Author: Norman Eric Peterson

A Moment of Silence

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It was one of those wonderful, stunning, and even a personal world changer kind of movie. Perhaps you can bring one to mind right away. For a while, we just watch the film and enjoy and laugh at the times that laughter is perfectly appropriate. It’s a good film I thought. I like it and it describes a bit of real life that speaks to me.

Unexpectedly, those films grab a hold of your past. So clear and so relevant a grabbing that with an astonished response, I became the emotion brought out in the film. It was a well done film and it was expected that the main character would be changed somehow. Brought out of brokenness and somehow, restored to the way that he should be.

There was a scene in the movie that this wounded man was given a simple task by another man, sitting with him in a crowded restaurant. Asked to just think of the people in his life that made him the unique man he was. The only one like him ever made as are the rest of us. Unique and loved and nurtured in ways we do not understand often. One minute of silence. I watched and was silent too. The actors were silent and it was a perfect time for me to do the same thing. Thinking of the people that grew me up and made what I now am .

There were sudden tears as I remembered a long remembered wound. My precious cat that slept with me every night, a real life teddy bear that purred and loved to be with me. It was the most precious thing in my life. The cat loved me and I loved the cat. Grade School onward. A solid thing that a lot of us have or have had that is really special. Some of my friends and family know the story, especially my recent counselor, who at the time knew right away what the cat meant to me.

I came home from junior high school and did not find the cat in my room. Puzzled, I asked my mother when she came home if she knew where the cat was. “Grandpa had him killed because when my new husband and I go on our honeymoon, it would be inconvenient when you stay with Grandpa when we are gone” Speechless and wounded beyond repair, I disappeared into myself for decades of my life. No one ever again be trusted with my precious emotions and loves.

The man in the movie was crying and so was I. The people who grew us up and made us who we are. One of a kind. Special. Loved. Some that I never forgave. Interesting word, forgive. It seems it means to give something special, a before giving leading to freedom. And yet, Grandpa was kit and kin and had a lot to give in some way to make me who I am. The man in the movie forgave and at the same time, watching and listening, I forgave Grandpa and realized what had just happened.

I am forgiven too. For betrayal, for hurting others, and a list of embarrassing and painful things I have done. Now I realized what was learned. To forgive as I have been forgiven by my eternal best friend. The friend who talks to me and can actually forgive all the bad things and the thoughts that I have kept within. The only man in my life who can do that. When I cry out for freedom from the pain I have embraced so long, Jesus embraces me.

“In the morning and the evening, in the darkness and the daylight, he is with you, He is for you. He is before you, and behind you, and beside you and within you, He is with you. He is for you, He is for you. Amen!” 1.

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator 1. thanks to Steph Mcleod for the inspiration in ‘The Blessing’

Random Life or Free Choice

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The brilliant Irish Physicist, Erwin Schrodinger put out some philosophical and even Religious thoughts and writings. Nobel prize winner, friend of Albert Einstein and a fellow at Magdelen College. I speculate he possibly met C.S. Lewis who was a Don there (near Oxford) Both of them brilliant. Erwin, the discoverer of the double helix, wrote about Quantum Orbits and illustrated it in a unique way.

Schrodinger’s cat is a famous piece that speculates on a cat in a box that could be affected by a random quantum event. That event would kill the cat BUT the only way to find out if the cat is alive or dead is to open the box. Some speculations of the unified field theory speculate that the cat be both alive and dead!

What does all this high calculation lead us to? There is more to it than meets the mind. In fact, in the year I was born, Erwin wrote a paper titled, “What is Life” It was 1944 if you must know.

Many speculations from recent time, Greece in old times from philosophers abound. Aristotle and his pupil, Plato is a good place to start on logic. Perhaps Douglas Adams and his classic “Life the Universe and Everything” or even my treatise: The beginning and the end and all the important stuff in between. There are a few others at the website.

It all seems pretty heady and things left to those smarter than we are. Are they? Or are they much to same as us. Filled with wonder and trying to find meaning to their lives. As you have discerned, I am having a lot of fun writing about these things. It helps me look deep and find myself in the fabric of life. I have made some very bad choices and also some pretty good ones.

There is a great gift from our creator that enables us to make choices. We can love other people or hate them. We can choose to embrace our lives or live in fear that we are the cat in the box. Waiting for some random event to do something to or for us. Random things like car crashes or winning a lottery. An early death or prolonged life (figure it out, 1944 for me means pretty old).

We want to live forever, all of us and we have a free choice to do so. It’s a promise from our Lord and Savior.

A friend thinks he is just “worm food” when he dies, his choice really. I have been given a very rare gift in choice. Free choice. What a blessing when I heard five words in a locked room: “Life or death, choose now” Addicted to heroin at the time, I chose life. The quantum particle headed for me was gone. Life has it’s weeping and it’s joy and those are with all of us. We can choose life and trust that Jesus is for us, not against us, and he is good no matter what our circumstances. Let Him be your guide, no matter what, and choose him. He will even show you what choices you have if you listen to Him. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator, scribe

Three Shades of Purple

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The death sentence was hovering over all the graduates in the early sixties. The draft. Norm’s classmate, Vern Norton, came home in a box draped with an American flag. I always liked his last name, Norton. It reminds me of a bike I have always wanted, the Norton Commando. It did not seem pleasant to be shipped of to Viet Nam and die in the jungles for a war most of us did not comprehend.

Most of my classmates were still in college or married and had draft deferments. I was 1A and before being drafted, volunteered for the submarine service and was quickly sent off to Camp Nimitz, San Diego. Upon arrival, the laughing Marine DI told me me my draft notice had just been forwarded.

However, some enjoyment ensued as I was recruited into the Blue Jacket’s choir. Singing at graduations and church services for the officers on the base. Three sung notes was enough to either get thumbs up or down to join the choir. The director was a retired Mormon tabernacle choir director and knew music pretty well.

We got to wear dress blues right away and had ‘crows’ sewed on our sleeves so It appeared we were experienced sailors and a little older. Mine was an E6 and the other boots in our basic training were puzzled. I was designated as education petty officer, first class.

Upon graduation I was excited to go on to New London for Sub school and was interviewed with a few more tests. The high school straight A’s in advanced math and a general class amateur radio license at age 12 were the recruiters logical path to the nuclear technician promised. The new interview caught a color vision issue as I could not discern several shades of purple wiring. No tech job for me. No subs. (they are called Boats in the Navy)

A natural move was ‘A’ school as a radio operator and I was immediately put into a teaching position for Morse code and elementary electronics. Weekends off with liberty to visit old friends up the coast was a bonus. I really wanted those dolphins on my uniform though.

Later, serving on the surface Navy in top secret communications, I learned of the accidental sinking of the submarine SkipJack near the Azores. All 99 men lost, the nuclear boat still deep at crush depth. 1965. It might have been me on that boat and I would not be writing these columns nor be the father and husband I am now. The dates are possible, Nukes were new and the Thresher had sunk shortly before.

Saved from my dreams? How and why was I born with a slight color vision problem? It seems there was a plan for my life that has brought me to this place of writing about the one who saved me from an early death.

I am Telling you, the reader, about the plan the creator had for me that does not make sense very often to us. Time and again, I began to see a path that has put me right here. If you examine your life, you can see life changing episodes or decisions that have changed your life as well.

Myself, I was told I would be fired from being published by a newspapers new owner for including Jesus in my columns too many times . I didn’t like that after four years of being published every week (hundreds of columns) It seemed odd to be admonished for being a successful columnist. My readers that I met or knew were encouraged and often entertained by what I write. I assumed the new owner is not a fan of Jesus. I was not allowed to meet with him either. It would have been an interesting conversation.

I quit before I was fired, I was allowed to write a peaceful good by column. That newspapers editor said that he envied my faith. We are still friends. So many things happen in our lives that become path openings to more revealed beauty of the Lord. You know them when you look for them. The good and the bad times, the sorrow and rejoicing. He is with you, He is for you.

Hallelujah! It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

Put Out the Sails

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A process from the beginning of Norm’s life to the present. A purpose to communicate and to give information, sometimes critical information for survival and meaning to life. To himself at first and then soon afterwards, to others.

