Jubilators … November 18th, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog



Sitting Eleven

Everything’s Coming Up

It was raining.

Not pelting–more a determined drizzle that booked the atmosphere for the day.

Christopher Timmons had invited Shelley to lunch. She requested they first stop off at Fenswick Park to look at a parcel of land she was considering for shooting a commercial, employing Charrleen and The Jubilators. They were to meet at 10:45.

So Christopher was sitting on a park bench with an umbrella protecting him from the rain.

He felt droopy.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the downpour, or the fact that Shelley was late.

So he stared off at a point in the distance, trying to escape the dreariness which was creeping into his soul. A little girl came and sat down on the other end of the bench. When she cleared her throat and coughed, he was shaken out of his trance and peered over at the little lady, who was completely encased, head to toe, in a polyurethane rain suit, accentuated with pink flowers and yellow trees.

He nodded to her, and she peeked at him, then turned away. They sat in silence as the rain persisted. Christopher felt uneasy with the stillness, so he spoke up.

“What are you doing out in the rain?” he asked.

“Waiting,” she replied.

“Me, too,” he said.

More silence.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

“My girlfriend,” he answered. “Well, not exactly my girlfriend. She’s a friend who’s a girl, and we’re dating, and I like the way it’s going, but I’m not sure she does, so I’m not certain what to call our relationship, so … well, anyway, my girlfriend. Kind of.”

The little girl nodded in disinterest.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m waiting for?” she said.

“Sure,” Christopher replied, turning in her direction. “What brings you out in the rain today?”

“I have a meeting,” she answered.

“With a family of ducks?” he joked. She didn’t understand. Christopher considered explaining, but decided to distance himself from the lame duck joke

“No, they are not ducks,” she answered politely. “It’s two of my friends. We are planning things.”

“Planning things?” repeated Christopher. “What things?”

The little girl turned to him as if energized by an electrical current and replied with great animation, “Do you believe in dreams?”

“I have dreams,” cited Christopher.

“I know that,” she said. “But do you believe they have hidden messages? Do you believe that God is speaking through them? Or maybe not God…because you could be an atheist. Are you an atheist?”

“No… not really,” said Christopher, a little nervous.

“Do you know the song, Everything’s Coming Up Roses by Ethel Merman?” asked the girl excitedly.

“Not well,” said Christopher. “I mean, I think I have heard it at some time or another.”

“I love Ethel Merman,” said the little lady. “By the way, my name is Golda.”

She held out her hand.

“Christopher,” he replied, shaking her hand..

“Golda Linski. Now, I’m not Jewish, not that there’s anything wrong with being Jewish,” she added. “My daddy’s Polish, and he came over from Poland for new opportunity in this new land.”

A well-rehearsed speech.

“Christopher Timmons,” he said. “I don’t know what nationality my father was. I did eat a lot of sausage growing up.”

“Polish sausage?” asked Golda intently. “I bet it was! I bet it was!”

“Probably,” said Christopher, adjusting the grip on his umbrella.

“Anyway,” continued Golda, “in the song, Everything’s Coming Up Roses, it starts off with, ‘I had a dream.’ It’s so perfect for what’s going on with me right now. Because I had a dream, too, and by the way, in the last part of the song…I bet you didn’t know this…she sings, ‘Everything’s coming up sunshine and Santa Claus…'”

Christopher listened carefully, though he thought he might have stumbled upon a miniature wacko. She kept going. “You see? That’s my dream! I have a dream to write a Broadway musical about the North Pole, which will bring the sunshine of Santa Claus to the whole world! Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“Well,” said Christopher, “I not only believe in Santa Claus, I also play the part of Santa Claus during the holiday season.”

“You??” she squealed.

“Yeah, me,” he said, a bit offended. “Why? Don’t you think I could be a good Santa Claus?”

“You’re fat enough. But you’re too old, right?” Golda partially asked, but also concluded.

“How old do you think I am?” he queried.

“Thirty?” said Golda.

“Close,” said Christopher. “I’m 35.”

“That’s even older!” Golda inserted.

“Yeah, but how old do you think Santa Claus is?”

“Silly,” she smiled. “Santa Claus doesn’t have an age. He’s a spirit. He lives forever.”

“My mistake,” apologized Christopher. “I guess because I’m fat enough they overlooked the fact that I’m too old. Anyway, I have the pleasure of getting to play Santa Claus for all the boys and girls each year.”

“So you might get it,” Golda said. “You might be able to understand why we’re meeting.”

“First of all,” said Christopher slowly, “who is we? Because right now, all I see is you.”

“Yeah,” said Golda. “But I’m willing to believe you have a girlfriend even though I don’t see one.”

“Good point,” said Christopher. “I guess what I mean is, who are these two other people you’re speaking of. Is it two?”

“Yes, it’s two. One is a boy who had a dream about a race and saving the reindeer. And the other is another little girl about my age who wants to have a gigantic board game tournament, with the winner getting a special lunch at the North Pole with Santa Claus.”

