Author: Norman Eric Peterson

Chief Cornerstone Communication

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It was early afternoon, it was below zero and I was headed down to the wood shed with the empty wheelbarrow for yet another load of ‘all nighters’ if I could find some among the rank.

Suddenly, I felt His presence again. Unexpected, not a result of praying or listening or reading particularly. I felt just for a moment something was going to happen to me, perhaps unpleasant and God was about ready to soften the event with a bit of a heads up. I thought it was the end. I began silently singing cornerstone where I am firm with no scheme of man could pluck me from His hand. I was shaky but ready Lord. Very clearly Jesus asked: “Who is condemning you?”

He just began talking to me and showing clearly that the anger and fear were totally my own doing. Simply put that I did not have to condemn myself for failures with relationships. With All the family. All of them along with close friends

“Listen, ask questions and above all, don’t retreat into yourself feeling once again everyone, is pointing their finger at you” They love you, I love you, I love how you write about me. Reveal your heart as I am teaching you to do so in your writing. Now it is time to open that door you have been longing to have swing open. Let them in so you can really see them the way I do!” 1.

I am worthy! they are worthy! The only one who can do any condemnation is me! Why do I do that?

An old habit, decision, who knows. My life has been filled with decisions made to myself from the world and in doing so, the glass door that leads into my heart has the sign ‘Closed’ visible from out side. Protection that I thought was needed! Open heart indeed! Many betrayals is the worst feeling of all. “How can I make this right?” this is the way to begin. Ask a good, heartfelt question.

Betrayed or the betrayer. To be dealt with in a similar fashion. Pursuing rectitude in all directions. The really hard stuff we know is our lot in the world. Always lurking around corners for all of us. The sudden intake of breath and the surprise heartbeat increase. Realization of a boatload of bad decisions and coming to a conclusion that there is no end to it and nothing that can be done about it.

Beyond depressing. Your last meal of love already finished and all that needs doing is a little washing up. Stack the cups of anger and defeat so they can be used once more. Open the cupboard of your heart once again that is stacked with these cups of wrath.

“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen” 2. The blues from the one who knew these things.

Upon finishing up the wood stacking on the porch, I came inside and Julie handed me a short post on Valentines day with a beautiful healing message on healing the fear of rejection. It had come into her computer in-box when I was out, doing the wood and being spoken to and comforted by the Lord. I was ready for that. Perhaps the first time in my life. Eager to learn, eager to heal and be healed. It’s pretty good.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

1. Chief Cornerstone 2. Louis Armstrong

Contemplating Eternity

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“In the beginning” Three words that describe the entry into the creation of time and the impossible comprehension of what time really is and how time and eternity exist together. Heady stuff. Once
in 10th grade physics, I was asked to do a presentation on Einstein’s theory of relativity. It was
impossible and the best that I could do was try to describe the bending of light by suns and massive
Gas giants. Light that would cause the known universe to actually be a sphere. It made our solar system feel like an indoor affair. I theorized that with a strong enough telescope you could see the back of your head.

The impossible times mentioned by astronomers which try to describe distance by the speed of light itself. A traffic sign out in the Crab Nebula: Speed limit 669,600,000 miles per hour. Light years
used to make it a bit simpler. A few miles a year. A bit faster than the fastest cars on the Autostrada in Europe. After all, the closest stars to our own are only 4 light years away, next door neighbors. So far, the closest exploration of space has been our moon, and recently, Mars. Not much to show for that effort except a couple of reasonably priced ATV’s left behind which are really neat.
The price for them is very reasonable, delivery is an issue and expensive. Really nice though, great on sand!

There is no logic that affirms bigger is more important. Saturn or Jupiter are not more important than
earth. The Andromeda Galaxy is not more important and worthy than our solar system. It’s just a lot bigger, Is a child less valued than a grown man? Logic dictates the answers to this question.
I am assured that I am just a valuable as a President and the opposite. So it begs the question: What is
more worthy than anything we can see or touch or hear?

The dialogue between Lucretius and Posidonius in Voltair’s writings is another, older dialogue between the atheist and a spiritual man. Never grows old, these conversations. Both imaginary men were written into existence by Voltaire and are brilliant and their arguments well versed. I leave it up to
you dear reader to read and enjoy the dialogue. Same one between Steven Hawking and Ravi Zacharias. Many acknowledge Steven’s genius as I, but in matters of creation he was a bit off.

The debate continues throughout history. As for me whom has been spoken to by the living God, it is a moot point. What a privilege to have your life saved to write and speak about Jesus and His gentle ways.

Time and time again He reveals himself to us. Paying attention to that still, small voice
from the Word of creation is key. Impossible it is said. I must be delusional and a fool. Such talk is
humorous and disappointing to me. Seeds of beauty and inquiry are planted at such conversations. Denial is useless. I know my beautiful and incomprehensible Savior chose a drug addicted young man for salvation. Me. No reason other than to be a witness in the dock telling such truths.

Look into my eyes as I tell you story after story that excites me. You can tell. I am not delusional nor insane. Look into my eyes again. The steady gaze I have seen from my King with an unbelievable privilege Is in there. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

The Perfect Picture and Frame

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There I was, running Camera 1, mounted high at Front of House control booth. Trying to ‘shoot’ what my director had told me to point to on the stage below. It’s a big room with often close to 2000 people seated. A dynamic presentation of the worship music is the goal and the camera shots of the electric guitar both far and near with energy, the drummer building a crescendo of many strikes on the tom toms, snare and cymbals visible to camera 5, a hand held camera.

Cross shots of engaged singers and a little energetic dance from the bass player also convey worship with energy. Somehow, the keys players are sort of hidden in the shadows. I would like the cameras to get close enough a shot to show the keys and the hands of music. It doesn’t happen very often but makes a clean and beautiful statement if it can be done. Lighting is an issue back there in the semi-shadows.

A constant stream of instructions comes over our ‘coms’ which just have one earpiece on the right side. “Look here, move there, pull back wide and get several singers”. You get the idea.

The room is dark except for the lights which can surprise you with a lens flare. I like them, most camera people do. We had five cameras to work with, the bigger ‘campus’ has 9 or 10.

I remember vividly the best shot I found. Near the close of the music, one of the singers stepped forward to her mic and as scheduled, prayed for what was on her heart for the room and anyone watching the screens in other parts of the church. In this case, there are two screens above the main stage too. We were ending the shoot and I swung my camera to the left and there, in the shadows was the worship leader, head bowed and hands clasped as we could hear the prayer. Almost invisible. I pushed my lens as much as it could go and just watched.

I saw a renaissance painting. A Rembrandt of shadow and fabric, capturing a moment of life that was perfect, stunning and humble. My director did not see it nor order the shade control to open my iris. It was just for me to see. A fiery sunset with all the pathos and humanity visible.

I never will forget that picture and it lingers with all the others. Orion as I walk out to our car on a winter morning. A sudden meteor streak through my windshield. You have them stored away too. A high splash of storm surf suspended in an oriental impressionist painting.

What a gift to see these things and realize they are timeless paintings for our miracle eyes. Ours alone to gasp and smile at. It’s pretty good,

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator with thanks to Sony for the camera photo

Working in the Cold

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Up here in the north, working outside without gloves, can be unpleasant. Not often, but it also can lead to frostbite. A handful of times, I had to work on cars and trucks outside our shop in the winter because the shop was already full of work. Emergency operations. Misfires, leaks and such leading to inability to get to work or school. Not much fun to replace sensors or wiring when it is below zero.

After the work was done, blowing on my cupped hands helped a little while I got back into the warm shop. I began thinking about why I got angry about such things. Why my spirit was feeling low. I was cold in my mind and not very kind in thought, even about myself. I recently have been training my immediate language responses to distressing situations. Using Latin and Greek.

Styx and Hades for example. Chronos. And others. I am making some progress. You know the drill. Easy to resort to old habits that are unpleasant to hear. Get away from me Athena and Eros.

Having something going immediately into me that would calm my mind and spirit. Calm, almost humorous come forth. Pleasing and disabling anger completely. A wind warming my spirit, blowing through. Pleasantly and completely felt. The new song and breath of God, as He cups me in His hands that I welcome with relief and joy. It worked! I did not curse you Lord, I dismissed the anger by just using the useless names of shelf gods that do not care if they are praised or cursed. Just words of humor really.

I am not saying anger is humorous but relief from it quickly is. Memory can be very useful and assisted by the third person of the Holy Trinity, is downright pleasant. I always wondered why Jesus prayed to the Father. Jesus the begotten Son who was with God and is God (at the start of time as John, the one Jesus Loved wrote). Who is God and who do I pray to when I pray? 1.

Good thoughts from an Abbot of Genesee to meditate on. How do I pray and how do they answer me? The holy spirit is the voice and guide in me. Welcome Him in and you get all three of them on an eternal party line. Meditate on that if you and I will and the advice from that wise Monk that tells me if I get confused about this, “just read Newsweek to relax”

It works. Just listen or read the latest news about riots, dissent and violence and then get back to chatting with the Lord (what do I mean when I say ‘Lord’?) and get that breath and wind that calms and warms our heart and spirit. Amazed once again by His gift of joy. “May He turn His face towards you and give you peace”. Shalom Shalom.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

  1. Henri Knouwen

A Dance and a Kiss

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It was a real scorcher of an August day. The usual formula, 80 to 90 with humidity to match. The heat index was high and I always wanted to learn the calculations but plowed my calculus exam at the institute of technology. It was sweaty and work of that sort was on the menu.

Not the garden today, the weeds on the south side of the big automotive shop I ran for almost 5 decades. Metal siding and roof and a big commercial sign over one of the bay doors.

Everyone knew what needed to be done and everyone but me was already working today. Volunteer locust trees, accompanied by the usual weeds. Gravel on a slope all around and some of the small trees very close to the greenhouse and the cement foundation for the old pump house.

I began to work and the locust bushes (some over 7 feet tall) doing their best to turn into trees were on the A list. Main trunks well over an inch thick needed the long handled lopper. Thick gloves, good jeans with only one diagonal slash from a small chainsaw accident and excellent boots. It was hot and short sleeves prevented overheating. Then I had to put on a thick canvas jacket at the time of picking up the trimmings. It started to get a little hotter.

Several small puncture wounds and the forty foot row of trap rocks against the building was once again visible. The blood had dried on my left arm. It was getting pretty sweaty after pilling up the branches, weeds and such. Time for a break. I was amazed at how wet I was with sweat.

I found the small clippers that I had covered up with weed debris, grabbed everything else including my thermos of ice water. I walked down the three steps from the shop, turned left off the new sidewalk and went over to cool off under the shade of our gigantic Chinese elm. I sat on my birthday gift wooden swing and settled in with my water jug horizontally stabilized on the slats of the swing. There was a delightful breeze and the view is always pleasant. The white lap sided farmhouse with six gables and a treasure of small trees and plants set in the trap rock around the perimeter.

A swallow tail butterfly was fluttering near the pots of zinnias by the shop and it caught my attention. I asked to see a butterfly dance with an imagination and a wish. The butterfly soon came over the top of the zinnia bush flowers and it began its dance. Just over the grass on the other side of the walk. Back and forth, up to the top of the lilac bush by the house corner. Then gliding back down to the grass up to the zinnias. Dancing in the sunlight. Back and forth several times and then went out to the driveway and sat down. “How was that?” It seemed to say.

Why not ask it to come over and give me another dance and then a kiss? I closed my eyes and there coming close to me was the butterflies creator. Smiling with an embrace and a brothers kiss of greeting. He looked like I imagine Him to look. His description is found in Isaiah 53 by the way. If you are with a friend, the confrontations and weariness of your world are soothed over and sometimes, are forgotten completely. There is great comfort in intimacy with another’s spirit and the love of Christ shared between each other. Starting sometimes with a drawn fish in the sand. New and old. Transformation takes place again and smiles in our heart began to show.

Meanwhile, Julie was concerned as she hadn’t seen me in hours and was in contact with Jesus asking Him if I was OK. Quickly she was assured that I was ‘with Him!’ Her first thought was she would find me lying in the sun smiling and gone. At the exact time I was still entranced with the kiss of brotherly love and satisfied to the whole of me. I was indeed, with Him. “I could go right now” Not my first choice I thought but about as good as it gets nonetheless. A perfect ending to a love affair that grows stronger every day. I too knew I would have a smile if I was lying there.

I finally grabbed my ice to water thermos and left the swing and swallow tail and went in the back door to the kitchen. Julie was processing sweet potatoes for the drying racks and we shared this kismet of the butterfly and Jesus’ gift of faith with one another. Astonished by Him stopping by and then our shared joy. It was now toward the end of the afternoon. Julie was reassured as to what was meant by ‘I was with Him’. Not my time yet to “go rest high on that mountain.”

