Author: Norman Eric Peterson

The Billboard of Our Lives

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Driving home after dark settled in and the lighted billboards line the freeway. Bigger than our driveway markers but somehow, looking similar. Runway lights. Closer in to the ‘cities’, the billboard money flows free and the led panels change several times a minute.

We don’t really look at them, they just do that subliminal thing and linger …somewhere in our minds. I want to change them to tell the truth. The casino ones that promise gaiety and a pocket of Franklin’s should have a stealth vacuum hose sucking the money out of the smiling couples pockets as they watch the roulette wheel.

The lawyers, all with four letter last names, smiling as they exude joy at your auto accidents injuries. Perfect Teeth grins, smiling morticians of misfortune. Bjorn and I count the ones with the man with outstreached arms selling cash for homes ( seven so far from Forest Lake to Blaine) A bit of humor as we drive to the Blaine campus of Eagle Brook to get the media production set up and running.

And there I am, my face exuding the billboard of my past. Selfish, confident in my past victories meaning nothing to anyone but me. Looking in the mirror of my behavior and seeing the same old anger and unwilling spirit to listen or look upon a face that shows compassion and encouragement. Another billboard seen as others pass by as unpleasant and perhaps, known.

Agony as I realize a piece of my past that I hold onto is not who I am now. It gets in my way and tells me lies about everyone that loves me. I am not worthy, I am at fault again and reminded of my failures. Hearing condemnation from within and also hearing love breaking in again and telling me of what I am becoming. Be at peace, quiet my spirit and listen to Him.

I begin the agony once more of realizing these things and suddenly, the beauty I have been blessed with for 40 years unfolds and begins to burn away the false images that I have embraced for most of my life. Tears and a quiet voice tell me a destiny that becomes clear and clean.

Called to be a warrior for Jesus and embracing more and more his gentle and firm voice. The new path, the astonishing and breathtaking path that has been laid before me. Paving that road on the narrow highway of holiness. Not looking right or left or in my life, not looking behind at the pain and struggle for fame, fortune to replace the pain I have endured and embraced.

As a well known song says, I am no longer a slave to sin. It is true and it is not an instantaneous process for me. My past beginning now being seen as straying off that path I have been set upon for decades. Saved from death many times and lovingly, steadily helped to become what I have been created for. Strength, true and right seen as the lighted path to the love of Christ.

It’s pretty good! Jack Gator. scribe

A World’s Image of Our America

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Sad but true. What do our enemies abroad think of us? What sorts of images come to their and our minds? Big box stores where all of us overweight people park our overweight vehicles and waddle up to the automatic BIG doors and grasp a hold of the ubiquitous shopping cart. Testing it’s alignment and pushing it through to where we need to go to fill it up.

I find gazing at things and parking the cart out of the way to to allow room to fellow shoppers. It feels right and is grace to them. (I do like the early morning empty car lot pleasant and park at row 7. close in.)

The freeway isles of the Big Box are tricky and heads up when you swing around the corners! Speed is of the essence and yielding has to be done way ahead of time. I like to take my time, just like I drive my car. Observant and switching lanes when it seems prudent for traffic flow.

Watch out for the speeders! The parking lot can be dangerous as anxiety takes a hold and a 15 mile and hour speed is pretty fast. On or off the road, speed limits are to be interpreted in our favor and the cops are far and few. Again, this goes for any vehicle. Car, truck or cart. The staff move even faster as they know where to go, sometimes and they have huge carts. They shop for drive through lazy boys and park their huge carts in aisles that you need to navigate. Oh, and watch out for the fruit squeezers, they take their time with alacrity and park right where you need to be. Park next to the keto display and you will be out of their way.

Looking with disdain upon the box food in the baking aisle, I search for my list elsewhere. The unsweetened and organic chocolate require patience but again, the shelves are full. I try to escape from the on sale bakery goods that are usually sold out or down to the boxes with a dozen or more within them. That will not do as I cannot eat them all before coming home. The evidence of my clothing and the mess would give me away.

I would also be fat and running with my treasures. A plain cake doughnut and some yogurt will suffice for a snack I can easily eat in the parking lot as I wait for the rush to park to subside somewhat.

To be disgusted or empathetic is my decision and these emotive responses are my hearts response. I can decide to call employees by the name tags I surreptitiously see. My choice of seeing all of creation as fascinating and wonderful or to be the judge of people by my selfish heart. Life or death, Choose now. Jack Gator With thanks to C.S. lewis’ ‘Men without Chests’

Hit and Miss

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Working the railroad section and riding the crew car to the work site. You’ve seen them, short and yellow metal with the crew riding in the open. Putt putting down the track. An amazing thing about them is how they go in reverse. Shut the ignition off and as the slow, single cylinder engine puts it’s last putt before coming to a stop turn the ignition back on at just the right time, and it begins to run in the opposite direction!

