Staring Out the Window… November 15, 2013

Jonathots Daily Blog

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I sent my two sons out into a nearby woods to look for a huge log. They were exhilarated because I had explained to them the concept of a yule log, placed on the fire to burn all night on Christmas Eve.

Honestly, I didn’t expect them to find such a piece of wood just lying on the ground in the forest, but I thought it would be quite an adventure for them, and I just really wanted to be alone.

For the past year and a half, I had settled into a situation that was unsatisfying. There was plenty of money. Everything seemed fine. But I had quietly walked away from my calling, my talent and my aspirations. Oh, I still occasionally wrote something, or sang a song, just to remind myself of former days. But I had swallowed up domestication while allowing myself to be swallowed.

It was a strange series of events which brought me to this little duplex in Sacramento. (Actually, it was Citrus Heights. We were thrilled because our address was on Orange Avenue in Citrus Heights. Isn’t that cool? We thought it was.) Even though our lodge was humble and simple, it was the best thing we’d had as a home for a long time. It had a fireplace, a sunken living room, a dining room and enough bedrooms that you didn’t have to hear another family member snore.

So on this day, as the boys made the trek into the woods, I stared out the window into the cold December grayness. It was so beautiful.

It was also terrific to be moving forward. The sensation was overwhelming and brought tears to my eyes and a resolution to my spirit. I would truly never allow myself to be surrounded by mediocrity again.

As I stared into the distance, I closed my eyes and reopened them like a shutter on a camera, taking a picture. I wanted to make sure I would never forget the morning–surrounded by silence, chilled to the bone by joy and at peace with myself.

It was so beautiful.

All at once, coming toward me in the distance were my two boys. Between them was a large log they found in their quest. I had to laugh. They had performed the impossible. They had done something unexpected.

May we all be so blessed.

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It’s Me… February 26, 2013

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I just stepped out for fifteen minutes to go get ice, chips and dip during one of those frenzied moments when you realize that you just can’t live without them.

My two sons, one twelve and one seven, were settled in, watching a TV show, so I felt fairly confident that I could leave, pick up my supplies from the local convenience store and be back before they even broke the trance, staring at the magic screen. I told my oldest boy that I was going to the store.

Upon arrival, I was not in the establishment for even two minutes, browsing, when a young man at the cashier stand called, “Is there a Mr. Cring here?”

Keep in mind–these were the days before cell phones, so it seems that my oldest son had tracked down the name of this store and called, apparently in desperation, to get hold of his dad. I picked up the phone and was assaulted with a nervous, excited and frightened jabber. Through the spurts I was able to figure out that my guy thought there was somebody at the back door, trying to get in the house.

Obviously, I was alarmed. I told him to lock the door and ran out of the convenience store (sans supplies). I drove to the house, parked the car and came around to the back door, where my son had heard the noise. There on the doorstep, banging its nose against the door for some inexplicable reason, was what seemed to be a very angry opossum, with some sort of bizarre agenda.

I could understand why my son was so frightened–it was really quite loud. Upon careful inspection, the possum, through determined smackings, had bloodied his own nose, and it was obvious to me that this was one crazed animal which I certainly did NOT want to deal with.

The possum turned, scowled and growled at me. Not knowing what to do and not having any weapon handy, I duplicated the scowl and growl, adding my own human flavor to it. To my delight and surprise, he turned on his paws and scampered across the back yard, out through the hedges and into the woods.

I was relieved. I was not an excellent possum fighter. Fortunately, I was not required to prove my prowess by disemboweling this creature. When I was sure the possum was long gone, I quietly knocked on the back door. There was a pause, followed by a wee, tiny voice barely resembling the first-born that I knew and loved.

“Wh-wh-who is it?”

“It’s me.”

That’s all I said. Suddenly the door flew open and gangly, awkward son leaped into my arms, hugging me and praising my role as his savior. I hadn’t identified myself in any way except through my voice. But because he knew he had called for my help, and I said I was on the way, he was not surprised when I arrived. He was not afraid to let me in. He was overjoyed.

It happened one night on a lake. Fishermen and good seamen, who should not have been terrified by a storm, were suddenly overtaken by uncontrollable anxiety. In the midst of that turmoil and anguish, a voice spoke through the darkness.

“It’s me.”

The very relieved and overjoyed fishermen received their friend into the boat … and the storm went away.

That night when I returned and was blessed by NOT needing to go on a possum hunt, I still was able to create an even deeper connection with my children because they recognized my voice, I came to their aid, and the danger disappeared.

I do not understand why we would think that teaching people to be afraid of God is a way of creating better humans and more devoted disciples.

Isn’t it preferable to believe, deep in your heart, that “Daddy’s home” … and all the bad things have run away?

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My Old Dog… October 23, 2012

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Live from October 1st filming

His name was Madez.I sure did love that old dog–as much as one is able to express deep affection to a mere mutt. He was a house dog. During his stay on this planet, he lived a life of luxury, seemingly having an opinion on every household matter and settling in on his favorite places to slumber, which was often and frequent.

But once a day he enjoyed going out and roaming through our back yard into a nearby woods, pretending he was actually a viable member of the animal kingdom. He usually was not gone very long–thirty minutes or so–but on one particular afternoon he didn’t return for several hours and we became a little concerned about his whereabouts. Just before sunset, there was the familiar scratching on our front door, informing us that His Majesty was ready to reenter his castle.

I went to the door and absent-mindedly almost opened it to let him in, but in the nick of time, looked down to discover that he was covered in sticky burrs, had ticks all over him and what appeared to be fleas leaping from his nose to his head with a daredevil tumble to his backside. Madez tried to push on through the opening and enter as if there was no problem whatsoever. I was appalled and instinctively shut the door, unfortunately catching the tip of his nose and inviting a most ungodly yelp. I apologized for my lack of consideration, but made it clear to him that I had no intention of letting him into the house in his condition. He didn’t understand.

So as I tried to figure out which one of my children I was going to burden with the job of de-burring, de-ticking and de-fleaing our dog, he perched himself outside the door and began to whine and bark for entrance into the house, which was his domain.

You see, I couldn’t do it. Even though the old dog was fine, the friends he had picked up on his little journey were not welcome in my abode. They were back-biting, blood-sucking sticklers that had no business being in a civilized environment. Madez had to be quarantined for a while to be made suitable to enter his original domicile.

I want you to keep this story in mind as I explain my next point. As I watched the two old dogs square off last night during the debate at Lynn College, I realized that these two gentlemen were fine men–individuals I would be more than happy to count as friends and even comrades. What bothers me is that both of them have been walking out in the woods of their particular party affiliation and now are trying to get back into my life, carrying all of their fleas, ticks and burrs.

Yes, the problem with electing a President in this country is that he, and hopefully someday she, is associated with many back-biting, blood-sucking sticklers, who have an agenda of their own that is not inclusive of everyone else. It makes these two old dogs dangerous to us. Even though we may love them, we can’t let them bring the forest vermin into our house of freedom. It’s just not going to work.

So my dear friends, it’s not so much what Mitt Romney or Barack Obama are going to do if they are President of the United States that concerns me. If I can be candid with you, many of those decisions are already pre-determined or set in motion, as you could tell last night, when they ended up agreeing on more matters of foreign policy than being in dissension. The problem lies with the nastiness and short-sighted creatures that cling to their coats and come into that oval office with them, demanding that their specific special interests be given more attention than is really necessary or due.

Yes, I think a decision for President this year is based upon what fleas, ticks and burrs you think will be easiest to remove from your favorite old dog.

With Romney, you get the Christian Coalition, the Tea Party, anti-abortion, the NRA … well, I could go on. Each one of these organizations has an agenda that is very specific and unfortunately, fails to pass all of the standards of American inclusion and personal freedom. Also, I must be honest–they infest the fur and hide of Mr. Romney.

On the other hand, Barack Obama is surrounded by liberalism, over-dependence on government programs, pseudo-intellectualism and often more concern for baby seals than babies in the womb. These advocates, which cling to the carcass of Mr. Obama, are equally as dangerous to general inclusion and freedom.

The pestilence on Mr. Romney would love to get rid of all liberals, the state of California and most of the east coast.

The nasty bugs on Mr. Obama have a hankering to believe that everyone south of New York City is a hillbilly.

They are dangerous. Both of them.

So there really are only two questions. Number one: which one of these men is going to have the greatest ability and backbone, to stand up to the blood-sucking, back-biting sticklers from his own party and do what is right for all the American people? Number Two–which one of these men can grow in maturity with the office and become a statesman rather than a mouthpiece for this brief season for his political brotherhood?

For to be a good President is always to lose the support of your own people, and even for a season, to baffle the will of the nation. Just ask Abraham Lincoln, as he struggled over the issue of slavery.

You see, I couldn’t let Madez in my house until he was cleansed of all his unrighteousness. And we can’t let Mitt Romney into the White House until we’re certain that he won’t bring all of his “bugs” with him. Likewise, we must not allow Barack Obama to continue to be President until we’re confident that he’s been de-loused.

The choice is simple. Who will have the guts to sit out on the porch and allow himself to be shampooed and made worthy to enter the White House? And who is so tied up with his own walk in the woods that he demands entrance without being freed?

There you go, friends. By the way, it took one of my sons about an hour and a half to get Madez ready for the house again–and honestly, for two or three days after, we still found an occasional pesky flea and a perseverant tick. All of them had to be removed so that our dog was worthy of his surroundings.

And in like manner, all of these pests will have to be removed to make sure that one of these men is worthy of the White House.

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