A fascinating device, the tuning fork. Jack has owned one for some time. It doesn’t get used anymore because electronic ones were invented that are a lot handier. The fork, however, has uses that are not possible with the electric styles. You possibly have had one of these forks shown to you. Hold it in your hand and give it a sharp rap on something that won’t be damaging. The tone rings out and you can put it on your mastoid bone to hear it quite clearly. You can set it on the pick guard of your string instrument and tune up with it (they come in various notes, so make a note of the note.) Just tighten or loosen an A string till the tones merge into one. No fair tuning to a fourth of A (D) it will sound a simple chord, but the string will be a bit worse for wear if it is above the D.

IF you have two forks, and they are the same tone, one will vibrate when the other is struck. Sympathetic tone response. It’s pretty cool. But, who has two tuning forks in A?

The call of other things in our lives can also resonate with us. Jack has noticed in a small crowd of people, that a certain word will ‘resonate’ in his mind and capture attention. Words such as: Fiddle or Mandolin. We all know this well. How many times have all of us heard our first name across a room and instinctively turned towards the sound? The faint sound of a voice calling you to dinner (noon lunch for those who need clarification). Resonance is a good word to explain this phenomenon. Perhaps it is now time to introduce the next phenomenon of this fascinating ‘tune’. There are friends and then there are neighbors who can also be friends. A common problem to those among us that want to be a friend for everyone. They wind up unable to be close to anybody.

A person that is the closest friend of all is another step into friendship. Proximus is the descriptive word for best friend. It derives from middle French but the original Latin basic means ‘closest’ or ‘nearest’. A neat word which branches into proximity. So Bear with Jack a bit longer, words are powerful.

The best tuning fork that resonates is the one that is the sum of you. The common phrase is: “I feel like I’ve known him all my life!” Often Jack meets a total stranger that Jack knows has met his Proximus. It really is a common experience if you can ‘tune yourself’ to be aware of it. Several moments where that really stood out are some of Jack’s favorite short stories. A helping guide in a monster sized warehouse that took time to show Jack where something was. Not an employee. A woman that waited for Jack in her car that she had just run into Jack’s car in a parking lot. Many such encounters have occurred, those are just two that are easier to write about.

People that Jack has said five words to: “You’re a Christian aren’t you?” It is encouraging and it is obvious if your tuning fork is ringing true. Brothers in Christ carry that. Don’t be afraid to say it. You’ll know if you listen for that sound. The sound of light, the sound stars sing around the throne. Often the sound that indeed is light. It’s all frequencies on the wavelength of eternity. Listen, it’s for you. Love has a sound of it’s own and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

I was experiencing another melt down. An appropriate analogy for the origin of Melt Down. A nuclear power plant of any sort, has to be kept cool. There is more heat available in nuclear fission that can be used.

I volunteered for the nuclear submarine service as an engineer and thus, I am somewhat familiar with these things. The reactor must be kept cool enough to survive, to be useful and not dangerous.

The melt down I was experiencing was internal and dangerous to me I was loosing my cool. The core purpose of my being was under question. I was reacting to my perceptions of life and purpose under those perceptions. I felt I was too old and, well, sort of worthless. Thinking of those mile long lines of old grain cars that are seen in a side track sometimes near the highway. Another thought of being set aside is the farm machinery we see near the fields where a new fresh green painted combine is moving among the crop.

Old machinery, old abandoned houses with weathered gray siding and a grown over driveway. Set aside as a symbol of that old Grateful Dead song, “Old and in the way, that’s what I heard them say. They’ll never care about you when you’re old and in the way” That’s the illusion I and perhaps you believed.

We are old, yes. Our hair matches the old barn boards of gray..sometimes a silver gray. So easy to set ourselves on that shunt of rusty steel. Coupled with an endless line of others. Tattooed with gang paint spray and brake hoses disconnected. Forever. Out in the field, the old fashioned tractor almost hidden with the tires flat and grass growing through the frame. How it must be in the dormitories of the old we envision our end. Visitors these days like Clayton Moore with his mask asking how the food is.

Suddenly, I bolted awake with a memory of incredible worth. My worth to an absolute stranger a few years ago. After following an ‘instinct’ to visit an acquaintance in the big hospital, I had an experience that doubled in size as I thought of it.

When I left my new friends room after praying for him, there was a young man, walking slowly down the long corridor. An unusual appearing youth with large hoop earrings. I asked him if he wouldn’t mind if I walked beside him. “Sure, that would be OK. I’m kind of slow” My doctor said I had to walk around this floor several times a day” I responded that I was OK too and not in any hurry. I did not ask the young man why he was in hospital. At the next corridor junction, we both stopped and I said I was going to the right to try and find my car, and it seemed the young man was going left. I then asked if I could pray for him. It was alright with him and I asked if I could put my hand on his shoulder. I do not remember my prayer but afterward the young man said to me “Are you an angel?” I said no, but God sent me here.

So now worth, eternal worth came flooding into my pity party and that was exactly what was needed. We are not abandoned machinery although existential thought and words say we are worthless no matter how old we are.

I had been reading a bit of Sartre, Joyce and Nietzsche for research. Some of those old ink stained minds. Hopelessness, no meaning to life and other cheery stories can go deep, they strain to dominate one’s spirit but God sent me that memory. A memory stronger than death, as strong as the grave and many waters cannot flood this love. A Rich and priceless memory that filled me with hope and a life well lived through the eternity we all glimpse, as through a darkened glass. We are not in the way unless we put ourselves in our own way. Live for others, pray for them and indeed Peace floods in and we become aware. Awake. Redeemed and set in a perfect place and time for His good purpose.

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator