Adventure

Stories of Real adventure in Jack’s life

A Vision of Forever and Ever

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

It’s always been there and it always will be. Described by a man thousands of years ago when he was on an island in the Atlantic (Patmos). Eternal joy. I was given a two second glimpse of that years ago. It was pretty good. Ask me about it, I love to share these things.

My family has been given some of those enticing and wondrous glimpses into that joy too. What a gift it is. I am certain that quite a few of you reading this have experienced the curtain of eternity pulled aside briefly. We wait behind that curtain for our part in the play and it is irresistible to peek.

There is something, there is everything, there is wonder and amazement just so close to us. Often, without even knowing it, we are given a sneak preview of that grand production. Another gift. I have written about these things as long as I have been writing. Most of it falls short. After all, if I was capable of writing perfectly, I wouldn’t have to keep trying to get it right. It’s close sometimes but always in need of a sequel to flesh it out again. Like this one. This time I will get closer and capture even my own attention? That’s the best way.

As Augustine stated: ” Teaching is essential, praise is a sweetness, but persuasion is a reward.“

There is that writing that I mentioned in the first sentence. It was written by a man named John. He saw what we all yearn for. Meaning to life. myself, a musician, really resonates with this vision as it has a lot of music in it. Can you even imagine a breathtaking song that you listen to and become a part of forever, and never tire of it’s beauty? Never ending as the slow breath of a perfect song.. The music of the spheres at night that are the innumerable stars, all singing, just for us because of His love. Things like that.

Music that sings of that beauty. About that beauty and sung to the author and creator of the songs of beauty. It is an eternal song that never grows weary and is always fresh and stunning again and again as it reaches farther than the small galaxy that sings along.

Myself with my family once sang a song echoing that. We sang a prayer that went on for a few hours and when it was done, we saw that the clock in that room had stopped running at the precise time we had begun. Appropriate. It was the last song sung in that prayer room. The new owner of the building did not know about these things. For the family it was another glimpse and kiss from our Creator.

There is a place that sings these things and has been doing it for over twenty years. It’s an old tradition that began in the upper reaches of Bavaria. Many centuries ago. Antiphonal singing that is written about the Moravions led by Count Zinzindorf. Non stop. Comparable to Davids singers in scripture.

Now on the internet, every few hours, another team of musicians steps up and continues the worship. Available on an incredible machine that funnels that worship into homes via a length of glass.

Worship also that continues on a sea of glass mingled with fire in eternity. In many ways gatherings throughout our world, worship is available any time of our day on the internet.

It is a delightful way to connect heart to Heart. I turn on my computer and put on the headphones early, and I listen and watch. A cup of coffee and worship is a good way to start the day. Amazing. You can dial into your own church’s recordings and watch and pray with those teams too.

Different people taking the yoke of beauty in rooms of worship that never stops. In a very small way, echoing that vision given thousands of years ago on that little island in the Mediterranean sea that I spent a few days on. It is Malta. . Much time has passed since St. Paul was there and it still feels like yesterday that both of us were there. A coincidence or is it Providence?

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator scribe

Chosin Reservoir

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was unexpected. The usual surprise when the phone call came. The funeral was up north where he lived. The smiling in-law and survivor of war and crime was being ‘put to rest’ next week and can “you come?”

His pain is gone, but the ‘rest’ part seems ambiguous to me. As though death was a train station you just sacked out in, waiting for the eternity express to rumble in. Like the one in the movie ‘Matrix’ for those of you that have wondered about that place. What’s on the ticket you have in your hand? They always say ‘Judgment seat, last stop’. The ticket also says ‘payment pending’ Better get on the train and get a good seat. Be a slight delay at the Judgment station. The conductor says there is a crowd there. He also says ‘today’ with a slight smile. If you know what is coming, it gives you a sharp uncertainty, everyone does it the conductor says. Open mouth and realization that the truth was told to you. “Did I make the cut?”

So with this imagery in mind, I softly walked into the church building and took a pew seat towards the front. The front rows had the soldier’s sons and the family, and us of course. It was a different ceremony, a different faith stream but with the same feeling. I did not know the drill, so I just read and reread a passage in my NKJ Bible. Matthew 22: 32..”God is not the God of the dead but the God of the living” This was a passage of those that will live forever. I had no doubt that this rough and tumble Marine was going to be with his Savior. We had talked with him earlier in the year. There was certainty about him being saved from condemnation by his faith in Jesus.

At the end of communion, the Priest requested the eulogy to be given. The two sons looked at each other and then turned and looked at me . I took my Bible and ascended to the pulpit. I read, almost from memory the few lines of scripture I had just read over and over. I finished the short reading and then began to honor the fallen Korean war vet.

