Author: Norman Eric Peterson

Memory Flip

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There was a time when I felt my whole world was justified to be the sum of trauma and loss. The way I used that world was unknown, to me. I never wanted to be reminded of my failures with Julie or our kids for that matter. An adamant speech repeated over many times when I was in a conversation with family. “Don’t remind me of that!” would come from me and finally, after a particularly intense conversation with Julie and Soren, I said it again.

My denial of my failures to be a good man to Julie because of my past, were the driving force behind my dominating conversations. I did not want to be reminded of failures because I thought I was powerless to prevent them. It was someone else driving the boat. So I would blame Julie for reminding me of my failures, thus pushing against the only thing she could say. Things that hurt her inside. Things an insensitive man would blame on his old world. Not growing but living in limbo thinking nothing would change me. There was a way, a way to freedom from myself. It was desired and it was coming.

It, perhaps is well described in Latin: “Incurvatus et se.” A fancy way of saying a way of living that always curves in on itself. Seeing everything in life as affirming ourselves or not. Usually affirming our poor behavior as a product of our reacting to past ‘unpleasantness” and powerlessness to prevent the unpleasant things. Using that memory behavior to tell someone who cares about us to stop telling us about our behaviors. A convenient scapegoat, really not upfront on the memory radar. Just on top of the charts and navigation aids within.

A weak child making a decision for the rest of his life to not show compassion or weakness to anyone. Alone inside the orphanage of my own making and in charge of it. “If you tell me that my room needs painting in the orphanage, you are wrong!” “Don’t remind me of those times there, you were not there and never will be!”

As though I always have the last word and have an excuse for controlling conversations. Tromping on the feelings of my wife, because I, once again, do not want to be reminded of that long ago decision to be unable to help anyone. Let alone, myself.

Now, the reality of my young son’s courage and truth speaking in that moment, it stunned me. Change was afoot, change as obvious as change rattling around and around in the clothes dryer. Revealed truth, painful truth beyond this writing. Trying to remember every precious, angry word from a son. Desperate to heal his father from yet another curving around to short circuit tenderness and understanding. Anger at me as my fear and anger from so many years ago watching my father beat my mother. She was having an affair with one of dad’s coworker in the local department fire station. Powerless then and now… truth dawning finally within. Not powerless, not leaning on my own limited understanding. I knew out of this confrontation things would never be the same again. The fear, the blaming of others, the violent emotion of facing failure and using it to disconnect from my loved ones.

That wound was leaving, leaving footprints behind, oh yes. The footprints of disguise and confusion were leaving their lives and soon, the thing would be out of sight. Only memory and yet another hidden path to a new bond and yet another strength that we all desperately needed to be cleansed. Wanting that white robe, washed in the blood of the lamb. It’s pretty good.. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Faithful lovers of Music

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What a gift to have met and then be offered friendship with the beautiful ones. Living in the Forty Acres of musicians neighborhood, Norm found himself with room mates that still astonish him decades later.

Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson took me under their wing and taught me well about music and love. The romance of Kismet. Poets with guitars, a fiddle and a mandolin, Coleridge and Tennyson did not anticipate these two.

A gentleness with much laughter and brilliance. Together they astonished people coast to coast. The little coffee houses, the folk music cafe’s. Platforms and postage stamp stages. It was the same show every time. The musical score was different from place to place, but the humor and duet solidity was always the same. They got invited back all the time. It was a dance with romance that never grew old, for all of us and them too.

I was invited along on a road trip with them, way back in the early 70’s. That’s a bit over 50 years ago in the last century if you like doing math while reading. Small town colleges were a significant place to perform on the trip. From Indiana to Pennsylvania and then way up in northern New York state to finish off. Four of us in the old four door. Myself, Mike Cass on dobro and pedal steel and Bill and Judy. The trunk had a few small packs of personal “stage clothing” (no cowboy hats) and a few changes of underwear. The rest of the trunk was instrument cases lined up. Fender to fender with guitars, mandolins, a dobro, several fiddles and a pedal steel.

We ate at Campus’ lunchrooms (Wittenberg in Ohio was the best) and made do with sleeping quarters. Often the sleeping bags were used on the living room floors of the friendly families that arranged the bookings. No extra money for a motel. Airbub was not even a concept and hotels had good water pressure with room costs to match.

It was a grand time and music poured out like anointed oil upon this rag-tag quartet. Gas was cheap and the car didn’t use any oil either. There were tips from impromptu sidewalk venues and generous amounts of coffee and sandwiches from club owners. We ate well and for the most part, played well. Plenty of obscure folk and country blues songs that resonated with us and the young folks that go to those sorts of places.

When Bill was dying at the VA (he was fluent in Japanese. Hush hush military stuff) I stood on his right and Jim Tordoff, an excellent banjo player, stood on his left. We prayed and told him, if it works this way, we would like him to meet us when it’s our turn. Meet us with that Lloyd Loar Gibson with gold tuners.

We can then go worship the risen Lord forever together. Kiss the son indeed. We loved Bill and Judy, still do. It’s pretty good.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator,

Warp Ten Scotty

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We have heard the command many times in ‘Star Trek’ for the Enterprise space craft to go as fast as it can to watch where no man has gone before, or to catch somebody that can almost go that velocity in outer space. The speed of light is a measurement as is a cut of precision in a 2 x 4. Measurements great and small are the concept of our minds. We measure everything we live with: “what time will you be here?” “How many of those do you need?” “How long will this trip take? (one minute driving, an hour walking as does my phone map app says) Incidentally, electricity and radio waves travel at the same velocity, speed of light. Why?

Why do we then measure, or try to measure the distance of stars? Because we want to put them all in our concept of time. Absurd lengths as the speed of light and the star group of Alpha Proxima is only four light years away! It’s the closest one to us, let’s get going and see what is around it, at 36 thousand miles per hour it will only take 78 thousand years! That’s where Voyageur is headed after leaving our solar system some time ago. It has a record of Chuck Berry’s ‘Johnny Be Good’ aboard. No record player though. If they get it it will only take four years for them to call us back via radio and ask us how to use it! Light and electrical waves travel at the same velocity. Who do you think set that up? Again, 186 thousand miles per second. Six times around earth in one second. Close to 2 seconds to the moon and back. Eight minutes for sun light to reach us. So when you see the sun it is actually 8 minutes past what you are seeing. It’s quite a distance when I think of those things. And that’s just our neighborhood.

There is research on a warp drive which is much akin to surfing (I surfed for the better part of a year at Hermosa Beach in California) You just ride the wave in an Alcuberre space craft which would only take 20 years! Of course, the space craft is a gram sized wafer. Theoretically of course. Smallish. Coach class only.

We do not understand infinity because we live and think in time. As Novatian stated in the third century (200 to 263 A.D.), “All our thoughts, will be less than He, all our loftiest utterances will be trivialities in comparison to Him”

Of course, being locked into time ourselves, we can’t really understand eternity (unless you are Stephen Hawking who is now dead, eternally) He tried to. We try when it is a convenient time in our comfy chairs or even listening to a sermon about the infinite God. We misuse that word infinite as it is convenient to bring eternity into our reasoning. “It took him infinite pains to paint that!” or “She had unlimited patience with her class” Really? Or as A.W. Tozer puts it, “ We say unlimited wealth or boundless energy” which for us is absurd and only applies to an infinite being.

I asked a question as I was flying over the East Coast, close to D.C. It was a clear night and I figured each street light represented two people. I saw lights all up and down the eastern seaboard. I asked our Lord. ‘How can you count every hair on our heads?’ “Easy He said, it’s a finite number”. Oh of course silly me. Enlightening and a very quick response to a fairly decent question.

Why do we do this with our words and thoughts? It’s a toss out in speech or writing to trivialize something we can’t understand. Whether we admit or not, everyone contemplates eternity and even the atheist states that they will be eternally dead as though eternity was a really long period of time.