“So,” said Christopher, “let me get this straight. The three of you are meeting here in the park to discuss your dreams and…” He paused. “And what?”

“How to make them come true,” said Golda with the seriousness of a funeral director. “You see, the dreams haven’t stopped. They keep coming. They keep filling our minds with more ideas. Every night I can hardly wait to get to my bed and close my eyes to see and hear the notions from the spirit world, telling me how I can make…well, make something great.”

Christopher was intrigued. Part of him was completely disinterested in the conversation, frustrated that Shelley had left him out in the rain, ready to launch into a tizzy fit. But another portion of his being was entertained by the little girl and was curious if he had perhaps been brought to this bench to hear her story.

Yet a silence settled in. Maybe the little girl felt that he was just another grown-up who was too busy to think about dreams. Or maybe she thought she had shared.

Christopher realized it was up to him to continue the conversation.

“I remember Ethel Merman,” he said. “She had a real big voice.”

Golda looked over at him with a big smile. “Yes. It was a real big voice. ‘Everything’s coming up roses,’” she sang, “‘for me and for you.‘”

Christopher joined in. She moved an inch closer to him.

The rain continued to fall without mercy.

“So… what are you planning to do about your dreams?” asked Christopher.

“Well, that’s the problem,” said Golda sadly. “No matter how much we plan, no matter how much we get excited, we’re just kids. Who will listen to us?”

“I’m listening.”

“That’s because you’re a lonely grown-up sitting in the rain waiting for a girl and you don’t even know whether she’s your friend or not–who plays Santa Claus in a world that doesn’t believe in him.”

Christopher was startled. This young lady was either wise beyond her years, or a witch. But she had pretty well summed up his condition. He was mostly adult, but with just enough child to annoy his counterparts, and just adult enough to look like a pedophile when he hung around children.

“I don’t think my friends are coming,” said Golda.

“Why do you say that?” asked Christopher.

“Because they’re not here and it’s raining, and their moms probably didn’t let them come out, and they probably don’t have a cool rain suit like me.”

“It is a cool rain suit,” admired Christopher.

“I like your umbrella, too,” shared Golda. “Maybe your friend that’s a girl decided not to come out in the rain, too, and figured you would know not to show up.”

Christopher suddenly realized that Golda could be right. He grabbed his phone and called Shelley, who answered on the second ring. Christopher put it on speaker phone so he could hear better.

“Where are you?” Shelley shouted through the phone.

“I am in the park–where we agreed to meet,” said Christopher with a touch of petulance.

“It’s raining,” shouted Shelley.

“I know that,” replied Christopher.

“I just figured you would know not to meet me in the park in the middle of a rain storm,” Shelley said matter-of-factly.

Golda leaned over. “Told ya’.”

Christopher waved her off. “Well, it would have been nice if you had called.”

“Called and said what?” posed Shelley. “‘It’s raining?‘”

“No,” said Christopher, frustrated. “Just told me that you weren’t going to come out to the park today in the rain, so I would not be sitting here on the bench, clutching an umbrella.”

“Well, thank God. At least you have an umbrella,” said Shelley, relieved.

“What?” growled Christopher. “Do you think I’d be sitting here in the rain without an umbrella?”

“Well, honestly, Chris, you were dumb enough to sit in the rain. The absence of an umbrella wouldn’t be that shocking.”

Golda giggled. “She’s funny…”

“So…” continued Christopher. “What do you want to do?”

“Are you there with someone?” asked Shelley.

“Yes, I’m sitting here with a little girl.”

“My name is Golda!” She shouted towards the phone.

“Why are you with a little girl, Christopher?” challenged Shelley.

“I’m not with a little girl,” explained Christopher. “I was sitting on the bench and a little girl came and sat on the other end of the bench and we’ve been talking.”

“I had a dream!” Golda projected.

“Are you interpreting little girls’ dreams, Christopher?” said Shelley, feigning worry.

“Listen, you’re not going to turn this on me,” said Christopher. “You are the crazy one for not telling me that you were cancelling our park meeting.”

“Interesting,” observed Shelley. “I’m the crazy one? I am sitting in my dry apartment, and you are sitting in the park in the driving rain, menacing a little girl.”

“What does menacing mean?” Golda yelled at the phone.

“It means shut up!” said Christopher, completely annoyed.

“Did you tell that little girl to shut up?” Shelley challenged.

“No. I mean, yes. Kind of,” fumbled Christopher.

“Don’t worry!” called Golda. “I didn’t listen to him. I never shut up.”

“Good for you!” said Shelley, trying to match the volume.

Christopher took a deep breath. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well,” said Shelley, “I would like to have our lunch, but if you don’t mind, it has to be at the downtown Marriott, and we are going to have other people there… if you don’t get angry… because it needs to be a meeting… because Mr. Roger Dunleavy, one of my bosses…is bringing in the singer, Charrleen, to talk about the promotion we’re doing in the park–the one where you’re sitting–and I still want us to have lunch so we can be together, but…it kind of has to be this meeting, too. All right?”

Christopher paused. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not if you’re hungry and you want to see me,” Shelley replied. “By the way, what is the little girl like?”

“You realize she can hear you, right?” Christopher inserted.

“Oh, that’s right. You’ve got the phone on speaker,” Shelley said.

Christopher considered. “What is she like?” he repeated. “Well, she is either a reincarnated gypsy act from Old Vaudeville, or a midget.”

“O-h-h-h,” said Golda, rebuking him. “You don’t call them midgets! They’re ‘little people.'”

“She’s right,” said Shelley. “They’re ‘little people.'”

“Oh. My mistake,” said Christopher. What time should I meet you at the Marriott for this private luncheon which has now gone public?”

“You seem upset,” said Shelley innocently.

“No,” said Christopher. “I passed that long ago…”

One o’clock,” said Shelley. “See you there, sweetie.”

Shelley hung up before Christopher could say anything else.

“I think she likes you,” said Golda. “She called you sweetie. Of course, that’s what my grandma on my mother’s side calls me, and she’s usually pretty mean.”

“Listen,” Christopher interrupted, “I’m a weirdo. Not in the sense of chasing little girls or anything like that. I’m weird in the sense that I believe… Well, I believe in things. So answer me a question. When is your next meeting with your two friends?”

“We meet every day at 10:45 A. M., right here in the park.”

“Can I come to the next meeting?” asked Christopher.

“Why?” said Golda.

“Because you’re kids. And you might have something to say. And you just might need a grown-up to help you.”

“Do you know one?” asked Golda, wide-eyed.

“Well, Golda, I was thinking of me,” said Christopher dryly.

“Oh. You,” said Golda. “Well, I guess it’s a start.”

“Then it’s a date,” said Christopher.

“I’m not allowed to date,” shared Golda seriously.

“I’m sorry. Poor choice of words. I’ll meet you here tomorrow at 10:45. And tell all your friends to bring their dreams.”

“We always do,” said Golda, kicking her feet and splashing a puddle of water into the air.


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Jubilators … November 11th, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog



Sitting Ten

A Spirited Discussion

Lit was the last to light into the gathering, bouncing across the room, illuminating with a sparkle of personality and flair.

“Sorry I’m a bit late,” he beamed. “I was busy telling a joke to the North Star.”

For some reason, all of the spirits gathered found this completely hilarious–everyone but Everett Green. “Is it possible for you to arrive on time?” grumped the trunk.

“Well, to be completely truthful and on point, there is no time here, so therefore, Lit could have been early and us completely unaware,” dead-panned Kris Kringle.

Everett glared at the jolly old elf.

“I do keep time–as in rhythm,” said Christmas Carol. “And by the way, before I forget, Holly Sprig is unable to be with us today.”

“Why?” barked Everett Green.

“No need to be nasty, Everett,” replied Christmas Carol.

Kris Kringle stepped in to alleviate the tension. “Oh, she’s being a bit of a Mother Hen. Her earthly holly children are in a difficult phase–they’re just sprouting their red berries–and she gets a little fussy.”

Christmas Carol nodded in good measure.

Everett stared over at Santere, Mary and Joseph. “Why don’t they ever speak?”

“Well, technically, they do from time to time,” said Kris, “but they are the older, more experienced spirits of our troupe–over six thousand years of experience among the three.”

“I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with it?” asked Christmas Carol.

“Well, they don’t need to speak anymore. They just pass thoughts from one to another–which speeds things up,” explained Lit.

Everett Green frowned. “Wait–aren’t you older than they are? I mean, weren’t you there at the very beginning of Creation?”

“Yes. Third thing off the top of God’s head. Let there be light.”

“So why don’t you just…think your way along?” asked Everett, still sprouting a bit of leftover perturbed.

Suddenly the arena brightened. “Because I like to beam,” Lit said with a huge glow.

“Pardon me for asking, Everett, but you seem a little bit out of sorts,” observed Christmas Carol.

“Yes,” said Kris Kringle, chuckling over his own upcoming joke. “For an evergreen you seem somewhat blue.”

This caused Christmas Carol to giggle in harmony and Lit to flash and blink.

Everett Green, stung by being made fun of, tried to calm himself down and responded, “I’m fine. It’s just that I don’t exactly get it. And before you ask me what I don’t get, I’ll tell you. Almost all of it.”

Kris Kringle, still chuckling, replied, “Well therefore, maybe it would be quicker for us to discuss what you actually do understand.”

Christmas Carol just chorused with more laughter. This time she was joined by Santere, Mary and Joseph, who also seemed to be mocking the frustrated fir.

“What are they laughing at?” challenged Everett, pointing one of his branches in their direction.

“Who knows?” responded Kris. “I guess when you’ve been around for six thousand years, you have a lot of private jokes.”

“What we were laughing at,” inserted Santere, “was how you newer spirits become so impatient with how the whole process works.”

