1 Thing You Can Do to Ease Your Mind … March 30th, 2020

 

Believe in Free Will

If it’s any comfort to you, God does.

God doesn’t have a plan for your life. He’s given you a beautiful life for your plan.

God does not have a will that He wishes you to pursue to some destiny.

Your life has not been mapped out.

Demons are not meeting in the Netherworld to plot your destruction.

The Universe, the Earth, the Creator and the Cosmos are not trying to teach us a lesson through climate change or pandemics.

This is still in your control.

Although the scenes may change, the dialogue, costumes and characters you wish you join you in your performance are completely at your disposal.

There is no future because you have not yet decided what it should be.

There is a past—and you should not waste your free will to relive it continually in fear or guilt.

The next move is yours.

After all, how much do you really expect God to do, leaving you jobless?

What will your free will be during this season of abstract destruction and infirmity in our world?

Are you looking for someone to blame?

Are you blaming someone because they’re looking in your direction?

Ease your mind.

You have free will.

You can use it however you feel inspired to do so.

Just keep in mind:

The Earth is always in pursuit of justice, so what you sow you will certainly reap.

The Earth is in need of great caretakers, so don’t ignore the cries of nature through foolhardy behavior.

We can come out of this as long as we understand that free will reigns supreme.

Therefore, we aren’t at the mercy of an angry God, a frustrated ecosystem or a Master Plot to destroy the world from the Eastern Lands.

Sit Down Comedy … November 29th, 2019

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Sit Down Comedy

I thought I would sit down and talk to you dear hearts about the It’s Fits. There are three of them.

It is a trio of common phrases uttered to relieve pressure, take away criticism and often to become overly optimistic.

If we begin to believe that these “it’s” have any capacity whatsoever to bring solution, we will certainly find ourselves in fits.

1. “It’s not fair.”

Whining is never attractive. We are completely repulsed by the fussy, teary and defeated profiles of others.

“It’s not fair” is like twirling around in every direction and pointing a finger at all the culprits who have prevented you from receiving your best.

Could it be your children? Maybe it’s your wife plotting. Your husband is nothing but a barking dog. Your company is insensitive to the needs of its employees. Or there must not be a God, because if there were a God, He would never have allowed this atrocity to occur.

Because we’ve been convinced that nurturing one another is the way to say “I love you,” we have babied all the human “house plants” into environments where they cannot stand to actually live outdoors in the sun.

Endurance

This word is necessary for human life: Without endurance, we give up, begin to blame others and become erratically annoying.

The truth is, it may not be fair, but it is learnable. The Earth has its ways and if you study them, you can change your whiny to win.

2. “It’s needing more time.”

Failure arrives to inform us that our direction is not favorable, but instead of learning from the correction, we decide that if more time were given—using the same plan—things would most certainly improve.

Sometimes the Earth speaks.

That’s why we need this second phrase in our journey:

Common sense

In other words, if it didn’t work, it didn’t work. Pressing harder or selling more doesn’t change anything.

The Earth is good to us by telling us quickly when something is shitty.

3. “It’s not my fault.”

Everyone has been in a meeting where a failure is dissected—all participants slicing at one another to be guilt free, punctuating their summary by saying, “It’s not my fault.”

Actually, the more quickly you take responsibility for your part in the failure, the sooner the pain goes away and the healing begins.

It leads us to a third word:

Responsibility

An irresponsible person is unstable in all his or her ways. Ultimately, such a person can get nothing accomplished.

So I realize you want to nurture your husband, your wife, your children and your closest friends, but the best way to do this is to encourage their endurance instead of accepting their excuses.

It is to praise their common sense instead of standing watch while they continue to hit their heads against the walls.

And finally, it is to demand responsibility instead of allowing people to slither away like snakes in the grass to hide in their holes.

  • It’s not fair.
  • It’s needing more time.
  • It’s not my fault.

These are the “It’s Fits”—which keep each one of us from the endurance, common sense and responsibility that allow the second go-round to be drenched in good cheer and fueled by wisdom.

 

 


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The B. S. M. G. Report


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Overcoming the weak in my week,

I have sought what to seek

BAD

There’s nothing to be achieved by the impeachment of Donald J. Trump.

This is not a statement on his innocence or guilt, but rather, the acknowledgement that such an endeavor is beyond us during this time with the unfolding calendar of the United States of America.

