I’m Good to Go, it’s on my Facebook page!

How many times have I asked friends and new acquaintances the common question we all ask, “How are you doing!” Mostly as a conversation opener when we don’t really care and perhaps don’t even remember their name. It’s clean fill talking and we all do it. The answer is usually just as insipid and often, depression on a deeper level. “Doing fine” or just “fine” The answer lately I have heard really started him thinking: “better than I deserve!” Instantly, I shudder and recently have the thought; You have no idea what you deserve. These four words are a double edged sword in our lives. Everything we have ever done is not a novel or a movie that moves on a timeline to a usual glorious and ‘deserved’ end of the epic story we all have. ‘Finally, I have attained an understanding that God loves me and everything I do now and have done badly is forgiven and I am a new man!’ Really? What does the word ‘new’ mean? New and improved like toothpaste? Or is it death of self and re-birth?

There is a very common club that we many have joined up,( like a Holy Rotisserie club) that meets once a week at a convenient building and has a speaker that tells us again about our salvation from sin and the promise of meeting all our loved ones after our earth death. Comforting like a really good Lazy-Boy that sits awaiting us when we are weary and needing rest from ourselves. The concept of being reunited with people we have loved really appeals to me. However, what are we to do for eternity with those relatives and their friends? All speculations given seem absurd to me. Visiting the interior of a giant red star sounds good for a starter. Moving through eternity with a focus on the creation would be nice, Or being at the rocky shore of Malta while Paul gets shipwrecked. An action packed vacation that lasts…forever. Snacks available at the Kings table.

My problem is that still seeing in the temporal sight doesn’t add up to vision in the eternal. In concept it feels like examining a collectible postage stamp for decades or sitting in a lawn chair forever watching a tree grow. An image that speaks boredom, buried alive in that Lazy-boy for an eternity with nothing to do. “Rest in Peace” Right. Sleeping forever, encased in a steel box inside of a cement box. Similar to Egyptian rulers we have found after centuries ‘sleeping’ inside of huge pyramids. They look a little worse for wear and not really sleeping or peaceful. Temporal. As a squirrel hit on the township road is resting in peace as the eagle flaps away when we draw near.

Boot hill with chiseled granite for an address with no mail slot and sort of tipping a bit after a while from frost heaves. I am trespassing on strong memories of loved ones and that is not the intent at all. I just have a strange mind that challenges concepts and precepts taken as reality seen by the world. The reality of the invention of a way to kill many men quicker with a machine gun or the casual acceptance of a shop that sells photos of other people unclothed. Akin to a country that is so fascinated with food that has strip tease shows of cuts of steaks on a platter on a stage that are completely unclothed just as the curtain is closed. 1.

Obsessions. Facebook (ourselves featured as the main event) selfies and selfie sticks.”Hey, could you take my picture!” Or Mini mansions on lakes, visible near the shore to generate awe and lust. “Nice house! Too bad it’s not closer to the road so everyone can see it” This was Said to me by a friendly new neighbor visiting for the first time.

We are fascinated with ourselves from baby photos to death masks. Leave something behind, show something now too, validate and elevate ourselves to overcome inevitable death. Eternity which makes quantum physics two plus two. I welcoe ideas. I like to visualize music that never stops building crescendos with stunning beauty as I gaze upon our Lord. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator , Scribe

1. C.S .Lewis

Another Day in Small Town America

A trip to town, only about 7 miles on a good highway. It’s hilly with familiar landmarks seen and spoken of. Around the lake just over the hill from the farm, there is what appears to be a small village out on the ice, fishing for whatever is down below the ice. Dozens of trucks and fishing shacks (wimps, we just sat on upside down white buckets ‘back in the days) No tip ups seen from this distance of over ¼ mile.

Then up the hill and there’s the old brick church with red crosses on the doors and a beautiful brick chimney for the coal furnace. Stoked in the past by Walter Wilson every Sunday morning. Good worker and farmer. A family name that is still around with his generous son, Lloyd.

