PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … July 18th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Found Her Space

by Jonathan Richard Cring

Hustling along the common square

Delirious with hope, yet barely aware

Something living, growing inside

Closing her mind, let it abide

Living in the moment seems safe and sane

Worrying of ‘morrows, what will she obtain?

Did she like her? Did they agree?

For all to see, how can it be

That happiness can end this careless tale

Fools are found to always fail

Just give her a chance to make a scheme

Perhaps a door to allow for her dream

To be what she wanted–no common fool

Find her place in the school

Two, three, four o’clock

One more time around the block

Raincoat sniffs of old worn tires

Almost forgot, then the memory fires

Walking in the open door

There’s the boy–nothing more

No place to go and find retreat

Time and truth finally meet

So girl became a mother

And mother birthed brother

Jarring moment in reality

Mercifully immersed in vitality

Though the freshman lost her place

The lady found her space

Our guest reader is Elizabeth, who lives in Florida with her husband and family

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Jesonian: Reverend Meningsbee (Part 16) Matrisse … August 14th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Reverend Meningsbee

The Garsonville church congregation came ricocheting out of the sanctuary, bouncing off the walls like a red rubber ball tossed by a naughty toddler.

They were so pleased with themselves.

Those who had participated in the “Group Sermonette” reprised their roles to the delight of listeners, as the individuals who were passed over by the lottery of numbers sat with a blending of jealousy over being left out and excitement over when they, too, would be asked to be leaders in the Reverend’s Round Robin.

Meningsbee had barely made his way out the door when he was greeted by Matrisse. She asked to see him for a moment, so the good reverend followed her over to a secluded alcove and sat down on a bench.

Now…Matrisse had not been one of the early encouragers to Reverend Meningsbee. She did not criticize him, nor did she leave and join the “Express” congregation. She just watched–carefully.

Although only fifty years old, she had a depth of soul and a rigidity of countenance which reminded him of a giant eagle perched on a high mountain, peering down at the flightless mortals below.

One day she just called and asked if she could come over and see the preacher. She brought chicory and sticky buns, and for three hours the two souls enjoined.

Meningsbee learned much.

Matrisse was the only human of color in the Garsonville community. Her father was a Cherokee chief–retired–and her mother was a Creole dame from New Orleans who dabbled in the “dark arts.” So Matrisse grew up learning the smoking end of a peace pipe and on rainy evenings, found herself digging in the muddy soil to retrieve night crawlers and crickets for her mother to use in favored potions.

Matrisse was a delicious milky-brown color, which in a normal city would render her nearly invisible, but in Garsonville made her appear like she was fresh off the boat from Africa. In her lifetime she had gone from being called “nigger” to more recently being referred to as a “treasure of our community with a colorful personality.”

Meningsbee knew one thing about Matrisse–she was the kind of woman to listen to because she had spent much of her life hearing nonsense, and was able to pull out nuggets of gold from the rubble.

Once they sat down in the alcove, she wasted no time. “Who is this woman you have brought to our church?”

Meningsbee replied, “Kitty? She’s just a girl.”

Matrisse fired back, “Girls do not have boobies and babies.”

The pastor had no reply. He knew it was time to listen.

Matrisse colored in the picture. “I will not take much of your time. I know because you’re a man who has a generous heart, but often a clumsy understanding of pioneer people, that you probably plan to lodge the girl and her baby in your home as an act of Christian charity.”

Actually, Meningsbee didn’t know what his intentions were, but had no reason to argue with the assertion.

Matrisse marched on. “You cannot do this. You are a man, even though you think you are of God. I mean, you know you’re of God, but you’re also a man. What I’m saying is, a man of God is still more man than God. Even if you would never lay a hand on this young girl, everybody would have visions of you fondling her, making wild passionate love to her, and never give you the benefit of the doubt, even if you were remaining pure and chaste.”

Meningsbee hadn’t even thought about it. Any of it. He started to object, but Matrisse interrupted.

“I’m not asking your opinion on this. I am telling you that I will take this woman into my home for two weeks and treat her as my daughter. And her little child will become my pappoose. That’s fourteen days. In that fourteen days, you should talk to her, find out what she wants to do–but make sure that she does not accidentally turn into a Jezebel who comes and destroys this work of God. Do you understand me?”

Meningsbee did.

Matrisse disappeared, and he sat for a moment, thinking about her words. Perhaps they were crude, but they were true to the understanding she possessed of the locals based upon the abundance of experience she had with their tongue-wagging.

At length, he emerged from the alcove and saw her with Kitty and Hapsy, heading toward the door, with Kitty turning helplessly to wave as the juggernaut of activity known as Matrisse pushed them toward home.

Meningsbee smiled.

Sometimes every human being needs to have saints who come along to help make dreams lose their cloudiness…and offer clearer skies.

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Ask Jonathots … November 12th, 2015

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I’m a fourteen-year-old girl and I’ve been playing soccer since I was six. I have a really good kick, and I want to try out for kicker on the high school football team next spring. Everyone has an opinion about it. My parents are afraid I’ll get hurt, and also that I won’t get asked out on dates by boys. My soccer girlfriends are upset because the schedule means I can’t play soccer. I’m a little scared myself, but more about my physicality–I’m really good, but will I get better, like a boy would? Any advice–both about the physical part and the social part?

There is only one great gift we can give to ourselves: tell the truth.

Honestly, if you don’t tell anybody else the truth, you can still find peace of mind if you know that you’re being completely honest. What destroys us is when we create a lie and spend a lot of time convincing ourselves it’s the truth.

I tell you that because the most important question facing you is: why do you want to kick for the high school football team?

The question is not whether you should or whether boys will want to date you–the greatest attraction boys and girls have for each other is success. In other words, if you’re a successful high school kicker, boys will be drawn to you.

Don’t get me wrong–I’m not saying you are lying.  As long as your reason for wanting to kick on the high school football team is because you’re good enough to kick on the high school football team, and  you’re sure it’s the next step in your progress as an athlete, then by all means, go ahead.

So how do you know if your own heart is truthful, and that your reasons for doing this are based on your own desire?

1. If it weren’t unusual, would you still want to do it?

In other words, if you were a boy, would you still want to kick on the football team? If the answer is yes, then what’s the difference in being a girl? The goal is to make the kick–not whether it’s done by a girl or a boy.

2. Can you do this with belief in your heart, realizing that criticism will come, but it won’t change your mind?

You will have to have some determination. If it’s worth it, then determination will come.

3. And finally, if it doesn’t go well, will you still be glad you did it?

Simply put, is this valuable enough to you that if you fail at it, you will still be glad you tried because it’s what you needed to do?

This is all about you.

It’s not about what other people think and it certainly is not about avoiding trying to do it because you’re afraid of what people will feel.

I believe in you.

I wouldn’t care if you were a girl or a boy.

I would just want to know that it’s your dream…and you’re going to do it well. 

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