Everett, trying to regain some of his prominence, countered, “Yes, do please explain to us sprouts how this works, because I’m confused. The world is about to give up Christmas in favor of some new name and we spend a few minutes in Dream World with three kids, and then can’t really see what they’re doing, and we’re supposed to dwell in our eternal bliss of ignorance, waiting for these mortals to stumble into some sort of inspiration through their haze of dullness.”

“Yeah, that’s about it,” said Mary quietly.

“Well, there’s more to it than that,” said Joseph.

Kris Kringle moved forward, intrigued. “Tell us more about the more.

Joseph paused, turning to Mary and then Santere, who bowed out gracefully, allowing the Carpenter to spin the yarn.

“Well, I guess they’ve left it to me. Let me explain the best I can using my common-man logic and understanding. We are spirits. Therefore the spiritual is our reality. I was once a mortal. When I was a mortal, I touched things. The physical world was my reality. When people spoke to me of angels, heaven and even the Father, I tried to believe, but hidden in my soul was a gnawing doubt about whether that which could not be handled or seen could actually exist. Now that I’ve graduated to the world of spirits, the entire universe is at my disposal. The unseen becomes my daily view, and now it is very difficult for me to comprehend the physical world. Nearly as impossible as it was for my carpenter self to ever dream of one day talking to an eternal evergreen such as yourself, Mr. Everett.”

Everett Green spread his boughs, trying to understand a bit better. “So you’re saying that because we’re of the spirit world, everything vast, universal, eternal and spiritual seems real to us. And the physical world seems to be…how should I say?…”

“Elusive and unseen,” Christmas Carol trilled.

“Well said,” agreed Kris.

“I am the mistress of lyrics,” she intoned.

Santere spoke up, assisting Joseph. “Because we have had the opportunity to view the workings of the Creator over these many centuries, we have learned to discern small stirrings in the cosmos and interpret them as the real happenings on the physical world of Earth.”

Mary added her heart. “It’s just like when I was a woman, living in Nazareth. When I prayed, I would sometimes feel and sense that my words were being heard and that the answer was on the way. I had no proof, but there was this tickling in my soul that made me believe I had made a connection that was far beyond my worldly comprehension.”

“Well said!” thundered Santere.

“She may have said it well, but I’m even more confused than I was before,” complained Everett.

Suddenly, in unison, Santere, Joseph and Mary giggled.

“What are the three of you laughing about? Can you let us in on the inside joke?” Everett was not amused.

“Well, it was a private exchange,” said Santere a little nervously.

“No, really,” said Everett. “Tell me what you’re laughing at.”

Mary peered at Santere and then Santere at Joseph, who realized it was his turn to pipe up. “Well, basically, Santere thought in our direction that maybe, Everett Green…that maybe…you’re just a pine cone or two short of understanding.”

Joseph could barely finish his sentence before laughter overtook him. Santere joined him and concluded, “And Mary thought that perhaps we should be nicer … and stop needling you.”

Everett Green turned his branches away and pouted. “So this is supposed to be super-spiritual, mature humor.”

“Listen, Everett,” said Mary tenderly. “The more spiritual you become, the more childlike your perceptions.”

“So I guess that would make me the most grown-up one here,” said Everett, green with envy.

Kris Kringle intervened. “Well, I know that we are incapable of arguments–because that would be foolish and beneath us. So let me try to steer this ‘spirited discussion’ in a more helpful direction.”

All the gathered took a deep breath and exhaled, ready to move on and find better thoughts.

Kris proceeded. “Let me try to answer Brother Everett’s questions while simultaneously giving a report on our present situation. I do believe we all understand the limitations. For instance, we are welcome to influence. We are welcome to bring to remembrance. As spirits, we’re encouraged to edify. But as you well know, we are not allowed in any sense to intervene and rob the humans of their free will. If the Father wouldn’t even consider stepping in to rescue his Son when ignorance was prepared to nail him to a cross and terminate his mission, we must understand that no toleration will be granted for us to manipulate the minds of men, but rather, to use their hearts to try to enliven their sometimes-dormant spirits to be hopeful again.”

There was a hum of agreement among the spirited gathering.

“So what should we do, or perhaps I should ask, where are we in all of this?” sang Christmas Carol.

Santere spoke up. “When I was alive as a man, they called me wise. It took dying to find out how ignorant I truly was. But there were little pieces of knowledge eternal which peppered my temporal mind. Those exist today in the people we are trying to help. Let me assist those of you who are younger in the spirit to understand what is going on, and update you on the progress. We have found three children whose hearts are prepared to take a nightly dream and turn it into a vision of activity.”

“How delightful! What are the names of the little ones?” shone Lit.

Everett, still stinging, countered, “Excuse me, Lit. Are you ever depressed? Do you ever lose sight of your goal?”

Without any pause whatsoever, Lit replied, “That would be foolish. After all, everyone’s heard of being ‘lit up.’ But not ‘lit down.'”

A great laughter filled all the heavens over such a silly reply.

At length, Santere continued. “Now, as to the children. Let us know them by their first names. There is Harry, Shanisse and Golda–three very different children of God, who have just enough connection with the supernatural that they’re able to believe that it can be translated into their natural planning.”

Everett Green again spoke up, hoping to overcome his image of growler. “So explain to me, what do they know, what can they do and what can we do?”

Joseph piped up. “I’ll take the first question. What do they know? Just that they’ve been given an exciting idea in their dreams, which right now is still intact in their conscious minds because nothing has come along to steal their belief.”

“What can they do?” continued Mary. “Now there’s a good question. Many spirits have become aggravated throughout the eons of time due to rushing human beings toward some sort of completion. Here’s what they can do if they don’t lose faith: they can stall things. Get people to think better thoughts. It’s similar to when a few souls questioned slavery, and eventually slowed things down enough that others could catch up with their hidden angels and realize the truth of the universe–which is that no one is better than anyone else.”

Santere paused for a moment, allowing the beauty of Mary’s words to have the honor they deserved. “I guess it’s up to me to answer the third question. What can we do? We can do exactly what the Son taught us. In our patience we possess our spirit. Yes, we can lose our spirit by becoming impatient with the human beings that God loved so much that He gave His only Son. What we can do is continue to offer encouragement, opportunity, mercy and just a few simple signposts which will remind those who are working diligently among mortals that they are not alone. Hope is real, faith has a substance and the answers are on the way.”

Kris Kringle stepped in. “If you will allow this old Dutch toy-maker to offer a bit of advice, I was once one of the human walkers myself, and still understand their situation. We all must remember that doing good is not difficult. It just is viewed by evil as being self-righteous and by those who are starved for the good as being not enough. One piece at a time. I know some of us may feel foolish for believing that three children can affect a world of calloused grown-ups, but it will only be the faith of the young that will save the spirit of Christmas, as it took a single new-born babe to bring angels, shepherds, wise men and a star together at the same time, in the same place.”

There was a sweet silence that followed the speech of the one called Santa Claus.

“Won’t we need some sort of grown-up?” asked Everett, trying not to be cantankerous.

It was Lit who offered a final thought. “There is one. Such a precaution has been taken, and another soul who has not been tainted by the passing years has also been enlightened.”

“Who?” asked Christmas Carol.

“All in good time, my dear,” said Santere. “It is our joy as spirits, if we learn our mission, to not be in any hurry for human beings to become smarter.”


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Jesonian … October 30th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog


(tap the picture to see the video)

The disciples of Jesus decided that children had no business hanging around with the big, important people who were doing big, important things for God in a big, important way.

After all, they were kids and all they wanted to do was have fun, and such jubilation is often an unwelcome interruption to austerity.

They decided, as grownups, in a mature way, that they would make an adult provision to eliminate these brats, as they frowned from their ancient faces.

Jesus disagreed.

He explained that the message of the Gospel is for children, and the goal was not to make younger people act older, but to make older people act younger.

It’s amazing that his message is now celebrated by those who are on the verge of death instead of those who are just beginning their lives.

Jesus had a children’s message because he said we’re all supposed to become children.

It’s the only way to escape growing up, being mean and acting childish.

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Jesonian … October 16th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog


Jesus was right there with them and they still wanted to talk about Pontius Pilate.

Politics. It just makes fellows strange.

Obsessed with a candidate or a party, human beings try to make life fit around existing ideas and platforms. Here’s the problem–they don’t.

Every situation is different. Some human struggles demand a conservative approach–others, liberality.


Jesus warned them.

When they asked him about Pontius Pilate, he said, “You need to repent, or you’re going to perish.”

Here’s the meaning: repent of politics or you will perish along with your failing politician.

He also said “you can’t serve God and Mammon.”

What is Mammon? It is the misuse, misunderstanding and mistreatment of money. There we are–right back to politics.

The issue is not whether the Republicans are right or the Republicans are wrong.

The issue is also not whether the Democrats are in the catbird seat or if they’re fallen doves.

The issue is that the Spirit of God demands that we be led in the direction that will benefit other human beings.

It cannot be decided politically and too many Christians have turned their faith over to politics and their hearts over to their favorite candidate.


For Jesus’ campaign slogan is simple: “By this people will know who we are–that we have love one for another.”

Politics is a blood sport. Jesus has already shed all the blood needed.

Politics allows for lying. Jesus said “the truth will make you free.”

Politics favors its own. Jesus said “when you only love them who love you, you’re no better than the heathen.”

Politics wants to bolster its constituency. Jesus wants us to find the “least of these” and relate to them.


The other day on television I heard a noted politician say, “Nice guys finish last.”

Let’s look at some people who finished last:

  • Julius Caesar
  • Attila the Hun
  • Napoleon Bonaparte
  • Adolph Hitler
  • Idi Amin

Not a nice guy amongst them.

Nice guys just have to wait until the Earth is available for them to inherit–like allowing your landlord to wash and paint your condo before you move in.

Repent of politics or you will perish with your politicians.


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1 Thing You Can Do This Week (If You Want to Be Noticed)

1 Thing You Can Do This Week …

(If You Want to Be Noticed)

Be unpredictable.

That doesn’t mean being more annoying, more religious, more political or more obtuse. It means do the things that prove that your introspection is beginning to show in your outer world.

For instance:

1. Observe good stuff and report it.

2. Help someone you usually criticize.

3. Don’t talk Jesus, be Jesus.

The world will welcome the unpredictable if it sets in motion predicting better things.


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Jubilators … October 7th 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog



Today we begin a novel called “Jubilators,” which over the next twelve weeks leading up to Christmas, will put us in the Spirit, with a comedic, romantic romp, often speckled with poignant and tender moments.

Hope you enjoy.

And now, here’s “Jubilators.”

Sitting One

The Assignment

 Shelley knew this was her moment. She squinted, peering around the windowless, confinding office, taking stock.

At twenty-four years of age, she was a newbie at the prestigious public relations firm, Dunlevy and Markins. To assign such a project to her was certainly a test. She knew this. More importantly, they knew this–“they” being Mr. Roger Dunlevy and Mr. Ronald Markins.

Shelley didn’t want to blow it. She needed to project the right balance of confidence and serious contemplation over the magnitude of the project. For the hundredth time, she picked up the memo. Was she sure she understood the task?

“Find a new commercial name for Christmas that merges the many existing holiday observances of a variety of faiths with the more traditional approach, while still emphasizing the Santa Claus imperative for the children and the marketers.”

A part of Shelley was bewildered by the job. For years there had been a growing conflict between the religious and more conventional advocates over the holiday.

The believers wanted more “Jesus” included or emphasis for Hanukkah. Of course, then Kwanzaa came into play. The rest of the country seemed to be looking for a festive season free of Middle-East theology.

Of course, the great problem was the money. The December season was a financial boost to business. Some retailers made as much as ninety percent of their earnings in the twelfth month. Much on the line. A bottom line.

And for Shelley, a career maker.

She was informed that she could hire four other people for her team. She had already decided on her quartet.

Mike, from accounting, was an evangelical Christian. He could bring the perspective of the church community.

Lisa, an executive assistant, was Jewish. She should know about Hanukkah.

Charmaine, an admin… Well, she was black. Chances are she might be able to tap the Kwanzaa sentiment.

And Timothy, a tech, was a Christmas nut–a historian of sorts concerning all things Santa, elf, North Pole and tinsel.

Shelley told her team that they had three weeks to deliver a report to the boss and major stockholders. Here were the questions that needed to be addressed:

Will all the parties involved consider a new name for Christmas?

What can be retained, what evolved and what discarded of the traditions?

What is the best approach? A sudden transformation?: Or a gradual revelation?

Will it damage sales?

How can we make everybody happy?

Shelley decided to give the four of them ten days to investigate and deliver a two thousand-word report on their findings. Simultaneously, she would troll the waters of all four environments to acquire a consensus.

Shelley was nervous. It wasn’t just the new assignment–she wondered if she wanted to be the Madison Avenue chick who snuffed out Christmas–at least the name. She had a vision of herself in a Grinch costume, tallying numbers on an old-fashioned adding machine, as Baby Jesus was carried away by Children’s Services and elves cried over “reindeer for sale.”

She looked horrible as a green monster. Yet…it was her moment–an opportunity to enhance her personal profile and give Christmas a name-lift. She suddenly grabbed her pen and paper and wrote that down.

Name-lift. She could sell that.

It was a good start.

Sitting Two

The Investigation

Mike went home to Tarshift, Alabama, to do his research.

Tarshift was a suburb of Birmingham if you don’t mind driving forty-five miles to get your hot buttered popcorn at the Metroplex.

Mike arrived in time to attend the worship service at the Community Faith in Action Non-Denominational church just four blocks from his homestead.

When Mike shared the substance the project, two old ladies and a grumpy deacon stomped out of the Sunday School class. The remaining faithful were respectful of their favorite son, but grouchy over the liberal West Coast atheists attacking Holy Christmas once again.

“Why cain’t they just see that it’s Jesus’ birthday?” one woman snarled.

Yet persistent to a fault, Mike continued his questioning. “What name would you accept other than Christmas?”


No one in the classroom wanted to betray Baby Jesus. So Mike asked the gathered to think about it and slip him a note of suggestion after church.

After the sermon, as he walked by the pastor, offering his appreciation, and headed to his car, Mike got three crumpled pieces of paper thrust into his hand, and one whisper in his ear.

The first note read, “How about Bethlehem Day?”

He unfolded the second note, which had scrawled, “I thought of Birth Boy.”

And the final suggestion was, “Jesus Fest.”

By the way, the whisper in his ear–Old Lady Wilkerson. She said, “I’m praying for you.”

Lisa also returned to her home, which was in Connecticut, near Hartford. She went to synagogue. She hadn’t been there since high school graduation. The new rabbi, Conrad Turtsky, was delighted to talk to her about Hanukkah. She explained in some detail about her task as the rabbi’s countenance remained unchanged, sprouting a reluctant smile.

At length she asked him what he thought.

“Well,” he began hesitantly, “I have always been content with Hanukkah getting the crap beat out of it by Christmas. After all, candles being lit…well, don’t hold a candle to angels, wise men and a heavy-set Dutchman giving toys to little ones.”

He concluded their visit by giving Lisa a pamphlet on the subject, half of which was written in Yiddish.

Charmaine, on the other hand, made a decision to research by going to the Internet and look up Kwanzaa on Wikipedia.

Kwanzaa: an African-American holiday first celebrated in 1966-1967 as an alternative to the “white” Christmas. It is one-week-long and honors African music, folklore and art.

Charmaine shook her head. She closed the program, rolled her eyes and went to her bedroom to take a nap.

Timothy made a trip to Bronner’s Christmas Village in Frankenmuth, Michigan–the world’s largest Christmas store. He was in heaven, which he viewed as only slightly above the North Pole. Reindeer, elves, lights, tinsel, Christmas bulbs, Santa Claus, snow globes–row after row.

He asked one of the floor managers what the biggest sellers were.

“Anything with Claus, mangers or sparkles,” he answered, as he hurriedly chased a little boy who had a huge box of ornaments in his grasp.

So Timothy decided to conduct his own experiment. He had personally compiled a list of six possible “safe” new names for Christmas. It was his plan to walk up to shoppers at Bronners, say one of the new names, and gauge their spontaneous reaction.

“Wonderful Winterfest!” A blank stare.

“Satisfying Santa Day!” A giggle.

“A Joyous Snow ‘n Glow to you!” A frown, and then a grandpa stomped away.

He was particularly proud of his next incarnation.

He had formed an acronym of Santa, elf, Jesus, reindeer, Africa and Hanukkah.

“Happy S.E.J.R. A. H!”

The old woman stared at him with sympathetic eyes, reached into her purse, pulled out two singles and gave it to him, saying, “Young man, get a sandwich. You’ve got low blood sugar.”

He only had one idea remaining. So Timothy decided to try it out on the in-house Kris Kringle; Father Christmas–Santa Claus himself. Arriving in the tiny workshop provided for the local jolly old elf, Timothy leaned into his face and said, “Great Jubilation!”

Santa squinted. He slowly tugged his beard and deadpanned, “Ho. Ho. Ho.”

Mike prayed that Shelley had better luck. He had barely escaped crucifixion in Tarshift.

Lisa was baffled, although the rabbi did convince her to buy a Menorah and two raffle tickets for the Prius being given away to raise funds for the needy.

Charmaine was frightened–first to report to Shelley, and secondly about being black and not caring one tinker’s dam about Kwanzaa.

Timothy was more optimistic. Or maybe just on a sugar high from a candy cane overdose.

The four of them headed back to headquarters.

It was time to report to Shelley.


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Catchy (Epilogue) Stuck Moving… September 30th, 2018

Jonathots Daily Blog


Sitting on the edge of the king-size bed in the master bedroom of her comfortable condominium in Alexandria, Virginia, Jo-Jay was adorned only in a matching tie-dye bra and panty set. It was her tribute to a foregone era.

Perched right next to her was Matthew, in what appeared to be an over-exerted pair of white boxer briefs, which was his tribute to a fear of buying new underwear.

If a stranger walked in on the scene, it would be assumed that torrid love-making was either completing, or soon to commence. But instead, Jo-Jay and Matthew, (once again, barely clothed), were sitting and discussing their relationship.

“Here’s what I’d like to know,” said Jo-Jay. “Do you even get an erection when you see me sitting here like this? I mean, I’m curious.”

Matthew lifted his leg so as to turn and look at her and replied with a bit of disgust, “Of course I do. Do you want to see it?’

She held up her hand to cease the reveal and replied, “Good. Because I’m a little wet.”

The conversation stopped at that point. They both nodded their heads, a bit relieved that each was sufficiently aroused.

“Are you still in love with Leonora?” asked Jo-Jay flatly.

Matthew lay back on the bed. “Oh, Jo-Jay… I was never in love with Leonora. Leonora was an idea. She was like thinking about going out to get blueberry pancakes at three o’clock in the morning. She was the unreachable star and I was the Man of La Mancha.”

Jo-Jay lay down next to him. “So would that make me buttered toast? Or am I being too generous to myself–adding butter?”

He leaned over and kissed her, and she kissed him back. It was very satisfying.

They had times when they had explosive make-out sessions–often on the plane, as they flew around the world, trying to bring the Gospel in the forms of water, food, medicine and opportunity. It had been seventy-seven days since they had departed together from the Haven on the Mount on the jet . There had been no contact whatsoever with that Shangri-la, but instead had cast their lot with Jubal, Jasper, Sister Rolinda and Soos, attempting to coordinate the efforts, which had spread so quickly that it was impossible to keep control of the movement–even with a GPS.

Jubal put it this way. “I think people always wanted to do something better, but all the television commercials told them they were too much in need to be generous.”

Matthew and Jo-Jay could not have been any happier as a couple, but still had not found the proper ignition for coupling. Both were tired of talking about it. Both of them knew there was a great fear that they would be so clumsy in bed that they would have to walk away from the possibility of mating for life.

It was comical, pathetic, nerve-wracking and adorable, all at the same time.

Jo-Jay turned her head toward Matthew and asked, “What is it that works for you?”

Matthew likewise turned his face to her, the two of them nearly nose-to-nose. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come on,” said Jo-Jay. “Don’t make me say stuff. You know what I mean. What should I do to get your fire started, so we’re burned up in sexual pleasure before we ever realize we’re in danger?”

Matthew frowned. “Uh…I don’t know…”

“Work with me,” said Jo-Jay. “I’ll tell you mine. I like to be licked. Not immediately, though. I like it when a man teases me, like he might do it…he might not…it’s kind of a moody thing. It drives me crazy.”

“So,” posed Matthew, “you want me to lick you?”

“Not now, you idiot! I have to be surprised. Titillated.” Jo-Jay sighed.

“So you want to know mine?” he asked.

“Only if you’re comfortable releasing such a deep, hidden secret,” she responded sarcastically.

“Well, it’s gonna sound weird, so don’t laugh,” said Matthew. “It’s not that I’m a girl, or gay or anything. But I like it when a woman…”

He stopped in mid-sentence.

Jo-Jay leaned up on her elbow and came closer. “Whan a woman what?”

“Do you promise not to laugh?” asked Matthew.

“No,” said Jo-Jay. “I can’t promise that. We laugh at each other all the time.”

“Good point,” acknowledged Matthew. “Just promise not to laugh more than…say…five seconds.”

Jo-Jay nodded. “I think I can do that.”

Matthew cleared his throat, closed his eyes tightly, opened them again and said very quickly, “I like to have a woman suck my nipples.”

Jo-Jay burst out laughing. She couldn’t stop.

“It’s been more than five seconds,”said Matthew.

“I’m sorry,” Jo-Jay said. “You didn’t tell me that you were a nipple boy.”

Matthew sat up, stood to his feet, turned and pointed at her. “And you wonder why we haven’t had sex.”

She glanced at his dissipating underwear. “My goodness gracious,” she commented. “You do have an erection.”

Matthew looked down and pointed, “See? I told you.”

Jo-Jay grabbed him by the front of his boxer briefs and pulled him toward her. “Now, now…just relax. Bring those little nipples to Mommy.”

“Gross,” he said. Yet carefully, intentionally and purposefully, he followed her instructions.


In the deserts of North Africa a young boy, only nine years old, awoke shortly before dawn, and in the darkness, found a chunk of unleavened bread, opened up a jar of peanut butter and made himself a snack.

His name was Ramish.

It was morning, and it was his job to walk the two miles through the desert sands to the recently constructed air strip, where people he knew only as “Jesonian” flew in supplies every day to feed the villages.

Ramish knew he could wait until the trucks came by to bring the food, but his family had become accustomed to awakening to fresh water, food, medicine and even, every once in a while, some candy.

So every morning he made the trek, jubilant to do so–because even though he was only a young lad, most of his days had been spent fending off the pangs of hunger and wondering if drinking the water in the ditch would make him sick.

As he walked, his eyes filled with tears because he was so grateful for the boxes and bags he brought back on a make-shift sled he drug behind him. All of the boxes and bags had pictures of a young man with long hair and a beard, smiling.

The people at the landing strip told him that the young man was named Jesus, and that he loved Ramish and his family. Ramish felt no need to argue about it–it was obvious that this young man had taken great steps to ensure that Ramish and his family would be cared for.

The workers examined Ramish often, to make sure he was healthy and free of disease. And they closed every session by laying hands on his chest and saying, “In the name of Jesus.”

Ramish didn’t know much about Jesus, but everything he had experienced was so positive that he wanted to know more.

Arriving at the landing strip, he was overjoyed to discover that they had jelly. He had never eaten it until two weeks earlier, when one of the nurses offered it to him as she was treating a cut on his arm. It was so good–and now he could take a whole pouch of the stuff back to his family.

He felt like a king. He felt like a great king–because he was taking care of those of his own house.

Ramish had learned several words in English–words he needed to use, wanted to use and frequently applied.

“Thank you.”

“It is so good.”

“God bless you.”

He repeated the three phrases over and over again as the workers put together his supplies and he prepared to trek the two miles back to his anxiously awaiting family.

As he drug his make-shift sled across the sand, laden with supplies, he stopped and looked up at the sun that was rising before him.

“Thank you, Jesonian,” he said. It was a real feeling.

He felt the need to be grateful to the One who was providing his daily bread.



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