Onward past the old auto yard of Nelson Motors which was the home of Doctor X, wrestler extraordinaire on TV. It was pro wrestling back in the days of cathode ray tubes and rabbit ears. The Crusher was a big draw too. They were very good actors with perfect athletic skills to fall and crash and bounce around. There were no stunt men nor mixed effects modifications. I liked the bouncing off of the ropes moves.

My dad watched wrestling every Sunday while the rest of our family went off to the ‘Mother Church’ downtown. I would have preferred to stay with Dad but most the cigar would not be shared. It was alone time for Dad, everyone needs it now and then. My dad made a mean pot of Chow Mien then which was waiting for our return. With noodles. No fortune cookies. A memory all from the distant past brought forth from passing a junkyard on the highway. Fred Nelson motors, (pro wrestler is not on the old sign)

Memories flood me as I drive the twisty highway now past the resort where Dad and I rented a boat for our last fishing expedition at the mouth of the local river. The Lake is called Round Lake, how many round lakes there are just in NW Wisconsin? This one is not round either. Pot holes are round. The resort is gone and so is Dad, but the memory is clear even with the color of the boat and the squeak of the oarlocks.

Up the hill now, passing the old schoolhouse which was turned into a pretty nice antique store.

Around the corner where a memorial used to stand by the ditch where a exchange student from Russia was killed in a rollover accident. His hockey stick which leaned on the cross was still there. Jack weeps internally every time to town and back at the loss and the thoughts of that kid’s parents back in the old country. When I tell the story of the many car ditch events right at that curve, I include the name of the owner of the house right there. Rolloff.

Past the milking barn with the huge ventilation fans on it’s front and across the road from where Edwin Anderson lived. I went to the estate auction there. Steamer trunks with old passports inside with the folded linen and other treasures are suddenly images within me.

The thought of how to give country directions to someone from out of town. Just turn left at Tony’s barn which is right across the highway from Edwin Anderson’s old place.

An old Irish story comes to mind: A tourist asked a farmer near a road which way he can get to Dublin. “If I was a goin T there I wouldn’t start from ere” was the reply.

There are many road markers for me. Einer’s mountain (long climb for a bicycle, we did it a lot. You had to keep an eye on your rear view mirror for Edwin driving his Buick. ) A weaving driver with questionable eyesight he was.

Then you pass by the Amish farms and then down a small hill into own. You can make it all the way to the post office if you put it in neutral at the top of the hill. A few errands are done and the snow and ice and drifts are a challenge to get to the library.

Suddenly, a lone maple leaf blows by in the snowy ditch. I picked it up as a sign or signal of some sort. Maybe spring is coming soon? I made a visit with my editor at the newspaper publishing building and he gave me 15 bucks to pick up some strawberry/rhubarb pie mix in the bigger town down the highway. Our smaller grocery store cannot stock those sorts of delicacies . I then met someone new by the library and a conversation ensued about the man’s forefathers coming over in the 1600’s from England.

We met by an older building next to the Pioneer bar that my family had a prayer room in. When our family was there, there was a drum cage, singer mics, my instruments and a keyboard. Our family worshiped Jesus with songs and sung prayers a few times a week. There was even good WiFi from the bar next door, right through the brick walls and with permission and the password. Four years of memories there. Now it’s locked with a Realtor’s coded lock and the scroll work scripture is gone too.

It’s an average short trip to town in many ways and it’s time to head back home. I forgot that man’s name but the conversation was another bright exchange of history and is not forgotten.

It’s slushy and cold and the recent snow fall has made the roads slick here and there. My newer car has automatic stability control and antilock brakes to go with it. A few jiggles on the curves and it’s home to check the mailbox at the end of the 1/8th mile driveway. Oops, the wind turned it 90 degrees (or was it the plow?) No mail today. I can see that it turned before the mail delivery was attempted. Otherwise the mail would be scattered in the snow.

