Untotaled: Stepping 25 (March 12th, 1966) She Kissed Me … August 2, 2014

 Jonathots Daily Blog

(2310)

(Transcript)

The romantic sex drive arrives before the license to drive.

At least it did for me.

This created a very uncomfortable situation–three times, I think–where my mother was the chauffeur for my date. It came down to the simple choice of whether to stifle my instincts, as an emerging young man, to be with a female, or to tolerate the primary female in my life–my mother–intervening with her prevalent personality.

On the first occasion of this collision of wills, I invited a young girl named Krissie out to a movie and a hamburger. Unfortunately, the drop-off was some twelve miles away, so we had to endure my mother’s attempts to be relevant to the younger generation. I did not realize there were so many derivations of the word “kids,” but in the process of the thirty-minute drive, Krissie and I were referred to as children, youngsters, teenies, child, students, kiddos and cuties.

Even though I was extraordinarily embarrassed, I was determined to endure the ordeal for the privilege of spending time with this young lady, who had decided I was worth at least one evening’s consideration.

I cannot tell you that the situation became much better after we were dropped off at the theater. I was so nervous that I can’t even remember what movie we went to, and was unable to finish my hamburger, which normally I would have done easily, with an extra one on the side.

The whole time I was trying to figure out if I was talking enough or talking too much. I can’t explain the gauntlet of pain I endured in an attempt to hold her hand.

But soon I realized that she was just as terrified as I was, because when I reached for her dainty fingers in the theater, what I grasped was similar to a wet sponge.

Questions popped into my mind:

• Do I kiss her?
• What would she think?
• Do I know how to kiss?
• How could I make sure my mother would not see?
• Would Krissie laugh at me?
• Would she make fun of me with her friends?
• What if I don’t kiss her?

Well, my mother picked us up and took us back to the house, and fortunately, Krissie decided to take a detour to the back door of the home, where we would have more privacy from my mother’s purview. My knees were buckling and there was a tiny dribble of sweat careening down my leg.

We climbed the stoop, and before I could even consider my next move, Krissie leaned over and kissed me on the lips, pulled away for a brief second, and then came in and kissed me again.

I barely even noticed the onion from her hamburger.

Without another word, she disappeared into the house.

Rarely in my life have I experienced the euphoria that followed that divine piece of lip-lock. I felt a combination of gratitude along with a notification by mail that I was officially voted in as Master of the Universe.

I was even able to enjoy the ever-flowing conversation with my mother on the way home.

Krissie kissed me.

And like so many other wonderful women who have honored me with their presence, she saw my weakness and helped me turn it into a strength.

 

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My Little Improv… January 5, 2014

Jonathots Daily Blog

(2112)

Some rules are good.

They help people understand better ways to do things to welcome success and happiness.

On the other hand, some rules are bad. They’re put in place–sometimes in stone–to control folks, eliminating the creative passion that allows us mere mortals to touch the face of God.

I’ve tried to figure out which one is which for most of my life.

When I was a kid, they had a rule in our church that young students in junior high school couldn’t be on the Bible League competition team until they got into the ninth grade. I suppose somebody who originally came up with the idea imagined it was a good thing–to make being on the team a reward, and also that probably most youngsters in seventh and eighth grade were not mature enough for such an endeavor.

It was a bad rule. I objected, complained, lobbied, got it changed and was the first thirteen-year-old on the team.

It doesn’t matter where you go. There are people who enjoy their work so they try to make it more accessible to themselves and others, and then there are those who are a bit miserable, who feel it is their duty to pass on the sullen attitude.

Music, religion, politics, corporations, clubs, schools–all of them have their share of “grumpy grumpers” who really hate their lives and want to make sure that everybody hates equally.

So when I sat down to plan what I wanted to do in my sharing this year–and also how I wanted to expand–I came up with three very important criteria:

1. I need more time at every stop-off to spend with the audience, to make a greater connection.
2. I need to work on defining the message instead of allowing the confusion of present philosophy and theology to leave people devoid of feeling.
3. I need to purposefully break some bad rules.

So yesterday, as I thought about what I’m going to be doing Sunday night–a drama entitled Front Porch U.S.A.–I realized that I was truly blessed with a piece of great improv.

I call it a “three-active play.” By that term I mean that each and every time I perform it, the message, the pursuit and even much of the plot will remain the same. But the words, stories, conflict and resolution will be different each and every time.

There is no script.

I’m going to allow myself to be led of the Spirit, to share what’s on my heart in the moment, as will my fellow-thespian, Janet.

It’s breaking the rules. In theater, you’re not supposed to be too improvisational. You’re not supposed to interact with the audience too much. Blocking, staging and scenery are to remain the same.

I plan on breaking all these rules. Why?

Because I think the three greatest things we possess as human beings are often buried under form and tradition.

• We have a story.
• We have a spirit.
• And we have an imagination.

So every Sunday night, I’m going to trust my journey, my faith and my heart to give an audience, at the conclusion of my weekend, a fresh piece of myself that no other gathered congregation has ever heard.

I’m so excited I can hardly stand it.

In conclusion, don’t be afraid to follow good rules that help people discover their humanity and the breath of God inside them. But don’t be timid in using your improv, and challenge rules that were put in place to stifle and foster “fussy fussers.”

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Du Quoin in a Fountain … June 12, 2013

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Burned.

Burned out.

I once was beckoned to a burn ward in a hospital to see a young man who needed prayer because he had been scorched severely in a fire. I had never experienced such devastation. There were five youngsters on the floor, all injured beyond human recognition. The parents, when they heard there was someone on the floor willing to pray, beckoned me to the bedside of their child. The grotesque features, the pain, the anguish and the doom that hung in the air was almost incomprehensible and nearly unbearable.

I felt no need to be glib. The poetry of prayer escaped me. My tears became the ointment of hope–that these children might have a chance. Each one had lost a battle with fire.

But my dear friends, every time I walk on a stage and look into the faces of the audience, I see the same anguish. The American public is burned. We are burned by the fires of a raging debate that seems to have no end, which slices its way through our society, minus resolution. We are burned by viciousness, racism and religious bigotry, touting that “our God is bigger than your God.”

We are scorched by political rhetoric rattling on with meaningless statistics, promoting its unending agenda with no regard for the immediate needs of humanity.

So because our nation is burned,  we must be careful not to use fiery words to ignite great ideas.

• We need to stop preaching. It’s too pushy. Even teaching can be condescending.
• We are incapable of debate without division.
• We seem to be unable to talk about God and promote His love more than His judgment.
• We take the beauty of man and woman–the sexual pleasure they can achieve together and the companionship manifested–and turn it into a running joke on how the sexes are incapable of communication.
• We set ideals, our goals and our lives on fire with a series of ridiculous arguments which never promote inner peace and are only set ablaze to initiate our superiority.

I am coming into a burn ward and it is my nation. It seems to be up to me to bring the salves and the pain killers necessary to promote healing instead of continuing to do more damage to the flesh, blood, spirits and hearts of my fellow-citizens. But you see, once you’ve been burned, the last thing you want is to be touched. Your life is a living nightmare–a reminder of the horrible incident that has disfigured you.

It’s going to take patience, gentleness and reasonability to actually bring about a ministering force to our people. It is not an issue of marching, protesting, fussing, arguing or even lobbying. It’s finding the next person who’s been burned by the fires of a national indignation–and to sooth the wounds.

I’ve inserted a picture of a field which has already been harvested and now the remaining stems merely dry out in the sun. I was drawn to the scene because it reminds me so much of our country. We have harvested a great bounty of freedom and progress, but now the dried stems stick out of the ground and no one has the mercy to plow them under and prepare new seed for the earth–gently, please. But we must take all the dead stalks which are protruding from the ground and inter them in the earth, making room for new seed and a new crop of possibility.

The other picture is of my set, which I used as  a healing station last night with the folks in Sunfield, near Du Quoin, Illinois.

It’s what I’ve got. It’s small and to some may seem insignificant. But from that tiny operating room, I plan on promoting healing. Gone are the fiery sermons, replaced with the water of the Word, dousing all the heated rage.

It’s the least we can do.

By the way, I found out later that three of the five young people in that burn ward died.  It hurt me deep in my soul. But it also let me know that it’s important to keep the fire away from human beings if you can bring the water.

I will bring the water again to the folks in Sunfield this evening. I can only hope that those who’ve been burned by the inferno of a careless society misusing its book of matches will come out … to be soothed.

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******

 Jonathots, Jr.!

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Please contact Jonathan’s agent, Jackie Barnett, at (615) 481-1474, for information about personal appearances or scheduling an event