One of my favorite songs is “Strong Love” and it has the lyrics to describe God as Neither height, nor depth nor length or width can separate us from His strong love” Rightly said. Closely sung and experienced, we are singing about four dimensions which, of course, include eternity. It’s fun to think about our eternal God while eating breakfast and reading one of my favorite books of Dr. Tozer. At some point (another measurement) I reach for my coffee and take a sip and contemplate the day’s schedule.

Much akin to a 20 amp circuit breaker in the gray box, my mind goes to a familiar place and things inside that box. A safer place. A place that has measurement in hours and days and even split seconds as hearing the micro-wave beep finish the now warmed fore mentioned cup of coffee. A place that the circuit breaker is allowed to safely trip and allow some ‘time’ to redirect concentration.

How about this riddle: ” What is always coming but never arrives?” Tomorrow.

So have fun with the Eternal Revenue Service that only asks for everything you are, everything you have and everything you think and believe. In turn, if you are truthful on your return form and are genuine in your giving everything, then our Lord will give you love and joy and eternal life. It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson/ Jack Gator

Warranty

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We have all been there, done that and almost given up on it. I know I had a ten year warranty on that leaf-blower! Oh dear, I will look in my pile over on the desk, OK? Otherwise we can look on line. Could you get me the serial number? When did we get it and is there a model number on it?

Paperwork, endless claims sent to claims department where the phones are manned by well meaning people who don’t speak your language very well. An insurance claim has the same rigmarole with hidden clauses of abuse of product or subparagraph B. which states you have no claim if you are living in one of the following states: A state of exhaustion, bewilderment or confusion. Of course the warranty is a lifetime one, but whose lifetime is tit?

There is one warranty query that comes up often, throughout the world and the forms are quite direct and to the point. I wanted to check and make sure the warranty was OK so I inquired the maker. Name and model number. Norman Peterson, Human. Serial number, XY. Date warranty was issued, December 1970. Regular maintenance performed? Yes.

Amazingly, the warranty contract forms were issued about 1960 years ago and are still solid and in effect for anyone that ‘fills out the form’! You can find the warranty in books, on line or in small pamphlets often found in nightstands in hotel rooms. Your contract can start at any time. Payment for this all inclusive contract is to completely follow the maker’s instructions. Give up all thoughts and actions and give those things up to the manufacturer. He will gently give you directions on how to do so. This is not the fine print at the bottom, it has to be read over and over and there are supplemental readings that can help and assist you. There are also offices throughout the land where you can get encouragement and help.

The forms are more specific in the last chapters of the book which spell out the terms and conditions. They seem rather difficult the first time you read or hear about them. Complete and utter surrender of all assets, life holdings and your life itself! No other payment required.

You have probably guessed by now who honors the warranty. It’s pretty good actually, your make and model are warranted forever. Eternity. Actually your old model gets a complete overhaul and is made perfect when you move into the Arms of Jesus.

It will be good, feels right and the warranty is now eternal. If you understand what eternity is. The best I have read is a parable about pinwheels!

Spin one with all the colors and it will look white. Spin one with past, present and future and they will all look the same too. It’s a package deal. You also get to read a book that no one on earth has ever read! Every chapter is better than the one before.

I haven’t a clue. I’ve tried to understand a place with no time and filled with incredible beauty. And us. Would you care to view the warranty and guarantee? Let me know, I’ll help as best that I can.

It’s pretty good, Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Gain or Output

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It’s complex but it makes sense if you look at the end result. Everyone has seen those controls where music or vocal amplification is used. In small rooms or huge auditoriums there is a place where a technician operates the sound and sets it so that it can be heard well. It is a learning curve to get it right so everyone can hear well. On stage included. In big rooms there is a booth that is called front of house. Many control panels for the lights and screens and video as well.

Mistakes are made seldom but one of the worst ones is called feedback. You may have heard that screeching sound that in the sound controllers humor is called a sound engineers solo. People in the audience swivel their heads and look back instinctively to the sound booth. Oops. Turn a knob or push down the volume or even mute the microphone that could be causing that. It is technically called a sound loop where the speakers are feeding their output into the mikes.