There are many trips to towns nearby 30 miles away but they do not hold quite as much nostalgia. Turn up the worship music on the CD player and sing along sometimes. Today I was trying to sing acapella the Patsy Cline song ‘Crazy’

I love the octave jump back at the first line. Doesn’t everyone have days like this? If you share them, people either think you fit the Patsy Cline song name or they share their roads traveled with you. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe

Recreation or Re-Creation?

The same word, turned into a world view when seen as what it really means. Jack realized, not very long ago that he was, indeed, a bad man and still is in many ways. As though he had changed from what he was, into a nicer and more pleasant reptile. He was now not so inclined to slither around and gaze upon his neighbors, often good friends, with a sly thought that someday a tasty morsel would be available to him. And so, Jack’s recent change in personality was really shallow and as we say, ‘skin deep’. He was really trying to be nice and pleasant but when pushed by his real nature, he would then become what he always was. A fearsome and unpleasant creature. The real Jack deep down and capable of bad words and action. Pleasant enough most times but more interested in his own recreation.

Jack was not at all interested in being re-created into what he really could and should be. There were, lucid moments when Jacks’ family would remind him of his true nature. Irritated by this, usually Jack would dismiss these accusations as another family member being insensitive to his needs.

It usually did not work and Jack’s immediate thoughts were to get away from these unpleasant relatives and sulk and say to himself how unfair it all was. After a shorter time than usual, Jack would come to his ‘senses’ and slither back home and actually be humble and repentant of his bad behavior. What was going on with him? How could he, a bit later, realize a bit of truth and see himself as a bad person and reluctantly, afraid of everyone? The Gator family was used to Jack’s outbursts. Somehow they were also encouraged by the way he would turn and actually see, deep within himself, he was changing. but slowly getting ‘healed’. Jack was actually becoming a bit gentler and saddened by his bad behavior.

One may ask, if being nasty and bad tempered was his nature, how could he see this and want to be rid of that flaw? There really was only one explanation and that was that Jack was being changed. After counseling and firm but somewhat gentle reminders from his family it still didn’t seem possible. Someone, a person respected and absolutely perfect, was talking to Jack. Powerful and gentle talking convincingly to him. A person that Jack recently had become friends with, and Jack accepted what that person said to him. This new friend had been with Jack all of his life and even had saved Jack’s life!

Astonishingly, Jack did not see him nor even let Him into his home when He would come calling. Jack’s new friend was unbelievably persistent and would not leave him alone. finally Jack opened his door and shook hands with his old/new friend. Jack’s door was always closed and could have easily been opened by his friend. Amazing. But Jack’s friend would only cross the doorway if invited in. All of Jack’s life, this wonderful friend was eager to get closer, but even though powerful, He waited patiently until Jack finally opened his door and welcomed this man into his life. It was a good idea.

Slowly, but with obvious progress, Jack began listening to his friend. That was the biggest and best decision Jack ever made. A change had been started deep within Jack and he began desiring better and good things instead of what he usually wanted. Jack thought before he was really a good Gator. Deep down Jack knew he was not however. Now his new friend told him what was really in him all along. His new friend actually knew Jack before he was born and began telling him what he was made for and began helping him to do this. Jack’s friend is Jesus. It now is clear to Jack there was no way he could change without his best Friend’s help. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Ticker Tape and Calvin Coolidge

The 30th President of the United States would stay there on occasions of relaxation. There was a ticker tape machine in the lodge that would announce the local train arrival time at the nearby town. Back in the days before the tracks got torn up. The roadbed is still there, traffic on it is a bit lighter. It’s a bicycle/snowmobile trail now.

A very small, ‘jerkwater’ town is still there too. The pronoun was used in the old steam days when a town did not have a water tower to feed the steam locomotives. The water had to be passed up to the engine with buckets and thus the term Jerkwater was used to describe a small town. This one is really small, but back in the days of the steam locomotives, it was a special place. It’s still small but has the prerequisite of a Wisconsin town. Two bars.

Jack’s band used to play there and it was a pretty lively place. Country western music. Jack played fiddle and the band did quite a few Bob Wills tunes. Friendly small town folks, out on Saturday night. Still is that way,

Jack and Julie used to work at the lodge as hosts. A classy place. The evening meal was fried fresh caught trout, braised carrots and a side of hot baked bread. It was cooked by the resident manager/fly fisherman, Ed. He caught the trout in the stream that was close by. (It was the only meal he knew how to cook.) It was cheating a bit as a big trout hatchery was Just down stream. Escapees headed up stream.

Filled with precious antiques, the lodge was an expensive destination. The Gators got married there 30 years ago and it was quite the deal. Big name fiddlers joined Jack to play a waltz as they surrounded Julie. The fiddler from the Powder Milk Biscuit band was one of them. Four fiddlers playing an old Swedish waltz. The wedding registry was a Santana tandem bicycle and all the food was pot luck. There was a wedding dance about seven miles away and Jack played with his square dance band. He should have danced but you know musicians, loyalty to the band and their ego.

The wedding night was in the old ‘stream house’ that straddled the trout stream. Jack remembers the gurgling water all night enticing him to make several trips downstairs. Alas, that special cabin burned down later, never to be replaced. Most likely an issue of antique building techniques or zoning. It was a beauty of a house.

It all was one of a kind and the Gator’s strongly remember it. It has now been ‘developed’ as was the Methodist camp that Julie worked at when Jack and her met. Another glorious landmark succumbs to classy homes. Nice homes and nice people, but still felt as a loss. History bought and sold as it is done to this day. It was an incredible treasure and an honor to work and marry there. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Return to Sender

Lurking just below the surface of his thoughts, Jack knew, once again he was betrayed. Expected and embraced, the loss was as devastating as the first time. Like all trauma, it results with anger and knowing that it is always the outcome of trust. Embracing early childhood trauma that came suddenly and without escape. Year after year, decades of expectation that love would be returned. The loss of the love as a letter that coldly declares, Return to Sender.

As a child of four, Jack was suddenly dropped off at a strange house by his mother. He was ushered into the back yard and shown a really nice tin toy. That complex toy was sitting right next to a chain link fence and listening to his mother’s laughter as she climbed back into the car, Jack looked for a rock. The toy was reduced to scrap in a fit of rage. That incident is permanently established in Jack’s emotional storehouse. Love given will always result in loss and betrayal. Sooner or later the laugh will return along with the rage. Once again Jack will run away as fast as he can, leaving that fence behind as the anger overcomes all logic. The four year old is now able to run and get away from the enclosed and broken heart. The rock now comes down upon Jack.

Only recently was Jack shown the operating system within him has actually been a mirage. Many events can put Jack back at that fence, trapped in a jail of his emotional life. Once Jack was actually in a jail in southern Spain, betrayed by his best friends addiction to methadrine. Hard labor, shoveling sand blast in a dry dock, bent over under ships and barges as the sand poured out of holes cut. The interior of the bilge, now clean above Jack’s head as he shoveled the pile to another pile and eventually into a crane bucket. Summer in Spain, but at least there was shade. ‘This is what you get, this is what you deserve’ They all do that, get used to it.

An engagement, soon after his Navy life was perhaps an escape from his mother’s new basement. A made up room to welcome Jack back to the states. The upstairs with the step father and grandfather that also betrayed Jack’s young heart. One with nakedness and the other with death of Jack’s beloved pet. An inconvenient cat.

So, in his need, he proposed to a new girlfriend he met while he played guitar and sang ballads at the YMCA youth group. She accepted the ring. Not long after she ran off with an actor where she worked and the ring eventually was returned to sender. She could not be found in the big city. Suddenly disappeared and Jack was the crushed cigarette beneath her feet. Imagined laughter as Jack was unable to see he was back at the fence.