Julie mentioned that a few days ago she had been asking our Lord if she was hearing Him correctly that He would answer her earnest prayers. He told her to go to the raspberry bushes and pick four of them. Late August and the berry season is over. She found them and as in her usual way, wanted to share them with me. “They are just for you was warmly said by the Lord”. Very sugary and brilliant red. Four of them, all that was there. She shares a lot of things.

As I write now, I can see from my desk our flag waving on the long pole just to my left. The garden and the gladiolas and the heavy laden bean poles are also visible through the front door windows. I am still stunned. Indeed, I have a smile. Limitless delight and faith abounds once again. My work clothes are stuck to me and my shirt is hard to remove. A light supper awaits.

My mentor that I delight in wrote this about prayer: “And why should the good of anyone depend on the prayer of another? I can only answer with the return question, “Why should my love be powerless to help another?” George MacDonald

Jack Gator With thanks to Henri Nouwen on the Lectio Devinia on Mount Tabor and Vince Gill for the song

Forty Years of Touring

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A musical career that started around 1962 when I hung around with a four piece right out of high school. The Fables. We lived right down the block from The Trash Men and it seemed like a good path to follow. I just played bongos at that time even though keys were my strength.

In basic training, San Diego, I joined the Blue jackets Choir and marched and sang with them all through basic.

Next I was fresh out of the service and played at the Minneapolis YMCA for a youth gathering a few times a week. That time with my brand new Martin D-28 doing folk music. Peter Paul and Mary, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez songs. Got engaged for a brief time too!

Soon afterwards met another two 12 string guitar players and toured to the west coast and back. We were calling ourselves “Actual Mexicans” and I wound up living in my truck out in the bay area and playing on the street. Mostly in front of my favorite Safeway grocery store.

Back in Minneapolis I did a few folk gigs on the West Bank at the Riverside Cafe and then toured with Hinkley and Larsen and Mike Cass through the upper Midwest and up the east coast to NY state. We played obscure tunes, some of them a bit risque. Bob Frank, Fraser and DeBolt, and homemade ones. Mostly blues and folk style.

Back in Minneapolis I played on the West Bank again and in famous jams with Peter Ostrushko, Stephan Grapelli and the Grateful Dead. I was offered a guitar job by Jerry Garcia. He liked my odd rhythm chops. The bay area summer of love bands are all dead, heroin. I declined his surprising and tempting offer. Read Motorcycle Pilgrimage 4 and 5 for more details

Off to live in Wisconsin on 30 acres and began playing with a country Western band, Dandelion Wine. Singing classics and playing guitar and fiddle. Bars, clubs, dances and weddings.

Years afterwards with that little farm and a delightful family I toured with Duck for the Oyster, a square dance band for years and even played in my own wedding with Bill Hinkley, Kevin McMullin, and Mary Dushane with our four fiddles for the wedding march. Fantastic wedding in Lewis.

I was on our families worship team, Well Spring and we went and played on the National Mall, sang at Times Square church, Madison, Milwaukee, Superior, and local church events as well as in our own created house of prayer in Frederic for four years every Thursday.

There was a terrific guitar player, Jeff Warren, I played with at a local church, New life, for several years. Fiddle, Viola and Mandolin with him. And that was about it. I play a little at home and try to keep my ears and fingers working and adding our Cabinet grand to worship in our living room. That’s it for now as I am aging a bit after Otto Uno times around the sun.

I sing along with songs from my PC right next the piano and am satisfied with 40 years of touring. I now work for Eagle Brook Church in Video production and it is very satisfying. Often I wonder why I do not get asked to play with some of the groups that I still come in contact with, impromptu gigs as well as posted ones in local coffee houses and the small town newspaper nearby.

I believe it is the Lord and his Holy paint caravan showing me once again, A fool on the road to redemption (title of my upcoming book)1stprinting 1stbook for sale for $25,000

As usual, It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Photo of Bill and Judy with thanks to The Prairie Home Companion

Photo below of Bruce Berglund, founder of Actual Mexicans band and my best friend

It Swirls Like Smoke on the Ridge

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A sunny morning in winter found me reading in our living room in my favorite chair. An excellent book by Frederick Buechner. His story inspires mine. I was also glancing up and watching fine, powder snow swirl in strong wind just beyond the window on my left.

It was blowing off the barn edges and up on the high hill, obscuring the 40 foot tall pine rows. It was swirling about in a Brownian movement. Circling about itself and appearing as smoke that is mostly seen as driven snow, sleething across a highway

Reading on in Frederick’s book , Listening to your life. I began following the intimate thoughts and loss of dear friends that shared poetry of life with me. An unusual chord progression or high harmonic would engender conversation, long after the shared concerto we were playing, just the two or three of us in a room. Swirling about in delight for us all. Never repeated or written down.

I miss those friends and their instruments that opened from the cases with the snap of clasps. Tuning just a bit with their 12 strings that needed constant attention. My six was in tune before theirs were. We would then start playing, slowly until the tune would catch up with us and akin to the smoky snow swirls, would indeed spin around, settle in a new mound of notes and harmonies never before heard.

As I continued reading I began to see my desire for that engaging and impromptu beauty with dear departed ones. We sat many hours and years together, also impromptu, delightfully just in time for another go at it. We were separated later in life by long lines on a map and later by eternity itself. They are together, waiting for me to join the beauty of music. King David would perhaps join in the jam session on his harp with Asaph with his beauty with words.

A vision brought to me by the gift of a perfect small snow blizzard as I sat near the parlor stove. Looking out our big windows. I could feel that beauty. Never to be repeated as every snow flake is different in uncountable numbers.

I see that hunger for communication now with others, often as old as I am. We wander about in the large parking lots and buildings or even on the opposite sides of gas pumps. There is a sign from each of us as shared events and life experiences that only are remembered by our generations. Duck and cover, the draft and several puzzling wars we all were in. I see them proudly wearing their ball caps usually with Vietnam Veteran on them. A glance and a brief nod of my head is enough for both of us. Adrift and swirling around our world and just needing that high E string tweaked. Harmony and those 12th fret harmonics signaling unity in tune with one another. I miss those friends and I know you still miss someone when all of the love was there.

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

I Am Not Alone Anymore

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It was always there. A loss, not even known for what it was. An emptiness that fell upon every thing that I experienced through my life. Empty of love and lost it when I was a child. I weep now when I realize what I felt that time when the emptiness took hold of me. I always thought it was abandonment. A memory that diffused relationship with everyone. I tried to cope with that memory, not even aware I was doing that. Clever words spoken and written. There were many times when that empty feeling would diminish and it was always the same thing. Smiles and words that promise embracing mutual friendship. I needed to forgive the people that it seemed I was abandoned by. My family did not know me nor did I know them. Relatives that should have known those things too. Inherited behavior, perhaps cultural.

“I believe that God’s purpose in giving us memory is to enable us to go back in time so if we didn’t play those roles right the first time round, we can still have another go at it now…finish with the past in the sense of removing it’s power to hurt us and other people” Frederic Beuchner

Music was soothing then and a smile inside at a moments of beauty got me hooked into that beauty. Songs and orchestral creations still work well. I remember some of those songs. that I played. the phrases of praise momentarily fill the emptiness. ”I loved what you did” or sometimes just a few notes spoken of. It always makes the emptiness fade. I still crave approval and contact. Applause was nice but fleeting, Playing Ashokan Farewell on the violin perfectly, without an accompanist on guitar for example. Fulfilling for a moment. List, Chopin and Beethoven are soothing time and again. A perfect den of pleasure, even driving. Alone.

It was a coldness in my very core that drove me to play well, and now, to write well. A romantic spirit. Those moments are when the emptiness would back off. Approval and love of just me. I did not know why those times of contact and praise satisfy. It seems selfish to enjoy a secret pleasure in being alone.

Isn’t it like that for everyone? Seeking smiles and laughter from people and amazingly, an interest in us that might be a friend. There are few friends that I can contact anytime for their care and seeing me and they myself for what we are. An empty man, perhaps like they are. Leaning on one another like an unmovable roof truss. Solid wood. With knot holes and defects but Oak or Gopher wood. A trust able to withstand bad storms.

Many of them are Gone now from the inevitable event we all must experience. They died. How inconvenient of them to do so. I still love them dearly and I know they still do. One close friend appeared to me just as he was dying. He was 2000 miles away, so it figures friendship and love is eternal. I lean on Jesus often, especially when I am desperate.

Most of those friends were the kind we all need. A phone call or even showing up without calling, just showing up. Not even a hint of inconvenience from the open door. “You were in the neighborhood? That’s over a hundred mile trip! Tell me what’s going on, I feel that you need encouragement and a good hug.

The day of the wall phone is gone. Now we have Facebook and posts telling us what’s right with us. All neat and clean without any tears or embraces of understanding. Isaac Asimov’s robots now have cell phones and good internet. We edit conversations akin to open book exams.

The two years of isolation and fear reduced our civilization to rubble. The covid theatre that had bodies piling up that where not there when the curtain was lifted. No smiles seen from anyone. The old game of keep away. A scowl if you were in public without ‘the mask’ The deadly bat flu made it fearful to come near and we were so much poorer, even crippled by it. We all lost and the stats and graphs and zoom meetings were just party favors for the worthless messages of untimely death. It’s always untimely for everyone. We always think we will live forever. That is true but not in the limited way we think of it.

There was enough money generated by the scamdemic to weigh it by the semi trailer load. Easier to count that way There was no one accountable anyway, Not yet.

I an not alone in my quest now. The world needs good friends and we must learn how to do it. Smiles. Waving from the mailbox at the lake people with cabins just over our hill that are seen in season. I have noticed that a slight smile and a nod are beginning to make a difference. Smiles and laughter ring out as bells from the steeple. Come. Gather together and be thankful for blessings and deliverance from evil. Look upon the world as a small child’s smile at an adoring adult. It opens our hearts as we look upon our world. Not through rose colored glasses but with clear vision. We take off the disguise of indifference and reveal ourselves and see.

This is who we were created to be. I’m not afraid of you. It’s civilization 101. I have been hiding for most of my life and I have began to offer myself to my best friend who is nearby. Close as my heart beats in synchrony with His. Asleep while I am dreaming, He tells me stories of romance and adventure.

The creator of us all, different and beautiful. Loved and embraced as we listen and the world becomes pleasant and we enter into the joy of the Lord. Well done good and faithful. Well done.

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Photo of my bench on the south hill (the cathedral) built by Soren

It’s so easy when you’re an Adult (1)

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Everyone, I mean everyone had to learn the basics when we were children. It’s obvious even to me. 81 trips around the sun now. Riding a bicycle for example. Did anyone climb on to a 10 speed racing bike and right away began strongly climbing hills with it? Of course not. So how did we get to that point of an understanding and skill to pull it off (starting with a smaller bike with training wheels of course) There had to be a teacher, an adult with knowledge and strength coaching, encouraging and helping us do so.

Another example: Writing and understanding language that is written. No one, not even Einstein, could do so right out of the gate of childhood. First huge flash cards perhaps, gentle words and skill as a teacher-parent to help. The the writing part (Gators handwriting could use some improvement) but as sloppy and ill formed the letters are, imitating the adults writing words to teach. Maybe even holding the child’s hand to help. It works, it’s the way things are done for every child ever born, even you.

As adults, we still need this training. Some call it school or primary, secondary, college an upward learning which still needs an adult with skill and love to ‘hold our hand’ to continue learning. As an example: I play stringed instruments, my son plays a percussion instrument. A side note; the piano is considered a percussion instrument! How did I and they learn how to do this? Another Adult who knows these things.

In my case, even bowing the violin while fingering the notes. Such off key and bumbled sounds caused myself to wince but so did my learning bicycle riding. At least I did not fall off the violin. ‘So easy when you know how’, is said. These are simple thoughts that I am just reminding you of reality, perhaps so obvious, we do not even have it cross our minds. Even potty training. Teaching is a skill not all of us have but potty training is a skill that all parents realize they must do. It’s one of the first classes along with eating spinach.

When we are all grown up adults (except some adults who never grow up), there is a class which I will call finding purpose and the reason we are alive to have one. It’s the big question which, amazingly is put on our ‘back book shelves’ until the inevitable urge to press in and get answers comes.

Many people do not want a complex answer, or one that looks to an older adult that has some answers. Often we ignore them as foolish and misled in their ‘professed wisdom along with other adults. Or their class on a ‘Higher Power’ which is a very beginning of purpose behind door 101. In the beginning class.

There even is a book which starts with those very words! Here is the the name of that book which many dismiss as ludicrous. The Bible. As I have stated in a previous column, It is a book that is written by and for adults and if you don’t want to read it, please don’t dismiss or talk trash about it. Read and understand it’s answer. The answer could be 42 1. That is the number of generations from Adam to Jesus.

There are also many other books which address the reason we are here and what to do about it and I have read many of them. A lot of them say we are here because of a random event that occurred long ago and we are also a result of randomness. These are not books made by and for adults to read. They are a child’s stories that are fun to read. Like most really intriguing fiction that engages our imagination. Many of them tell us there is no purpose to life except to enjoy it and die wealthy. How comforting and absurd.

The Bible tells us the God of all, created us just to give us the choice of loving Him or not. Love cannot exist without us choosing to love. We question the Bible, some dismiss it, some read and understand it. Akin to a Parent that shows us why we are here, and how we got here. God is that Parent and we are His children. At first reading it can be challenging. That’s the best part! You will read it over again. You can start anywhere in it. This book tells us the real meaning of life and why we are living. An old book, written by many authors, and they all have the same subject and the same Hero. It’s pretty good. (To be continued ) Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

1. deep thought computer from Douglas Adams hitchhikers guide to the galaxy.

Darwin, Marx and Walmart at Christmas

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Two men we have heard of, and perhaps even read their writing. Secular and worldly writers both of them. Superman religion is an opiate of the people and illusion, no future. Also evolution that man has worked himself up from the brutes against terrific odds. You can justify your voracious ways. It’s easy to understand these viewpoints which totally ignore the necessity of us to answer the questions which we all have within. Why am I here? What or who made the universe? How can something come from nothing? What is the meaning of life?

Everyone has these questions, everyone. It is easy to deny them though because spiritual things are not seen in this world unless we look for them. We are blind and deaf to the truth. What is Christmas all about anyway and what is black Friday?

I remember Christmas in downtown Minneapolis from my early days while I walked around the biggest department store in the Twin Cities. Daytons. Every large window from the sidewalk had everything anyone desired, Model trains and such for myself and my youthful friends. Beautiful stuff. Exotic clothes, hats and shoes. Appliances unknown along with the latest TV sets and phonographs. Dazzling. We would walk around the store which is a city block square.

The best food. There it was, on the top floor, a restaurant serving food that was totally unadvertised and you had to know it was there to go. Exquisite, tasty and classy linen and crystal water glass’

In a very stretchy analogy, I liken this dichotomy to the secular vs spiritual in our society. After all, like the windows in this story, the world is always right before our eyes. Everything you think you would want is on show. Even other people we lust for because of their shape or the clothing they wear. Wallets full of other peoples money, car lots filled with shiny new vehicles. The latest models that are styled right from Holly wood movies to you. A car that appears to be a knockoff of a Formula 1 racer.

Fast food shouted from the freeways on huge, tall billboards. Exit now! get twenty Grey Bastille French burgers! They’re neatly sliced, and the pastry on the buns is exquisite. Everywhere the world beckons us to experience fulfillment and joy from horse racing to the Indianapolis 500. Advertising has reached another new level. not only at Christmas.

It doesn’t work. There is always someone richer or seemingly famous and beautiful that has a much nicer spouse and life than us. Look at the National Perspire at the grocery check out. Envy on our face as we gaze at the latest scandal with the beautiful wife of the revealed grassy knoll shooter. That doesn’t work either. Pick up a “My home and garden are better than yours” magazine or Readers Disgust and laugh at yourself and your pitiful life. There is hope though! Akin to the hidden treasure atop the department store, there is treasure in our world. Affordable treasure for your life. It seems like a steep price tag but the warranty goes forever. And it can be given away and still held!

The real world is indeed filled with fulfillment, joy and adoration. Our King and possessor of all things seen, felt and seen will give us this treasure and it is yours to experience and hold, forever. It is the treasure we all yearn for and once we have it, we can’t wait to give it to others.

Christmas is rightly focused on giving. The celebrations with bells and choirs and candles light the way to the best gift given. Wrapped in cloth and as delicate and astonishing as the perfect gift.

Sign up with an oath to share and enjoy with others that deserve this treasure as much as you do. You will hear our Creator tell you things and again and again; tell you that you are His treasure and gift from Him and His Son. We must give up on the old, lustful world inside of us and open our hearts to truth and reality, forever. This gift never goes out of stock, it becomes more beautiful the more you give it to others. It cannot be ordered from Amazon or found on eBay. There is a catalogue that has all the details and is available in stores throughout the land. It is also found in bedside drawers in hotels!

It is handed to you as your heart beats strongly and joy and tears overflows. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving. It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator