Author: Norman Eric Peterson

Phase 10 and a Quilt

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It seems an eternal loss. She is gone and yet, life goes on. Not as usual, but as best as we can.Is that it? We live a short time and leave behind a few memorable items and memories.

Sometimes there is a ruckus about who gets the pristine car and the freezer full of years old meat from the VFW meat auctions.

An accord is reached among we survivors, we get the quilts along with some fat quarters and a lot of supplies and long arm sewing machine. We get the freezer and the old meat to boot. Satisfying. Even the big lawn tractor comes with along with the card games. Good stuff.

Stuff, that’s it. But really it is the all important fecundity of her life. Pleasing and joyful in spite of a spouse that did not comprehend her. Laughter, joy given and understood. Gifts of smiles and strength that taught us many things about life and living well. Most lingering is her laugh and her eyes of understanding things we did not. A glimpse when we sat around the kitchen table and played card games. Phase ten was a favorite and she won a lot.

There were always a few Jokes from the chuckling husband about deuces wild. She was a book of knowledge we do not even know we needed until now the book is opened from time to time. Eternally loved by us and the One who made her. She was and is treasure to the Lord.

What did Jesus’ life amount to according to our standards? He lived a short life and never left His country. He had no possessions to leave behind and his clothes were taken by an unknown man. Mostly not understood when he spoke and had only a double handful of faithful friends. Only His mother and her friend came to him as he was being executed by the government. A ‘nobody’ that left behind the greatest treasure to us. That word again, fecundity which means ‘fruit produced.’ Like a tree or garden giving forth fruit and food. A field of grain perhaps. Wisdom passed through generations will do.

The fruit of grandmas laughter and joy was given to us. The fruit of the spirit and the bread of life was given as our inheritance by Jesus. He left us with the joy of a life well lived and a way to live forever with him. A last will and testament for everyone that will read it and understand what it means. Most everyone has a copy of that testament, you can even find one in hotels! It’s a big document and has two parts but both of them clearly state the writer of that document. Every word. Much beauty in that Word (another name for Jesus by the way) he said to “love God with all your strength and spirit and love your neighbor the same way” All of that sums it up.

Quite a deal, the best inheritance of all time. Of course, there are those who sit in their swamps and croak that they are the only ones worthy and fit to get these gifts. That is sad. We have the tendency to contest the will. We get the inheritance if we listen to the spirit of God he left us with and answer back with acquiescent joy. Simple will really, love him and love others as He did us. Mother Teresa said it well: “If you spend one hour a day in contemplative prayer and never do what you know is wrong. You will be alright.” All our brothers and sisters are beloved as we are. Leaving time behind and entering eternity with the father of we prodigals we will know It is better than anyone said.

Eternity, it is calling us away from this short and mostly difficult life to the place of joy. After all, if God made us with souls and the ability to love him before we were born, then we still be His beloved after we die. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator.

With many thanks to Michelle O’Rourke and Henri Nouwen

What we Cannot Do and What we must Do.

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A list perhaps of all the incredible things we can do. It has built a veritable tower of our civilization. Progress or regress, the things we take for granted is enormous.

For thousands of years, wisdom has been garnered and if we take the time, we can find some of this. Of course, reading is an acquired skill set along with the desire to do so. Not common for many of us. There are already tasks of reading that we must do and we are not inclined to do more.

“Where’s the manual for the vacuum cleaner?” Does anyone really have that much organizational skill to put their hand on that information quickly? Some do. I have a folder on my desktop that says ‘manuals for various devices’ Some how. the one manual I really need to find doesn’t seem to be in there. A search ensues. A search for knowledge and wisdom to apply it

A recent search I did not know I was doing, revealed a quote from a much larger collection of books. “Without God we cannot, Without us, He will not” A.

I must have read that quote ten times, to understand what it said. Still reading it, I love it.

There are a lot of people that I have met lately that are consumed with grief. They approach me and tell me of those things. I am good at listening, (finally after decades of talking about myself and thinking I was relational.)

I have learned not to try and ‘fix’ a person grieving. It is good to grieve and it never helps to immediately tell your story and worse yet, tell them platitudes of relief coming their way if they just listen to our advice. After all, didn’t we survive all the deaths from close friends and family? Not really. It’s still there, deep inside our hearts, locked with our emotional Swiss army knife. You know the one. The death of a thousand cuts.

I also have learned, very recently, that I must unlock my heart and actually grieve. It’s good for me, it’s also what we all must do. There were professional wailers at funerals long ago. They got paid to make a lot of noise and ‘comfort’ the ones footing the bill. That alone was grievous in itself. I listen now and feel others grief, tears come sometimes and it is good and right. It’s called compassion which translated means to suffer with. Jesus wept. There’s never been a Son like this before.

The loss of our daughter before she was born is still hard for us. At a big family dinner I was nodding off on the living room couch and had a vision of a young girl running into my arms. Stunning as I remember her every detail. God’s still voice told me, “It’s all right, It’s Greta your daughter and she is with me” That is the kind of comfort that we need. We ache for those words with that mighty and gentle assurance. It has been a great gift and I didn’t have to look for it. It just came. Surrender to the lover of our souls and he will hold you close and never let go.

“To teach is a necessity, to please is a sweetness. To persuade is victory” A. It’s pretty good. Jack

A. Augustine Fifth century AD

Bullfighter

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

A saying I attribute to Sitting Bull. He spoke of the two wolves inside of us as well. I wondered about this wisdom this morning and ran across more wisdom from Michelle O’Rourke. The little bulls are the battle we have with the little deaths we all must experience in our lives.

The loss’ of physical strength or stability in using what I have left. The bull of my early times swinging spike malls and 16 pound sledge hammers. I agonize over that when I should just join that death with me being the matador and the bull, joined with that blade.

We all have them, those little bulls we embrace. Perhaps the world inside that speaks failure and personal weakness or loss as the source. To rise up from the sand and brandish the blade and put that snorting thought to death. There are also the worlds many wolves that linger, just beyond the glow of our inner campfire. Eyes lit and eager to pounce upon our sense of worth and trample the fire.

That indeed is the leader of the wolf pack, sense of worth destroyer. I think I am worthless because of changes that come to us all. Physical strength, provision fears. What will become of me when those around me see this?

We indeed do change as we approach death. In old age or in disease or accident. All of us.

My favorite quote from Woody Allen: “I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens” Why do I cling so hard to my little bulls when I know they must die with me as everyone knows. Playing games within that perhaps Jesus will return and I will just be caught up with Him. Maybe I am akin to Enoch and will just ‘leave’ (after a long life) or perhaps Elijah who ascends in a flamed out custom chariot with really fancy custom wheels.

Better to listen to our God with his Mighty hand and outstretched arm that delivers time after time and tells me how much He loves me and will never leave me. Loves me the way only He does.

Many times He has shown me my true worth. Small things that are even bigger than the wolves that whisper and howl. He says, “Go here and talk to someone I will show to you” A purpose and all I have got within me. The reason I have had things happen that I cannot explain as excellent and good. My life unfolding with a mystery of loss and gain. Not embracing my mind and the abilities that I have been given as my very own brilliance and creation.

Indeed, the blade must go deep and true to put to death all those thoughts of self importance.

Listen to the creator of all things brilliant. He will give you all the encouragement and worth you ever have needed. He will turn your losses, your grief, and sadness into joy as you dance in the light of His light. Sit at His campfire and the wolfs of the world will not dare approach. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

ANECHONIC

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Absolute silence. A place where you can hear the blood circulating in your body, not just your heartbeat but flowing. No sound reflection, no outside sound nor vibration. Nothing. An anechonic chamber that does not reflect or transmit sound. No echo when you clap your hands or pop a balloon.

After about an hour, hallucinations begin in the dark and your mind begins to hear and see things that supposedly, are not there. How do we know this? The world’s record is around an hour and a half to be in there. Try one sometime and let me know how long you lasted.

How much of our life is in silence? None of it really. I remember sounds from my childhood that still move me. I hear melodies after they have ceased. Several repetitions of my son’s alarm clock when I am up ahead of him. “Is it still playing those few staffs? No” Why do I hear them?

Even the washer and dryer which sing ten note songs. Silent in the house as I am in the kitchen at 4 am. I hear them several times, clearly and I know it is not playing. It only does it once when it’s done.

The desert fathers in Egypt in the first and second centuries knew silence. Pretty quiet then. The whisper of wind. What did they hear? Something we do not hear well, if at all. Right now I hear my tinnitus and the wind of the humidifier. The clatter of my keyboard and the slight rustle of a paper bag with a cat in it. Noisy.

I remember when I was living in the big city of Minneapolis and the roar of the freeways nearby could be heard 24/7. I got used to it and then I moved to Northwest Wisconsin. I visited the old west bank neighborhood and wondered what the noise was. Sounded like an amp on with no input, just white noise from a big 15 inch JBL and a crossover with an EV horn.

I often wonder at the small amount of wisdom I been blessed to read about Father Anthony, one of the more well known desert fathers. Also the Maharishi of the Himalaya’s, these were some of the early ones who heard whispers from our creator. He is often been described as speaking in a still, small voice. I know this to be true from a few precious experiences.

“Silence is Golden” Why? Sounds like it’s worth a lot! Scarcity always drives prices up. “Hold your tongue”, awkward thing but we get the idea. Try to listen. There is a voice crying in the wilderness and it is crying ‘Holy, Holy, Holy’ I will have to do more of that perhaps! Instead of chattering on and on about me, I could just listen and find out who I am and why I am here. Were the desert fathers and mothers bored? I don’t know, I wasn’t there.

I get bored when there is no one to hear me dazzle them with acquired wisdom. I usually don’t acquire it the hard way, I read and repeat, and write and give credit where credit is due. I am usually just a wise guy but ‘I got better!’ those who know me know what I am referring to with those three words. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Jury Rigged

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Another word that means different things but is spelled the same is called a homonym. The rigged jury is familiar to most of us. Money or clever selections can rig a jury.

The other rigged is used also as Jerry Rigged which is an old nautical term. A quick fix with material on hand, usually cheaper and somewhat functional. Actuating controls for engines is common. Why replace a broken choke cable and dash knob with an expensive part when mechanics wire wrapped around a small bolt will do! A few classy variations like a rubber grommet in the dash or some spiral wire wrap helps the illusion of good repair. It works.

There is another, less used speaking of our lives that uses this term of patchwork or worse.

There is a traumatic event recent or past that lingers in our spirit. I have several of those and usually it is me that the event happened to. So, I just Jerry rig the memory with small platitudes that make it more tolerable. Making excuses for those things then push them back to a place not quite so dark. ‘Gramps was always crabby and that’s why he said that or did that’ Very forgiving and a good way to turn the darkness into someone else’s. Still, the sting remains.

Realizing that everything that has happened is why I am the way I am and that is the grace of God operating in my life.

“ As long as we stay resentful about things we wish had not happened, about relationships that we wished had turned out differently, mistakes we wish we had not made, part of our heart remains isolated, incapable of bearing fruit in the new life ahead of us. It is a way we hold part of us apart from God” A.

We jury rig our lives with fantasies, self condemnation and internal rage at our life. Embrace God’s vision and grace for our life and see what has been given to us. We grow when we see the way we have grown and indeed, become wounded healers for those we meet.

A. Henri Nouwen ‘Turn my mourning into dancing’

Out of the Mouth of Babes

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As soon as they begin to talk, children are truth talkers They do not have to be told to speak truthfully and are usually quite bold to do so. Why? Good question.

I have experienced it in surprising, insulting and often, wondrous ways. “Your teeth are yellow”

wow, your right little guy. This led to an odd situation afterwards when my two front teeth fell out on my dinner plate while eating sweet corn on the cob. Odd clink sound.

I got some really nice implants that appear normal in size and color. White. The two front teeth are the first thing you look at in a smile. My other teeth are not bad, a little crooked on a lower incisor and they are pretty white with a little scraping. So I smile with my front teeth as most of us do with a slight smile. I don’t eat corn on the cob anymore. Being a mechanic I realized the horizontal stress’ and I don’t need to pull down as though I am debarking piece of firewood.

(Side note: I do debark some of our firewood with a small hatchet because the bark and the cambric layer causes ‘clinkers’ in the wood stove. (Minerals pulled up from the soil kind of thing.)

I have heard another child tell someone without malice, “you smell funny” or just “you smell”

Another common truth is “Your fat” How about them apples?

Children are the innocents and examples to us to be direct and speak the truth. Some folks say it’s being blunt. If you are easily offended as I can be, it is shocking and lately, refreshing!

I would take offense at truthful remarks that most times were actually spoken with concern to me. Precious concern that I did not see then as a very good thing. An indication of loving to me.

We do not have to say such things with loudness to be obnoxious ourselves. It might be needed to aim the anti condemnation round with accuracy and fervor in difficult cases. The nearness of the burst may just shoot down and shock the recipient of truth spoken.

Parachuting down and watching years of fear and self condemnation crash and burn can be traumatic which usually leads to freedom as you float into the arms of the best truth talker ever. Jesus. You can find a reference in a very truthful book under ‘Matthew” check it out.

A new friend gave me the inspiration to explain the truth spoken by His youngest child. She simply told him: “Talk to me with your eyes”

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Interruption

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How many interruptions occurred today? I just get started on writing some really inspiring column and my phone bleeps. Perhaps Julie stops by my desk in mid word or thought and asks simple question or mentions a task that I forgot or was important to her?

It happens every day to all of us. I have seen drivers behind me get furious when I interrupt the velocity they were driving or even slow down so they can pass me safely. We are a busy people and focused on the tasks of our lives. Driven to accomplish what we have set before us by ourselves. Pushing that shopping cart at warp speed to get to those sale items or just some orange juice. Fuming at a cart parked right in front of the shelf we need to examine.

A very wise older priest said: “ I complained for too long that my work was constantly being interrupted, until I discovered the my interruptions were my work” A.

Resentment that my life was not going the ‘perfect’ way I had planned hours or minutes before. I have learned that instead of the irritation I can turn these things into concentration or even conversation. The shopper or the clerk ‘facing’ a shelf for example. I stop, park my cart out of the way, pretend I am looking elsewhere and glancing at the workers name tag, then address them and ask how things are going. Pretty busy today eh. Or perhaps say: “excuse me, could you direct me to the place where I can find organic beef broth? An interruption for them but not rushed. Quiet and gentle. It works and I learn a little bit about grace and even can ask them as they answer how it’s going today in the store. I learn and once in a while can listen to a slight problem they have, just listen and acknowledge the common lives we lead. Humanity 101.

At home or with friends that stop by (interrupting my precious time at work) I find with listening that what they need done in speaking or asking is an opportunity to give the love and attention I am asked to do. Gently spoken by my best friend and gentle guide, Jesus. He is never interrupted. He teaches me how to live my life and quickly quiets my anxiety with His voice.

The rush and bustle I absorb from the times I live in stops, and helps me realize indeed, this is my work for today. To affirm love and concern to another. To let them know they are important to me and perhaps dismiss apologies from them. “sorry for interrupting you” with a simple “Oh, that’s OK, I was in no rush” something gentle and affirming them that they are more important to me than my agenda. I listen and learn and even affirm. I like it. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.

A. Henri Nouwen “Spiritual Formation”

A Seminary for the Blind

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It seems like a great idea, perhaps it is. The information age has confused, obfuscated and presented knowledge in compartments of illusion. How do we know which is a conspiracy theory and a conspiracy? How can we be certain of anything that relates to our lives? I usually go up to my communication central and ask for truth. It’s not too hard to find and I have written a column on it. I call it ‘The Cathedral’

A bench, facing a long row of 40 foot tall pine trees. A path goes straight ahead of the bench with other paths parallel to it. High up on a ridge so the pines sway in a gentle breeze and the wind is the backdrop to silence.

This day I was, as usual, shouting a bit and waiting for answers from the owner of this place. He has always been around and helped me plant those trees. He made my son that built the wood bench too. He has many names, my favorite one is a secret to you, not to Him.

As per usual, the reason I came to the sacred place was to get directions, answers and to just complain about things I do not understand. It’s a good place to do that. Aso as usual, the answer I got was a parable of sorts. An answer to a study some friends and I are enjoying about a blind man that was healed of a lifetime of blindness. The story in the Bible is pretty basic in ways and simply states he was blind and now he can see.

Of course the blind man had heard stories too. Words telling him of the wonders of colors. Reds and Blues and Yellows if he could only see their beauty. The words meant nothing but longing to know what they meant. Given sight, most likely 20-20, he saw color and movement and shadows and light. The story tells us nothing about the blind man’s knowledge or study. It just tells us he was blind and now he could see. Everything.

I asked the owner and creator of all things where I was sitting; what does this mean to me?

He told me that there was no great mystery behind the story. The blind man is me and I have studied and analyzed and taken tests on my knowledge of the words I have read about the Man who wrote all the words of life. My Lord wrote them so I could seek His face and touch eternity.

The words promised this but I did not know why I was still seeking His light. Stumbling around, tripping over the worlds roots under my feet. I read more and more and suddenly I was given a gift. The words were guides but they were not what I sought. I listened into the wind up there among the trees. I opened my innermost self and waited for a long time.

He came and told me that this was what I needed to open my eyes and see him in His glory. Everywhere, as much as I could do so. The words said beauty, until my eyes were open I did not know what that word meant. All those words kept me looking for Him. Song of Solomon puts it well. “Tell me if you see Him, I am lovesick”

A deaf man can read music but it again is just words and notes. The sudden sound of a miracle of healing and he hears; “I love you and will never leave you” A whisper that shakes the world.

The blind man has never been the same and you will not be the same either. Thunders and lightnings and a storm all around the Man with eyes of fire will show you what the words say. Intimacy. Embrace Him, whisper back to Him and your secrets will become a pathway and a song sung to you.

Words, they fail me right now. How can I describe the touch from the lover of my soul. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Bridges

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A very versatile word. So many images come forth with that word, bridge. My favorite is the musical ones. A transition from one part of music to another or another part within.

There is an important part of a guitar that holds the strings to the face with bridge pins and it is glued on to the face usually about half way from the upper bout to the end pin, got it?

That’s musical bridges as far as I know. Might be more.

There is the classic card game, bridge. The place on our ship where the captain and all the controls were located is also the bridge. Above that was the CIC or combat information center, but everyone called it the combat bridge.

A bit down the list is the structure bridge which usually connects land over rivers, estuaries, canals and gorges and rivers. We drive over them every day and the only glance is usually to see if there are fisherman to be avoided or if it is slippery or icy from the cold air beneath it.

There are a lot of bridges in the bay area of California, my favorite was ‘the Bay bridge’ which connects San Francisco to Oakland/Berkeley. I went over it a lot and my favorite time was with a fast Triumph on loan that started rising up on the front shocks when I twisted the throttle wide open at 60. I thought the front wheel was next to rise up. Stunt riders do these things, not me.

The Golden Gate that connects ‘The city’ to Marin country is famous and the toll was one dollar each way back during the summer of love and Haight Ashbury days. Perhaps the better word would be daze. I understand it is at least 8 dollars now. Four lanes each way and always full. You can walk across either of them. You can see Alcatraz island if you know where to look. It’s a tourist trap, don’t even bother. To complete the scene is the New Richmond bridge and no one knows where the old one was.

The bridge I am fascinated by is the one between us and Jesus. Written about by scholars and fools like me for centuries. It seems like an impossible chasm to cross and it seems to be that there is only room for one at a time on that highway of Holiness allowed. No one can cross it with you and the bridge toll is your life. You know it’s there, everyone does. The journey usually begins with getting into the water going under for a bit till you are ready to come up. Dead for a bit. That’s what pastor Barry said to me when I was baptized. What did you see when I was down there on the sand bottoms? “A dead man” was his reply.

I once had a lucid vision of Swimming in that water with Jesus, a while back and He and I were doing the side stroke, face to face. He told me He knew I enjoyed swimming and I could breathe under the water. Wow. I asked Him how deep was it and He answered, “how deep do you want to go?”

I opened my eyes, sat bolt upright and realized my damaged leg was healed and I have never been the same since. It’s called a baptism in the spirit. Another ‘bridge’ in my life that connected me with eternity. So many bridges we have around us and now and then, one comes to us that in crossing it, we never need to go back.

My current assignment is to tell people the difference between understanding and believing. Knowledge and faith. It’s just words until they go into your heart, then Faith occurs. Read about that too, Faith, the very gift of god. It’s pretty good, Norm the Gator Jack

Last Waltz at the Duluth Band shell

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They were always the best gigs. Weddings. Playing for a wedding was indeed, icing on the cake. The music our band played was very polished and incredible. I was the guitar player and we had a mandolin, stand up bass and our leader was the fiddler. Square dance music from the old days and we also had a caller for the dances. Several of them. We were well known and royalties were coming in a little from the sale of our CD. On our way to small fame and fortune. Years rolled by and the gigs kept coming. We had a reputation and were in demand within a few states drive. It was fun and the energy was very high paced. We loved one another, often rode together. I was known as the rhythm monster as I changed up things from easy swing to double time back up, back and forth and it was fun and it worked.

After a few years, the CD’s sales began to drop off and the royalties faded. Every musician knows these things. If we had done vinyl recordings, we would have made the racks of records that are found in many quality music stores. Also in second hand thrift shops.

Our children were young and the constant travel every weekend took me away from my family. None of the other musicians had children. At my last last gig at the Duluth band shell it was known by the band that it was my last one. Poignant and emotionally charged for us all. We had been together for years and it was time. I was needed at home and that was good and right.

During this time together, at one of our band rehearsals I put forth at our upcoming dance camp that we have a church service on the Sunday. Our leader, the fiddler and his wife quickly refused. I acquiesced. The mandolin player did not stand up for the Sunday morning idea. I was young in the faith and my enthusiasm for our faith was not shared. I knew then, it was an important pivot point for me and my family.

I did let it slide but I think that it was important to make it known It was important to me. The lead fiddlers wife is Jewish and I lightened things up and lightly said, “Well, how about on Saturdays?” Nonetheless, she was not a Messianic Jew and did not consider Jesus as her Messiah. She did not attend Temple either. After the light laughter it was over. No worship service at our Sunday gigs. I would have conducted it myself but our leader did not even consider that. It was offensive to him as his father was a pastor and there was resentment. It happens with some children that get put into believing when they do not.

A short time ago, a similar disappointment occurred to me when a paper I was columnist in told me that I had to stop writing references to Jesus. After over three years with the paper, the new owner decided it was offensive to the readers in NW Wisconsin. His choice and now, my choice. I decided I not comply and was politely fired. Two other columnists who quoted Scripture were let go and I was next on the list. There was disappointment among a lot of readers for these decisions. “What happened to pastor Seth and Sally?” was commonly said. After a while it was accepted by the populace. The paper continues to get thinner. Just a coincidence?

The editor, a good friend, gave me the news of the impending cancellation and approved my way of bowing out of my column but said to me, “I envy your faith” I miss writing every week with them and in my last column just told a false hood that it was too demanding to write a column every week. It felt good and right to quit gently rather than make a fuss that is not constructive to the way I am supposed to live.

Actually, I write a lot, sometimes every day. It was a graceful way to leave. My readers were puzzled and once in a while someone will tell me they miss my column in that local paper. I do too.

At my last concert in Duluth, we were going to play my favorite waltz, ‘ Ashoken Farewell’ by Darrell Angar. The fiddler did not like it when I played along with him, I was not his equal but it was a good duet for me. I went to hook up my fiddle and he instantly began playing, not waiting for me. It was hard for me to know, once again, I was indeed, second fiddle. I did not make any mistakes but in retrospect, I should have accompanied him on guitar. It is easier to play a tender song like that with keys or a guitar in the background.

At Julie’s and my wedding we had four fiddlers stand around her on the alter and we all played a Scandinavian waltz, Helsa Dem Dar Hemma. Kevin McMullin, Bill Hinkley, Mary Dushane and I.

After the Duluth last gig, Kevin asked me “How does it feel to be finished with us?” I answered, “relieved” Not the answer he was expecting as I looked at his face. Now I stay at home more and helped raise our two sons. Home schooling and all the neat books by Dr. Suess and lots of Veggie Tales. It worked, Julie did most of the education work as she has a Masters degree in those sorts of things. At this writing I was working with my oldest son, Bjorn, as his assistant media director at Eagle Brook Church in Minnesota I started out on the prayer team and moved to production as a camera operator. Tripod only, the hand helds are ‘somewhat’ heavy for me! My youngest son, Soren. is the drummer in a worship band for the Riders for the Son motorcycle group. Julie is now a Bible study leader with members throughout the world on the internet.

It can be hard to stand for our faith. When I remember that time again with the Ducks, I pray for them. Often. I was replaced with another guitarist, but he was not a rhythm monster. They went on for a while and quietly disbanded. It was not the same for them either and I do miss it. There was a lot of love among us.

I went on to play with a few worship bands and led worship at several church gatherings. My family began a house of worship in a local town and we had wonderful times singing, playing and writing songs. It lasted for almost 4 years.

These days, at 81, I have not been playing out anymore. I miss it but am now writing about our Lord; a lot. Almost 400 columns now and also write for my web site. Another newspaper near Lake Superior, The Bottom Line News and Views welcomes my writing. It feels good and right and continues to grow my prayer life. This is what I have been set to. Write about real things and always praise the Lord within the stories. After all, He did save my life by speaking to me and how many things have happened afterwards I cannot list them all. He likes to have fun with me and I like it too.

I still play music at home now and then, not ensemble, even learning on the keyboard. That feels good and right too. It’s pretty good, Norm Peterson / Jack Gator