Handy, no gear box needed. This is a akin to my life at times. When I feel that I am going in the wrong direction, I have to quiet my self and listen to someone else to discover the path that leads to peace and even back the way I came and finding the place I began. Just shut off as His spirit begins to quiet my chattering mind.

As I like to say, “A suddenly occurs” and a sunrise begins to warm my face and reminds me, once again, there is light that shows that path upon the narrow road. A path that I am guaranteed not to go astray upon.

I am reminded at times about navigation with a compass and sextant when lost at sea, going in the wrong direction. The reliable clock in my possession tells me where the sun and compass should be. I ‘shoot’ the sun and drop it to the horizon to tell me where I am with the compass and chart and make a correction of direction. Harder to do in an area with strong magnetic fields but through a learned skill, I can now make what is called ‘dead reckoning’ a good decision to continue.

I know I am off course at times and the quietness gives me time to realize I am dead again and I need to hear that still, small voice that tells me the course to take. I reckon and quietly hear the true course laid out. The chart book always is right and after reading it, the course is set once again.

It’s relatively easy to get off course, we all do it. We have to shut our engine down and often reverse course to get to where we started and find the track we should have gone down. Love and forgiveness of offense, forgiveness to our self image for taking the wrong course too. It happens to everyone. Listen the the true navigator of our lives and look to the Son and bring his light close to our horizon. Not easy, I have to learn how to use that sextant of my spirit and read the chart. The Bible. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Truth Vs Propaganda

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It was of great delight that a perusal of a second hand stores book shelves revealed another gem. One of the Harvard Classics, It was printed when I was in my early 20’s. Roughly 6 decades ago. (The 1st publication date is 1939) What a find for a dedicated fan of reading books and storing them away with groaning shelves everywhere in our house.

This book has English essays from Sir Philip Sidney to Macaulay. Ben Johnson, Joseph Addison, Johnathan Swift and David Hume to name a few of them. Quite an assortment of analysis, praise of earlier authors is in this book. A treasure to a writer to glean ideas, precious quotes and insights. They did it, why not me?

The essay by David Hume on Taste was intriguing. It struck to the bedrock of philosophy on human behavior. That sort of subject has been on the best seller list since the times of Homer and the Greek writers of that era.

Everyone, well, most everyone likes to know if their visions of civilized society and the world we live in have been written about. Written and put into practice for all of known history.

Stunningly, yet another movement has begun to re-write history to suit tastes of some group alienated from truth. Akin to ‘1984’ or ‘Brave new world’ classics are these attempts. Always for power and influence as though anybody with the ability to think and read would fall for it. Propaganda is the term and even during WWII there was a ministry of propaganda in Nazi Germany. It was headed up by Joseph Goebbels and his pal, Leni Reifenstahl. The movie that Leni made, Triumph des Willens (Triumph of the Will) showed the Nazi dream and is still known as the most successful propaganda film of all time.

It’s an old story that, driven by insanity, drives the insane to rewrite human history to fit their version of reality. Today it is the denial of truth of humanity itself. Not only revisionist history to enable money to be funded to people that feel they are owed for things that happened over a century ago, but to rewrite history that somehow enabled these things. The oppression happened but not at all as re-written. Some of the derogatory language had been imported from Scotland as well as their lightening quick deadly response to insult, real or imagined. These things are still embraced today by youths that do not know real history. Read some Tomas Sowell for clarification.

Oh, I forgot, no one reads these things today going back to Greek philosophy forwards to today. Movies of distraction are popular. Considering our confused nation and the recession, it fits the mind set of the great depression of the last century. Scholars and thinkers are passe’ and it’s the New Thing that captures the hunger of our nation. “History is false” “Change your sex if you feel like it” “Educate the children to all these lies”

Why? Indeed, the question of the hour. Even our government has been deluded and encourages lies much akin to the WWII ministries of propaganda. As Solomon wrote, all is vanity and there is nothing new under the sun.

Why do these things happen over and over again throughout our history? It goes back to our very beginning. “Did God really say?” And thus, the battle had begun. Read all about it.