There are two controls that can be set wrongly to cause this. Gain and output. Makes sense. What is coming in or what is going out. This is what happens when in a conversation between two or more people goes awry. We don’t really notice it except when feedback occurs and two people are talking at the same time. Confusing and a mess to comprehend. This is usually caused by us thinking of something to say about what is being said and just blurting it out. Very rude and mostly not thought of as such by the speakers involved. Mostly, not always.

I have noticed the same mistake when I am alone with my thoughts! I interfere with what I am observing or hearing and put my own spin into the experience. When I ask our Lord a question and He gives me His response, I get impatient and say to myself what I anticipate he will say. Staying silent and listening can be developed but it takes a bit of awareness about my anxiety. I am learning to listen to people who speak to me and listen alone. You know how to do this. The facial expressions, nodding and smiling result from communication. A brief flash of your car lights when a tractor-trailer is passing is sometimes returned with a brief flash of his rear running lights. Thank you for paying attention is the message. Now it’s your turn to travel along the road knowing that others are listening to you and your acknowledgment of them. Gain is good for clarity. It’s output that needs attention.

Watch, listen and pray. Turn down your output and turn up the gain.

The photo is from Wellspring House of Prayer our family built around ten years ago in Frederic, Wisconsin. Toby, Soren, Julie and I worshiping on our usual Thursday night. We got to touch eternity for four years in that glorious prayer room. It’s all gone now and that room is a tattoo parlor. Main street Frederic Wisconsin. The Lord keeps those years in His treasury of joy. Beautiful, precious. Wellspring indeed!

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

With thanks to the professionals at Eagle Brook

Railroad Wreckage

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I lost half of my seniority with the railroad but it was worth it to transfer up to NW Wisconsin. Commuting to my job on the Dinky Town railroad section was getting a little dreary when I moved ‘up north’ to a small house with 30 acres. Driving every morning with my blue 1947 Ford coupe to Minneapolis was the cost of the veteran’s loan approval. Of course, getting the loan in the beginning was harder than the drive to pay it off.

The paperwork alone helped heat my new house in the wood stove that I had little experience to run. The better words would be ‘no experience.’ I bought a chain saw, a bicycle and a splitting maul from my old friends hardware store on the West Bank in Minneapolis. I also had an old GM pickup to haul the firewood from the state forest about 15 miles north of my new digs. I had that pickup out in California and lived in a little house I built on it. I gave the little house to a friend for his child’s playhouse.

Of course, at that early time [1975] there was not much commuter traffic as the concept of commuting had not taken hold. That was a good thing as Led headlights had not taken hold nor been invented either. Being blinded by a new pickup these days with lights that illuminate about twenty miles of road is now somewhat of a hindrance to a long drive.

At those early times the drive was dreary and dangerous too asI had to keep a wing window open for fresh air to keep the CO gas out. Tiring it was to drive a long way with an exhaust leak. It seems white tailed deer had not been invented yet either, at least the ones that commuted across highways. However, back then, cars weighed a lot and had real bumpers. Sometimes you knew when you hit one. my job was on the section at DinkyTown, right across the river from my old neighborhood, The West Bank.

So, pulling into the section yard and perhaps being called to do some ‘back breaking’ jobs outside of the section. Derailments, road crossings and laying ribbon rail were some outside jobs. The section would survive a few days without continuous maintenance. myself and big Leroy were called out to put in the dome spikes on crossings. They were about two feet long and had to be pounded through the crossing planks down into the heavy black ties beneath. Swinging those 16 pound malls was a young man’s task. The spikes would rotate going down and had teeth that would engage the plank at the last swing. The deterioration to L4 and L5 began then. Leroy was well over six foot seven and weighed around 250 or so.

When I transferred up to the ‘farm’ with it’s pump jack well and log barn I was green to the isolated rural life. A few new friends I met at the local watering holes helped me adapt. Wood burning stoves and chimney rebuilding it was made doable with these other young men who grew up working the farms. It was quiet and the only link to the outside world was the black wall phone by the sink and a new princess phone next to the wall in my bedroom. The phone was out of reach unless I was in bed.

