Jonathots Daily Blog
(4364)
Episode 9
Bequeathed upon the teller of a tale is a sacred trust to be accurate and truthful.
The two are not the same.
Accuracy requires dates, times, locations—yet spins the story by using the bias of the narrator.
Truth, on the other hand, is unflinching, insisting that what was everlasting be presented without coloration or commentary.
For this reason, I will not tell you the whole odyssey of our brief, five-month stay in Mobile by the Bay. I might be tempted to use accuracy to place the pieces of the occurrences in the exact position which might make you feel sorry for me – or pronounce me innocent.
I was not innocent.
I was young, arrogant, unaccustomed to being told what to do and I had too much talent to be placed in such a small vessel of possibility. The result was outbreaks of jealousy, anger, resentment and vicious rumor.
The worst part of the journey came when my middle son was hit and run by a car, and after a three-month stay in the hospital, ended up in a vegetative state, demanding constant care-giving.
Now, when we were able to bring Joshua home from the hospital, I was sitting in my living room one chilly October morning, having negotiated a severance deal with the church which allowed us to stay and be paid through the end of November, perched deep in thought when the phone rang.
To my astonishment, it was R. B.
Accurately, he, too, had suffered some setbacks on his quest in Minnesota for his new job. The truth I never really knew.
We told him of our predicament and he asked if he could join us, and travel with us to the next location—wherever that might be—and continue our lives in a much different framework than the optimism that permeated us upon arriving at the small church in Alabama.
I was lonely.
I was disturbed.
I was anxious for someone to hear my representation of the accuracy of our experience—without ever seeking for the truth.
I welcomed R. B.
He, too, was in need of a sounding board.
That’s what we did. For about a solid month, while I was auditioning for other positions, taking care of my son and trying to line up the dollars in my bank account like good soldiers, we commiserated and dreamed of more to come.
R. B. and I found each other over despair.
Yet how far can two crippled men travel together before they resent one another?
Jonathots Daily Blog 