It’s interesting and sometimes pretty good. Jack Gator

Subvention

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(An offer of assistance)

There is, in all of us, a wish to be known as a good man. A man of morals to always be a good neighbor. But we know we are not good. Selfish, angry and full of …ourselves. My boot laces can’t lift me to be all I think I can be. They aren’t even tied when I try.

There are moments of frustration, and anger, that seem to supplant our good and replace it with self-justification. Driving is a good example for me. Reacting to a driver that I feel is a threat or foolishness. Whatever or where did that anger or at least, that judgment become paramount in my mind at the time? If I promptly examine the emotions it becomes clear that I am not ‘totally good” but quickly justify myself by comparing my good with someone lack of it. Of course, if I act like an idiot does not make me one. There is great hope for me. At the very outset, of foolishness, it begins to be exposed and there is faith that change can occur.

Christianity promises me that I will be cleansed of these things but I don’t like the process at all. As C.S. Lewis so eloquently puts it, then I am like a rabbit and the pulling out of my fur and flesh painfully makes me recognize my real state of ‘goodness’ I don’t even treat myself very good if I am honest. At the point just stated, I become morose about my ungracious thoughts and promise to try and do better. I need help to change.

The only real solution to these problems of trying to be good is the embrace and surrender to Christ. To open the door or window to the gentle and persistent voice telling me that I need more than good intentions and self image of my mind. The story by George MacDonald, ‘on the back of the North Wind’ Comes to mind when young Diamond blocks that breath in his loft and he hears a gentle voice say: “why do you block my window?” There is no window in this loft! ” I did not say A window, I said My window”

I need to listen to that gentle voice and die to my good intentions and my self images . Frustration can overwhelm me with the task of realizing my need to become more and more Christ like.

The death of myself can be stated in a simple parable. Trapped in a rushing stream, soon to drown and be smashed in the upcoming cascading waterfall, already heard ahead as the rocks are funneling the water. Suddenly a hand appears from the riverbank stretching out to rescue me. What must I do? Do I say, “Easy for you, there is a rock under you and you are standing on the riverbank!” Or do I clasp the hand of loving rescue that will save me from my inevitable doom. Always a choice. Life or death, choose now.

Those of us who are tired of life are actually tired of death and we desperately need the life of living waters. I want to be like a tree, planted by a stream of living waters. With my roots that go down deep.

I was blessed by a vision of swimming with Jesus, I was in pain and had my eyes closed, meditating on live worship music in the room and suddenly, I was swimming with Jesus! He said He knew I loved to swim. We swam together doing the side stroke, facing one another. He asked me if I wanted to go underneath the water? “You can breathe down there!”Then I answered, how deep is it? He said, “how deep do you want to go?” Startled, I opened my eyes and was healed of a leg injury that was plaguing me. I instantly went to pray for someone that was praying for me.

We had a good time of prayer that day. Never forgot it,

That was the beginning of my wish to pray for others that want to go deeper still into the loving arms of Jesus. Our Lord and rescuer from the world of ourselves. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Opening Day of the Season

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It was a fairly warm day and as usual, filled with the Saturday fall preparations. My son went up on the roof to clean the chimney and meanwhile I had assembled the brush and extensions. It went smoothly and next it was time to empty out the accumulation of flaked creosote, take down the parlor stovepipe and clean it on the shop floor with my special ‘tricks’ of extracting the brush. Clean up the nasty black and combine it with the dirt falling off the tiller on the back of the trusty diesel. John Deere of course. I took apart everything, Built a fire and warmed up the parlor stove. Put stuff away, cleaned the gutters (might as well, the ladder was still there) I sat alone, ruminating on my first deer hunt, 40 years ago when I moved here. Local boys gave me a 30-30 and told me to stand up on the pine ridge behind a tree, in the dark. It was very cold in 1976 and the lake over the hill was frozen solid.

I heard a sound of the ice cracking that sounded like a whale booming. I was shocked and decided to come in and get warm. Today, my youngest son went out before sunset as I was building the fire and taking care of the chores. I heard the shot. Another one shortly after that was a coup D grace. A nice four point buck and as I write this, off to the local German meat shop. Julie went with (she missed a nice doe) and they will be back soon with the old ford pickup, a little blood on the bed with the rust and the tailgate that miraculously, still works.

It’s meat on the table and my son phoned and said don’t touch his 7.62, there is a round stuck in the chamber. I think I’ll have another glass of wine and ruminate on the day. A good day as usual.

