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3 Things … July 18th, 2019
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That Make for Great Kissing
1. Give the lips some space and time to get acquainted—even if they are old friends.
2. Don’t rush in with the hands. Allow the lips, mouth and tongue a chance to do their best work.
3. Stop kissing for a few moments and look in your lover’s eyes, to find even greater inspiration.
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Jonathots … December 18th, 2018
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She approached her shopping cart, unwilling to put her hands on it until she had removed a wet-nap from her purse, full of, I assume, anti-biotic, anti-virus and anti-people juice. She cleaned off the apparatus before she began her shopping.
I apparently was caught staring because she turned to me with a snarl on her face and said, “Nasty stuff. Got to avoid the flu bug.”
Likewise, during the wintertime, I attended a church with a minister in full ceremonial garb. It came time for the “passing of the peace.” He paused and explained to the congregation, “I must ask you not to make contact with your hands with one another. Since it is the flu season, please find another way to express other than physical contact.”
A little gleeful spirit leaped in my soul–I love awkward situations, which certainly are rife with comedy. I watched the people–who didn’t know what to do. Some tried to “fist bump,” but let’s be honest. Fist bumping is certainly not conducive to the sign of peace. Most people just gave up and nervously waved.
Needless to say, even though this was popular for a few weeks, the mass of humanity eventually realized that since we’re all in this together, then “together we will sneeze and cough.”
Even though you can pass the flu bug by touching one another, you can also pass along blessing.
Are you frowning over that statement?
Just like you can’t see the bacteria or viruses that cause the flu it is equally possible that the energy, the kindness, the mercy and the tenderness in human hands are not visible either, but are passed through touch.
And candidly, even the flu bugs that people pass to us give us a fighting chance to manufacture anti-bodies which are much more likely to protect us from the flu than acting like the whole world around us is filled with lepers.
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Jonathots … November 20th, 2018
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On special occasions, when we are able to escape the sensibility of our own head and reach out beyond our cloistered environment, the question then becomes, how do we touch?
How do we use our hands in a constructive format that isn’t clumsy or ham-fisted? There is a severe danger in trying to over-complicate our lives, by studying our motives to such a degree that we are frightened to motivate.
But there is one enlightening approach that never fails to deliver an exciting conclusion. When we don’t know how to touch the lives of other people, find a moment, an opportunity to pat them on the back–literally.
Understanding that people are disappointed, grief-stricken, uncertain or wounded, rather than trying to force our thoughts into their space, we can pause before leaving the room and touch them on the shoulder.
There is no greater tool of communication than the passing graze on the shoulder or the pat on the back.
Nothing needs to be said, no note is required to explain the meaning–just the simple confirmation expressed by that motion personifying, “I’ve got your back” takes any frustrated human traveler to tears.
It is the prudent, kind, tender and economic use of our touch.It doesn’t demand that the receiver be grateful or that they converse about their sensations concerning the overture.
It is the first step in understanding the Handbook on Hands.
- Don’t speak.
- Don’t become angry.
- Don’t editorialize.
- Don’t hug.
As you leave the room, pat their shoulder.
It is powerful.
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G-Poppers … February 10th, 2017
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G-Pop is fully aware that most people do not realize that their ultimate self-worth is gauged by how valuable they are to others.
Self-confidence may have its charm, but if it doesn’t manifest into some sort of contribution to the human tribe, then it comes across more as boasting than boosting.
With that in mind, it might be good to have a pulse on the heartbeat of people’s needs. So here’s how it breaks down:
50% of the time, the only thing people want from us is our ears.
They just want us to listen. Are they offended when we contribute thoughts? Yes. They have planned a soliloquy and we try to turn it into a dialogue.
20 % of the time they want our hands.
“Can you help me lift this?”
“I need some assistance.”
“Somebody finked out on me and I was wondering if you could be there to fill the gap.”
15% of the time, they yearn to have our feet.
Folks are always advertising something, are tied up, and require others to support the cause and put feet to the faith.
10% of the time, they want our eyes.
They would like us to be observant.
For instance, notice when they have broccoli in their teeth.
Maybe that new outfit we think is so adorable actually makes us look like a stuffed sausage.
And 5% of the time they tolerate our words.
It’s why sermons don’t work well.
Seminars are for those who like stale Danish and anemic coffee.
And prayer meetings and Bible studies have diminishing audiences.
Too much talk.
G-Pop wants his children to learn what makes them worthwhile:
- People want your ears
- Then your hands
- Your feet
- Your eyes
And on strange occasions when they’re in a particularly cheery mood … they will put up with a little bit of your yammering.
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Thanks for Giving … November 28, 2013
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First comes the blade
And the stalk with ear
Time brings the heat
As the harvest draws near
The trees with root
Blossom into fruit
We gather in
His bounty again
Thanks for giving
This sweet life we’re living
Hands held unite
Our hearts in joy ignite
Yes, praise with reason
For this blessed season
We gather, Spirit One
To honor Father and Son.
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Hands On … November 24, 2012
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I can’t make up my mind.
Yes, I can’t decide if I enjoy the warmth of the palms or the gentleness of the fingertips, one more than another. Hands are remarkable. Unless they close up and become a fist of rage, transforming into a club to victimize, they are always more than welcome, at least in my world.
She came into my motel room. She was a stranger to me. She tagged along with a friend who had arrived for an annual visit during my stay in Music City for Thanksgiving. I knew nothing of her. During the introduction I discovered that she was a missionary from Nigeria, interested in music, and had come along with my old haunt to see if any of the nice things he pronounced about me actually had validity in the flesh.
I liked her. She was a bit cautious, being raised in a religious environment, with a danger of demons and deceivers being more advertised than the possibility of angels and truth bearers. I didn’t care. I stopped trying to impress people a long time ago, mainly because trying to figure out what would actually make their clock tick seemed a poor use of time. It was a lovely visit.
We didn’t agree on much. Coming from a theology where the Bible Belt is the only way to keep your pants up, she probably found some of my ideas a bit too progressive or inclusive. But here’s what I know. Disagreements don’t have to be disagreeable if our goal is to find reasons to love each other instead of paths to part the ways. I don’t care who I’m talking with–I can always find common ground, and from that earth I can discover a place to make a foothold and establish some things that are important to me without offending their turf too seriously.
We ate some chicken, sipped some Coke and shared some ideas. Once she realized that I was not intent on merely reciting a bunch of repetitious verses to establish my Godly profile, she relaxed and allowed herself the great blessing and courtesy of being present in the moment. As we neared the end of our visit, it because obvious to me that my friend had shared with her some of my ongoing plight with my legs, knees and immobility. She asked if she could pray for me. It was really quite beautiful. She began by serenading me with a soft, sweet lullaby and then moved towards me, kneeling next to me, placing her hands inside mine and began to pray, beckoning the heavens.
I stared down at her beautiful fingertips. They were the color of cocoa–or maybe like coffee that has just enough cream with a couple of Sweet and Lows.
Honestly, I didn’t listen to much of what she had to say–her words. Much of that was her religious training coming out in her vernacular, filled with ideas that are not foreign in my experience, but now ancient in my practice. I just kept looking at her hands.
I squeezed them occasionally to feel the warmth and tenderness. Combined with the sincerity and earnestness of her voice, they touched me in a place in my heart that did require reinforcement. Although not weary in well-doing in attempting to walk with unwilling legs, I was tired. Her hands on mine gave me the emotional energy to press on.
I know she probably wished for a miracle–maybe that I would rise up from my bed and walk. But life is not always as simplistic as the wishes of our childish hearts. Sometimes it’s just the heat, concern and immense energy derived from hands on hands. It doesn’t make things completely better, but it does make things better … completely.
She rose from her position of prayer and removed her hands, with tears in her eyes. I immediately missed her hands. I wish they could have stayed with me for another hour, day … or maybe a week.
But as I write this to you today, I can still feel them. We must never underestimate the power of becoming hands-on with the world around us. We just never know when God will use that touch to set in motion something truly beautiful.
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