I saw the VFW guys in full dress and the colonel and the bagpiper nearby. Solemn but focused. On me. And the casket with the American flag draped perfectly over it.

I thought about the time when we asked him to turn down the TV for our young sons sitting with us. He replied in no uncertain terms that we were in his house and would do what he pleased. A little rough language tossed in for emphasis. Then afterwards we all went the Post and played pool. Our youngest son made a pretty good bank shot and Dad-in-law offered a fireball shot of whiskey to him. our son was about 15.

Those images were set aside as I eulogized about the fallen Marine as a man of bravery and honor. A Chosin reservoir survivor in the Korean war, followed by decades of police work in Milwaukee. It felt right to bring those things to light. His buddies at the VFW knew him well. His license plate read: I’ll buy one’ His other car read: ‘Stop 4 one’ Cops all knew him and they also know about survivors and trauma. They made sure he got home from the post.

We followed the casket behind the Piper and experienced the seven men shoot blanks three times. I thanked the Colonel and then went in for the lunch. The Priest was walking next to me and I said: “Father, thank you for speaking of our savior” He turned to me and said: “Yes! It’s all about Jesus!” I will never forget that.

There was a proposal by his sons to give the VFW a budget of a thousand dollars for that days bar tab. We said OK. We did not go. Soon afterwards it came time to go back up north and figure out what to do with the estate. My wife’s brother handled the record keeping and we all spoke up for what we wanted. The sons wanted the vehicles and I wanted the man’s sidearm, an Ithaca 1911 .45. The Grip handles were well worn and there was some cleaning to do. It appeared to have been used somewhat.

Other things were attended to and it was pretty equitable between the six of us.

The house was cleaned and I got some Pendleton shirts and some slippers. The freezers were emptied and there was quite a lot of steaks and roasts to be salvaged. I also spoke up for the powerful garden tractor that was top of the line. Stuff like that, most of us know what it is like. Left behind has a different meaning.

We have all been through this and I wonder what it will be like when my precious instruments and other stuff is given to the family and friends. None of it will pay that ticket we all get when we get on that train for the Judgment station. We will tremble and yet look forward to our Friend that has spoken to us many times in different ways. There are some tickets that can’t be paid and then there are the rest that will say ‘paid in full’ The next stop is eternal joy but the unpaid tickets will have to go on for the Perdition station. ‘End of the line!’ Lets talk about that ticket payment sometime, it’s pretty good. Norm

The Fletching and the Arrow

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There is an often neglected or perhaps, unseen part of almost everything we see or do. A critical part that is absolutely essential. It was when our family was having one of those intense conversations in the comfy living room at Home. all of them were struggling to find a deeper meaning to the intensity of their lives. The seemingly insignificant impact they have on truth and the revealing of truth to the world. “How can what we have done be of any use whatsoever?”

I suddenly remembered a musical incident, decades ago that I treasure but I didn’t really know why. The incident was in a crummy and run down city neighborhood, up on the second floor overlooking the main street. A very famous band was in town and the place where I lived had a living room large enough to encompass half the neighborhoods up and coming musicians and the band. The band arrived as the word was out in the whole country that this apartment was a Mecca for music skill and release among peers of that skill. It was on the west bank of Minneapolis, right across the Mississippi from the U of M.

The band casually set up a few guitars and the local musicians began arriving after their gigs and a few bottles and hippie combustibles were handed around. A circle around the famous ones formed and one of the neighborhood pedal steel players, (Cal Hand) clueless, asked the band leader; “Do you guys sing?” “ Sure” the band leader replied. Why don’t you do one of your songs the steel player said. And, the impromptu orchestra began to play. It was loud with about 15 or so playing and I too was in the circle doing what I play. I was Intimidated by the fast picking and skill of the others for sure. One of those skilled guitar players just stepped in front of me and began furiously playing 5 notes a second in a brilliant bluegrass style. I moved back and put my guitar back in the case and just listened to the crescendo. By the way, that musician is still playing bars and cafes all over the twin cities. Looking for that big break from Vince Gill or Ricky Skaggs. That pedal steel player went on to play for Tom T Hall by the way.

A while later after some imported beer from Wisconsin, the band leader sidled up the me and asked me to go with him and the band back to San Francisco. I knew I wasn’t the caliber of the room full. “ I like what you added” Was the response. Jerry Garcia asking me that question was any of the rooms players fondest hope. Having just come from Berkeley and a narrow escape from death by heroin there, I said “thank you, but I can’t. Jerry had said, “The few notes that you played made the song richer” Stunned again, I thanked him and my friend, a well known area disk jockey, was standing there besides them. Alan Stone from KQRS. The radio station every one listened to. He reminded me of that brief conversation years later when some reel to reel recording was done of my self and my close military vet. The recordings have been lost since, but the stunning invitation has always given me a sense of worth in music. I actually would become famous but then I also would be dead as are the rest of the Grateful dead band. Heroin did them all in. Janis Joplin, Grace Slick, the Plaster Casters and Big Brother and the Holding company, Jimmy Hendricks too. A long list of the bay areas best and famous ones.

I still try to play the fast stuff and gets awestruck by the speed and skill of a music major that I played with, Jeff Warren. I played with a few notes, Soft sometimes. Lingering and bringing forward what I hear to an ensemble. A harmonic that soars briefly at times. very similar to a few words of declaration, a witness to one person by you is just as valued as a stadium filled hearing a healing message. The value is not in the size of contact, It is in the accuracy and the intent of the message. Much like an arrow, shot from a powerful bow with a razor sharp point. The target will be missed because of the lack of a small part. The fletching on the arrow. Even one or three of them. I have experienced listening to those notes and words that float into my mind and stay, for a lifetime.

The Lord of all we see, hear and feel tells us our uniqueness and how we fit into His plan for Him. The point of His plan and of it’s destination is of eternal value as the accuracy and beauty of it.

Value is indeed, in the eye of the beholder. You are precious and well known. Jesus loves you, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe

Escape and Capture II

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

July 27th 2024 revised

ESCAPE AND CAPTURE II

There was nothing to be done about getting discharged after 2 years at sea. A big disappointment for me and my division Chief. He cried when I was led away in cuffs. After all, the next step for me was the same one he took. Brown shoe navy, separate mess decks. Promotion with perks.

My discharge said ‘Undesirable’ Bad paper it is called and loosing that Top Secret clearance came with it. It was years that I lived with the tag of that paper and it certainly lurked in my spirit as true. I felt I was indeed undesirable. I joined a big commune in Minneapolis when I returned from California. The New Riverside Cafe. (motorcycle diaries 5 )

I worked with old and new hippies and I fit right in. The only veteran, and after a time, I told the story to a co-worker and she told it to her father. He was ‘connected’ and he wrote a letter to the Judge Advocate General in D.C. (His last name was Kennedy.) The revised discharge arrived and it now says Honorable. I would never have the small beautiful rural farm, my unbelievable wife and two great sons if I had not been able to get the GI loan to buy the place in NW Wisconsin. Another ‘coincidence’ In my motorcycle diary series.

Years went by and then there was a phone call from Maryland. It was Chuck’s wife telling me that Chuck was in hospice with cancer and would like a visit. Long way, expensive flights and rental car. There wasn’t any money to do so when a good Navy friend showed up at our home with an envelope with 10 hundred dollar bills.. “Go visit him Norm” and the ex Navy chief turned and walked away.

I flew to D.C., and during the approach to landing I saw all the lights up and down the coast and thought, it says in the Bible that God knows every hair on every head, impossible, that’s a lot of hair! Immediately I heard the Lord say immediately, “That’s no problem, it’s a finite number” Oh, I forgot that detail.

Chuck did not want to talk about my refreshing new faith, just watch movies together and talk old times. I talked about Jesus anyway and when the week was up, it was time to go. Chuck could still walk and we went outside when I was leaving. I said: “When it’s my time to ‘cross the bar’ (seaman’s term) I want to see you there” Big splashes of water were on Chucks jacket and it wasn’t raining. I don’t know those things work, but I believe that he will indeed be there to embrace me and I will see that smile on my saviors face I have been longing for. Face to face.

About a month later, I got a call from Chuck and he asked “What are the words?” There are no ‘words’ Chuck, I answered. Let’s just talk to Jesus about it and ask Him to forgive all of the things we did together and apart. The young men talked a long time and then Chuck asked “is that it?” ‘Pretty much’ was my answer and they closed their talk well. (I also forgave Chuck for all that I had been led into as well.) Cathartic for both men. A month later Chuck’s wife called and said that Chuck wanted to be baptized. That was also very good news.

Less than a month later, I was deep into listening to a sermon at a Baptist church nearby. Eyes closed and quiet as a good Deacon should be in the front row. Suddenly, there was Chuck before him, walking away towards the drum set on the platform, pointing over his shoulder saying, “It’s better than you said!”

My eyes flew open and I began weeping and and saying “It’s Chuck…I just saw him..leave.” Julie began asking what was happening and so forth. Upon returning home, the answering machine had a message and it was from Chuck’s wife. She simply said; “Chuck passed away this morning” We called her back and thanked her for the call and then told her about the brief visit Chuck made before leaving at that same time. It seemed to be very reassuring for her for everyone that knows me and my stories. A gift from our Lord.. Why?

Therefore, another experience for me to use when explaining why I feel the presence of Jesus so strongly. It’s called having a convincing witness, It’s a perfect way to relate to others and it takes a bit of trust to accept that story. It’s OK, its real, I was there. I didn’t believe in Pompeii until I had been there. There is so much detail as there is in real stories. Read the Gospel of John that’s a real story too.

There are many such stories akin to this. Perhaps folks attribute these things to ‘good luck’ or ‘good Karma’, ‘The luck of the draw’ or my favorite “’it was an amazing coincidence!”

That’s OK. Seeds are planted and the sower goes on to do it many, many times. all. Stay alert readers, God is presenting Himself to you more than you can perceive. Listen as He is for you and the path can be hard to understand. Most of the time I am still amazed. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Norm In the Big City

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a long drive to the first big city. It was so big, people just refer to it as ‘The City’ If you had been there before, you knew the code word. Massive bridges, incredible hills and subculture ‘to die for’ as the saying goes. Good description. Best food, ethnic food. Best everything. A bridge to another big city that has six lanes in each direction. Fifty cent toll. I loved it there, it was exciting and at the cutting edge of what passed for civilization then.

One time I crossed the bay bridge on a hotted up Triumph and feeling the shocks open up and the front wheel begin to lift. Short handle bars and no oil in the transmission. Rather a short and thrilling ride. Oh well, it was a loaner from a man that was ‘away for a while’.

There was a crowd of Jaguar owners that met at a local coffee shop in Berkeley. Peets coffee. Mr Peet’s first shop on the Northside. That bunch of young men had an older mentor that showed them tuning tricks. He would put a crayon in his pocket and get in the right hand seat and tell the driver to head out to the Bayshore freeway. This man, ( Mister Denny), would tell the driver to stop on the edge of the pavement. He would get out and wait a few minutes while he slid under the rear bumper. Then the crayon would be dragged down the tailpipe a few feet to the end. “Take her out and hit it. Swing around and come back here” When the Jag came back Mr. Denny would slide under the rear again and note where the crayon line had melted. “Cut ‘er right there, that’s your exhaust extraction pulse”. Cool trick.

My new friend, crazy Micheal, played excellent boogie on a piano in his second floor apartment. It was great music for rowdy know it all mechanics. Late one night there was a visit from the local police. “Nice music, shut it down at 10 pm!” We were stupid young vets but we knew a bit about authority. So, the next night Mike stopped playing and picked up a battery powered megaphone (left over from the usual riots) He then opened a window and blasted out..”You will notice I have stopped playing at 10!”

Boy, he rocked it. There are many such stories, a lot of you have them from big cities too. Trolley cars, ethnic food, and artistic enclaves. I had a brief job at an art movie theater as a projectionist. Old style with the carbon arc and two projector switch-overs. The little dancing dot on the upper right of the film indicated the switch to the other projector. The idle projector was then available for extracting any smoke with it’s powerful exhaust fan. I would light up right next to the projector and the smoke wound up in the courtyard of the pretentious grape vine lattice décor below the film booth.

The smell attracted a bit of attention but no one found the source.

One night the movie I was presenting was about a sniper. One of the scenes was the shooting of a movie projectionist in a drive in movie. The cross hairs fixed on the little window Projectionists watch out of was the scene. The killer was waiting for the right time to shoot and the dancing dots were exactly in sync with the movies and my changeover! I started to crouch down and made the changeover just as the movie projectionist was shot. Humorous film editors, what a joke.

There were so many characters in The City that you needed a tour guide or one of ‘Humbeads maps of the world’ made by Earl Crabb that had all the names and places. I looked, but my name never made the press. Too late on the scene (motorcycle diaries at this website)

Isn’t that our way of looking for our photo in the yearbook, on a Facebook page or even in a live production where perchance the camera caught you there?

So in the bay area, everyone’s gear box was in neutral headed down Lombard Street. Risky business’ abounded. Musicians from high profile rock bands began to have a funeral now and then. The music at the funerals was sought after. life was fast and loose and somewhat deadly which was very attractive to Norm and his new friends. Youth no future. The war did that to a lot of us. We learned how to get by and how to expect miracles offering life.

“stumbling around that lonesome town in a fifty three black ford, lookin’ for the kind of woman that a laborer could afford“ Bob Frank It was pretty good. Jack Gator