination.
I have dubbed it my Thirty Second Philosophy, which I shall use 24/7.
Let’s all practice it:
Thanks, God.
I love you all.
Sure hope we’re right about heaven.
And you are welcome to anything left over in my refrigerator.
It seems like a noble idea until you realize it requires you to sift through your beliefs and discard the unreasonable portions.
The process of becoming a good Earth-citizen is acknowledging that there are billions of others, and the goal is to find a way to peacefully co-exist with your brothers and sisters without compromising the power of truth.
So what is the first step to being reasonable?
Free will.
We are not on Earth by God’s plan, by luck or to be guided by superstition. There is a way things work and a way they don’t, and the first step in understanding that process is comprehending that every human being has free will.
1. God died for free will.
Using the flesh-and-blood passport of Jesus of Nazareth, God came to Earth and submitted to the decisions of arrogant religionists, who gave a verdict of death because he preached love.
God did nothing to stop the process. But after it was completed, He used the bravery of Jesus as evidence of salvation.
2. You have free will.
Don’t ask God to live your life. He won’t.
You may convince yourself that certain events link together to form a plan, but actually, they happened because of your action or inaction.
Jesus characterized God as Father, and no good parent would ever try to control the life of His child.
3. Human beings have free will.
Therefore you can’t force your beliefs on others.
We have to learn the power of influence. And how do we influence people? By making them jealous of our success–so jealous that they imitate our actions in their own way, without ever giving us credit.
4. Because free will is immutable, if we’re going to impact others, we need to make sure that we’re constantly making our choices simpler and easier.
I can always tell when I’m in the presence of someone who is a novice to the human experience.
They talk about complexity.
Becoming mature is resisting difficulty.
We make progress by using our free will to find paths to greater ease and simplicity.
You will never be reasonable until you understand that human beings have been granted free will, and therefore will quite often choose ignorance over wisdom.
Selecting to blame God for this malady is not only a waste of time, but also puts you in a world of superstition … where you nervously await the next disaster.
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She came into the room angry and frustrated. G-Pop asked her what was troubling her so.
She explained that she was really pissed off about how the Syrian refugees were being treated by the Europeans. G-Pop sat quietly listening, allowing her to vent for a few minutes until she ran out of steam.
When a few seconds of stillness had settled into the room, he said, “Let’s say you had just finished your dinner and you were sitting down in your chair getting ready to watch some television. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. You rise to your feet, open your door and discover a stranger standing in front of you, obviously distressed. You ask what you can do to help him, and he explains that his home has just burned to the ground and he has no place to go and needs some assistance. The first thing that crosses your mind is that you’ve never met this person before. Is the story true? How would you be able to find out? So you cautiously invite him inside the door while you consider your options. Before you can gather all your thoughts, he explains that he just needs someplace to stay until he can get on his feet and find out what he really wants to accomplish. You ask him if he has family in the area who could assist and he explains in vivid detail that he is from far away and doesn’t know anybody. So while you’re trying to figure out what you want to do, he informs you that he also has a wife and two children.
So now there are four people involved. He goes on to share that as frightened and taken aback as he is, they are completely devastated. Then in passing he mentions that his wife is also pregnant. You have to make a decision. Trying to be wise, you inquire if he has checked with the local shelters and food banks for possible emergency intervention. He looks at you with a blank stare, not aware of how to go about such a maneuver, and still wishing that you would do something to help. So you agree to invite the family in to sit down while you make some sort of plan to help out. As the wife and two children enter the door, the man goes on to say that his cousin had been staying with them and also has a wife and one child, and is equally as abandoned by the disaster.
“Now you have seven people to deal with. What started as a quiet evening in your home, watching television, has now become an invasion of needy people who seem to be growing in numbers every minute. What should you do?”
She looked at G-Pop, wanting to object, even to suggest that the scenario was not the same, but then realized that they were identical.
G-Pop continued. “We are really foolish when we think other people should do what we would not do ourselves. Honestly, there’s not much that I can do about the people who have run away from Syria. Any money sent in that direction would be a drop in the bucket and would take months to reach its destination. So my only recourse is to go into my own community and find the refugees–people without homes, seemingly unwanted humans, rejected souls and struggling families–and before their world utterly falls apart, forcing them to my doorstep, I will seek them out and do what I can.”
G-Pop finished the story and she seemed to understand.
You see, Jesus was absolutely right: the poor will always be with us.
The only thing we can do is share from our bounty before they end up on our porch–and we feel compelled to turn them away.
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I am a mother of three children, two boys aged 5 and 7, and a daughter aged 13. I arranged to work half days this summer, and we planned to have our daughter babysit the boys in the mornings. After two weeks, it’s a disaster. My daughter spends too much time texting her friends, and the boys are running wild. Is thirteen too young to babysit? And should I just give up and put them all in day care?
I’m just curious–if you think your dog barks too much, and if you do, if you think the way to correct the situation is to place him in a kennel?
I’m not trying to be snarky with you. Lest you think I’m saying children are animals, I certainly am not. But their care is not dissimilar.
You are being critical of a thirteen-year-old girl who is texting. It is parallel to being angry at a dog which is barking. That’s what 13-year-old girls do. They don’t suddenly become nannies and take care of their brothers efficiently.
I don’t think anyone can tell you that 13 is too young to babysit, but I do think I can tell you that your 13-year-old is too young. I suppose you can choose to be upset about that, or you can realize that this is your situation.
Let’s go with some suggestions:
1. Daycare would be the last possible consideration because it is expensive, and also a little less personal than you might want for your children in the summer months.
2. Is there a compromise? Could your 13-year-old watch the children for a couple of hours a day, and then have a neighbor come in and check in on the situation and rejuvenate the energy? Wouldn’t you be happier to give one of your neighbors a little cash to assist, which would help their finance, instead of using a daycare?
3. There also may be a woman or man who is a house-parent, who might like to combine families and pick up a little extra cash, and take all the pressure off your 13-year-old.
But let’s look at what we do want to avoid:
A. Making your daughter feel guilty because she’s not a good “mommy.”
B. Spending too much money taking care of your kids and losing your livelihood.
C. Having your children in jeopardy because they are not well-cared-for.
You also have the opportunity of explaining your situation to your boss, and possibly doing some work from home, or at least being permitted to take a break from work to check on your children.
Never throw anger or money at your problems–your teenage daughter does not need you to be disappointed in her, and your bank account does not appreciate being depleted in order for you to work a job.
Use your three magic words: Look around you.
It is a miraculous way to live.
Often the solution is within eyesight, and we ignore it because we think everything needs to be more complicated.
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These words seem to be opposites of one another but they were all part of the personality of my mother.
All through my childhood, I had endured a see-saw of emotion which was not only painful, but unpredictable.
November 25th was Thanksgiving Day. I was excited. I walked into the kitchen rubbing my hands together with enthusiasm and asked my mother “when the feast was going to be ready.”
She turned to me with a bit of fire and spit and said, “Why don’t you cook it? It’s hard work.”
It was cold, ferocious and beyond my understanding. I just went to my room, cussing her name.
For after all, this was a woman I had seen empty her cupboards of canned goods to help a neighbor in need and then, the next day, turn around and curse that same neighbor for dereliction and laziness. She would often come into my room and give me a hug, only to scream at me an hour later for watching cartoons–“being in her way” during vacuuming.
In my youth I heard her speak of brotherhood while referring to some individuals as “worthless niggers.”
If I’d had a lick of sense–which I didn’t–I would have realized that a human being who is angry, sweet, gentle, mean, vindictive and giving–well, when you combine them, what you end up with is confused.
In my later years, I understood.
She was seventeen years old when she married a man who was eighteen years her senior. she never got to travel, she didn’t get to go to college, was unable to flirt with either disaster or blessing and birthed five children, which from time to time seemed more of an inconvenience than a heritage.
She lived in confined quarters with limited funds, with a very stoic husband who often went on trips to Canada without providing a definite return date.
I wish I could sit down with her and tell her that I’m sorry I did not understand her plight. In today’s world, she probably would be diagnosed with some sort of neurotic condition which would be tempered by medication. Such remedies were unheard of in her day and age.
The greatest reprieve to my soul is that on the day she passed from this world, I was the last one to see her in the nursing home. We had a wonderful trip to the mall and on the way back, together sang her favorite hymn, The Old Rugged Cross.
She taught me a lot without realizing that she was instructing.
It was neither the fits of anger nor her acts of generosity that remain with me, but rather, a desire to be universally merciful to people when I don’t know their whole story.
So nowadays I would only ask three questions of anyone I encounter:
Can you admit you’re not happy?
Are you willing to be happy?
Will you stay with it until happiness arrives?
That’s all my mother needed–someone to give a damn.
It’s hard for me to remember her as a mom or a mother, and I certainly don’t want to look on her as a monster.
She was a woman named Mary who was given limited possibilities … and did the best she could.
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