Michael Brent Jones Quotes

Our purpose in mortality collectively, is to pioneer godliness; with each of our unique personalities and perspectives, we are searching out the pieces of the divine puzzle. Possibly before this life is over, but certainly after, there will be a great collaboration, and we will all bring our pieces of the puzzle together that we have found. Each piece on its own is quite an odd spectacle, but together they are beautiful and amazing—the whole mystery of mortality and eternal life. ‘What pieces are you holding? What good have you found? Bring it together and we will all rejoice.

Are you really a doctor?” I asked.“Some people say that.”“Why?”“Because I went to medical school.”“Did you not finish?” I asked hesitantly.“I finished.”“So…?”“So sometimes I work as a doctor.”“So doesn’t that make you a doctor?”“I guess, but I also worked as a baker, construction worker, and a bunch of other things. Either way I just prefer being known as Jack. I mean Dr. Baker Jack Hammer Jack, would be entertaining, but I think also a little weird.

We shouldn't enable ourselves or others to bad behavior, but should always encourage for good. Our attitude toward sin is a reflection of our knowledge of our relationship to God; we are His children, and though we are to work through weakness, what plagues and plays on those weaknesses is not part of who we are. We will have to choose between sacrificing our sins, or sacrificing who we are, which would be sacrificing our divine heritage.

Pride is not looked at as a weakness, though it is the epitome of it. You might hear 'oh that poor alcoholic probably had an awful upbringing' but you never hear any sympathy for a prideful person, 'poor thing is probably horribly insecure, maybe we should validate him as a person to help him out.' That's what you should hear, but you won’t. What I will say though, is that the key to curing pride is not so much in loving others more, but actually in loving yourself more. Loving your neighbor as yourself does no good if you don’t love yourself.

I’d like to share with you a parable: the parable of Bob the Angel.A girl was walking down a darkly lit city street late at night. A man jumped out from the shadows and attacked her, suddenly she was suffocating and disoriented as hands clasped around her neck and the force of his attack started to push her down. She tried to yell as she struggled to pull his arms from her neck while she crumpled backwards to the ground, “God . . . help me!” The next thing she remembers—just as the fear consumed her, and right as she disappeared into the misery and despair of helplessness—was a loud crash and an explosion of glass which rained down upon her and her attacker. The assailant’s lifeless body was suspended above her, held from collapsing on her by an unknown force, and then pulled away from hovering over her and dropped onto the pavement beside her. She opened her eyes in the faint shadowy light, to see black matted hair and a long, black beard framing the eyes of a man. The smell of alcohol on his breath would have knocked her out if the adrenaline was not still trilling through her veins. There he stood, God’s angel, off-kilter and drunk, with a broken whiskey bottle in his hand. “You probably shouldn’t be walking through here this late at night,” was all he said as he turned away.“Wait! What’s your name?” she asked, still stunned half sitting up on the ground.All she heard as he walked away was his trailing voice calling, “Bob’s as good as any. . . .” An angel is a messenger, and sometimes we only want letters sent in white envelopes with beautiful gold print, when sometimes a simple “no” on the back of a gum wrapper is what we are offered. Every postcard from heaven does not come with a picture of the sunset there, nor should it. If it is an answer we want, an answer we will get. As far as pretty postcards, there are many others willing to send us that. If not harps and gold-tipped wings, what then is the mark of an angel? An answer which pierces your soul, and which inspires a question that invites you to look outside of yourself and up to God.

He held out his arms and I ran to embrace him. It wasn’t that I couldn’t feel my sorrows anymore, it was as if they were never there. I felt safe, and loved. There were no words exchanged, we just held each other.

Don’t worry if love is not a perfect fairytale—it should be fun and exciting, but not without a few hiccups. Love won't be without hardships or disappointment, without sacrifice or sorrow, because love cannot be without faith and growth.Marry someone that you want to make happy, that you want to serve, and that you want to share everything with, someone that you want to make laugh, someone that you want to hold.One of the biggest problems in a relationship is people feeling scared to give someone access to their unguarded heart, which is silly because in reality it is quite the opposite, there is a safety and enabling power in being honest and open.

I’d like to share with you a parable: the parable of Bob the Angel.A girl was walking down a darkly lit city street late at night. A man jumped out from the shadows and attacked her, suddenly she was suffocating and disoriented as hands clasped around her neck and the force of his attack started to push her down. She tried to yell as she struggled to pull his arms from her neck while she crumpled backwards to the ground, “God . . . help me!” The next thing she remembers—just as the fear consumed her, and right as she disappeared into the misery and despair of helplessness—was a loud crash and an explosion of glass which rained down upon her and her attacker. The assailant’s lifeless body was suspended above her, held from collapsing on her by an unknown force, and then pulled away from hovering over her and dropped onto the pavement beside her. She opened her eyes in the faint shadowy light, to see black matted hair and a long, black beard framing the eyes of a man. The smell of alcohol on his breath would have knocked her out if the adrenaline was not still trilling through her veins. There he stood, God’s angel, off-kilter and drunk, with a broken whiskey bottle in his hand. “You probably shouldn’t be walking through here this late at night,” was all he said as he turned away.“Wait! What’s your name?” she asked, still stunned half sitting up on the ground.All she heard as he walked away was his trailing voice calling, “Bob’s as good as any. . . .” An angel is a messenger, and sometimes we only want letters sent in white envelopes with beautiful gold print, when sometimes a simple “no” on the back of a gum wrapper is what we are offered. Every postcard from heaven does not come with a picture of the sunset there, nor should it. If it is an answer we want, an answer we will get. As far as pretty postcards, there are many others willing to send us that. If not harps and gold-tipped wings, what then is the mark of an angel? An answer which pierces your soul, and which inspires a question that invites you to look outside of yourself and up to God. God is very objective; He wants to make us think, to engage the faculties we have been given, and to learn from the messengers he sends us. He wants us in the ark before the flood; he could come himself—or send a Noah—but most of the time he sends Bob. Bob is in you, Bob is in me, Bob is in the emotionalized, sarcastic, mocking, patronizing, proud or foolish person which points out meaningful things to us in the worst possible moments, or in the worst possible way.