Adventure

Stories of Real adventure in Jack’s life

Walk and Keep Your Eyes Open

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was finishing up a 2 hour prayer meeting in town and was going to drive to an appointment about a mile and a half away. The appointment was with my chiropractor. .

So when I was walking out to my car, I ‘heard a voice’ in my mind. Akin to remembering a forgotten chore. The strong voice of someone in the family. Undeniable and at times, saying something I did not want to do.

“Walk to your appointment” ‘ “It’s a very good day for a walk” ‘“There is a very nice trail to your right! Your bicycle club helped build it!” Three times I tried to ignore that still soft voice. The soft voice then said; “keep your eyes open” I thought of treasure to be found on the trail and I began walking, now somewhat eagerly. Treasure! No gold or folded money was seen except trash and waterlogged cigarette remnants. “Cross the road” was now ‘heard’ I obeyed. Instantly, after crossing, I saw envelopes in the grassy ditch. Many of them and midst them, a small broken wood box. Dozens of envelopes scattered for 20 feet in the grass.

I began gathering the envelopes. They were all addressed to the same person in a town 20 miles away and all were postmarked with a military return location, Korea from 60 years past. I opened one and a soldier was writing home. Touching base with simple questions: “How is the combine working?” Farm things. The few dozen envelopes and the busted box were easy to carry to my appointment and Intrigued and excited now, I walked back to town and drove home with the treasure.

The last name on the envelopes was familiar and Julie and I called after finding the families last name in a phone book. A kinship girl from there had that name. That young woman answered and told us that the letters were all from her Grandfather and his home was recently broken in to.

I instantly knew the thieves had thrown the box and the letters from their car window then, seen worthless to them. That young woman came right away and thanked us for the small but significant treasure returned. It felt very good to all of us and it was obvious who gently insisted I walk the day before. It was our best friend Jesus that the whole family talked, prayed and sang prayers and songs to in that simple but beautiful prayer room for four years. It helped us to be obedient to the voice of the Lord and at many other times we were given great comfort and joy from Him who was always there with us. Sometimes I don’t hear those soft and firm messages from Him. I tell people that story now and then and it is another reminder to me to keep praying and listening. “Be still and know that I am God” He is good, all the time.

That prayer room on main street is now an empty building but that treasure found in the ditch is a reminder of the many treasures we are given. It’s another eternal treasure after all. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator Scribe

Photo of our friend Jon Thurlow worshiping in a prayer room

Story Teller

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It’s our entire existence, a magnificent story that only you can experience and only you can tell well. First person. Truth heard or read. Autobiographical and, if written well and told with skill, captivating. We enter in and become one, fascinated with the passion that reflects all life.

We are the story, everyone is. Nothing has changed since creation. Danger and romance. Power and loss. Intrigue and betrayal. Movies and books abound for us and most of them are stories. Technical and how-to instructions can be stories of sorts too. I draw the line at the periodic table books. Analysis is wonderful if you want the study to understand but it is not the genre of human interest stories.

A good story teller can capture you and hold your attention. I re-read books like that, I watch revelatory movies over and over. Music tells stories in several engaging dimensions.

Audiophiles have vinyl records with tube amplifiers and incredible turntables. They have ‘sharp ears’ and need to tickle them without anything getting in the way. Of course, reminders are OK but Duke Ellington on a micro speaker in a cell phone is somewhat inadequate to the task.

Live music, especially worship, is a story and a lot of time requires invisible people to make the story come alive. My self, I have recently become involved with media production and the amount of technical complexity is incredible. The people I am working and learning from all wear black clothing. Invisible in many ways to camera apertures, they move through the worship platform. Their job is to tell the story of God and his glory. The musicians in front of them do their very best to help listeners to enter an area of our lives, an area where we can be overcome with the joy of uniting with the presence of God. Joining with the sea of worshipers through eternity that sing Holy, Holy, Holy…forever. That story.

My personal story is pretty exciting and I have chosen Matt Damon or Tom Cruise perhaps to be the actors in the upcoming movies. Story telling. Look deeper into your life and you will see the handiwork of God through the sorrows and joy. Your stories we all ache to hear and understand. I want to listen to those stories. Even though they are not be as thrilling as you think they should be, they are. I love to hear people’s stories as they come out of the wilderness, leaning on their beloved. The best stories, It’s pretty good. Jack Gator, Scribe

In Retrospect

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

A beautiful October morning that started with windshield scraping and is now showing the glisten of maple leaves in bright sunlight. Drying just for me to gather and spread onto the strawberry plants within our garden.