Betrayed by his cousin that stole Jack’s inheritance when his father died out west. Only finding about his dad at the mailbox with an official post card from California. Pick up the rock Jack, there is nothing to smash but your own self now. Decades of expected affection and love to be lost. It was better to live alone on the small farm, way up north. No one could betray him now as there was no one there but him. It didn’t change anything, not really. Emotion was fixed and the trauma was just a part of usual life now. Hidden deep within him. Like a moray eel, under a rock, waiting to strike.

Decades later, healing began and still goes on. The reaction was seen by a counselor and exposed as trauma. Only a week ago, Jack named the rock. Betrayal. With a visible jolt in church, Jack saw betrayal given to the only perfect man that now lives within him. Betrayed to death with a kiss but forgiving His betrayer. It’s more than pretty good. Drop the rock Jack. Give me your heart now, I will never leave you. Jack Gator

….The Lord called Adam and said “Where are You?”

drawing by Jesse Selin

Adam and Eve were on their new iphones and could not hear the Lord because they had their ‘ear buds’ on. The invention of distraction and non productive gazing had already been given to them. “Not now Lord, we are gazing upon some pictures of people like us that are naked. We are attracted to them and now realize we are also naked.”

Who told you that you were naked?” Our browser told us and we were on line with someone in the garden who told us intriguing things. The apple iPad has shown us the difference between good and evil and it is indeed the evil that excites and tantalizes us. Please be patient with us Lord as we are playing a game that rewards us in bite coins.

Suddenly the garden’s WiFi stopped working and the router was located over by the gate to the garden. Adam and Eve walked over to the gate and the electrical worker there brandished a very high voltage sword-like wire and told them their lease was up, the WiFi now was locked with a password and they had to leave.

The login word was ‘Jesus’ and the password was ‘ TheCross’ It took Megaloptic ages for the login and password to be seen by their descendants and there was great hope that the garden was available to everyone that, like their ancestors, knew the difference between good and evil and knew it was impossible to be totally good.

The login has been known for thousands of years and the password is visible to everyone, but many did not think about the garden or the tree or the promise now offered to them for freedom and a life in the garden forever.

It’s not too late to log in and be set free. Ask and it will be revealed to you. Look upon Jesus and see His nail pierced hands, put yours in His wounded side, give Him all your Heart because He’s given you His for all time.a

Jack saw his best friend pass that gate into the garden and beyond. His friend looked back upon Jack and said five words: “It’s better than you said!” It was a gift from God to see that and all Jack did was love his friend and give him the log in and password. He knew Jack and he were bad men and also knew there was hope for them both. Jack was astonished and is still stunned by the beauty of that gift. Jack’s eyes were closed when he was given this gift, sitting in a church pew. It was appropriate and It’s pretty good. Jack Gator a. Jon Thurlow

Are you Experienced? Have you ever been Experienced? a.

If perhaps, you have read some of Norm’s columns, you may have noticed a familiar ‘ring’ to most of them. It could be described as being experienced [sic]. There is an astonishment and puzzlement when I have one of these ‘experiences’ and remember them even with accents and vocal tones.

The time at a wonderful, thoroughly scholarly Bible study for example. It was early in the morning at the study and there was a mention of a prison sentence for one of our brothers. Of course, I had to bring up the fact that I had spent a ‘bit of time’ in a prison in southern Spain. Before I surrendered this experience to the large table of solid and mature men, I asked: “has anyone here ever been in Jail?” Silence. “Just for an hour perhaps as a mistake in a traffic violation?” All eyes were on me . Another awkward realization as to what different lives those men have lived in contrast to mine.

. Oh well, no use prevaricating about it. All of those things are known by Jesus and those things are what He has for us to build the charactor and our usefulness to Him and His plan.

