Cracked 5 … September 12th, 2017

Jonathots Daily Blog


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Signs That You May Have Stayed Too Long At Your Adult Son’s House With His Family Waiting For The Electricity To Turn On In Your Home After The Hurricane

A. You’re beginning to repeat your stories with no other obvious symptoms of dementia


B. Your granddaughter caught a brief glimpse of you in your “holey” inappropriate boxer briefs


C. His family stares at you, perplexed, when you inquire about the fiber content in the breakfast waffles


D. You accidentally discover that your son has been browsing Google on the topic, “Evicting a Relative”


E. Your son’s children are crying because you woke up this morning


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Three Ways to Give Without Regretting … August 21, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog


Without giving, there is no getting without taking. Therein lies the dilemma that causes strife, poverty and war.

But can we give without regretting?

1. Start with what you don’t want anymore.

The fact is, your junk is somebody else’s treasure or need. I have a rule that if anything has sat around my house for more than four months without being used, it is time for eviction. There are exceptions with seasonal objects, but generally speaking, 90 to 120 days is the line.

Any city in America in which the entire populace would get rid of their extra stuff would cause 85% of the need in that town to be eliminated through distribution.

2. Think ahead–make it your idea.

When you wait for people to beg you for money or try to guilt-trip you into giving, you not only will give less, but you will be reluctant to hang around in any atmosphere where there might be need. That would be very unfortunate for your soul. I personally like Saturday night at 9:00 P.M. After the weekly finances have come in and the weekly expenditures have been taken care of, I say to myself, “What do I want to give this week and where do I want to target it?”

When you have personal control, you will find that a true sense of spirituality enters your being instead of a false religion of submission.

3. Give to those who can’t give back to you.

When you give, expecting people to also reciprocate in your direction, you can become frustrated due to the amnesia that often follows when people are fulfilled.

But when you give to those who can’t give back, you have no anticipation whatsoever of receiving anything from them, but instead, have granted yourself the power of self-fulfillment.

If you will apply these three things to your giving, you will not only sense empowerment through your choices, but you will chase regret out the door, down the street … disappearing from your life.

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The Sermon on the Mount in music and story. Click the mountain!

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Click here to get info on the "Gospel According to Common Sense" Tour

Click here to get info on the “Gospel According to Common Sense” Tour

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Click here to listen to Spirited music

Little is Big on a Bad Day … February 15, 2013

school color


Pictured above is the Miakka School House, a historical landmark which I photographed last night during my visit to the tiny community, which is strategically enclosed in the greenery and mushiness of Central Florida.

You might suspect that in person, the schoolhouse does not appear to be psychedelic. I have enhanced it. Some people would say I’ve distorted the image. Such is life. Rarely do we get a glimpse of an image in actuality before our minds take it over and attempt to either enhance it, or in a fit of frustration, distort it.

I will tell you this of a certainty–very few people have their lives ruined by a disaster–mainly because disasters are rare. It is much more likely to have your life altered, devastated or left barren by a little thing that is blown out of proportion than it ever is by being struck by lightning. The human tendency to take “little things” and make them “big” simply because “we’re having a bad day” is what renders us fearful, suspicious and often frozen–unable to move forward.

Our upbringing doesn’t help. Adding to the trepidation are the number of murders offered on television as evidence of a cruel society. And honestly, just the human tendency to think that evil is more intriguing than good causes us to swing to the dark side. I guess it would be harmless if it weren’t so harmful. But it is often in the midst of our false concerns that we fail to recognize a true opportunity, which ends up leaving us with a mess.

How can we keep from distorting the facts presented to us? Or just as bad, from trying to enhance everything in order to make it look better, ending up with a bizarre representation?

First of all, I think we have to admit to ourselves early in our morning that we are ill-prepared for the day and have set our feet toward being a dunderhead. Sometimes I even give those around me the gracious warning that I am a ticking time bomb of stupidity.  Amazingly, often that is enough to shake us out of our dim-wittedness.

Yes, merely confessing “I’m having a bad day” sometimes changes it into a good day. But if you continue to walk around in a foul mood, insisting there is nothing wrong with you, it’s everybody around you doing “stinky work,” you can set in motion the beginnings of a real disaster.

“I’m having a bad day. Please, someone help me.”

And since you know you’re having one of those bad days, and you are susceptible to making everything little too big, don’t make any decisions without asking three questions:

1. Have I done this before? Is this situation in front of me, which seems so foreign and problematic, really just an opportunity that I’ve previously handled, wearing a different hat? You will be surprised at how encouraging it is to remember former successes.

2. If this did happen before, what did I learn from it? Most people think that the brain remembers things because we see something that triggers memory. Actually the brain only remembers things when we ask it to retrieve similar occurrences. The brain is not helpful, just available. So if you don’t ask your brain to dredge up the past, it will lock it up solutions like they’re in solitary confinement. What did I learn the last time?

3. And finally, what is different with today? Occasionally something will be unique in your present dilemma. But usually not. Generally speaking, the only thing separating today’s frustration from yesterday’s clear-headedness is a bad night’s sleep, nightmares or low blood sugar. What is different?

By the time you finish asking these three magical questions, having already admitted  having a bad day, you have much less chance of turning something little into something big, distorting the image set in front of you. It is a problem we humans encounter incessantly. Therefore, it would be a good idea to have a plan of action for handling it.

Because of the rainy, drippy weather, only a handful of determined souls made it out from the Floridian rural countryside to our concert last night. I drove a long way to get there. So I was tempted to take something little–like poor attendance–and make it a big thing. Instead I asked myself the questions:

  • Have I been here before? Yes, and every time that I remained faithful, it’s always been beautiful.
  • What did I learn? Whether you and I are in front of eleven people or eleven thousand, it makes no difference if I am sharing in a bad mood. So buck up.
  • What is different? Me. I am different because now God has given me the grace to ask these miraculous questions instead of dumping bad attitude along the side of the freeway like I’m running away from town to escape an eviction notice.

You don’t need to enhance your life and you certainly don’t need to distort it. Just stop making little things big–just because you’re having a bad day.

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Ed … March 5, 2012


I was twenty-one years old. My life was a mish-mash of contradictions, colliding into one another, creating what seemed to be a big ball of excitement, which occasionally deflated to just no game at all.

I already had two children, even though I had no visible means of supporting them. You see, I was a musician—a songwriter and singer—bound and determined to continue to be so, in the midst of objections from family, friends, landlords and bill collectors.

It was a confusing time because I had nights of great success, when I would perform onstage with some of the top gospel acts of the day, only to return home to an eviction notice hanging on my door. The big gospel acts loved me because I was willing to bring in my group to warm up the audience for them, and didn’t charge them anything. I was pleased and overjoyed to share for the exposure. Also, I was a lot of fun.

I picked up a few dollars here and there doing vocal coaching and arranging music for local gospel quartets. Yet I was a contradiction in terms. I was talent with no audience—energy dissipated into a vacuum. And I was supposed to be an adult and father of two children, but constantly required a wash cloth to dab the moisture from behind my ears. Just to give you a further idea of the weirdness going on in my life, on the day that I signed one of my songs for publication with a Nashville recording company, I was standing in my small apartment, reading the letter, when the lights went out as the electric company turned my power off for lack of payment.

In the midst of this back and forth existence, I met Ed. He was the pastor of a small church who invited me to come in and share with my group, and he immediately took a liking to me. Well, actually it was more than that. He was so impressed that he asked me if I would help him record some of the songs he had written. So he booked a local studio, requesting that I produce the session and gather and rehearse the musicians. I listened to some of his songs. They were really nice. But remember—I was twenty-one, and on top of being a bit irresponsible, I was also an insecure brat. So privately, to the other members of my group, I chose to make fun of Ed’s material, because for a brief moment, it made me feel big and very important.

But I agreed to do the album with Ed. He was thrilled. He immediately started to work on his voice and songs in preparation. Ed was in his mid-thirties and on the fourth or maybe fifth reincarnation of his dreams, feeling that this present opportunity could be his last. I didn’t understand—I was too young to fathom running out of time.

 Ed got ready and I agreed to meet him there. After making the promise, I went out, and with a combination of babies, traveling and dodging my landlord, I soon forgot Ed. A bit nervous, he called me from time to time and I lied and reassured him that everything was on target and all he needed to do was bring a good voice and relax—that we would have great results.

I meant well. I think there was a part of me that believed that at the last minute I would snatch out some sort of musical miracle and dazzle both Ed and myself with the completed, mysteriously hatched juggernaut. But on the morning that I was supposed to meet Ed at the studio, I had done no arranging, gathered no musicians and had further discovered that I had an appointment and needed to travel to Nashville,Tennessee.

I didn’t even call him.

When I arrived in Nashville several hours later, there was a phone call from Ed. I don’t know how he had tracked me down to my motel, but he asked me where I was. I lied. I told him I was a couple of hours away but I was coming—and looking forward to the session.

I don’t know what I hoped to achieve—maybe I was just treasuring a few more seconds of Ed’s adoration. Two hours later the phone rang and it was Ed. He explained that the studio was charging him for all the time he was waiting for me and he wondered what my estimated time of arrival was going to be. It was time to come clean.

“Listen, Ed, it’s kind of weird but kind of funny, too. You see, I got all tied up in stuff and I forgot that our project was in this month—well, anyway. I had to go toNashvilleand that’s where I am, so I won’t be able to do this today. See if you can reschedule.”

There was silence on the other end. Then Ed finally spoke. “That’s all right,” he said. “Some of the guys here have agreed to help me put my album together. I appreciate your time.”

Ed hung up. I thought about his words. He appreciated my time. I had no time for Ed. Matter of fact, my dear friends, I never gave myself enough time to even feel guilty about what I did to Ed. I went back to pursuing my goals and allowing Mother Nature and my heavenly Father to teach me gradually, over the years, how to be a human being instead of the south end of a donkey.

I thought about Ed today. It’s been thirty-nine years since it happened. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. Years and years ago, I heard through the grapevine that he did make that album, though, and that he was very pleased.

But I thought about him today—because it’s important for me to do so. My life has moved on and I’ve grown. I would never, ever treat a child of God that same way again. Some folks would say, “Why dredge up bad memories? Why put yourself through it? Why reflect upon things that are negative?”

It’s because they’re MY bad memories. They were a painful part of my journey to who I am. And they’re only negative if I stubbornly continue to repeat them.

Yes—the musing of the masses is that it’s useless to feel guilty. I disagree—because quite honestly, friends, guilt is sometimes the only thing that really makes us feel at all.


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Below is the first chapter of Jonathan Richard Cring’s stunning novel entitled Preparing a Place for Myself—the story of a journey after death. It is a delicious blend of theology and science fiction that will inspire and entertain. I thought you might enjoy reading it. After you do, if you would like to read the book in its entirety, please click on the link below and go to our tour store. The book is being offered at the special price of $4.99 plus $3.99 shipping–a total of $8.98. Enjoy.

Sitting One

 I died today. 

I didn’t expect it to happen.  Then again, I did—well, not really.

No, I certainly didn’t expect it.

I’ve had moments of clarity in my life.  Amazingly enough, many of them were in the midst of a dream. For a brief second I would know the meaning of life or the missing treatment to cure cancer.  And then as quickly as it popped into my mind it was gone. I really don’t recollect dying.  Just this unbelievable sense of clear headedness—like walking into a room newly painted and knowing by the odor and brightness that the color on the wall is so splattering new that you should be careful not to touch it for fear of smearing the design. The greatest revelation of all? 

Twenty-five miles in the sky time ceases to exist.

The planet Pluto takes two hundred and forty-eight years to circle the sun. It doesn’t give a damn. 

The day of my death was the day I became free of the only burden I really ever had.  TIME.


Time is fussy.  Time is worry. 

Time is fear.  Time is the culprit causing human-types to recoil from pending generosity. 

There just was never enough time. 

Time would not allow it.  Remember—“if time permits …”

Why if time permits?  Why not if I permit?  Why not if I dream?  Why not if I want?  Why does time get to dictate to me my passage? 

It was time that robbed me of my soulful nature.    It was time that convinced me that my selfishness was needed. 

I didn’t die. The clock in me died, leaving spirit to tick on.  

So why don’t we see the farce of time?  Why do we allow ourselves to fall under the power of the cruel despot?  Yes, time is a relentless master—very little wage for much demand.

I died today. 

Actually … a piece of time named after me was cast away.

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