Iz and Pal (Bedouin Buddies)


Iz and Pal

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4140)

Sitting Thirty-Three

Wednesday night in the desert, although the unforgiving wasteland knows no season or hour.

Iz and Pal sat and watched as the sun set behind the hill. A burgeoning, chilly breeze whizzed its way past their ears, tingling their spines, causing them to draw closer to one another. It was the night before the day when everything…

Well, it seemed that everything would happen.

Wednesday had been a glorious day, chock-full of soccer, food and laughter, wrestling with each other, and questions designed to “stump your friend.” It was an ongoing Olympian marathon, trying to outdo the other fellow—gleefully making fun of each other—short of humiliation.

They had come to terms with one realization. This would be their last night in the desert, one way or another. Tomorrow they would either be overtaken by the brute force of the interfering mob, forced to return to their homes, or they would select their final option of dying together in the sand.

Emotions were colliding—joy desperately trying to keep its head up as sadness was tugging away.

Iz suggested they take this last night to eat up all the remaining food. He posed a provocative question. “Is it possible to eat until you puke?” he asked Pal, sporting a grin, but trying to maintain a certain decorum of scientific intrigue.

Pal did not know.

So the two boys were on a mission. They ate and they ate. It was not long until they were full, stuffed to the top of their eyebrows. Further eating was becoming painful. Actually, the sight of food began to make them sick. But still—they pressed on.

They devoured.

At length their throats were reluctant to swallow so they drank until their bodies sloshed. Managing some huge burps, they tried to eat some more. There were cramps, and attempts at laughter, which quickly turned into moans of pain from stomachs that were bloated from overuse.

Food supplies were lessening, and they were down to cans of provisions which were unidentifiable or deemed distasteful. At this point, Iz dug into the pile, pulled out a can of sardines, peeled back the tin lid and held up one of the yellow, drippy fishies. Reading the can, Iz proclaimed, “This one is in mustard sauce!”

That’s all Pal required. The thought of a fish swimming around in mustard was enough to cause him to unleash the burden lurking in his entrails. He threw up, laughed, coughed, threw up again, giggled—and went for a third round as Iz dangled the nasty little fish in front of his nose.

Yet it was when Iz actually ate the sardine that Pal exploded with what would be his final deluge of urping. This prompted Iz—overcome by both the scene and the smell of the fish—to join in the party, uncapping his own barrage of bellowing bounty from below.

It was a sight that would cause a mother to weep, a priest to fast and pray, and anyone feeling the least little bit queasy to join up and join in.

But to Iz and Pal, the brothers in the desert, it was the greatest fun in the world.

Regaining their composure, they shoveled sand over the remains and lay down on the desert, trying to recover from the ache of regurgitation. Breathing heavily, staring at the night sky, they still managed an occasional giggle.

This was their moment. They were desperately grasping onto it with all their might.

 

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Published in: on August 18, 2019 at 7:43 pm  Leave a Comment  
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3 Things … July 11th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4102)

That Make a Great Meal

1. Prepare it with someone you love

 

2. Make it simple so that it’s always fun

 

3. Eat it with gratitude and laughter

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3 Things… July 26th, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog

(3745)

That Make Great Pizza

 

1. Adding cheddar and swiss into the cheese blend

2. Not too much sauce (garlic and oregano)

3. No one talking about calories while eating it

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Published in: on July 26, 2018 at 2:01 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Jesonian … September 30th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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jesonian-cover-amazon

It had been a day of storytelling.

Launching out into a boat so that the audience on the seashore could hear more clearly, the young teacher, formerly from Nazareth, had shared great yarns about faith–three in particular.

Taking an ethereal subject, he translated it into the human and earthly. It was what he did best. He had no intention of having followers with heaven on their minds–not when there was still so much to do here on earth.

The first story was about a sower. The lesson was really simple. The seeds of hope, love, contentment, joy and even confrontation have to be sown–whether the inhabitants of Earth received them or not. You just never know what patch of soil might sprout promise.

Another story was about how to showcase faith. It really is not a private matter–it is something that needs to be shown forth, demonstrated, put on a candlestick so the light can fill the room.

And then there was that closing story that finished out the day. An inspiring one. “Faith is like a mustard seed…” In other words, it may be small, but its original girth does not foretell what it will eventually be. Don’t despise small beginnings.

At the end of the day this young teacher, Jesus, decided he wanted to go on a late-night sail across the sea to the other shore. It was a family aatmosphere, and so other folks who had been moved by the message decided to join him on the journey. Jesus had a big boat but those who followed him were in little ships. Exhausted, Jesus grabbed a pillow and headed to the back of the boat to get a snooze on the way across.

Then the atmosphere changed. (It nearly always does.) Into a quiet, peaceful night, a storm arose–a big one. The waves began to splash into the boat.The disciples were frightened. All the stories of faith dissipated in the presence of this threat. They screamed at Jesus, asking him why he didn’t do something. Why didn’t he care that they were dying?

Every teacher in the world will understand his feelings at that point. What is the purpose of sharing a lesson if no one applies it?

But Jesus had other concerns. This was no time to put the disciples to the test to see if they could survive their anxieties. Because, you see, there were other little ships. And if the big boat was in trouble then the little ships were in desperate straits.

So Jesus calmed the storm–not because he wanted to appease twelve frightened men in a big boat, but because he was concerned about the little ships.

Jesus was always sensitive to the little ships. Matter of fact, he made it clear that if we don’t take care of the “least,” we’re really not in fellowship with him at all.

We’ve lost our hearts for the little ships.

Storms come to our country and ravage the land and we scream to the government to help us rebuild our houses. Meanwhile, the least of these–the little ships–aren’t even getting water and food to survive.

I spent three days this year locked up in a hot house, sweating, my brain fried because I had none of the conveniences of which I was accustomed. I was fit to be tied.

In Puerto Rico, it’s been many,many days without food, water, cooling and relief.

Can we care about what’s happening to the little ships, or are we only concerned for our own losses and perishing?

That night, terrified disciples were saved because Jesus took care of the little ships.

I suggest that if we find the little ships in our lives, in the process of doing so, all the boats will be brought safely to the shore.

 

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G-Poppers … December 9th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Jon close up

Facebook is actually rather faceless.

Church has become more worship than fellowship.

Politics is about winning instead of communicating.

Concerts are darkened halls, where only the stage is lit up.

G-Pop contends that we’ve lost something. Maybe we’ve sacrificed it. Maybe it was taken away from us to promote corporate profit. Who knows?

But somewhere along the line, the ability to sit down with another human being, share a sandwich and let the small talk grow until it’s big has been lost.

During G-Pop’s holiday time, he has sought out occasions to be with individuals or tiny handfuls of people who use the instigation of a little bit of food to create great thought. The process is so precious and free of complexity that we’ve abandoned it in this era of prideful over-dramatic expressions.

Here’s how it works:

1. Convene.

Find a location that doesn’t need your attention, which can be a catalyst for dialogue.

2. Converse.

Yes, talk. It doesn’t have to be deep, but it will become meaningful because we quickly run out of foolishness and begin to favor some heart.

3. Connect.

Find reasons to listen which will lead to opportunities to agree. Take the agreement and build on it.

It’s time to realize that stuffing twenty thousand people in a building is not a movement–it’s a rally.

G-Pop wants you to know that a movement occurs when a convening of souls leads to a great conversation, which is truly satisfied as we connect.

 

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Dear Man/Dear Woman: A Noteworthy Conversation … May 14th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Dear Man Dear Woman

Dear Man: If I remember correctly, I was eleven years old, in middle school, during gym class, and Miss Pontier shared with us girls. It was a rainy day and we were supposed to be playing softball. We were forced inside, and for some reason, our teacher decided to wax poetic about men.

 

Dear Woman: Really? What did she say?

 

Dear Man: As I look back on it, I realize that she was probably going through a hard time in a relationship, but she quickly–and kind of comically–explained to us the three things that men don’t do.

 

Dear Woman: This is interesting. What were her findings?

 

Dear Man: She said men don’t emotionally care about much of anything. Secondly, men find it difficult to carry on a meaningful conversation, and third–men don’t remember anything if it’s more than a week away and doesn’t involve food and beer.

 

Dear Woman: Wow. That’s pretty jaded. So what did you think at the time?

 

Dear Man: I thought she was the goddess of wisdom. Who was I to question her?

 

Dear Woman: I had a similar thing happen when I was playing junior high football. We were on the bus on the way to a game and the coach talked to us about girls. We were not just a captive audience, but captivated by the subject. He said that girls don’t like sports, they don’t like to be ignored, and they don’t ever want to be wrong.

 

Dear Man: I would assume you agreed.

 

Dear Woman: Well, from my lack of experience I decided to accept his insight.

 

Dear Man: You see–that’s the problem in our society. People think it’s funny to portray the other gender as ridiculous, stubborn or stupid. But once we think that they don’t do something, it colors our efforts, and pretty soon we translate it to “they won’t.

 

Dear Woman: In other words, we take it personally.

 

Dear Man: Absolutely. So even though we feel the need to pair off and mate, we establish our main relationships within our gender, insisting that it’s impossible for a man and woman to get along completely.

 

Dear Woman: So let me get this straight. Because somebody tells us, for instance, that “women don’t do something,” we go out and confirm through our experiences, which are now prejudiced, that they won’t.

 

Dear Man: And it doesn’t stop there. Once we’re convinced they don’t and they won’t, we start believing they can’t. Despair sets in, disappointment, and a nagging resignation to having a relationship that is less than fulfilling.

 

Dear Woman: So we do a disservice to our children by telling them that the opposite sex doesn’t do things–because they will begin to believe they won’t, which makes them conclude that they can’t.

 

Dear Man: Yes. That’s why we have so much prejudice. Because if I believe you don’t do something, and I conclude you won’t, I disrespect you by thinking you can’t.

 

Dear Woman: So what can we do?

 

Dear Man: I think we can stop generalizing that men and women react as genders instead of individuals. It will block that deadly process that ends up with us thinking that the opposite sex is incapable of addressing our feelings.

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Quatrain of Overeating… November 25, 2014

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(2424)

overeating bigger

My food is lonely

I see its pain

Come to me, sweetie

Dwell in my tummy.

 

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Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about scheduling.

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Published in: on November 25, 2014 at 1:47 pm  Leave a Comment  
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