It is October 16 as I compose this and I decided to sit in the living room sunlight and read a delightful book, A year with C.S. Lewis. It is a gift to me from one of my mentors and good and loved pastor. I read the quotes and entry for today and realized that today is the day that C.S. Lewis’ The lion the witch and the wardrobe was published in 1950.

I was six years old then and had just entered first grade at Loring Grade School about six blocks away from our home in North Minneapolis. My sister, Diana, was in fifth grade and soon to be in Junior high at Patrick Henry School about six blocks away to the east.

A few years have past since then and I have been through the usual life we all experience. Again, in C.S Lewis’ The problem of Pain, there is wisdom that struck me today as encouraging. This book was quoted in my Calendar for today and the assurance of my life unfolded.

“I have seen great beauty of spirit in some who were great sufferers. I have seen men, for the most part, grow better, not worse with advancing years…” 1.

As the sun advanced across the living room floor, I began to see my life once again. Many interesting escapades and many close calls along with poverty, imprisonment and bitter sarcasm resulting from my embracing that pain.

And yet, somewhat recently, I have begun indeed growing better and not filled with fear and hatred of the world and myself included with it. A gentling and calming that surprises my family and other friends. I still keep my wit and humor but it is now tempered with a romance of life that gently pushes the pain aside. I like it and the opportunities to give the little bit of that transforming Grace from our Lord are coming forth. The thrill of action and prayer abounds when the transformation and healing come forth from Him.

There is great hope and Faith growing within me and those are the very gifts of God.

It’s pretty good.. Jack Gator scribe

1. C.S. Lewis The problem of Pain The type writer photo is the one that Jack and Warnie Lewis used

Where did that Guitar go?

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Photo of Schmidt Music building in Downtown Minneapolis

It was supposed to be shipped to Naples, Italy. A complex money deal that went through the mail and that precious Martin D-28 I longed for, was put on a ship or airplane and shipped to me at my APO. It went somewhere else, no one ever found it.

Every time we went into Naples, our home port, I inquired at the local post office and of course, through the Navy postal service for that much wanted Brazilain rosewood, dreadnaught guitar. That one was a D-12-28, which guitar players know is a 12 string instrument, now of high value, In the five figure range.

I really wanted it as I was just beginning to learn guitar and had obtained an Italian Echo model which was OK, but I knew from my limited knowledge and observing vinyl record album covers, that Martin instruments predominated the guitars I saw. I wanted what they played, I wanted to play their songs and I really didn’t know what I wanted but I wanted something beautiful and perfect.

It never came. No one had any idea what became of it. The Echo was quickly sold when I went AWOL in Naples. Along with most of my fancy brooks brothers clothing and Rolex watch. My landlord sold them all as I need the money to escape from a man that had bad intentions for me. He too, was a sailor and I gave him up to the CID as the drug dealer on board ship. Those idiot agents put us both in general population in a marine brig up the hill.

A long story ensued, Escape and Capture (on this web site) After being discharged a year later in Newport beach, I returned to my home town and Schmidt Music store in Minneapolis. I inquired about my Martin 12 string Guitar and they also had no idea where it went. They offered to replace it and pointed to the guitars hanging on the wall. There was no 12 stringed ones but there was a six string D28 and it was the same price, $400 (that was 1967) with case. I took it as they had record of my payment. I Still have it. Brazilian Rosewood back and sides. Worth five figures or so now.

It’s been around the block (Motorcycle diary I) {also found in this web page}I have carried it all over the country. I have played it in a lot of clubs and later as a worship leader in a lot of church’s. I Don’t play it much now, usual excuses. It’s been repaired a few times for free due to me being the original owner.

I own and sometimes play other various precious wood instruments. A French Viola made by C.F. Minel from the late 1800’s, A Gibson A model mandolin made in the 20’s during the Lloyd Loahr era. A violin built by my dentist, Oliver Olaffson, when I was a child. That violin is so loud that most of the bands I played it with that all I heard in my left ear was my playing. (In ear monitors had not been invented when I was doing country western music)

Precious musical instruments that I do not get to take with me when it is my time to cross the bar, [old sailing term for coming to port]

I have begun to realize that property, possessions and riches mean nothing compared to my love of Christ and His love for me and His promises of joy and fulfillment in my life. Wanting something beautiful and perfect is the wish of everyone. That perfection above all things is only found by Crossing the bar indeed. The Cross is the gate to our home port. The bar is removed for us and it isn’t a sand bar. The old sailors knew things like that. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator. Scribe

The Difference Between Happiness and Joy

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

At the outset of these two words, there isn’t all that much difference between the two. Jumping for joy or have a happy birthday. There is a vast difference however.

