Dear Man/Dear Woman: A Noteworthy Conversation … December 19th, 2015

 Jonathots Daily Blog

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Dear Man,

I’m tired of being afraid.

I hate fear. It is so uncontrollably fearful.

I’m afraid of being weak and I’m also afraid of not being weak enough to fit in.

Or maybe it’s that I’m tired. Yes, I’m tired of being the weaker sex. How can you call someone the weaker anything and contend it’s not an insult? In what sense is weakness ever a positive? It is one thing and one thing only: weak.

It enables you to relegate me to positions for easy manipulation. I despise it. And then if manipulation doesn’t work, you can become abusive. And since I’m weak, I’m supposed to fall under the spell of your aggression.

I’m supposed to believe that if I have an opinion, it’s a complaint. If I have a complaint, it’s a bitch.

If I have a bitch, it’s an insult to your manhood. And if I insult your manhood, I’m a lousy woman.

How can you define being a woman by how well men think you act your role?

 

Dear Woman:

Don’t you think I’m afraid, too? I’m afraid of failing to be strong.

Who in the hell would I be if I’m not strong? I would risk being a pussy, right? Which simultaneously, by the way, insults you because it attributes weakness to being female.

So I’m supposed to figure out on my own what it means to be strong. Forgive me for assuming that would entail getting rid of anything that resembles weakness–feelings, tears, sensitivity, attention span…should I go on?

So to be a man, in a way I’m told to be a jerk to a woman. And from what you’re telling me, I further complicate your life by treating you as weak so I will appear stronger.

 

Dear Man,

You don’t understand. I don’t want you to work this out for me. I don’t want you to adapt to my fear and my fatigue.

I want to find a way to discover why we share so much in common, yet are taught that we’re so different.

 

Dear Woman:

Aren’t we different? Isn’t that supposed to be the allure of our attraction?

 

Dear Man:

I hope not, because quite honestly, it’s driving me nuts.

The things you think make you strong actually repel me, and then I resent the fact that I’m supposed to be attracted to what I find repulsive.

 

Dear Woman:

Repulsive, huh? Am I supposed to hear that without thinking you’re a bitch?

 

Dear Man:

Am I supposed to feel it without saying it?

 

 

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Untotaled: Stepping 9 — Goodnight, Sweet Prince (November 12th, 1965) … April 5, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog  

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(Transcript)

I was scared.

Normally, I was ecstatic to visit my grandpa’s house, because after a brief series of greetings and obligatory, slobbery kisses, I was allowed to go into the nearby living room where there was a large, brown horsehair couch–my favorite perch. I loved to rub my legs against the scratchy surface. It was a delicious brown–caramel, chocolate and orange soda, all “splurged” together.

But on November 12th, 1965, arriving at Grandpa’s home, it was a much different scene.

As always, I was greeted at the door by Queenie, his collie, who was overly zealous and friendly, and always smelled–well, pardon the cliché–like wet dog.

This time there was no greeting from Gramps. Instead, we found him in the living room, kneeling over Irma, whose breathing was laborious, was white as a sheet and had creamy drool dribbling out of the corners of her mouth.

Grandpa was crying.

My mother moved to his side to comfort him, and I stared at the suffering lady. I didn’t know much about Irma–she never talked. I mean literally, I had never heard her speak.

She was passed off by my Grandpa as his houseguest/friend/maid/cook. I heard relatives refer to her as “retarded, evil, a slut and a foreigner.” Absent understanding of what many of these words meant, my interpretation was to just stay away.

Irma seemed to have no problem with our distant relationship, so on this horrible day, when my beautiful, brown horsehair couch was turned into the deathbed of this strange woman, I heard my mother utter these words: “Jonathan, come over and say good-bye to Irma.”

Yes, this was a day and age when people actually died in their homes without heroic measures.

I thought to myself, “Say goodbye? I’ve never said hello.”

I eased over to her side and touched her forehead. It was clammy and cold. I jerked back and then was embarrassed by my revulsion.

“Goodbye, Irma,” I managed, and then shuffled out of the room.

Two weeks after Irma died, my mother went out to console Grandpa and spend the night, and they placed me on the brown couch to sleep. They turned off the light and I was left in the room with the memories of Irma and her demise.

I was so frightened.

Lying there on the couch, I thought I could smell her. It was horrible. Squeezing my pillow tightly, I prayed.

“God, I’m scared. Please take the scare away.”

I don’t remember anything after that. I went to sleep and woke in the morning without any signs of the previous night’s terror.

I was transformed–not just for that occasion. I can mark that night as the time when much of the childish apprehension, insecurity and trepidation departed from me, like a vapor, leaving a boiling pan of water.

I was stronger.

I would never, ever be that afraid again.

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G-18: Fellowship or Companionship … April 4, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog  

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It’s not enough

I don’t know how to tell you

You have given me so much

I value your love

I treasure our relationship

I feel you inside me

I am thrilled with my work

I am enthralled by my home

I adore the creatures around me

If perfect is possible, then here it is

At my fingertips

In my pulse

Yet sadly, my friend, it is not enough

I simultaneously feel a vacancy and a sense of shame over the lack

I really tried to make a go of it

I felt as if work, fellowship and purpose should be sufficient to my need

I was wrong

I do not want to lie to you

I do not want to sneak away in a corner and pretend

I yearn for companionship

What is that?

Someone to hold in my arms

To confirm my presence

Someone to share blessing and blame

Someone for me to pleasure, and in turn, draw my pleasure from

Someone who disagrees, but remains

Someone who is like me but in a different sort of way

Someone who is sometimes stronger

Sometimes weaker

Honestly, someone who isn’t you

Someone who is, well … me

I don’t want to complain

But it is not enough

 

The producers of jonathots would humbly request a yearly subscription donation of $10 for this wonderful, inspirational opportunity

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An Amazing Diversion… November 14, 2012

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I ate like a pig.

Having survived an arduous morning in Parma, Ohio, trying to move along on my wobbly, sore legs, I creaked my way into my motel room, ordered in a bunch of food, took a spoon and fork to try to comfort my pain and reward my efforts.

It tasted good, but an hour later I felt worse. Matter of fact, by the time I got up the following morning, my legs were so stiff that I was unable to walk. It scared me. So I prayed.

Over the years I have learned that prayers uttered in fear are useless–because fear scares away love, and since God is love, He is not quite certain where He can enter our situation without first ministering to the trepidation. When Jesus was on the sea with his disciples and there was a huge storm and they were scared “fishless,” he calmed the disciples before he calmed the storm.

“Be not afraid.”

Well, I was afraid. I was afraid of not walking, I was afraid of losing my career, I was afraid of not being able to reach out to other folks, I was afraid of becoming a statistical fat person, who faithfully followed the pamphlet’s description of his own demise. So my prayer of fear just made me sadder. Finally calming down, however, I allowed myself a chance to consider my plight.

I realized that for my entire life, I had been very active but also quite obese. Believe it or not, those two are at odds with each other. So that morning, I committed to take care of my body and stop overeating by sneaking in extra carbohydrates and fats.

The by-product of that decision is that I started losing weight. I felt stronger. It was amazing that within thirty-six hours, I regained enough willingness to move forward that I held my dates, coming up with the idea of using the wheelchair. So I got to do my work, which made me feel valuable, building up my confidence so that I could continue to commit to losing weight. That was thirty-seven days ago.

Yesterday, I got into a swimming pool for the first time since then and discovered that my legs are gradually rebuilding back to the status where they were before. That is both good news and bad news–because where they were before was not giving me the mobility I needed to get around.

When I was changing clothes after the swim, I looked down at the big toe on my right foot and received quite a shock. For the last seven years, I have had a small open wound on my big toe. It wouldn’t heal. I doctor it every morning, bandaging it up to protect it from infection, but it has remained the same, without change. But now … it is healing.

I was shocked. Better phrased, I was amazed. How did that happen? For you see, in the process of trying to regain my legs, what I was immediately receiving was my big toe. If God had actually granted me new legs without me making any revisions in my lifestyle, I would have quickly worn those legs out also with my fat body.

Sometimes we forget that God can not go around contradicting His own creation and overriding His own system just so we can escape a bit of inconvenience. It is why the Bible tells us we can ask God for wisdom any time and know we will receive it. The Bible does NOT tell us that we can ask God for miracles and immediately confiscate one.

In my clumsy, unaware fashion, I backed into a truth: The only way I am ever going to get the use of my legs again in this lifetime is to lose enough weight, get healthier and start healing in places on my body, so that my legs can follow suit. Healing my legs on that October morning from a prayer of fear would have been the worst thing God could do. He would have ended up with a grateful, gushing, unrepentant porker who would continue to live a lifestyle detrimental to his own good.

For thirty-seven days I have done something I never thought I could. I eat my dinner and then stop snacking. An amazing diversion.

For thirty-seven days, I have removed excess carbohydrates, fats and sweets from my diet. An amazing diversion.

For thirty-seven days, I have found it easier to sleep without constantly waking up with symptoms of insomnia. An amazing diversion.

I have begun to lose weight again–slowly–which I had convinced myself was impossible at my age. An amazing diversion.

And a small, open wound on my big toe is closing up and healing–a wound which seemed to be a live-in roommate and now is gradually being evicted. An amazing diversion.

As you pray for your miracle, keep in mind that God has a system in place. Keep in mind that God is smarter than your perception of your need. Be cognizant of the fact that there are processes that take us to other processes, which place us on a pathway to conclusion.

• My toe is healing.
• My body is getting lighter.
• My physicality is growing stronger.
• My health seems better.

Can my legs do anything but join the band?

Life is an amazing diversion, where God teaches us how we work on a planet of His creation if we’re willing to go there without fear–bringing along paper and pencil to take notes.

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