So I explained how it goes with guards and camaraderie in the ‘bull pen’. It was only six months at hard labor (summer in southern Spain gets a bit hot) but it felt awkward in the telling. As if I was tainted somehow OR more holy because I was a worse sinner than they were. Awkward because I was one of them that and also now I embrace the Truth and Beauty. I envy them a bit but not too much. Envy is not nice either. They missed out on a few things, things that sometimes result in a maturity and understanding of the world we live in.

The stories of Peter and Saul come to mind. They claimed they were the worst of sinners and I feel in am in good company with those men. Aren’t we all? There is an admission that eases the pain of being such a bad person. All the guns and drugs and the things polite people don’t talk about when military men seek employment. Sinful things. The easy sins to recognize. The so called ‘small sins’ of omission or even thoughts of enjoyable bad behavior are just as bad. Lust and greed are easy traps for us. There is a rescue in my story.

Someone that stole money from my wallet that was lost at Tractor Supply, but they turned in the wallet! But that doesn’t change any judgment of the theft does it? Half way efforts are pitiful. Don’t misunderstand me. I was thankful that all my credit cards and license were untouched. It took awhile for my to forgive the thief and thank them (whoever it was) for just taking that two hundred dollars.

Another example: Cursing that old driver that is going too slow instead of ramming them doesn’t change anything. I am working on that one, having pretty good success too. It only takes a few seconds to repent the words or even the thoughts. It still takes time. Most often, I am the slow driver and sometimes get a hand salute as I am passed or a friendly honk of the horn! The unburned hydrocarbons that linger as I drive on are a bit annoying but I don’t mind. Too much. perhaps I mutter about a bad catalytic converter as I breathe in the fumes. Remembering the old speed limit signs of yesteryear’s. They had two speed limits on them. Night and day limits. The nightime one was black and ten miles an hour less. I usually use the nighttime limits all the time. It is hard to go slower than 60 or 65 that is common. I mutter “scoff laws!” which of course justifies my legal but irritating behavior.

Living a holy life seems impossible and the good news is that it is impossible. I am doing much better for certain. I am not trying to kill someone and have not done too much of my old life stuff. A little bit perhaps which in the eyes of the judge is the same as all the rest of us. “Thank God I am not like that Tax collector over there!” An old quote of judging another. Same deal. We are all bad even though we think in degrees of badness.

Yes, I am a bad person. But the best part is knowing it! Not the I’m better now thought but the thoughts of being directed more and more to listen to the Lord and live the life He has for me. Small things that are actually good! Someone we all know did live a perfect life and gave his perfect life for me!

I am saved from judgment. All my sin? How can this be? God dying for me. I was drowning and a hand reached down and pulled me out. All I had to do was yell for help and mean it. An absurd story describes a drowning man refusing that hand reaching down from shore. “Oh, it’s easy for you!” Same way I used to look upon those men I described earlier in this column. Grasping those cold steel bars and looking for someone to save me. I didn’t know who was right there with an outstreached arm and a mighty hand.

This week I got in the pool a bit early and by the time a new acquaintance showed up, all the lap lanes were full. That quiet and undeniable voice told me to surrender my lane to this man. Three times (an old number of denial) I shrugged that action and instruction off and finally at the shallow end of the pool, I stopped and asked the man if he would like to use my lane. “that’s OK, I can wait!” was his gracious reply. Three or four minutes later a lane opened up.

The important part was our surrender. It felt right. It was simple really. It wasn’t easy though. It was enough obedience to expand the relationship between us too. We still do it. It delighted me that I could actually do that and mean it. One small step and the feeling that freedom can be found in Jesus. It’s pretty good..

Jack Gator, Scribe a. Jimi Hendrix

Gulag Archipelago

Michael Rectenwald. The chief academic officer for American Scholars. He has a B.A. from the University of Pittsburgh, an M.A. from Case Western Reserve University, and a Ph.D. in Literary and Cultural Studies from Carnegie Mellon University. He has taught at New York University, Duke University, North Carolina Central University, Carnegie Mellon University, and Case Western Reserve University. He is the author of numerous books, including Nineteenth-Century British Secularism: Science, Religion, and LiteratureGoogle ArchipelagoBeyond Woke; and Thought Criminal.

In May 2018, the WEF collaborated with the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security to conduct “CLADE X,” a simulation of a national pandemic response. Specifically, the exercise simulated the outbreak of a novel strain of a human para influenza virus, with genetic elements of the Nipah virus, called CLADE X. The simulation ended with a news report stating that in the face of CLADE X, without effective vaccines, “experts tell us that we could eventually see 30 to 40 million deaths in the U.S. and more than 900 million around the world—twelve percent of the global population.” Clearly, preparation for a global pandemic was in order.

The CLADE X and Event 201 simulations anticipated almost every eventuality of the actual COVID crisis, most notably the responses by governments, health agencies, the media, tech companies, and elements of the public. The responses and their effects included worldwide lock downs, the collapse of businesses and industries, the adoption of biometric surveillance technologies, an emphasis on social media censorship to combat “misinformation,” the flooding of social and legacy media with “authoritative sources,” widespread riots, and mass unemployment. Extreme pressure to ‘get vaccinated’ (but obviously it does not work)

The draconian lock down measures employed by Western governments managed to accomplish goals of which corporate socialists in the WEF could only dream—above all, the destruction of small businesses, eliminating competitors for corporate monopolists favored by the state. In the U.S. alone, according to the Foundation for Economic Education, millions of small businesses closed their doors due to the lock downs. Yelp data indicates that 60 percent of those closures are now permanent. Meanwhile companies like Amazon, Apple, Facebook, and Google enjoyed record gains. 

Other developments that advance the Great Reset agenda have included unfettered immigration, travel restrictions for otherwise legal border crossing, the Federal Reserve’s unrestrained printing of money and the subsequent inflation, increased taxation, increased dependence on the state, broken supply chains, the restrictions and job losses due to vaccine mandates, and the prospect of personal carbon allowances. 

There’s more, much more and as far as the generation of conspiracy theories, this puts them all in their places. You decide. This is the first paste and copy that Gator has ever done.

Made up stuff whereas the boni fides and academics are all in favor of this writer. Woke push, destruction of capitalism, government removal of constitutional rights and liberties, it’s right in our lives, daily.

GET VACCINATED! Shun, and soon, report neighbors that won’t comply. Wear the right mask, everywhere. Socially distancing enforced. We become mentally unstable. Riots, shots fired, carjacking’s and mass robbery. The only hope is federal intervention of interstate and intra country travel with vaccine passports. We all know it’s happening and are seemingly, we are helpless to stop our country from becoming socialist and government controlled.

(China has done the same but in reverse. Socialism first and then shareholder capitalism afterwards.)The only cure is trust in the designer of all things, all power and creator of everything that was and is made. Nothing else will do. Look to the Lord and rely on His guidance. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Painful Changes

An analogy, inspired by an author that I owe a greater debt than anyone for language. Imagine that there is an automobile that is sentient. With it’s own thoughts, desires and purpose. Then you own this automobile and are constantly tinkering with it: Redoing the paint and finish. Taking out critical things and making them better and more powerful. Putting the engine right with better pistons and timing components. Literally ripping out the seat coverings and replacing them with better fabric and even airflow types.

Better mirrors to see what is behind and clear glass to see what is ahead. The basic model now being turned into a high performance one that is seen as needing these things. Not things the car wants to be done to it, but things the engineer knows will bring it closer to the ultimate car.

What would that tearing apart and scraping and stripping be like for an automobile that is aware of itself? The first thought would be “I did all that is needed before! I get from place to place in a reasonable fashion. Why make me go through all these painful changes?”

And so it is with us. Our Lord and builder and designer of us has plans to improve us now that we have the ability to do our own modifications which are part of His plan. The changes are only powerful and go deep if we connect with Him and then start the process within us. I go to a church meeting at least twice a week. It’s as if a man, desiring physical healing, went to a lecture about medicine. Great teaching and preaching for sure but it is a window into truth for me. I must act on this revelation again. It is up to my will to go deep and open my heart to the Lord. My pastors are showing me the door and the doorbell. It is a door locked from my side and I have the key to open it.

All the good intentions we have are just that, thoughts. Our inner core can’t be changed by good intentions. Can’t be changed by a good friend telling us what is wrong. Worse yet, sometimes a good friend will tell us to ‘just stop doing that!’ As though a leaking faucet can be fixed by giving it good advice to stop dripping. The faucet needs a good plumber and we need our Creator. The one that knows us and would love us to change. The change can’t be done by reading the instructions we are given by loved ones.

The change comes by us opening our hearts to the only one that can actually do it. We can be changed if we finally realize we need to. The creator of all things and us, can fix us in an instant if He wished. He knows all things but we must discover how to find Him and ask Him for help. There is no other way, no other path, no other treatment, no two for the price of one, no spiritual duct tape that will do the job. We must die to our raging, often wounded, basic core and ask for the warranty that is offered for our spirit man, Heart, and soul. (Whatever phrase works for you.)

I have answered the gentle knock on my door and accepted the life offered. He could blow down our doors if He wished, but those changes have to come from our wish, our surrender, giving up love for the wrong things we have thought were right and the way we accomplished them.

Our Creator knows us and desires us to know Him more. I talk to Him as often as I am able. The way He showed me how to talk to the Father. A good way to start is to sing to him. Works for me. Singing scripture is another form of prayer. Worship with the Word it has been called by some, and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

A Friend and a Commission

It was my birthday and right in the beginning of supper, an old friend just happened to call. A short scramble to get the phone away from it’s USB umbilical and phone in hand, my friend from over a decade ago began to sing happy birthday. Stunning timing and it was during communion that I had to quickly ring off with a quick promise to call right back. It felt abrupt to put off this man that became a strong friend years ago.

There was still some leftover confusion on my mind from the day before. Leftover anguish and hurt that was still strongly noticeable. That’s what happens to a lot of us when we mull and stew yesterdays problem over and over. You know the one that comes up. It was during morning the day before that I got wounded in spirit.

A surprise comment, even a glance or grimace that sticks. Partly dealt with but, still lingering then.

I thought I would not be fit to call my old friend back. When I called, the conversation was cut short and my friend said HE had to go. It felt so much like my anticipated rejection. He was not answering messages and text and I thought I had offended him somehow. It was a bit disconcerting. That did not settle well and seemed as if I had blown it. Again.

There was nothing to be done and then, the next day came a phone call from that him. Everything was fine and explanations were in order for my shortness that I thought was very offensive. It was offensive but only to me. my friend began to sooth him with another person on the line helping it work. I spoke of the wound and where I had acquired it. Sharing failure and foolishness with both of them.

They understood as only friends can do and he began to sing to me! He sang soothing and healing from prompting from the other person in the conversation, his wife and they occasionally sing to each other. Just like of singers, a man of no reputation who sings life into creation. Jesus.

The commission mentioned in the title of this column was back in 2008, a training that we went through to be worship leaders. It was at the International House of Prayer in Kansas City.

The training bonded them well with many circumstances that helped them surrender their personal agenda’s and listen and see who each other was. Astonishing acceptance and love between new friends. At that time I even surrendered a valuable parking spot when the two of them met. I was parked in the shade and it was very hot. He mentioned he had his guitar in his car. I still didn’t want to do it and I was instantly brought up short by the reason I was there for. Surrender and intimacy. Training to be worship warriors. Learning Worship for the living God Jesus.

It felt right, again. The anguish was gone and now seen as an old wound that needed to be exposed to become healing and quick delight. We both remembered that time and knew it was the beginning of our love for one another. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator