1 Thing You Can Do This Week

Stir Your Heart But Lower Your Pressure

It often seems that people become nosy, interfering, nervous and worried because they haven’t settled in their own hearts what their part of life truly is, and what they should do to remain passionate.

They intrude in everybody else’s business.

They increase pressure—on people around them, themselves and even the pressure on their own religion or politics to perform miracles that are not in the making.

What you treasure in your life will be nurtured in your emotions and your passions.

If you haven’t decided what you value, then you’ll try to become involved in everything and the craziness will overwhelm you.

Here’s the truth:

  • I don’t care about everything.
  • I am not interested in everything.
  • Therefore, I am not involved in everything.

My level of activity is limited to my passions.

If you don’t have your heart focused on what your true treasure is in life, you’ll create anxiety in yourself, trying to be proficient at everything.

Stir your heart and lower your pressure.

Tell your heart where you feel excited, where you want to be involved and leave other people alone.

Do yourself a favor–don’t comment on everything.

I don’t have an opinion on everything.

I don’t want to have an opinion on everything.

I don’t want that responsibility.

So I stir my heart everyday to do what thrills me.

And by faith I believe the other parts of life that need to be taken care of are being stirred by the treasures which are in the hearts of my brothers and sisters.

 

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Sit Down Comedy … September 6th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4159)

Sit Down Comedy

Everyone sing along!

He’s a racist

She’s a racist

You’re a racist

I’m a racist

Wouldn’t you like to be a racist too?

Show your faces

Come be a racist

From all places

We are all racists.

Sitting on a park bench, a dog walks by, thistles stuck in its fur, dried fecal matter on its leg hair. Our reaction? “Poor puppy.” Matter of fact, we might look through our pockets to see if we might have a snack to offer the unfortunate creature.

Same day, same park.

A homeless man strolls by—dirty pants, nine-day-old growth of beard and tousled hair. We look at him and conclude, “Goddam bum.”

You see, it doesn’t matter what color we are. It isn’t as if white people don’t hate white people or black, black. Brown folks hate the various shades of beige, Asians attack Asians, and the Cherokee nation, the Navajo tribe.

It is not a color issue.

It is not a culture situation. It’s not a religious affiliation. After all, the Baptists bicker with the Baptists, the Catholics abuse their own, the Jews pull rank on one another and the Muslim terrorists kill more Muslims than Christians.

Staying with that dog example, if we were dogs, the human race would be pit bulls, adamantly insisting that the problem is not our breed, but rather, how we were trained.

Candidly, it wouldn’t matter if we finally found a way through eugenics to come up with one, single color for all Homo Sapiens. We would still commence murdering one another over eyebrows.

It may seem easier to blame it on color scheme, religion or patriotism, but we all are human racists. Allegedly, the first murder was committed by one brother on another brother.

In other words, they looked alike.

If we don’t get rid of human racism—an ironic hatred for our own beings—we will never be able to overcome the lack of similarities accomplished by evolution.

Here’s what causes human racism, if you’re interested in actually addressing it and once and for all identifying it in your being:

1. I need to be special.

Actually, you’re not, my friend—not unless you decide to do or be something special to the world around you.

2. I need to stand out.

The chances of that happening are few, and then could always be caused by your iniquity instead of your contribution to goodness.

3. I need to withhold praise just in case…

Yes, because you’re frightened that you won’t be appreciated enough, you decide to keep focus on yourself instead of valuing the gifts of others, even when their inspiration has benefitted you.

4. I need to hurt somebody.

Perhaps you prefer to do it in a civil way, using gossip or innuendo, but if necessary—if you find others completely annoying—you are willing to kill them for the cause of your country, your family or your Christ. So please, trace racism back to where it began:

Despising others because we’re dissatisfied with ourselves.

 

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1 Thing You Can Do to Help Turn the Tide on the Madness

 

Conversation is whiskey and humor is beer.

Please don’t forget this.

In the midst of all the insanity, there is a tendency to talk until we cheapen ourselves, and debate to debunk the ignorant.

Although it may be dramatic to crinkle one’s face and produce crocodile tears about the tragedies of shootings and the general unrest in our communities, we achieve nothing through our furor of discourse.

We become inebriated on our sense of importance.

Then we start using our words to slur others.

I am sure many Americans would consider it insulting to allow good cheer, wit, cleverness, optimism and mirth to rule the day.

Yes, mirth. There’s a word we don’t use much anymore—probably because it means amusement that brings laughter. What could possibly be uplifting or comedic about the horror of El Paso and the victims of Dayton?

Nothing.

But we can keep our sense of humor by realizing that this is a nation of 350 million people, who have been told they have the right to do too much and have been slammed together from cultures all over the world, in a climate of permissiveness. We might ready ourselves for some conflict.

For to compare our country to other nations is a farce. No other group of people must tolerate such diversity—and do it promising to initiate “peace on Earth, goodwill toward man.”

We need the common beer of humor to sooth us and give us a reason for chatting again instead of yelling.

The whiskey of politics, religion, corporations and ego will do nothing but make us completely oblivious to anything but our own ideas.

I bring humor.

I find humor—not jokes and laugh-out-loud sketches, but instead, poking fun at ridiculous ideas instead of pretending they have merit. For instance, attempts to get rid of guns, or stances to protect them, are equally comical. Joining in “the blame game” and pointing fingers like little children only proves what babies we are.

We need humor.

We need to share the beer of a sense of good cheer.

So here’s to mirth. May we not only learn its meaning but begin to utilize its power.

Prepare for a rebirth of mirth on the Earth.

 

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Iz and Pal (Bedouin Buddies)


Iz and Pal

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4119)

Sitting Thirty

There was an attempt at a silent meeting of the minds.

Those melting in the desert heat who were over eighteen years of age peered at one another, trying to decide who should speak up next to foil the efforts of the little ingrates. In the meantime, Iz frowned. He had grown weary of the conversation.

Before the inquisitors could come to terms on whose turn it was to interrogate the boys, Iz spoke up. “Here—I have some questions. Listen, if you can answer them, then I will certainly stay silent and receive what you have to say. Let me start with you, Rabbi. Are Ishmael and Isaac brothers—both sons of Abraham?”

The shirt and tie cleared his throat. “Well, actually, half-brothers. Abraham had Ishmael with a slave girl and Isaac was born under the true promise of God.”

“E-e-e-e-h-h-h, there’s the buzzer,” said Iz. “Wrong again. They’re either brothers or they’re not. And actually, Ishmael was Isaac’s older brother. Don’t you think God knew he needed an older brother? Weren’t they supposed to stay together?”

The mullah stepped forward. “My answer would have been quite different…”

“Yes,” Pal interrupted. “I know your answer. I learned it early on. You believe Ishmael was a child of promise, too, and he was mistreated by the Jews and forced into exile, where God raised him up to be equal. But here’s my question, Mullah. Doesn’t that make him the underdog? Aren’t you always teaching that we have to struggle to live up to the same standard as the Jews instead of having our own identity, our own mission?”

The mullah chuckled. “You are so young. You do not understand, and I don’t have the time to educate you.”

“Next question,” said Iz, inserting himself. “This one goes to the guy with the funny collar. Was your Jesus a Jew, and if he was, why didn’t he come as an Arab instead?”

The collar spoke. “By the way, I am Father Shannon, and you’re right. I believe in the divinity of Jesus Christ, and we do believe Jesus was a Jew…”

Pal raised his hand. “So why should I care about him? Why do I want another Jewish guy to be in charge of me, telling me I’m not part of the promise of God?”

Blue jeans interceded. “Actually, according to Christian theology, Jesus was Jewish on his mother’s side, but spent most of his early years in Egypt, as an Arab. Lots of theologians believe God wanted Jesus’s disciples to take the message to the Jews, Arabs and Afrikaans first. Well, they really didn’t. They ended up taking it to the Jews, Greeks and Romans.”

“You see?” screamed Iz. “They screwed up, and because they screwed up, you all got different names for the same things that end up doing nothing for anybody. And Pal and I get messed up because we don’t get to be friends, ’cause you guys can’t even agree on what clothes to wear. One of you’s got a collar pinching your throat, another is dressed like a businessman, you over there—well, you’re wearing a robe like some sort of shepherd, and dude—you’ve got on blue jeans, trying to pretend like you’re young.”

“I hear a lot of anger,” said Blue jeans.

“I see a lot of stupid,” said Pal.

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3 Things … July 25th, 2019

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4116)


That Breed Racism

1. Too much interest in ancestry or culture

 

2. Looking for someone to blame for your setbacks

 

3. Religion

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Iz and Pal (Bedouin Buddies)


Iz and Pal

Jonathots Daily Blog

(4105)

Sitting Twenty-Eight

All at once, Karin was chilled by a startling realization. She considered herself to be an intelligent, astute, and even clever discerner of human emotions, especially being able to separate the false from the true, with some regularity. Now she found herself completely overwhelmed by the common sense of two twelve-year-old boys, whose argument not only left her perplexed, but nearly breathless with its sincerity.

Was she going crazy? Had she spent too much time in the desert with these two youngsters? Or perhaps it was just her own internal questioning about the hypocrisy of the society surrounding her, surfacing and finding voice in the two adolescent rabble-rousers.

But there was no doubt about it—Karin Koulyea, newspaper woman extraordinaire, was stymied. She realized that Iz and Pal could not be coaxed back to their former lives through the presentation of treats or the sum token of receiving a little more freedom.