I got transferred to a section gang closer by over in Minnesota and gained respect with my strength and accuracy of work. The road master would call for me to put the pin into a switch actuator while he held the pin at the two holes. “Get Norm up here” I never missed with the spike mall, never. That back damage was still lurking but not complaining much yet. It was good work and respected by the locals. They knew strength from farm work. In spite of all the good camaraderie with my new crew, I was transferred to another section, closer to home.

When I showed up, the foreman immediately insulted me about my pony tail and gave me a job in the yard that was hard, demeaning and unpleasant. It involved jumping from a ladder into grain cars to sweep them our of grain dust. Just punishment for being different, an old hippie from those years of the San Francisco days. I found out later that no one ever did that sweeping job.

This was the last straw for my back. At home after work, I suddenly could not get up from a sitting position on the porcelain throne and collapsed in agony on the floor. I could crawl but standing was impossible. It was also impossible to call for help. “The first day and night was the worst. The second day and night was the worst too. After that and no water, I began to go into a bit of a decline”. 1.

The cat water bowl helped a little and eventually I listened to another five words from the Lord for a way out of death.

I pulled all the clothes out of the lowest dresser drawers and the bed sheets and blankets and made a ramp I could roll up into the bed. Grabbing the phone next to the wall up there I then called for help, I do not recall any more than waking at the hospital and being somewhat free of pain. Drugs. I remembered the addiction to heroin I had and was a bit concerned about this but the lack of pain was OK.

( The first five word rescue was audible and I wrote that story in Motorcycle Diary 5)

Hot and cold packs, traction and hospital food (motivator) did it’s work and I could walk again and the railroad days were over for good .The railroad docked me pay for not showing up for work and then granted me a few months to recover. I had to get a lawyer to sue for the jumping order and consequences.

I thank the Lord for saving my life. Again. It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

1.. Douglas Adams Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

The Story of God

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A sunny and cold February morning while the temps are single digits and the parlor stove at my back is going well. I am up early and typing to share these things with the world.

The stats in my dashboard tell me there are 12 countries or so that have read these short missives. I am satisfied. My coffee cup by my left hand and the keyboard in front of me.

It’s early and still dark and I have my headphones on and I am listening to singers from Kansas City praising the Lord . A Live broadcast.

“From the garden, to the desert, to the mountain, to the Heavens. It’s The story, the story of the Glory of God.” It brings me back to singing those spontaneous chorus’ as we worshiped at church’s all through the state. The Wellspring team.

There are times now when I can capture those precious moments that occur spontaneously where I now work in video production. Just a week ago I got a shot of a singer on stage right

“Ready 3, take 3” Simple com instruction and that shot, taken briefly makes it out to the broadcast that goes to the side screens, the lobby and perhaps the Web-stream to many around the world. It’s the best I can envision coupled with my tears at it’s beauty and perfection of worship at it’s best.

All of you have experienced these stunning events. Your eyes filled with sudden tears and briefly overcome with unexpected glimpses of beauty and eternity. Just for you, right then and right now.

I try to share them as best I can. A butterfly’s close kiss, the sunset or sunrise that takes your breath away. Too quickly to grab a camera and share it with loved ones.

Treasure that lingers, forever yours. A gift from our Lord. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator.

RED camera at Lino Lakes Campus. Camera 3

Your Incredible Worth

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“

There is a value that was known to be true on an old guitar that I own. I figured it was worth at least what I paid for it, perhaps even more due to inflation. I bought it fresh out of the Navy after another one, just like it, was lost in shipping. It was being shipped to my duty station overseas, not too complicated. Most likely very tempting to someone in the Mediterranean post office I thought. As far as anyone knows, it was never found. Well, it was found by someone. Finders keepers.

After discharge, I went to Schmidt music in downtown Minneapolis where I had it shipped from and they offered a replacement! “I’ll take that one there on display” I have had it since 1967 and recently wondered what it was worth. I paid four hundred dollars for it. Now it is worth twenty thousand or more. Not for sale. It sounds quite nice and powerful. It’s a big Martin D-28, made of Brazilian Rosewood which wood is illegal to possess if you come back into customs. Playing it overseas might be a bit dicey.

So, a pleasant surprise for my insurance agent. I do not wish to sell it as it sounds perfect and it has a lot of history for me. Even down to the small ash burn on the face from decades ago. It needed now needed a little work, but the Martin company warranties it for life to the original owner. Nice feature. The bridge was warped and coming up and the pick guard was warping as well. Free fix. Labor and parts. New strings were needed after the repairs. Total bill was little over ten bucks.

Not long ago, another thing was always seen by me as almost worthless and recently I found it was worth more than I could even imagine. I then sold it to my new best friend and incredibly, He told me I may use it as long as I wished! Not only that, but He paid a price to me that was more than I can even bear to think about or understand fully.

My friend had been killed a while back and left this purchase as a memento to me to remind me of it’s worth. It is in writing and clear as the night sky on a moonlit and cloudless evening. Oh yes, my friend is still around. He was dead for three days and came back to life! Amazing, impossible, but true! A miracle. you may know whom I am writing about if you have had the guarantee offered to you. Take Him up on it, it’s never too late.

The ‘object’ discovered by me that suddenly was revealed to me as precious and warrantied forever. It’ s myself. The only stipulation to the warranty is that I am required to give myself to my friend, all of me even my thoughts and actions. All of them. Past and present. A lot of bad ones. Debts to my friends Father. My friend’s Dad has seen all of those things and His son Jesus, offers to pay if I ask Him to.

All of me given freely, and in a similar way my wonderful friend did the same thing before I met him. Impossible, and yet true. Hundreds of people saw that happen. He gave it all away. Just for me and you. My soul is a bit warped too and can be repaired as my builder gives a lifetime warranty It is written in a book that I read over and over to learn more about Jesus that did not have anything to be forgiven of by His Father. A perfect Son that offers His life for ours. Sort of a ransom type of thing.

In that book, the contract, the blood covenant to me is clearly revealed. What a warranty and testament! So I will see My friend again when I die and He brings me to live with Him, forever. It’s an incredible warranty! Perhaps you don’t know who He is. I will introduce you to Him if you wish. If you already know Him, I would really like to chat with you. If you don’t know Him, same offer. Always a choice of ours to make friends and love Him and his perfect ‘repairs’ . Most likely I will get to play and sing with a ‘big band’ of other musicians on a dance floor made of flaming glass! It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

The Quotes that Inspire Me to Write

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I think good preachers should be like bad kids. They ought to be naughty enough to tiptoe up on dozing congregations, steal their bottles of religion pills, and morality pills, and flush them all down the drain. The church, by and large, has drugged itself into thinking that proper human behavior is the key to its relationship to God. What preachers need to do is force it to go cold turkey with nothing but the word of the cross—and then be brave enough to stick around while it goes through the inevitable withdrawal symptoms. … Robert Farrar Capon (1925-2013),

Genuine controversy, fair cut and thrust before a common audience, has become in our special epoch very rare. For the sincere conversationalist is above all things a good listener. The really burning enthusiast never interrupts; he listens to the enemy’s arguments as eagerly as a spy would listen to the enemy’s arrangements. If you attempt an actual argument with a modern paper of opposite politics, you will find that no medium is admitted between violence and evasion. You will have no answer except slandering or silence. …G. K. Chesterton (1874–1936), 

Was there a moment known only to God, when all the stars held their breath, when the galaxies paused in their dance for a fraction of a second, and the Word, who had called it all into being, went with all his love into the womb of a young girl, and the universe started to breathe again, and the ancient harmonies resumed their song, and the angels clapped for joy?

…Madeleine L’Engle (1918-2007)

O be calm and quiet all by yourself is hardly the same as sleeping. In fact, it means being fully awake and following with close attention every move going on inside you. It involves a self-discipline where the urge to get up and go is recognized as a temptation to look elsewhere for what is really close at hand. It is the freedom to stroll in your own yard, to rake up the leaves and clear the paths so you can easily find your way.

…Henri J. M. Nouwen (1932-1996)

 Here is my examination at the beginning of Advent, at the beginning of a new year. Lack of charity, criticism of superiors, of neighbors, of friends and enemies. Idle talk, impatience, lack of self-control and mortification towards self, and of love towards others. Pride and presumption. (It is good to have visitors – one’s faults stand out in the company of others.) Self-will, desire not to be corrected, to have one’s own way. The desire in turn to correct others, impatience in thought and speech. The remedy is recollection and silence

Dorothy Day (1897-1980),

Everything is made to center upon the initial act of “accepting” Christ (a term, incidentally, which is not found in the Bible) and we are not expected thereafter to crave any further revelation of God to our souls. We have been snared in the coils of a spurious logic which insists that if we have found Him we need no more seek Him. This is set before us as the last word in orthodoxy, and it is taken for granted that no Bible-taught Christian ever believed otherwise

A. W. Tozer (1879-1963)

It must be admitted that a few clergymen glory in the contrast between their status and that of ordinary Christians. They accept obeisance as a natural right; they monopolize public praying; they learn how to keep themselves in the limelight. There is something about the pastoral office which makes the temptation to egocentricity especially powerful. This is partly because the successful preacher is regularly praised to his face. His mood seems a far cry from that of Christ when He girded Himself with a towel and washed the feet of His followers. Elton Trueblood (1900-1994)

I am tempted briefly to capture and quote this collection of wisdom from my heroes of the world of words. The unsung often, and the missing books of education in truth. I can tell they have read others I do not even know enough about, yet I seek them on the shelves of the local libraries. Order those books from other libraries that cater to education in nearby colleges and bastions of wisdom.

If the change jar has enough weight, it is tempting to purchase them used from the jungle named retailer that ships them right to my mailbox. At the end of our driveway sits the simple metal half domed box. A clever ramped mount keeps it intact when the snowplow comes by and only throws the mail on the road without doing in the box itself.

Books, the bastions of wisdom, way beyond the courage of Tindale and smugglers to bring the Word itself, printed illegally in hidden shops and stowed in ships dunnage to the people eager to read truth.

Now I badger the local librarians for the aforementioned authors to be loaned to me. A few of them are pleasantly surprised that a patron would request them. They help search for these treasures. I do too when they are busy. Remember the card catalogs?

Breeze past the books of fiction thrills and romance novels and films. I do enjoy “As you wish” as a guide for the treasures among the drivel however.

Read the local paper with mug shots of apprehended near-do-wells for real self back patting as I do. The news is interesting but not knowledge. Gossip in nice clear ink and I do like the full sized papers that snap open. I pretend I am on an old trolley in England, getting conversation starters for the morning club with my friends.

Books, hard bound and weary found at second hand stores. Treasure hunting at it’s best.

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson/ Jack Gator

Remodeling

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There was a job that I took on. I had not worked for many years, regularly that is. People would tell me; “Must be pretty good to be re-tired now!” bristling inside as though they were really telling me; How does it feel to be somewhat useful and just hanging about on the couch?

I would then tell a joke about I didn’t need new tires and that I was working harder then ever. I was, somewhat. Not behind the desk and in front of the toolbox with my name on a blue work suit. A business I built up for four decades, it was hard at first, not being in charge but after a botched anesthesia, I began having seizures.

A friend took over for a short time and then left with out much notice or contact. Our automotive Shop is still in great shape, but the work is now on our own stuff Our youngest son, Soren, takes care of all of it. He is a chip off the old man, brilliant. He does not run the old business He takes care of everything in the mechanical build, repair and maintain department for us all and our friends. He works at a local business and makes much more money than fixing vehicles ever paid me!

Soren tore down the original shop which was a garage that was old 50 years ago. I had it built onto decades ago and the front new building has a snazzy German vehicle hoist (Nussbaum) Soren then designed and totally rebuilt that back building from the foundation up. Beautiful work and the mice no longer have a drafty freeway to enter. A shop cat makes sure that is not an issue any more.