I am not sure how it goes with the weekend folks (referred to a cottagers when we met some Superior islanders) They mean well and pay dearly to live over the hill on the lake. Sometimes they ask politely if they can hunt on our acreage. It’s hard to have a half acre to enjoy the north woods tranquility. They bring fireworks and we enjoy our firearms. Good city folks that want what we have too. There is neighbor to neighbor stuff between us and it is amazing what a home made jar of dill pickles will do to open up a relationship with them.

We love living here with all our garden pests and firewood foraging. The incredible roof raking and driveway snow blowing. ‘Powers out again’ Trundle the generator down to the power panel and do the loud clack of the transfer switch. Plug in the pickup and Sunday morning, the drive into the city church campus to join the prayer team. Learning the most important thing we are here for. Love the Lord God with all my heart, all my soul and with all my mind. From the womb to our face to face, known and loved by the creator of all these things.

Love my neighbor indeed, I am doing my best as I learn. Even though their kids drive their UTV’s loud and fast down our road. City folks, you gotta love em’ and they Love our Lord too. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

It’s all Good

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There is no explanation that works for anyone. Who can explain life adequately to us?

The age old question that stares us down when we are realize we know nothing about life. Why? Is there any reason for the evil that has occurred to me or anyone for that matter. The senseless deaths, the wars of unbelievable savagery and mayhem. Our own thoughts of indecent behavior and revenge against the ones who have wounded us within our very core. Lust seems to fit the thoughts I have. For everything. Power, riches, prestige, fame and the fawning over me by myself. Astonishment that I am not at the least famous, elevated by the very talent I have been given since birth. Music and poetry that flows almost effortlessly.

Why am I seen as so good when I know every day I am not. I envy the man’s wealth that appears to be stealing everything I crave. Even relatives that have finagled my inheritance. The worst revenge is against someone long dead that deserves my curses and at the least, my disappointment and poverty or worse yet, the wounds that lie deep within my hypothalamus.

Fear and anger all mixed together from someone that abused or seemed to want to kill or maim my very being. Who indeed has planted that deadly garden within me?

The blossoms of deadly nightshade that always seem so beautiful and right and beckon me to indulge in a glance and embrace. They bloom once again, deep within me and seem so clear, and yet unknown when they disappear and leave behind wreckage from my speech and thought.

Lately, there have been moments and astonishing thoughts that delight and surprise me with the obvious correct behavior I do. Not my usual modus operandi. Why did I say or do that? The only explanation is a whisper of beauty that overwhelms within. A very quiet and almost still voice that obviously is not usual but is embraced as right and true within my very given core.

“It’s all good. You are weaving the tapestry of things we cannot see. It’s all good.” A.

I must bury myself in the one who died and rose again. I can’t get around myself without Him. It’s the way it is. The creator of all things that is the truth, even faced with evil and wonder.

“What is truth?” was asked of Him many times and yet we listen to the evil that sits close by and whispers to us from the beginning of time. Our freedom to choose life or death given by our creator allows this whisper to once again get in our way and try to seduce with lies.

“Did God really say?” You know who he is. Now listen to the quiet and right voice that is now holding his arms wide open and always loving you. Welcoming you when you turn your minds sight to see him. Put on the robe and the ring indeed for once again we have listened to truth. A sigh of beauty appearing.

I encourage and almost shout it to myself and everyone. Listen and hear the voice of Jesus who loves us.

Jack Gator A. Chris Tofilon photo courtesy of Peterson Garden

Oh, the Beauty of the Man

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Drinking my morning coffee and I sit in warmth and I see the wood, dry and split and stacked in the shed that I see as I gaze from the kitchen windows. It’s close by, that firewood. Wheel barrow close.

Cut and split by my son’s strength As he provides for the old home, living with his old folks that live there.

The aging and leaking radiator was replaced with a beauty as now the kitchen and rooms put forth heat accompanying the parlor stove glowing with the dry wood creating fires warmth.

I see the winter’s cold from the north wind. And now the shops are warm too, as he labored with skill to make the furnaces there bow to his strength and will.

He loves us and works on the homestead that our family grew in, Someday it will belong to our son. Now he cares for us and we will pass it on to him. The old farm with barn and fences and a chicken coop too. Solid shops full of tools.

The country ways, well and good, as it always has been through time, with neighbors close by Who know us and love us as they visit with the good excuses, “have you any eggs to buy?”

That old farm, where the family has lived as a half century passed by. It will be passed on to our son and some day we will pass on to the lover of our souls that knows us all

We worship our Lord together who indwells our hearts as we truly love one another. A song about the one full of grace and truth, someday he will come for you. “Oh the beauty of the Man.” (Tim Reimherr) Jack Gator

Fear of Death or the Secret place

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Our choice, always our choice. Hide from life and truth or go into the secret place and connect with the Truth and seek His presence and listen and speak of our fears.

As in the garden, they were hiding from their fear. Listening to the author of fear. We do this, I do this and must be aware that instead of hiding, I must go to the beautiful place in the garden and talk with Jesus about my trembling self.

Our lives now are filled with anxiety and exhaustion. The world is darkening and death is looming upon the holy land of Israel. It is ramping up our usual lives of the lack of funds and time to do everything we need to do. Everything, including the best things which lie before us that seem out of reach. Life in the garden can be exhausting. Weeding, planting, tending and worry about growth and the elements that seem to conspire against us. We fail to see the wisdom and guidance that shows us every step on that highway of Holiness. Staying steady and trusting all circumstance.

Our lives seem chaotic and opposed by the world. We worry and rush about and exhaust ourselves instead of going into the secret place and listening to the master gardener. We both have a go-to secret place on our land. A small and cozy prayer cabin, overlooking a very small lake near our western property line is Julie’s place. Mine is up on the south hill with rows of large pines. They are in long rows, with a level path down one row. At the beginning of that row is a bench made of green treat wood. My son, Soren, built it for me. I can complain and weep and listen there. Little hard to do when it is filled with snow and below zero though. There is a wood stove in the prayer cabin. A trudge through thick snow which gets blown to the ridge above it. After that, it’s snowshoes for Julie and tough sledding on boots for me. Worth it IF there is a fire already lit! I am lazy and don’t do it if I can sit by the fire in our parlor.

Julie and I decided to go to another secret place that we share on Thursday night. It is a small place of worship on Sundays. We set out a cell phone and put on a live session of intercession from a place we have been. It was a worship set of worship with the Word from iHOPKC and it was calming.

We began to pray for our nation, the war overseas in the Holy land of our Savior Jesus. More fear and voices that say many things. Fear among the lovers of the living God and those that do not. As it grew dark through the windows and our prayer began to ask for the true Life that exposes darkness.

There was a whisper, a presence of movement. We were alone in the room and were not alone. A rustle felt as someone walked by, a puff of air moving close by. We both felt it and our prayers went on for several hours. It was time to go home and speak about these things in the car.

There were more requests for prayer to combat weariness among our friends and leaders in the area. We know the answer to them all. Trust, and pray to the living God. It’s pretty good. Norm

The S & G Realty in Sodom (known as Lot’s Lots)

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“Have you seen the ad? Forty acres with a farm and a good well! Dug by Jacob’s Water Worx!, only 400 thousand and it’s fenced! Good water”

I have it on good account that the reality was owned by old Lot and his wife was running it. Business was brisk and sales were definitely up. People were streaming in because the listings were somewhat affordable and life was easier there too. Actually, life there was steaming hot and there were no laws against red light districts. Good restaurants and night life along with friendly neighborhoods that weren’t so judgmental.

It was the new age of Dionysian life we have all dreamed about. No more morals, no more books, no more preacher’s dirty looks!

Lot’s S & G reality came upon some real hard times and the city it was in did not fare well. It was destroyed utterly according to the Smithsonian by an exploding meteorite at two and a half miles above. It caused winds of up to 740 miles per hour and hot sulfur from the explosion destroyed what was left of the two cities. (Sodom and Gomorrah)

There were several branch offices in those two towns and they did not fare well either. No one lives there now. Recent archaeological digs have turned up some corroborating facts, somewhat, about the disaster. There are not any documents from those cities that have been discovered either. One old S & G reality sign was said to be jammed into the salt sea which is quite a ways away. The winds aloft perhaps put it there.

There was mentioned in the Smithsonian magazine a curious fact: A large deposit of salt has been discovered among the ruins of those 2 cities.

Lot’s wife was very concerned about the realty franchises when she and Lot ran for their lives. History from a very old book of the Bible (Chapter 1) tells of her fate. She paused, turned and looked upon the devastation and turned into a pillar of salt. Interesting ‘coincidence of the Smithsonian’s teams discovery of a large salt deposit. The very old book referred to this remnant of the wife as a ‘pillar of salt’ Nothing about the size of her demise.

The realty was continued by Lot’s two grandsons, Moab and Ammon. They settled in two different countries and are not available for comment. Rumor has it that the ‘good life’ of S & G went on for some time where the brothers settled. Family traditions.

Enjoy the analysis thanks to the Smithsonian for confirmation of an old story. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator