PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … October 7th, 2015

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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PoHymn 10 7 gun

Our National Sin

Yet another fool

Went into the school

To break the Golden Rule

While on the run

He took a gun

And shot his chosen few

Nine are dead

Is what they said

After commercial break

Experts are sought

A lesson is taught

About the creepy fake

Mama cries

Daddy lies

And old friends have their take

I sit and stare

As if I care

Stunned by the sameness

Looking for proof

Some lasting truth

To proclaim myself blameless.

Only nine

Slaughtered this time

A little less than before

But if nine were me

It would be different, you see

Someone shout and roar

But since I live

The little I give

My sympathy

Not much more

When blood is red

Folks are dead

Never to breathe again

Is the gun to blame?

Don’t use his name

Just bury our national sin.

 

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Faith Without Woks Is Not Stir Fry… July 20, 2013

Jonathots Daily Blog

(1949)

Chinese wokThey were trying to help.

Keith and Ruth Ann thought it would be good to offer assistance to Dollie and I since we were only twenty years old, just getting started with life in general.

So they bought us a wok. It was the craze of the time.

It was a huge, stainless steel or aluminum bowl that you were supposed to cook vegetables and meat in to concoct a meal.

It came with instructions. Of course, I ignored those because I was already fully intelligent enough at age twenty to comprehend all things, both practical and cerebral.

So the first meal we attempted in the wok burned.

When I explained this to Keith and Ruth Ann, they asked if I had “treated the pan”–per the directions. I had not. It seems that you needed to smear oil on the inside over and over again, until the surface “accepted” this ointment and prepared itself for you to actually cook.

Honestly, I was not pleased to own a neurotic pan. But I smeared my oil and then cooked my second meal. It was horrible.

Why? Not because it burned, but because it was flavorless. When I shared with Keith and Ruth Ann, they laughed. (That’s what experts do when they want to make novices feel like idiots.)

They shared that an adequate amount of seasoning needs to go into the meals, since vegetables and the like don’t provide much taste on their own.

So we tried again–a third meal–adding various seasonings to complement the ingredients. It tasted better, but was not fully cooked.

I once again consulted with my experts on the Chinese cuisine. They were fully sympathetic, and presented that it was necessary to stir the food constantly while it was cooking, so as to get even distribution of the heat, to make the meal of one common texture.

So on my fourth go around, I finally cooked a meal in my wok that was edible.

The reason I share this story with you is that tomorrow I am heading off to share at Faith Lutheran Church in Dodge Center, Minnesota.

It is nothing but a stainless steel wok. But since I had that experience with Keith and Ruth Ann’s gift, I know what to do:

  1. First, I will bring the oil of gladness. Nothing in the human experience that proposes human fellowship is of any value if it doesn’t bring joy.
  2. Then I will pour in the right ingredients–healthy things that when mixed together, look like they’re fun to receive in your being.
  3. How about adding seasoning? Salty ideas and music peppered with emotion.
  4. And finally, praise God–stir it up! If you plan on leaving people the way you found them, you have no business being a spiritual chef.

So that’s my plan.Dodge Center Faith Lutheran

Faith Lutheran without woks is not stir fry. That I can tell you for sure.

So even though I was not particularly grateful for my gift from Keith and Ruth Ann, and ended up only using it a fifth time after my success on the fourth attempt, I learned that it’s not about simply having a pan … it’s knowing how to apply the heat.

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

You’re Kidding… March 30, 2012

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“As it was in the days of Noah, so shall it be …”

So begins Jesus’ description of life on Planet Earth just prior to the end of the world. He lays out a visual example of a culture that has become preoccupied with “being married and given in marriage.” Does he really believe that the sign of the Apocalypse is matrimony?

No. There is nothing immoral, unspiritual or unnatural about falling in love and getting married. But when that experience encompasses your whole being, taking over your will, your sense of discovery and your vision for life, then it becomes a numbing sensation and a killing field.

Yes, along about the age of twenty-five or twenty-six years, the addled essence, who has failed to learn about peaceful co-existence between the sexes, starts getting the itch to couple, settle down and “start kidding”– in other words, having children. Maybe college didn’t turn out the way they had planned. Those first attempts at business didn’t bring in the million dollars. The trip to Hollywood to become famous just ended up becoming expensive. The parents failed to die and leave the life insurance. So as it turns out, these people in their mid-twenties suddenly discover they are going to have to live out this thing called life in full color.

But because they weren’t allowed to be part of a chilled-hood, which taught them to enjoy equality with the opposite sex; and were then ushered into an addled essence, where they became adversarial with the other half of the species, they arrive at this position in life poorly prepared for communication, lacking spiritual depth and too emotionally vulnerable to link up and be a contributor in a relationship.

So they find a mate, they convince themselves they’re hot for them, they get married and soon a child follows. They start “kidding.” And since they know nothing about  a chilled-hood from experiencing it themselves, they become overly protective of their children—worrying about health issues and frightened of finance.

I see them every week in my church programs. The woman carries the baby, hoping everyone will notice how lovely her genetic contribution turned out to be, as the man trails two steps behind, lugging stuffed animals and the diaper bag, with glazed eyes, as if he had been struck by unseen lightning. Where they should be coming out of a worship experience discussing the beauty of living waters, they stand in the vestibule in protracted discussions about baby formula and zwieback.

They feel noble to have continued the tradition of child-rearing, complete with all of its sighs and despair—and unfortunately, also a sense of vacating all original aspirations. It is a lost generation; a missing link of humanity–age twenty-five through thirty-six. They have lost their identity, their belief in what is righteous, and how it affects their daily lives, which has caused them to lose their perspective–and their ability to keep their cool and relax in what they’ve accomplished.

This causes them to lose respect—first for themselves, for abandoning their talent, and then for their mate, for hastening their retreat. Unfortunately, this leads to them losing their love. Because we all know when respect departs, love begins to pack its bags.

As the child gets older and realizes that he or she is able to manipulate the household through tantrums because the parents have lost all will to resist, we continue the dastardly process into addled essence, culminating with parents holding on with prayers and hopes for things being better tomorrow. Teenagers rule the world–a planet that needs more mature insight.

We lose the You’re Kiddings during this season of procreation. We have no contact with them outside of complimenting their children, discussing daycare, or the best places to buy rounded-tip scissors for pre-school. The weightier matters of justice, love, mercy, understanding and compassion are set aside, to spend most of the time festering over work schedules and who’s going to get up in the middle of the night to change diapers.

Yes, the time in their lives when they should have the most energy, optimism and generosity of spirit is completely encompassed by the idea of being married, given in marriage and “kidding around.”

What is the process of birthing children supposed to do for us? Well, our forefathers and mothers had children because it was cheaper than hiring farm hands. They expected these little ones to start working immediately—as soon as they finished nursing. Now, we might find this to be uncaring or even mean-spirited, but somehow or another we need to land between being completely overwhelmed by the action of making other human beings, and merely thinking of them as ranch hands. See what I mean?

Here are the four steps I think are necessary for this particular age group—IF they’ve had a chilled-hood, enjoying equality with the opposite sex, and have escaped an addled essence, where their future life partner is viewed as adversarial:

1.  (And I do mean number one) Honor your children by honoring your dreams. You do not do anything for your off-spring by returning to your home exhausted because you’re working a job that has no resemblance whatsoever to what you really want to do. One of the transitions we need to make in this country is to understand that local representations of our culture are much more effective than nationally promoted ones. What I mean by that is, maybe you planned on being a great business tycoon and flying off to New York to work with Donald Trump. But now two babies have arrived and trumped your plans. There is still no reason why you cannot stay in your home town of 75,000 people and entrepreneur an idea that is regionally successful, granting you satisfaction over the yearnings of your heart. You may not end up being everything you thought you were going to be, but you will certainly be a snapshot of what you always wanted. You will turn your children on with your enthusiasm.

2. We should be spontaneous in love, but solid in principle. That means sometimes our little geniuses, who came out of our birthing cycle, need to be disciplined. It doesn’t matter how cute they are. It doesn’t matter how good the excuse is. We express love best in our homes when we have principles by which we live that are followed through with–even in the difficult times. Most members of the You’re Kidding generation think their main function is to make their children happy. Actually, their job is to create a stable sense of ethics and provide a direction that will ultimately bring forth happiness.

3. Stop worrying. And that goes for all the impersonators of the process, including over-discussing, looking at the Internet too much, having conversations with other young parents who are equally as baffled as you are, or listening to experts who are more concerned with selling a book than they are with making your child a dynamic human being. How do you know when you’re worrying? When you have learned all you can on a subject, applied the better parts of it and still continue to think, talk and fret over it, you are worrying. The best you can do as a parent is learn, do–and trust God for the rest.

4. And finally, these youthful birthers of a new generation need to teach their offspring that lying is the only sin. I believe this with all my heart. As long as we make mistakes and own them, grace covers a multitude of sins. Yes, grace covers every sin but lying. Lying is avoiding the grace of God to pretend like no mistakes have happened. If you punish lying and reward truth, the truth will eventually make your children free. It doesn’t mean they won’t go through difficulty, but it does mean they won’t be afraid to come to you and admit their frailty. If we can take this generation of shell-shocked human beings who have stumbled into marriage and child-bearing, and free them to still be wide-eyed with wonder over their own pursuits, as they include their children in their lives instead of making those little ones their only focus, then the energy from these individuals can once again revitalize our country.

Because if we can’t take the You’re Kidding generation and allow them to escape the preoccupation of babies, birthing and bundling, then in no time at all, they reach thirty-seven years of age and enter the next twelve-year phase, when the new enemy becomes …  money.

I shall call this group Re-spend-ability.

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Listen to Jonathan sing his gospel/blues anthem, Spent This Time, accompanied by Janet Clazzy on the WX-5 Wind Machine

 

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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.

http://www.janethan.com/tour_store.htm

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.

Useless.

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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