As a very young teenager, I passed the General class radio license and began this calling to others to talk and listen to other seekers. A beginning of a calling those two letters on the radio waves: CQ. I seek you. Training me throughout my life to seek. The only way to call someone in the world that you don’t know and will probably never meet. Texting without a cell phone. Protocall was essential and strict. You could loose your license if you used ‘bad’ language or manipulated with advertsing. It was great training to be a radio operator in the Navy and to have a top secret job, communicating with the CNO ( chief of Naval operations) to convey his instructions to us and our ship. To give specific instructions to our battle fleet. That fleet would be an oiler, a few destroyers and escorts and an aircraft carrier. Our carrier was the Enterprise, one of the first nuclear ones. Boy, was she fast!

Now, I am on a different ship. A warship of sorts actually. Called to another electrical job, helping a church communicate music and the Word from the Chief of Life to the ones who are drawn to seek Him. I felt it was a good path and it always has been so. I work at another desk with all sorts of knobs and switches to ensure communication is flawless and seamless to tell people drawn to where they can come and open their ‘sails’ to be filled with the breath of God.

He breathes over us with His Spirit and then, with our hands lifted high to the rigging, we rejoice once again to that movement and sway and even dance with Him.

The reason I have been called to this calm sea of people is to pray for that breath to be felt and even seen when they come to the calm waters. Sometimes I pray for the musicians as they are in the ready room (It’s called the ‘green room’ from old entertainment venues.) Also it is essetial to pray for staff to hoist the sails, knowing that His life giving Breath is coming to once again give the bread and water that lasts for all who come to eat and drink.

A hunger fills the sanctuary as the doors open and the ‘sailors’ that feel the wind of Jesus’ life, begin to worship. The people hear the navigator and then feel that Breath and rise as their sails billow and move them with delight and they raise their hands to the sky and worship the giver of life that moves them.

We man the boat, up in the rigging and drop the main sails off the main mast. Crank them tight and secure the lines. We Put out the jib and the top gallant too. There are uniforms that make us, the sailors hard to see. Getting out of the way as the room experieces beauty and the message carried of it. It is the reason people gather there. We together ride the waves of life as they splash and wet our hungry souls. We rejoice and know the voyage is true and right. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator, scribe

The Thin Yellow Line

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There are a few sayings that mention ‘ lines’ Drawing a line in the sand, You just crossed a line. A story line and what’s your line? A reference to a thin line has been used in describing one thing that stands between lawless behaviors and citizens. The thin blue line. Protectors in blue.

There is another odd line, lots of them actually, all over the country. We see and respond to them as we would to a movement hazard. Railroad crossings. Roundabouts, sometimes.

These lines of paint separate us every day from death and other unpleasant circumstances. Respect the paint! Don’t cross over it unless it has another line next to it that is dashes rather than solidity. Road paint, double yellow. Drivers ED 101. How do we do it, day after day just staying away from death by avoiding painted lines? On freeways there are barriers between Going faster but no barriers between passing and being passed.

It’s a stampede, follow the leader and it’s best to be the leader. Perhaps, this is a reason a person will pass you on the road and then a mile or so later, turn off. Sometimes making you slow down, even stop to stay on the right side of the yellow line. I used to think it was just selfishness but now, it seems to be instinctive to lead the pack. Clear road ahead. I am the powerful leader and it causes one to think, ‘what was that all about?’

At least the yellow line is honored and respected. Sometimes. Of course, crossing the double yellow is illegal and if a patrol car sees it, there is a loss of the 20 to 30 seconds gained and then some. Sometimes the loss of life and which is unpleasantness if you are involved in a crash.

Same thing in the grocery store with our carts, I have been ‘rear ended’ several times when the cart behind me could not pass because of oncoming carts. Running the invisible stop or yield sign at the end of the aisle can result in the inevitable “Ope” word. Even a ‘scuse me’ Slow velocities, no danger. I try to just nose out to check cross traffic and stay to the right!

We are in a hurry, always to get somewhere else. Yield signs can be ignored if you have a bigger engine and are in a hurry. Everyone does the ‘California stop’ just keep the vehicle rolling a little bit as though you can catch up in a relay race. The old pickup that was behind you floors it and if you are going a bit slower, the result can be a hand gesture that causes ‘road rage’ No one would be foolish enough to do that to a squad car however. That yellow line will draw that thin blue line in a heartbeat. I drove the chiefs squad on a windy country road and the the chief said “ slow down to 40. They will never pass”. No one did. There is a bit of respect still remaining. I’ll bet the shopping carts would yield with Open carry, It could result in the shootout at the OK chips aisle. Civilization deterioration. Frustration and anger linger just below our civil surfaces.

No one rode past the Roman Centurions either. They had open carry and respect was the rule of the times. You never know what a cloak conceals and a center console either. Take it easy, that’s what the thin yellow line stands for. Tailgating to acquire 40 seconds isn’t worth it. Be safe, Jack

Kindling

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They move through the earth, walking among the hungry ones that can be seen as glowing, waiting for their fires to grow. The burning one is seeking those that are looking to grow, they are just waiting to be on fire and then loop and twist with a solar flare that touches the flames of all creation. All of it.

It is the honor to supply small pieces of kindling to be gently placed upon those coals that have been waiting for a bit of fuel to bring into flame, the passion that smolders within them. A small amount of the spirit is enough to bring the banked coals into heat that can be seen. Then warmth begins to radiate out and is the glory of the risen King. “Light of the world, you came down into darkness. Opened my eyes and let me see.”

It is a treasured gift to give that desired amount of spirit, to be a carrier, akin to a small donkey of older times that has the pieces of kindling to lay upon the beginning fires. To gently walk among them in the night and encourage them to radiate Christ’s light in the darkness of the world.

There is joy within the servant that brings that small amount of encouragement. To bring a handful of truthful fuel that whispers the beauty of Spirit. To tell them that it is good and right to embrace God and speak to him of our hunger to burn with love.

The larger and larger flames begin to grow until the fires radiate love. Laughter and smiles among us all grow and blaze. We are drawn to the place we know that this can occur once more. The hunger is satisfied with tears of joy. This is the reason we are together. “Don’t do what you know to be wrong and love God and your neighbor with this love and you’ll be all right” A.

That donkey carrier, moves along with it’s kindling. Quietly looking for those that the small bundles of fuel will transform fires of life into a galaxie’s swirling arms shouting joy.

It’s pretty good. Jack

A. Mother Teresa Song lyric from Micheal W. Smith

Study or Lecture?

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A usual intriguing invitation to attend a study of one of our favorite books. With a relaxed and anticipatory attitude the date is set and marked on the erasable calendar. It’s a big one that is pined to the wall every month with new dates and exciting and often obligatorily appointments.

The day arrives and a drive ensues to the study site along with an appropriate container of coffee. These paper containers can be had and filled at many convenient locations. Settling down at a table, the leather ‘coach’ briefcase is set (in plain view for class distinction) and a notebook and ‘The’ book set beside it. Pen extracted and extended. Ready for scholarship as there are duplicate scholars around the large collection of tables nearby.

The usual chatter and greetings are somewhat abated by the leader of the study. There are several students that feel their conversations must go on for a short while longer while the leader waits patiently at his seat. Perhaps a loud cough or even a whistle is needed to quiet the room. One of those really loud ones that I wish I could do. The one with your thumb and forefinger type. Those who were still socially chattering act as though a glass fell and are silent. Good. It worked.

This is indeed a scholarly study with one of the scholars reading a half dozen or so sentences of the focused page(s) of the book. The leader asks the group for a summary of the last meeting and comments are givenand the new passage is dug into. More polite comments and references to other books and sources of the material are noted and quoted. The main dish has been served and the coffee begins to flow, pens and pencils scritch and scratch and the delightful sound of thin, almost parchment pages turned fills the room. Images of paneled rooms, lined with tall shelves of books are felt.

A lecture can be enjoyable. A good one is exciting, an average one is endured and a poor one can result in yawns and glances at timepieces. These lectures are often called sermons. The exciting ones are a delight. The room comes alive, the ones in the room listening lean a little forward and that rustle of thin pages begins in earnest. At times the journals and pens start their work, Images, words and scholarship for further study with others or alone near a good table lamp.