She took a deep breath and then growled at them with the most gravitas she could muster. “You see, here’s the problem. They are grown-ups. They have earned the right to be stupid. The years that have passed, that have grayed their hair, have also given them the privilege to do stupid things. I’m not telling you I agree, but I am telling you that nobody cares what my opinion may be on the matter. Guys, they don’t have to make sense. Of course hate is stupid! But hate is what they always do when they run out of ideas. And if you ask me, government is what people do when they feel they’ve lost control. If you’ll just hear me for a second, I, Karin, your friend, am just telling you that they are not going to let you continue to be your own little country out here in the sand.”

Iz interrupted. “I suppose you’re talking about the rally.”

Karin was taken aback. “Iz, how did you find out about the rally?”

He just shook his head. “They wrap some of our food in newspaper, so as we sit and eat the cheese and bread, we read the local news. We understand that next Thursday, they plan on coming out here and taking us away.”

Karin sat for a moment. Pal started to speak but Iz reached over and put a hand on his leg, encouraging his silence.

Finally Karin asked, “So what are you going to do?”

Iz lifted his hand, motioning toward Pal, giving him the moment. “You just don’t get it, lady. What do you mean, ‘what are we gonna do?’ We’re gonna stay. They’re the ones who are going to cause trouble. So as long as we don’t fight, they’ll end up looking like the troublers.”

Iz interrupted, “And we will end up looking like the heroes.” The two boys exchanged a high five.

Karin didn’t know what she felt about their statements. There was an optimism that might have a grain or two of truth, but deep in her heart, she was aware that the staunch purveyors of religion and culture would never be satisfied without dominating.

She reached out and took each boy by the hand. “They won’t let you be what you want to be—mainly because they all want to be something else but have convinced themselves that their God is mad at anyone who is truly happy.”

There was a moment of stillness, almost resembling understanding. Suddenly, Iz crawled away on all fours, across the desert sand, stumbling to his feet, and walked a few paces away. Turning, he said, with tears in his voice, “What good is it if we start something out here and don’t finish it? How are we any different from them? They make peace treaties, and the first time it becomes hard to follow, they drop it. They make promises to love and care, and then they just forget.”  He stepped toward Karin. “We will not forget. And we will never give up.”

Karin struggled to her feet, stood and pointed at Iz. “Yes, you will. Because they will make you give up. They will defeat you and humiliate you and make you seem even younger and smaller than you really are.”

Karin turned to include Pal in her words. “Maybe when you’re men someday, you can change the world. But nobody changes the world with a child’s hand.”

Pal leaped to his feet and pointed to Iz and back to himself. “Doesn’t the Bible say, ‘a little child shall lead them?’” he asked defiantly.

“The Bible says a helluva lot of things,” Karin scoffed, “but the Bible always gets shouted down by folks with money and power.”

The three stood in the desert, exchanging glances. Slowly, Iz stepped over and sat back down. He looked off in the distance as if speaking to the universe. “I don’t care about that. We have a plan.”

He quickly glanced over at Pal, who widened his eye sockets to well back the tears. Pal nodded and added, “Yes. A plan.”

Karin pivoted and turned to them, a little bit shaken by their tone of voice. “Well, come on. You can tell me what the plan is.”

As if on cue, Iz and Pal stood and began to kick the soccer ball back and forth, running in circles around Karin, bouncing the ball against her legs, off her hips and then, her head, closing in nearer and nearer to her.

“Quit it!” she screamed, angry and frightened. But they didn’t. They kept kicking the ball, dancing in a circle around her. She stumbled, nearly falling, and tried to push back at them, but they kept kicking the ball, encircling her. They were laughing.

“All right, you little jerks!” she screamed. “I’m out of here!”

Gaining her balance, she rushed past them and stomped away, but as she left, she turned and said, “This doesn’t change anything. You can chase me away, but you can’t chase the goddamn world away.”

The two boys continued their kicking and playing, ignoring her words. When they were sure that she was far down the hill and would not return, Iz stopped, wiping the sweat from his brow. He turned to Pal, panting, and said, “She’s just like all the rest. She doesn’t understand. No one understands.”

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1 Thing You Can Do to Ensure That All Persons Are Deemed Created Equal

 

Ignore All Attempts to Separate Us

Remind yourself that 99.9 percent of all human beings on Planet Earth share the same DNA, organs and makeup.

Culture may be interesting, but it’s really just a location. It is not something that makes us black, white, red or yellow.

Religion is just training in an attempt to find the God we eventually discover in each other.

And love is merely the absence of fear. When fear is identified and exposed for its cowardice and short-sightedness, love has a chance to breed among us.

It is perhaps the greatest realization that one can achieve during time on Earth:

WE ARE MORE THE SAME THAN DIFFERENT

So do yourself and others a big favor—and ignore all the attempts to separate us.


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