The country is weary–its citizens exhausted.

There is too much to discern to maintain any will to continue to reason.

In less than a year, an election proposed by our constitution, will settle the matter.

Although there are those who insist “an awful lot can happen in a year,” or that they wish to “nail the lid” on a coffin that has already been constructed, I contend that the deed is too costly for what might be guaranteed.

For you see, as a young man I purchased an old, green, Bell Telephone van. It was pukey. But the ugliest part of it was the carpet inside, which ran from steering wheel to back door.

I hated it. It was greasy, grimy, stained and filthy. Anyone who got into my van and saw the floor was surely convinced that I was a no-good slob.

One day I took it upon myself to get rid of that damn carpet.

I will tell you—it had been placed in the van with a notion to keep it there until Jesus had his welcome-back party. I cut, I pulled, I tore and I ripped. I probably got a lifetime of carpet fibers and asbestos up my nose.

After about three hours, I finally ripped up the last piece of carpet, though little portions stubbornly remained.

The underneath floor was just as putrid, requiring me to immediately get another carpet put in.

When I arrived at the back door of the carpet store, where I had been promised free c arpet from left-over jobs, the manager looked in my van and said, “Why’d you tear the old carpet out? You should have shampooed it and then put new carpet on top.”

Here are the facts:

Whether you’re a MAGA enthusiast for the President or you believe he’s the anti-Christ, he was duly elected and is part of our bizarre American history.

If you want him gone, wait for the next election.

Clean him out of Washington.

And lay down a new layer of carpet.

Because impeaching is like tearing out carpet—it’s a helluva project and will leave you with a bigger job at the end.

SAD

Sitting in my chair watching television, I teared up.

Maybe I’m an emotional fool, but sometimes I cry because I realize the great potential and am inundated with the present reality.

As I watched, person after person after show after news broadcast conveyed one message:

“You can’t trust anyone.”

Sometimes it was said sadly, sometimes communicated in anger. But in all cases, it was a definitive proclamation that trusting humans is not only foolish but dangerous.

Yet it will certainly be difficult to solve problems when the people we need to help us have become our enemies.

MAD

I don’t want to be a whiner.

I don’t want to be one of those kinds of guys who bitches about things and refuses to leave well enough alone.

And even though I have an abiding joy in watching college football, I am greatly disturbed at how it is gradually becoming America’s modern-day slave market.

57% of the college football athletes are black.

That is compared to 13% of the general population being that color.

Only 2.8% of the students on campuses are African American.

But 70% of the fan base of college football is Caucasian.

On top of that, sports announcers have begun to discuss the athletes as if they’re specimens instead of human beings.

  • “He has a huge, massive chest.”
  • “Look at his rock-hard abs.”
  • “He has thighs twice the size of a normal boy his age.”
  • “He looks like Adonis.”

At first hearing, you might think these are compliments, but actually they are observations—the same kinds of asides spoken by slave-traders as they walked among the young black men, stolen and brought over from Africa.

Granted, some of these young men may be headed for the National Football League, to make much money, unlike their unfortunate ancestors. But this does not rationalize the attitudes, terminology and carelessness with which these human beings are regarded.

Meanwhile, not many people are concerned about their education, integration into human life or even their communication skills.

It is racist.

It may be a gentle racism, or even an entertaining one—but it is racist.

Let’s not get rid of college football, but please—let us cease and desist with the plantation talk.

GLAD

There are three outstanding statements that must be honored for the human race to continue to run well.

1. All humans are created equal.

2. In the kingdom of God, there is neither male nor female.

3. Don’t judge unless you want to be judged.

Every time one, two or dare I say, all three of these, link up to form a circle of understanding, my soul rejoices.

So when “Black Lives Matters” arrived along with the “Me Too Movement,” complete with a new awakening of patriotism in this nation, I didn’t see campaigns at war with one another.

We are gradually beginning to grasp that these ideas, along with many others scattered out there, are like the yarn of understanding that must be knit together, to help us endorse our equality, our genders uniting, and the removal of prejudice.

May they create the circle of understanding that is unbroken.

Jesonian: Reverend Meningsbee (Part 25) Go Help Someone Else … October 16th, 2016

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Reverend Meningsbee

Meningsbee had always found it much easier to memorize the Beatitudes than to adhere to them.

Along with his “wayward wishings on the Web,” he seemed to have an inability to express consideration to other Earthlings. He didn’t feel animosity, just found that fellowshipping was better performed, in his mind, by reading a fine book.

When he woke up on Wednesday, it struck him that he had not interacted with Matrisse and little Hapsy for some time.

Guilt settled in.

Like many mortals, Meningsbee pretended to despise guilt, but often welcomed it as a warm comforter for a chilled thought. So the first thing he did was incriminate himself for failing to be in contact, and treating Matrisse like she was a drop-off center for abandoned children.

He fussed over that for a season, nearly sprouting a tear, and then was able to don appropriate pastoral garb and head off to her house. The activity did lift his spirits, and he began to feel like a preacher again. After all, when you stand behind the holy desk and thunder everlasting truths, it is good to give a damn about souls.

He arrived at the house, took a deep breath, and exited his car. As he walked up the steps to offer solace and comfort to Matrisse, the door flung open in front of him and there she was–squared off, staring at him as if some monster had invaded her porch.

“What do you want?” she challenged.

Stunned, he tried to respond. “I just came over…”

She interrupted. “You came over here because you’re a parson–and think you should interfere in people’s lives when they haven’t asked for your help.”

He paused, surprised, because she had pretty much nailed the situation. That’s exactly what he thought.

She continued. “Listen, Reverend, I’m not like other people. It’s not as if I despise them for being weak, but my thought is, I go to church to take the Word, to answer my questions, to create the sentences for me to go out and make a statement. I don’t cry a lot, but I also don’t bitch. I don’t fuss with other people, especially if they decide to learn their lesson and not fuss with me. And I don’t judge a young girl who had a baby because she forgot how to close her legs, who right now would rather be just a lost child herself. Hapsy seems happy. I feed her. I love her. She laughs. She thinks I have a big belly. So I pretend my stomach can talk, using my belly button as a mouth. She thinks that’s hilarious. I am not looking for help and most certainly–dear God–I’m not looking for pity or the wise words of some seminarian who spent too much time at the library. Let me take the message you preach on Sunday and act it out–so this little girl has a chance to be something other than a stripper, or a nervous sermon-maker.”

She took time out to breathe, glaring at Meningsbee, content she had made her point. He thought about explaining his motivations or trying to convey to her the need to let the community of believers share in her struggle, or just allowing him fifteen minutes to come inside and have a cup of her most delicious tea.

But he waited too long, because Matrisse punctuated her soliloquy with one final thought. This one was a little more tender.

“Listen, Richard. Why don’t you…”

She paused, leaning forward, changing over to a whisper.

“Go…find…someone…else…to help.”

Richard–Reverend Meningsbee–the Shepherd of the Garsonville Church–agreed.

He smiled, turned on his heel and walked back to his car.

As he climbed in, he thought, if the world had been filled with folks like Matrisse, Jesus could have retired instead of being buried by his critics.

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Ask Jonathots … May 5th, 2016

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ask jonathots bigger

What causes some siblings to grow up to be friends and others not? I’m forty and I’m not close to my sister at all. I have two teenage daughters, and I’m wondering what I could do to help them grow up to be friends. Your thoughts?

Perhaps one of the more egregious errors in our culture is the notion that the nuclear family is meant to remain intact.

It causes more stress, misgivings, grudges, insecurity, mishap and even murder than any other predicament facing our species.

If I were a coal miner in West Virginia, was unfortunately involved in a cave-in and spent nine days under the earth with eight other people, we would become very close. Matter of fact, we would share dreams, aspirations, prayers and any food and water available to sustain one another.

Yet to think that after I left that cave of impending death I should continue those relationships with my fellow-prisoners outside the mishap would be ridiculous, forced and disappointing.

For a season we share common goals and aspirations with our family. That experience can range from survival to ecstasy.

But humans are meant to come out of this cocoon and bloom in our individual lives, to start our own families, sustaining our species with new possibilities.

Some sisters have memories of the time when they grew up in the same house, but their journey takes them in completely different directions, with new friends, causing the old encounters to bring fond memories but not needful continuation.

Other sisters stay in the same communities, and it’s like their new families are extensions of the older rendition.

One thing is certain–it evolves naturally and cannot be manipulated through false emotion or guilt.

We must understand that for some people, the memory of their birthing family is pleasant but irrelevant, pleasant but valuable, pleasant but in the past.

For others such recollections are unpleasant and degrading, unpleasant and unnecessary, and unpleasant and harmful.

It is always better to look at the family of our youth as the ship that brought us to the New World. Sometimes that ship can sit out in the harbor of our environment as a memory of great times. And sometimes the ship is so full of holes that it needs to be sunk.

You can’t help people to be friends. Friendship is always based upon mutual concerns.

But what you can do is maintain the better parts of every experience as you launch out into newness of life.

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Confessing … October 17th, 2015

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XXIV.

I confess so I can heal.

If I deny, I remain sick.

I could.

I should have.

I would … next time?

Guilt is often just acceptable self-pity.

It is a decision to appear responsible without ever really taking responsibility.

I shall refrain.

The night my son was hit and run by a car, I kept waiting for the hero in me to show up. I expected “Super Dad” or the cunning of Spirit to steer me in the right direction. I was waiting for my paternal instincts to engulf me in an adrenalin which would bark out commands, take control and become the victor.

Instead, I found myself embarrassingly self-conscious.

I felt as if everybody was watching my actions, like a movie, and they were curious about how I would escape the tragedy.

I felt insufficient and was completely convinced that everybody knew it.

So I blabbered on, bouncing between conjuring memories of better days with my wounded child, or pronouncing epithets of faith, which now fell off my lips insipid and meaningless in the darkness of my surroundings.

When they finally finished operating on my boy and told me the severe state of his injuries, and moved him to a room in Intensive Care, I noticed that there was a chair right next to the hospital bed.

It was empty.

Even though I was confused and frustrated, I knew in my heart it was supposed to be my chair. It was intended to be my place of residence for the next few days or weeks, while I waited for my son to come out of his coma.

Yet I was frightened.

Or maybe I was lazy.

But mostly, I think I was just unsure that I was suited to fill the chair.

So when the doctors and nurses told me there was nothing else I could do that night, and I should go home and get rest, I put up some passive resistance, and then left the hospital, greatly relieved.

When I arrived the next day, the morning nurse told me that Joshua had cried out in pain all during the night, and she wondered where I was. I explained to her that I was instructed to leave.

She just looked at me like she knew it was a lame excuse, given the situation.

I walked into his room, and there was the chair.

I occupied it during the day, but at night I left him.

I wasn’t up to the challenge.

And because I wasn’t, some very bad things happened to him that ended up robbing him of the possibility of new life.

I was afraid of the empty chair.

For you see, there’s always an empty chair. It is rarely filled because it demands such a level of commitment that it frightens away all sitters.

My son needed me and I was not prepared to be the man I needed to be.

I am very sorry.

But I have spent the rest of my life … looking for the empty chair.

 

confessing chair

  

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Confessing… October 10th, 2015

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XXIII

I confess so I can heal.

If I deny, I remain sick.

In an attempt to avoid guilt, we have generated many words and terms to escape the responsibility of telling the truth.

It’s really lying, but now it comes under the guise of “padding your resume, misinformation, mis-spoke, you misunderstood me” or what I call promo talk.

Promo talk is when the real story is not big enough to match our ego.

So we elaborate, and in the process we end up proving that we’re ashamed of the extent of what we’ve done.

It all comes from a basic insecurity which is grounded in a deception:

God, you and that damn piece of bad luck screwed me.

Because it’s not proper or kind to be so blatant, we choose instead to embellish the details of our successes and deny the elements of our failures.

I am guilty.

I have known it for many years, and I have gradually attempted to pull myself out of the abyss of the procedure.

But it’s tricky.

  • I’ve lied about my education.
  • I’ve lied about my relationships.
  • I’ve lied about the extent of my impact.
  • And I’ve lied about not lying.

It’s all because I refuse to look at the beauty of my journey and realize that God’s grace is sufficient for me–without addendum.

I’m sorry. Yes, I am so sorry that I haven’t let the facts speak for themselves.

After all, I will not become more powerful by flexing mythical muscle.

I will not become more intelligent by claiming false degrees.

And I will not become more valuable by elaborating on my qualities.

Promo talk is lying. It doesn’t seem that way because everybody does it. It appears to be just good business.

But good business becomes bad business when we have to cheat ourselves out of the simplicity of standing on our record instead of jumping up on the soapbox and screaming to be heard.

 

Confessing barbershop singer

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