So, a good lecture or sermon can be dicey as to we attention deficit disordered ones. The best ones are as an excellent drive in the countryside which reveals beauty seen for the first time on the same roads driven as before but never seen. A flare of a sunbeam sparkling millions of rain drops frozen till they melt a minute later. You know how it goes. Surprise! It’s an owl that just flew across the road or a cloud rumbling and flashing overhead.

Music concerts or worship sets can do that too. Words and notes together make a good study and revelation of emotion that accompanies them. Standing, driving, sitting quietly or even jumping around. It doesn’t matter much when experiencing sudden beauty.

Conversations engaged with truth spoken and heard can engender the feeling of being in the presence of the wisdom of the ages. Old books opening and fluttering around you that you have wanted to read for decades are revealed with a single sentence.

I am dull and don’t pay attention many times to treasures all around me. These few sentences will perhaps open your iris’ and minds as well as mine. Beauty abounds and the wisdom of the ages will be whispered into my heart if I look for it. A child of a wise man said six words that have helped me pay attention to the wonderful world that surrounds me. Studies and lectures indeed. Focus. The young child said: “Talk to me with your eyes” The eyes of our spirit. Our maker of all things that have been made, turns His face upon us and talks to us with His eyes. Open my eyes Lord and I will talk to you too. Watch and pray. Then silently listen It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

LONLINESS

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Nothing can remove the loneliness that we all have. All of us. It is the human condition.

No one can alter that, A wife or husband, an affair, a community or commune.

No thing either. Money, power, position and status. Those actually accentuate the lonely.

I have used many excuses for my ways of isolation, never realizing it is universal and excuses are what we think we need for our behaviors. It makes us feel justified to blame others for it.

I felt such lonliness when I was playing fiddle for a well known country western band. We did a lot of Bob Wills songs and my favorite one was “Faded Love” the line of ‘I still miss someone’ wept off my D string and hung in the air. Sometimes I wondered why it was so tender to me and others.

Loneliness, It’s not a bad thing at all. If we would only stop blaming ourselves and others for it.

Henri Nouwn states this condition in a startling and almost unbelievable way. The deep chasm within all of us is actually a blessing.

As adults, young or old, we ache to go back to the womb, where a soothing presence coming upon us satisfies. From birth we cry and as a baby we cry. We are lonely, no longer totally embraced by love. It never ceases.

“Such a baby!” “Stop crying or I’ll make it worse” “What’s the matter with you?” Those things really helped a lot, didn’t they.

I was amazed to feel hunger when I first came into the very large room of my current church. I had entered with a good friend, high up on a landing above the room to be surreptitious and wait to pray way down below after service. Stepping onto that platform I started to weep. Instantly. I was overcome, astonished with the knowledge it was hunger that I felt. I asked our Lord. “What is this! Is this hunger, from me, or is it them?” His answer was “Yes”

It was the combined spirit longing of almost two thousand people that overwhelmed me with resonance in my own heart. That was the beginning of my quest for answers to His answer of Yes.

It was indeed, a blessing to be lonely and then realize my drugs, affairs, gang involvements, military comrades and even jail time in Spain with other sympathetic prisoners and guards was not enough to sooth my hunger. Even the beautiful love of my wife and children was not enough. I was lonely, always was. Just like you and everyone else.

Truth of the only love and embrace that would satisfy me came when I heard and saw the lover of me. All of me. Past wounding and wounding others. The only cure. Jesus. The best. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Old Fashioned Or Antiques?

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There they sit until the next auction. Plates, cups, bowls and saucers. Mahogany furniture and kitchen utensils. Machinery and huge steam powered…things..Barn ventilator caps and do dads and gimcracks and folderall. Gewgaws, and the best one of all, Tchoktchke. The last one comes from Yiddish Tshatshke (or an absolete Polish word, Czaczko.)

You can find them in really nice corner cabinets with glass doors, on top of upright pianos or just scattered about the house, seemingly at random. Placed with a discerning eye or propriety and in need of occasional dusting. Dust the Hummel’s at your own risk

Everyone has their faves and lists for the spouse to browse local second or third hand stores. Why do we do this? Perhaps we are hanging onto an older time, perceived as more a genteel one.

Excepting the black buggies of the Amish, stagecoaches are in that category but cannot be displayed, unless you own a herd of horses and a nice driveway or fence line to park it so it is visible. Old ‘collectible’ vehicles are a bit bulky but store on the property..somewhere.

“That’s an old Edsel! It’s worth a lot of money!” Does it run? “Well.., no but I’m workin’ on it.” The Montana vehicle parking lot sort of thing.

We collect stuff, we built a 20 foot shed and lean to just to store some of it. It was full less than a few months later. Big stuff and shelves for parts for the big stuff. You know the list. That old lawn tractor that just needs a new engine and few tires. The old walk behind snow thrower that needs a carburetor and a little paint. Nostalgic and useful stuff. Sort of.

What else that is old and worth saving? My favorite one that is still used, is the long wrap around bookshelves you can see from the living room, up on the balcony walk around. 3D wallpaper. Books from many centuries ago and great illustrated children’s books. Dr. Suess’ Birthday Bird type of stuff. The best antiques of them all as it is OK and right to handle them. Flip through an old Aristotle or a McDonald and find a page that randomly jumps out at you and then it goes downstairs to be added to the random stack by the big rocking chair.

Lately, the stack has been centered around middle ages literature. Most recently one about St. Ignatious of Loyola (early 16th century). The somewhat forgotten wisdom sears truth into me and Julie about this founder of the Jesuits. Lectio Divina, Interacting with God, Oratio, talk to Him, and my favorite, Contemplato, sit in His presence. Timeless and recently, perfectly timed for these times. With our ceaseless scurry to satisfy the emptiness in us with all the stuff we gather, or, think we must gather, to help us be satisfied and joyful. I need to be reminded that essential wisdom is found in another old book that helps me to contemplato our Creator and His plans to love me and never let me go. Ever. I seem to be the collectible for Him. Made by Him before I was even conceived, before the written history of the universe He knew me and helped form me into the man I am. Created to glorify Him and tell other people about Him and His Love. It’s pretty good. (The other old book is the Bible, its good to have several versions.) Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

And your Children’s Children

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“May His face shine upon you and bless you..” Great words that are sung by my favorite singing band from Scotland. Almost every morning as I sit at this desk, awaiting the dawn and looking at my two email accounts (one for business of sorts, the other one more personal) I cry most times when I hear that song. More than I cried when I was at home for lunch and played the moonlight sonata on the piano, In my sisters forbidden room. Just a grade school child, seeking more than words and home alone for my lunch with Casey and Roundhouse Rodney. They were there for me at noon from the rabbit eared TV on the kitchen counter. As you can surmise, music has been my pathway to joy and unity with the creator of it.

What happens then when I hear the thunder in my head, tears roll down and the peace overcomes me, often for hours afterwards? Why me to have this gift of harmony and joy?

“I thought you’d like it” comes the answer. More than I can understand, but yes, I do like it. More pleasing than those first 5 notes of the sonata is the bagpipe chanter and violin of the song, ‘The blessing’

When I then sit in my comfy living room chair and begin to read some Nouwen or Lewis I have a fresh spirit and the words go deeper and once again, I am open to His voice and gentle nudging to look upon the world anew. Julie sits nearby in her comfy chair and once in a while we share out of our thoughts. Clarification is needed at times as our thoughts are a bit lofty and can be confusing to each of us as we are both in different contemplation’s of faith.

If we are on this schedule it is pleasing to look out the big door windows and see the world, sometimes anew. A pheasant and some springtime robins that are hopping around in the newest falling snow, perhaps looking for breakfast with a puzzling look upon their little beaks.

Time to get more coffee and perhaps, build a small fire in the stove nearby. In the kitchen it is a bit warmer from the radiators we put in 30 years ago. It’s not the same as the wood stove however.

Our children are at work now, one overseeing a big machine shop, the eldest managing sound at the large church campus about 65 miles away. Indeed, the blessings from our lord have fallen upon our children and His face has also fallen upon them and blessed them and us with his mighty hand and outstretched arm. I thank Jesus and the Father and there is the blessing to thank Him for and often, speechless with joy I cry. He said that he collects every tear from joy or sorrow in His bottle. Those tears are an for annointing with the gladness that passes all understanding. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

with much thanks to Steph Mcleod and Celtic worship