I now work at Gardening, firewood, land upkeep, and writing about my very strange and exciting life. Hurricanes at sea, betrayed love, deliverance from heroin by five words from Jesus. Things like that. Bold things, near death experiences. Imprisonment in Spain, torture by jailers, preceded by escapes and living on the street in Rome. Work on the railroad steel gangs and bold section men who could handle the steel tools and rails. A Hemingway life.

Many more things I write about and my editor at the local paper encouraged me and was attempting syndication of my columns. Four years went by, syndication never happened and I got let go for writing too strongly about Jesus and his Father by the new manager of that paper. C’est La Vie.

I am still writing and send my columns to a great paper in Northern Wisconsin, The Bottom Line News and Views. I am Contemplating a collected column book of 365 columns. It wouldn’t sell on the planet Mercury very well. Why even think of sales on nearby planets? They are pretty close to us as interstellar distances go, and the info on life is sketchy. Shipping would be a big issue too. Maybe E books?

A day on Mercury lasts longer than a year there. It’s Pretty hot and the bookstore distribution business has yet to get Amazon on board with those markets. Those thoughts float in with my love for books by Heinlein, Azimov and Lewis’ Sci-Fi. Neuron cross fires. It helps me write but could be distracting to read.

Then along came a job paying good money for traveling around the extended area, interviewing people for a government program. The Census. Ostensibly an every ten years type of job. Perfect, even pays mileage.

I got a plastic badge and lanyard, a clipboard and an iPhone. I drove a lot and found roads not traveled and places that were somewhat unpleasant and threats from people that didn’t want to talk to me. However, the pleasant folks that opened up their homes and front porches made up for it.

I got pretty good at establishing common ground and had some great chats about experiences in the military. Often, some would notice my demeanor and know that I was a man of faith

Working for a little extra cash. Great conversations occurred and made all the scary encounters fade into the background. Connection. The shared lives that were just like everyone’s: Heartache, loss and loved ones gone. There once was an invitation to share sloppy Joe’s at a lakeside cabin. They where pretty good and the buns were firm and not greasy.

A memorable visit introduced me to homemade Kahlua. ‘Grandmas night-night juice’ she named it. She gave me a flask of it and it was pretty good.

The money I made was earmarked for a new sidewalk from the our house to the shop. It was worth all of the tough interviews. The connections with people from the high end, golfers putting near their private aircraft to the very run down houses with wary women peeking out from the edge of slightly opened doors. All of them worthy of the love of God. Equally and, in their own ways, somewhat open to this strange Scandinavian at their front door.

Of course, there was a bit of tension when deadly force was mentioned in retaliation for me daring to show up for the government’s people counting. A slight short peek at a holstered wheel gun for my perusal. People of different ethnic backgrounds, poor and rich, helpful and insulting. It was life in a distilled time of weeks and roads not traveled. Road food and decent pay.

A side benefit was a sign in the back window my car that had a real official government look about it. Tailgaters would get close, get a glimpse of the sign and suddenly drop back a decent amount. I wasn’t driving a Dodge charger like the squads, but it was very subtle and effective.

The sidewalk to the ship then was done with a slight color and texture added in. It is easy to shovel and sanded in season. We should have one from the porch to the driveway too. Why not put one in from there to the garden gate! “It ain’t happening” as the local colloquialism says do those Census activities every ten years and it’s been twenty and I haven’t got a job offer again. Maybe they found out I was enjoying the job and that is not an attribute for government work. Politics is an exception of course.

I would have a good time on the “What’s my line” show. Comforting, ministering and praying as well as writing about those things would be an accurate job description. The pay is heavenly and a good investment too. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

First photo is of the back half of the shop before restoration Second photo back half restoration third photo is of the sign on the front of the shop (sold to a collector that drove the roll off dumpsters)

Read Henri J.M. Nouwen’s ‘The wounded healer’ for clarification.