I was not happy when I was in Boot camp but oddly enough, there was a bit of joy that lingers many decades later. I look upon a photo in our gallery which is on a wall next to the staircase going up to the spare room (not the one in Narnia) We are all smiling for the camera, holding our class flags and in our dress blues. We sang for graduations of all the recruits and every Sunday for the church services for the officers and their families. It was pretty good duty. Our choir director was from the Mormon choir and he was very strict and knew his stuff.

I remember most of the names, their voices and where some of them wound up after we moved on to our new duty stations. I wound up in teaching electronics and Morse code at the A school in San Diego. It was pretty good duty and then I got stationed overseas with Comservron Six in the Med. We had formed what was permanent and this is Joy. It is the result of knowing someone beside you is willing as you are to go the limit to death. Love for your neighbor, you know the chapter and verse, it’s in the book of John.

That’s me, third from the left, front row. Fifth class Education Petty officer

It has been written about many times, movies made and statues dedicated to that bond. It is the reason for heroism experienced. It is the essential instruction given us by our Creator. Love one another as I have loved you.

I tried to explain this to the people I know and love in an informal and pleasant Bible study. Very erudite and educated men and all very respectful and delightfully so. We have laughs and we have the stunning moments when truth comes forth from words read and spoken. Our leader reminds me of one of the men in that photograph. We nicknamed him “Father Flanagan” he went on to the Pensacola air station to be a carrier pilot. I remember his voice as we all sang together in the Naval Bluejackets Choir. I still tear up when I hear for those in peril on the Sea

Something happened to all of us and hopefully, has happened to you as well. It was easier for us as it was the 1960’s and the draft caught all young men. It was my first lesson in the joy that lasts…forever. Happiness is self centered mostly and joy expands out from us as radiant beams of smiles and real truth. Truth centered within and will never be destroyed by anything. Life nor death nor angels and powers, present things or things in the future can separate us from His strong love.

You know who He is, everyone does. The giver of truth and creator of true Joy. Eternal Joy that is written on our heart. I don’t go to church for happiness, I go for the beauty of Joy and the confidence of being embraced by the one who made me. Just for now, just for this time to write it down and tell someone that it is not easy and many times hard to embrace this world.

No guarantees of happiness but guarantees of the revelation and reason we are here. To love one another as He has loved us. Before time began He knew me and treasures me. And you. This is Joy whatever may come. Happiness can be found in all the usual places, but Joy can only be found in the romance of God. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator scribe extraordinaire.

Kidnapped on my Birthday

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A glorious summer day, with my entire family and early in the morning we headed to a nearby town for gravy and biscuits for breakfast. What a good way to start my birthday! I was driven past town, confused until it was announce I was being kidnapped and we were heading to the freeway and to Duluth. It was dreamlike to be on the way to visit that city again with it’s delights and crumbled history. It has been years since we were able to do this, and now all five of us were on the way to a day trip. What a surprise and honor to have a birthday present such as this.

New business’ and yet, there is a building just a block up from bustling main street, an empty Plumbing and Heating building, now apartments with good views of lake Superior. The rich mercantile shipping headquarters of the upper Midwest, empty. The busy city is now filled with people like us, romantically enticed by the oceanic lake and it’s history. Those warehouses were filled with tons of trade goods from everywhere and also from far north at York Factory on Hudson bay, furs and hides by the bundle to trundle to Europe on ocean going ships. This is Duluth history. Mansions nearby built from the fortunes of lumbering and shipping are now tourist attractions.

The iron ore docks are keeping the shipping going , but the warehouses are empty and the only big ships on Superior are ‘lakers’ with the big holds and hatches for iron ore or coal.

We parked up the hill a block and could smell the coffee roasting from our destination downhill. The street we parked on had it’s charm a bit tarnished by rain eroded old building sites with cracked brick sidewalks. A lone street person half way down, ducked into a narrow hidden alley with her purloined shopping cart and completed the contrast. She was muttering a bit to herself and on her way to …somewhere.

