Good News and Better News … February 12th, 2018

 Jonathots Daily Blog


You are not a farmer.

You are not called to plow, plant, kill weeds and fuss about the weather.

You are a sower.

Your parents were wrong–life is not about “being careful” so you won’t accidentally reap some undesirable result. As long as you’re not starving to death, hurting yourself or interfering with others, get out there and sow.

Your caution only hurts you.

Your intimidation robs you of the experience for which you yearn, and if you fail to achieve, makes you grumpy, old and judgmental. “How dare other people have fun in my presence?”

The story goes, “A sower went forth to sow seed.”

The end result of the process is as follows: Once you drop, you end up with a flop or a crop.

That’s how easy it is. And according to this tale, most of the time it is a flop. Yes, we sustain enthusiasm through many a disappointment, reveling in the sweetness of pleasure.

Some seed will just miss. It won’t get anywhere near soil. Forgive yourself. Laugh it off. “Okay, it landed by the wayside.” Maybe you can aim better next time. It didn’t do anything you wanted it to do. Get over it. Keep in mind, when you refuse to partake of life, you sit in your own sediment until you stink.

Some of the “drop” lands on stony ground. Yeah, the idea started out good, but it didn’t have sustaining power. This doesn’t mean you don’t get joy out of the undertaking. It’s the power of knowing when to walk away. And here’s a clue–when it stops being fun, you should start looking for your shoes.

Some of the seed you drop lands in the middle of thistles. Now, this is soil that’ll grow anything–good and bad. The trouble is, sometimes the bad eats up the good, so it’s not the greatest climate to maintain a cherished mission. Keep sowing.

And some seed miraculously lands right in the middle of rich soil, grows and gives you a crop. This is why we celebrate. It’s why we praise. It’s why we reflect. Why we testify.

We do all of these because success doesn’t happen as often as failure, and if you refuse to try because “doom is more likely than bloom,” you will only guarantee yourself the failure of nothingness.

And if you’re surprised that things don’t work out the way you planned, you may just hang up your bag of seed and pout.

The good news is, we are not farmers–we are sowers.

The better news is, every once in a while we sow into the right soil, and the meaning of life grows right in front of our eyes.



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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … October 11th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog


What That Dude Sees in Me

I am not what you think I am

Always good or mostly bad

I am more than I appear to be

Sometimes happy, often sad

I am a believing soul

Filled with guilty doubt

I am usually half, rarely whole

Plagued by this childish pout

I know more than I recall

Fat I am, insisting I’m tall

My knack for offering sexual pleasure

Is rather limited, not beyond measure

I’m cranky when sweet is required

Full of fuss, rarely desired

I believe in myself to a fault

While questioning you and your result

I’m never nasty, but tart and sour

Squabbling over minutes, I then lose my hour

I am my father’s son and my mother’s little boy

I’m reminded things are good

But refuse to walk in joy

Yet yesterday a whisper caught my ear

I mustered the function to stop and hear

You were in need, I understood

Reaching out, did what I could

You called me an angel–I had to smile

Recounting my temper and fits of guile

Even though I’m riddled with delusion

I was truly uplifted by your conclusion

So a prayer I offered to the open sky

A humble plea, a dreamer’s cry

Lord, guide this chump to be

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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant … May 10th, 2017

 Jonathots Daily Blog



There truly is no other

Quite like your earthly mother

She struggles with her life

Lover, healer, giver, wife

Pushing past the pain

The temptation to go insane

She refuses to abandon and roam

But clings to heart and home

Yet there is a human sacrifice

Spilling sugar and sprinkling spice

Life is never what it may seem

Crushed feelings dishonor the dream

But she makes a casserole from the pieces

Her sense of purpose never ceases

She believes in you–no question or doubt

But takes the time to challenge the pout

Year after year a repeating sequel

Working harder but never an equal

For sometimes she feels very sad

When good mingles too much with the bad

But then in a gasp of humanity

She triumphs without vanity

She loves you–yes, you silly one

She tries to make a rainy day fun

So once a year you honor this dear

And ponder amazing things

In awe of the spread of her wings

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Peter Thomas … April 21, 2013


I speak boldly in the shadows and whisper in the light

I proclaim the goodness of God, yet pout when it rains

I am a fisher of men, trapped in my own net

I pray for miracles while growing weary in well-doing

I am a voice crying in the wilderness, complaining of a sore throat

I hurl rocks at the castle and quickly run away before the giant eats me

I love my neighbor in theory as I challenge him on the facts

I am outraged by the atheist while frequently ignoring God

I believe in the whole Bible and dust it off each month

I am the beckoned explainer who arrives confused

I am the singer of the hymn and the doubter of Him

I am an insecure expression of belief

I am a concession of faith

I am Peter, the preacher

And Thomas, the tongue-tied

I am both, as ordained to be

For too much faith makes me obnoxious

And an abundance of doubt renders me powerless

I am as God would have me

Sentenced to be an exclamation point

Sitting next to a question mark

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Three Ninnies… April 13, 2013



Worry, scurry and flurry

Always in a hurry

Running to and fro

Grumbling as they go

Afraid to take it slow

Wanting you to know

There is pain in their gain

Fretting in the brain

Insisting life is rough

The path to success quite tough

Demanding we all admire

Is what they do require

Life on earth is hard, they say

Even anxious as they pray

Worry, scurry and flurry

Your future is truly blurry

When always on the run

Refusing to have much fun

Consider the lily, how they sprout

They do not toil, they do not pout

So stop the worry

Rest the scurry

And let the flurry cease

For God loves you, my nervous ninnies

And wants to grant you peace.

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