G-Poppers … July 13th, 2018

G-Pop loves his children.

Of course, most folks claim they do. Even that lady in the courtroom who “offed her young’uns” insisted she adored the little tykes.

Love is the delicate balance between affection and correction. And who has ever found the balance? Some people are too affectionate–other people are just hard-asses.

How can you tell the truth in love?

G-Pop wants you to know that the world is segregating itself into clumps of misunderstanding.

For instance, over here on the right you’ve got the “He” crowd–“He” meaning God:

God is everything.

God is good.

Yet … God seems indifferent about the plight of children killed in war. (But that’s because we don’t understand His will.)

God, who is supposed to make us happy often leaves us sad, failing to return our messages.

So escaping “He,” we become…

Well, “you.”

I find myself having to contend with–you. After all, you have such great potential. If you would just listen to me, you would become amazingly fruitful, but you persist in your own ideas when you know that mine are proven better.

So you, who could be a companion to me, suddenly become a problem.

Conversations with you. I become convinced things are going to be better, and then you just end up being you.

Worse than that, many “yous” become “them” which is closely associated with “they.”

This is not an issue of prejudice or racism. These “yous,” who have clustered together in regions, have generated a serious predicament.

Maybe it’s skin color–but not exclusively.

Maybe it’s their customs.

But certainly, at the heart of it, they just aren’t quite as good and certainly not as adequate.

They need to be set apart.

Let’s not get mean about it. (Matter of fact, if we can get them to think it’s their idea to promote their own flag, their own skin tone or their own religion…)

Just keep them away.

I guess the only true way this can be achieved is for us to become a “we.”

We’re just so damn cute. We’re clever, we’re creative, we’re concerned about the world. We hold meetings and share ideas, relating with one another.

We are not animals.

We are not part of the ignorant masses who support foolishness.

We have culture.

We even have a mission statement.

Shoot–all we need is a song. Yes, a rallying tune to make it clear where “they” end and “we” begin.

So as the world drags on with devotion to “He,” criticism of “you,” bigotry about “them” and the self-righteousness of “we”, G-Pop notes that something needs to emerge that speaks the truth with love.

It is “I.”

But it is “i” in the lower case. It is an “i” that has not yet arrived.

And the tiny “i” is a way to signify that we understand that we’re empowered, but have not yet capitalized on all of our possibilities.

“i” am the beginning and the end of the significance of my life.

When “i” look to “we, them, you or He,” “i” drain energy from my existence–leaving a huge hole in my soul.

What do “i” need to do?

A. “i” need to repent of my fear of being wrong.

B. “i” need to make that repentance as joyous and as full of good cheer as possible, so “i” won’t resent doing it.

C. “i” need to focus on my work instead of trying to live off the efforts of others.

D. And “i” need to be humble.

G-Pop loves his children–enough to tell them the truth with affection.

G-Pop is an “i.”

He is an “i” who’s working everyday on trying to dot himself.

 

 

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Jesonian: Reasonable (Part 16) Purify … March 20th, 2016

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Jesonian hands

Jesus was not Jewish.

This doesn’t mean he hated Jews. He was like you and me. That’s what the Bible says.

Being like you and me, he was one-half jungle and one-half Garden. So he was Jewish on his mother’s side and Holy Spirit on his Father’s side.

It’s an important point.

Jesus did not come to Earth to confirm Judaism, nor was he a forerunner for Mohammed.

Yes, we must understand that Jesus did not establish his message in order to create a third generation for Abraham. He said quite clearly that “before Abraham was, he existed.”

He pre-dated the Patriarch of Judaism and the Muslim faith.

Why is that important?

Because Christianity is here to bring peace to the Earth, not pick a side in the fight.

Until we purify the Christian message, we will miss the essence of the struggle in the early church, when Paul told the leadership that they needed to stop acting so damned Jewish. The message needed to survive Jerusalem so that it would be well-understood in Hoboken and Siberia.

So if we’re going to be like Jesus, we must purify the mission in the following seven ways:

1. I am not political.

Whoever is the next President will be my President and I will honor him or her with my prayers.

2. I am not religious.

The simple truth is, God loves me and there’s no act of contrition or worship that will make that any better.

3. I am not a skin color.

God has vision for only one thing: He sees my passion because He looks on my heart.

4. I am not a culture.

The whole Earth is the Lord’s–therefore I am part of His greater vision, not His local flavor.

5. I am not confined to my nuclear family.

Even though I love my offspring, my real family is anyone who is interested in pursuing the Kingdom of God.

6. I am not afraid.

Fear weakens my love, so I choose good cheer as my refuge.

7. I am not better than anyone else.

There are no chosen people, just people who choose well.

Until the message of Jesus is purified as the “repairer of the breach” for mankind’s misunderstanding, we will be tempted to pick sides and will wage a political conflict…instead of welcoming a human unity.

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G-Poppers… February 20, 2015

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G-Popper

Little granddaughter asked G-Pop, “What is black history month?”

He paused, wondering what direction he should go with her question.

“Do you know what black is?” asked G-Pop.

“It is a dark color,” she replied.

“Some people have a dark color of skin,” he cited.

“I know that,” she sighed, a bit disgusted with G-Pop thinking she was dumb.

G-Pop explained. “But did you know that some people think skin color is, well, a way of treating people bad?”

“Why?”

Yes. Why.

G-Pop took a deep breath, allowing some oxygen to stimulate his brain to say the right thing. He continued.

“If you had four candy bars and you were very happy with your supply but you found out that your friend had four candy bars, too, how would you feel?”

Granddaughter didn’t pause. “Glad,” she replied. “We’ve both got candy.”

G-Pop smiled. “Yes, that’s what you should feel. A happy equal. But some people are mad if they don’t have more candy bars than their neighbor, so they strike out, steal a candy bar or two from them–until they feel they are better.”

“That’s mean,” said Granddaughter.

“It is. But some people are mean. And during the month of February, we get together and admit that meanness hurt our black brothers and sisters, and we’re working very hard to restore the sweetness.”

G-Pop peered at his granddaughter. He wasn’t sure she understood.

G-Pop wasn’t sure he understood.

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Jesonian: Mastering Service … September 21, 2014

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john marcus

John Marcus was a “householder.”

It was the title granted to the colored slave to afford just enough dignity with a King James flavor, without bestowing elaborate honor for his needful subservient status.

Yes, John Marcus did it all. Cook, clean, repair, blacksmith, minister, caretaker and physician.

And because he took the jobs on–often that no one else wanted, including the white family which became very accustomed to being served–he was granted more and more liberty to work solo in order to achieve his ever-expanding, sophisticated results.

Today he was given a new job. He was to be mentor, and even punisher if necessary, to a belligerent sixteen-year-old runaway named Zachary. The little tyrant was placed in his care to train and also temper into achieving his place as a worker on the plantation.

So John Marcus decided to give the angry lad the job of cleaning the pots and pans. It was done alone in the back room of the kitchen and could be achieved even by a fitful worker without destroying too much private property.

When Zachary got John Marcus alone, far from prying ears, he shouted, “Why do you walk around with a smile on your face playing good house nigger?”

John Marcus smiled and gave no response, wiping the bottom of a dirty pot as any good instructor just might do.

After a good season of pan-scrubbing, Zachary challenged again. “Are you deaf? Why do you give in to the Massa?”

John Marcus paused, ceasing to scrape at the blackened pans. He stepped about five paces away and gently and tenderly stirred a cauldron of delicious stew he was nurturing for the evening’s consumption.

Zachary shook his head.

Suddenly John Marcus spoke. “There’s one Massa. His name is Jesus. He told me that the only way to gain mastery in life is to serve.”

“Weak words,” spit Zachary.

John Marcus chuckled. “And where have your strong words gotten you, boy? Lassoed? Drug through the dirt? Rejected? Listenin’ to some old man chaw at’cha while you’re scrubbin’ pans? And you know what else? You’ll be here scrubbin’ these same pans, cursin’ these same whites two years from now, nary feelin’ any better or makin’ any progress.”

Zachary shook his head again. “I’d rather be an angry man than a happy nigger.”

John Marcus took him by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “That’s because you don’t know what happy is because you’re too busy bein’ angry. I don’t like what’s happenin’ around me, but I know one thing. It’s not gonna change tomorrow. It’s gonna be the same next week. Probably even by Christmastime, I’m still gonna have the same color they have decided is less than ‘dem. But I know this–if I believe they’re wrong, then there’s a God in heaven who knows it, too. And He told me there ain’t nothin’ a man sows that he doesn’t eventually have to pull up out of the ground and reap, and eat. So I’m workin’ on what I sow. I’m quietly learnin’ more than they want me to, and there are things around this ‘ole fifty-three acres that nobody knows how to do but me. Because when it came time for doin’ it, I learned it. And they were completely happy with me bein’ the pack mule.”

Zachary interrupted. “So what? So you’re a smart nigger without ever being able to be called smart, and being able to take the smart and use it for yourself.”