We continued down to the main street. Church bells began to ring from a cathedral visible. It had windows replaced with wood and the building next to it was careworn brick and the windows had no sign of life behind them. Duluth, a fascinating city. Old and new, tightly bound together and bursting forth yet again and again because of it’s beauty.

The streets are steep, bringing memories of San Fransisco and it’s trolly cars. None of those trolly cars exist in Duluth now but the car repair shops do a brisk trade in brake linings. Bicycles abound and a close look at the back gear cluster reveals chain rings about a foot in diameter. They call them ‘granny gears’ and there are limits to them too.

We enjoyed the perfect coffee and then drove down to Canal Park to join the multitude of people also seeking adventure. The bay touring helicopters buzzed about above as we explored the new stores selling remembrances of the boundary waters north of the lake. Beautiful leather handbags and camp gear ready for a portage but they were twice the price anticipated. Forty dollar hats and Kromer caps for half a days wages.

There is a glass blowing shop, open to the sidewalk as incredible things are made and shaped in the small foundry furnace with long rods. Rolled and cut and skillfully made into useful and beautiful creations. There is a skilled teacher there too and we watched as he showed a student how to make a vase with the northern lights colors twisted into it.

We ate smoked whitefish and the best and perfect onion rings. Those rings did not release the onions when you bit into them as others do. Upstairs I went alone into the violin shop and got an estimate on adjusting the sound post of my viola while a pleasant man conversed with me as his wife was trying out a violin among the many hanging above the cellos. The shop is a treasure on the third floor of the Dewitt Sykes building. Made of brick of course. The building not the fiddles.

The rest of the morning I sat on a bench near a sculptured water fountain. Steel fish with water streams coming from their mouths were delighting children as they carefully walked across the pond on flat stones while their parents walked behind them. I watched the people again and this time, alone on the shaded bench, began to pray single word prayers over the ones walking nearby. Peace, strength, connection. Fulfillment as directed by Jesus who was whispering them beside me.

I was delighted to be directed to an older man when my family was lined up inside a very busy, high quality ice cream shop. I did not want to wait in line and sat outside and until I was shown that man. Perhaps my age? I came to him and asked him if I could pray for him. Somewhat surprised when he was standing there he said ‘OK’ and touching his shoulder prayed for him.

Our last stop was at a distillery where we drank bourbon, scotch and brandy that was as good as I have ever tasted. It was as good as the 14 year old stuff that comes from Scotland. A bit more affordable and we could see the distilling piping and tanks where we sat. It was a perfect end to our day up north as the birthday bird flew me back from the birthday palace with it’s forty rooms, just for storing the cleaning up brooms. 1.

Back to the freeway and home while my oldest son and I joked about the billboards we see on our way on Sundays down by the cities. We saw the same ones with ‘Fear the flannel’ whatever that means. Also the man with outstretched arms telling us he will buy our homes instantly. Three of the flannel and 1 of the realtor. (The count on Sunday drives is 4 and six)

What a present, what a delight to be kidnapped on my transition day to being an octogenarian! I am home alone now as my family is off to work. They sacrificed a work day to be with me and it still is precious to me this morning. Life is pretty good. Jack Gator, Scribe

1. Dr Suess ‘The birthday Bird

Vägmärken

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

‘Markings’ This was the title of a book of notes. It was written by a very noted man from Sweden. Diplomat, ambassador, acquaintance of Presidents, kings and prime ministers. At his unfortunate early demise, he was Secretary General of the United Nations.

Dag Hammarskjöld from Stockholm Sweden. He was an avid mountain climber, very good at it and he would leave trail markers at certain ascent areas to remind him and other climbers. Usually a pile of rocks. Alike the rocks piled by the Jordan by Joshua. A mark and memory.

The rocks that Dag left not only guided him on descent, but also guided and reassured climbers on their way. ‘This way is doable, this is the right way, I remember for you, the correct route.

He was a man of deep faith and in this book was excellent advice for all of us. For us to unite in one life (via activa via comtemplativa) Calling and Vocation. He was bridging the chasm between the world of devotion and the world of work.

That book has astonishing knowledge to me. Recently I wrote a column titled Vocation. It’s in the archives, I used the Latin word Vocare to denote our job that results from the calling the Lord whispers over and over to us. When I listened to Him, I realized He was calling me to use words of devotion wherever I found my work.

For instance, someone that is called to protect and serve having a vocation of a policeman. His contemplative life joined with his ‘job’ I have never met an officer that did not have the base of him based on anything else. We have met some that didn’t and one can see the difference and the frustration. Same for us, all of us. “Why did I leave that repair job that paid well and find my self playing worship music for half the pay?” Things like that.

Yet, it was relaxing, being with a worship team and the presence of the Lord massaging my spirit. It was hard to rehearse and be in the ‘practice room’. The manual labor helped my changing strings and lugging that case around (or cases)

The obedience to our calling is the most important decision we make. The vocation falls in place. You will know where you are being led, it’s watching and listening to Him who knows all things about you and has made you just for the place you are being led to.

“The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day; What one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination. 1.

Wisdom from beloved writers and men of faith. It’s always pretty good. Jack Gator

1. C. S. Lewis
They Stand Together. The letters of C.S. Lewis to to Arthur Greeves

Acronyms and Uniforms

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It starts out simple enough. Mama and Papa. Our first acronyms of our world. Mamma E Papa in Italian (of course if you live in southern Italy you drop the last vowel. Mamm E Pap.

It’s easier to communicate in ‘shorthand’ it saves time and everyone knows it anyway.

We all use them and sometimes, it distinguishes us as belonging. For example: ER for emergency room, scrubs for clothes therein. DX or WX for radio lingo which translates to Distance and Weather. If you use those you are either a radio guy or an officer of the law.

Uniforms usually pocket protectors or turn outs and vests.

Lately, I have been accepted into an invisible society that wears all black and uses some neat acronyms. Bogo, Shader, Switcher and ME’s. There are a LOT of them in every subset of our world. I like ‘worlds’ describing command structures. They either confuse and you respond with “Hmm or that sounds interesting” instead of another acronym that shows they are also a member. AD or lyrics would work. At least there is no secret handshake.

I became aware of different societies at an early age when I became an amateur radio operator, or ‘Ham’ we communicated with Q signals showing we belonged and because it made long sentences into an acronym. Police have the same thing going for them. I can always tell if someone has a background in communication when they use A as in Alpha, B as in Bravo and so forth. Q is Quebec by the way.

Hams had uniforms too. Quick draw slide rules and pocket protectors were De Rigueur. Flannel shirts were optional. All the jocks had special words too. Not worth the ink to repeat.

We all do it, we all belong to a segment of society that has special words and language. Deacon, Bishop and repentance along with special clothing at times. Nothing wrong with those things either. All this is how we deal with the world and try to understand it. It’s tribal. If you believe in evolution, the concept of a trousered ape. Authur C. Clarke comes to mind with the movie featuring a thrown bone by a ‘caveman’ turning into a space station.

We use everything to make distinction between us. I belong. We do so wish to belong don’t we? Family is sweet and feels reassuring. There is certainly a family that we can join together and there are no uniforms and very few acronyms involved. The one uniform that seems to be recognized is a light in the eyes and a demeanor that draws you. There is desire to share lives and the excitement of encouraging one another. Jesus and His spirit and belonging to Him. You don’t even have to dress the same. Just draw a fish in the sand and you are bonded. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Three Shades of Purple

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The death sentence was hovering over all the graduates in the early sixties. The draft. Norm’s classmate, Vern Norton, came home in a box draped with an American flag. I always liked his last name, Norton. It reminds me of a bike I have always wanted, the Norton Commando. It did not seem pleasant to be shipped of to Viet Nam and die in the jungles for a war most of us did not comprehend.

Most of my classmates were still in college or married and had draft deferments. I was 1A and before being drafted, volunteered for the submarine service and was quickly sent off to Camp Nimitz, San Diego. Upon arrival, the laughing Marine DI told me me my draft notice had just been forwarded.

However, some enjoyment ensued as I was recruited into the Blue Jacket’s choir. Singing at graduations and church services for the officers on the base. Three sung notes was enough to either get thumbs up or down to join the choir. The director was a retired Mormon tabernacle choir director and knew music pretty well.

We got to wear dress blues right away and had ‘crows’ sewed on our sleeves so It appeared we were experienced sailors and a little older. Mine was an E6 and the other boots in our basic training were puzzled. I was designated as education petty officer, first class.

Upon graduation I was excited to go on to New London for Sub school and was interviewed with a few more tests. The high school straight A’s in advanced math and a general class amateur radio license at age 12 were the recruiters logical path to the nuclear technician promised. The new interview caught a color vision issue as I could not discern several shades of purple wiring. No tech job for me. No subs. (they are called Boats in the Navy)

A natural move was ‘A’ school as a radio operator and I was immediately put into a teaching position for Morse code and elementary electronics. Weekends off with liberty to visit old friends up the coast was a bonus. I really wanted those dolphins on my uniform though.

Later, serving on the surface Navy in top secret communications, I learned of the accidental sinking of the submarine SkipJack near the Azores. All 99 men lost, the nuclear boat still deep at crush depth. 1965. It might have been me on that boat and I would not be writing these columns nor be the father and husband I am now. The dates are possible, Nukes were new and the Thresher had sunk shortly before.

Saved from my dreams? How and why was I born with a slight color vision problem? It seems there was a plan for my life that has brought me to this place of writing about the one who saved me from an early death.

I am Telling you, the reader, about the plan the creator had for me that does not make sense very often to us. Time and again, I began to see a path that has put me right here. If you examine your life, you can see life changing episodes or decisions that have changed your life as well.

Myself, I was told I would be fired from being published by a newspapers new owner for including Jesus in my columns too many times . I didn’t like that after four years of being published every week (hundreds of columns) It seemed odd to be admonished for being a successful columnist. My readers that I met or knew were encouraged and often entertained by what I write. I assumed the new owner is not a fan of Jesus. I was not allowed to meet with him either. It would have been an interesting conversation.

I quit before I was fired, I was allowed to write a peaceful good by column. That newspapers editor said that he envied my faith. We are still friends. So many things happen in our lives that become path openings to more revealed beauty of the Lord. You know them when you look for them. The good and the bad times, the sorrow and rejoicing. He is with you, He is for you.

Hallelujah! It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

Put Out the Sails

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A process from the beginning of Norm’s life to the present. A purpose to communicate and to give information, sometimes critical information for survival and meaning to life. To himself at first and then soon afterwards, to others.

As a very young teenager, I passed the General class radio license and began this calling to others to talk and listen to other seekers. A beginning of a calling those two letters on the radio waves: CQ. I seek you. Training me throughout my life to seek. The only way to call someone in the world that you don’t know and will probably never meet. Texting without a cell phone. Protocall was essential and strict. You could loose your license if you used ‘bad’ language or manipulated with advertsing. It was great training to be a radio operator in the Navy and to have a top secret job, communicating with the CNO ( chief of Naval operations) to convey his instructions to us and our ship. To give specific instructions to our battle fleet. That fleet would be an oiler, a few destroyers and escorts and an aircraft carrier. Our carrier was the Enterprise, one of the first nuclear ones. Boy, was she fast!

Now, I am on a different ship. A warship of sorts actually. Called to another electrical job, helping a church communicate music and the Word from the Chief of Life to the ones who are drawn to seek Him. I felt it was a good path and it always has been so. I work at another desk with all sorts of knobs and switches to ensure communication is flawless and seamless to tell people drawn to where they can come and open their ‘sails’ to be filled with the breath of God.

He breathes over us with His Spirit and then, with our hands lifted high to the rigging, we rejoice once again to that movement and sway and even dance with Him.

The reason I have been called to this calm sea of people is to pray for that breath to be felt and even seen when they come to the calm waters. Sometimes I pray for the musicians as they are in the ready room (It’s called the ‘green room’ from old entertainment venues.) Also it is essetial to pray for staff to hoist the sails, knowing that His life giving Breath is coming to once again give the bread and water that lasts for all who come to eat and drink.

A hunger fills the sanctuary as the doors open and the ‘sailors’ that feel the wind of Jesus’ life, begin to worship. The people hear the navigator and then feel that Breath and rise as their sails billow and move them with delight and they raise their hands to the sky and worship the giver of life that moves them.

We man the boat, up in the rigging and drop the main sails off the main mast. Crank them tight and secure the lines. We Put out the jib and the top gallant too. There are uniforms that make us, the sailors hard to see. Getting out of the way as the room experieces beauty and the message carried of it. It is the reason people gather there. We together ride the waves of life as they splash and wet our hungry souls. We rejoice and know the voyage is true and right. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator, scribe