“Maybe so. But every time I master something of service and I serve it well, I gain the attention of the master who controls this household and I make myself of great value. Just the other day, young boy, several of the farm hands who own the plantation just south of here had to come to me to find out how to fix their plowshare and what to do for an ailing mule. Did they appreciate it? See, it doesn’t make any difference. In that minute, they had to admit they needed me. Maybe they choked on it; maybe they refused to completely give in. But they needed me. My Master is Jesus, and he told me that the more I serve, the more territory I gain.”

Zachary just shook his head, but he returned to his labor with a bit more respect.

In March of 1861, John Marcus passed away. He was the only slave allowed to be buried in the far corner of the white cemetery. Many of the townsfolk turned out to see the old servant put to rest. He had made more friends than enemies and to the surprise of a young worker who had finally adopted his philosophy…

Yes.

Zachary was set free.

It was the last request made by a servant to a plantation owner … but granted because of the teachings of a greater Master. 

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Lawless… November 4, 2012

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I love this country.

And it’s not because I was born here or I think we’re superior or we are the unique bastion of freedom or we have a divine right to lead the world. I love this country because it is the perfect blending of silly and important.

After all, anything that’s too silly ends up in folly. How do I know that? Because I, myself, have followed that path from time to time and have also seen the United States go through seasons of dumbness. Likewise, if one believes one is very important (by, say, repeatedly using “one” in a sentence instead of “you”) then one (or you) becomes self-righteous, officious and annoying. I am aware of this because I have been guilty of a bit of piety, and my country certainly has been adorned in the robes of ritual.

But what is perfect is when silly and important decide to get together and balance one another, so that nothing is taken too seriously and truly valuable things are given some air to breathe and a chance to succeed. It may be what’s missing during this particular juncture of the nation’s evolution. We’re frightened of being considered silly, so we are taking ourselves way too seriously.

But this condition was temporarily relieved from my mind last night when I was driving home from my set-up near Ashville, Ohio, and saw some campaign signs in a yard advertising: Lawless for Sheriff.

Come on. You’ve got to laugh out loud.

Only in America would such a silly name be associated with something so important as “sheriffing” without the constituency laughing out loud every time they read it or heard it. Only in USA would a man named Lawless feel free to run for sheriff–using his own name–without fear that he would be judged and guffawed right out of the office.

It made me think of other possibilities.

  • How about this one? Frank Critical for Supreme Court Judge.
  • I like this one: Karen Wolf for Dog Catcher.
  • Here’s a frightening one: Bill Terrorist for Director of Homeland Security.
  • Susan Graft for State Treasurer.
  • And of course, my favorite: John Mayor for Mayor.

I think it’s so positive. It gives me such hope that we have achieved the first step in a four-step process, to cease being a nation of prejudice, that we can just relax and enjoy the mixture of silly and important.

The first step is: No difference in a name.

Polish, Italian, German … or even Lawless for Sheriff. It doesn’t seem to bother us that much anymore. There’s even one guy running for office in this state whose last name is Gentile. No one is accusing him of being anti-Semitic. No one is asking if he’s circum … spective. We have made a step.

Look at those running for President. Mitt and Barack. Are you kidding me? This used to be a country with Presidents named Richard, Jimmy, George, Bill and Franklin. Mitt and Barack? Don’t tell me we haven’t made progress.

We have achieved step one, so take heart We might just be ready to go to step two, which is: No difference in color.

We are discussing it–nervously. I think we can do it. We may have to totally ridicule those who still go into the human home improvement store with a color chart, but I think it’s not only possible, it’s a necessity.

And when we get done with Number Two–no difference in color–we might be ready for Number Three: No difference in liberty.

People don’t have to follow my book. They don’t have to line up with my lifestyle. If what they choose to do is not detrimental to other human beings, they deserve the right to pursue it. I know–it seems we are light-years away from that one. But don’t give up. And please, don’t insist that we would be better off by having a Republican or a Democrat in the driver’s seat heading towards this destination. People are people and their prejudices don’t change that much simply because they are trailing behind a donkey versus an elephant.

Once we decide there is no difference in liberty–that our founding fathers truly did envision a land where all citizens would be granted equal justice, then we will culminate in the fourth step: Just no difference.

In other words, all of you are my brothers and sisters. This is how Jesus said his followers would be recognized–that they have love one for another. You can’t have love one for another and believe there’s a difference because of a name. Love is impossible if you’re differentiating by the pigment of someone’s skin. How can you give love to someone if you refuse them the liberty to pursue his or her own happiness? No, love is when we admit that even though we may have many contrary opinions, we are nevertheless all brothers and sisters.

So I drove back to my motel last night with a giggle in my spirit, thinking about Lawless for Sheriff–proud of my country because we are no longer name impaired.

You may think that’s silly. I would agree. And as I told you, silly is halfway to linking up with important …and making this whole dream called America a reality.

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