Eternity

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 Chain saw and the Trout stream

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments

It was an average late spring day and I was up in the birch trees in the middle of my land. The fairly new big Jonsered chain saw was running good. I had recently purchased the saw at a friends hardware store in the 40 acre musician neighborhood down in the cities.

I had washed dishes with him and we listened to incredible folk, jazz and bluegrass music with our hands in the sinks.

So, with the new saw, I was cutting light firewood for the new wood stove to go with the old farmhouse. City boy, railroad gandy dancer swinging that big saw around with muscles from the railroad track gangs.

Spotting the mail get delivered about a quarter mile away, I set the saw down and walked the hypotenuse of the field and got the mail. There was an official death notice of my father in California in the mail. I hadn’t heard from Dad since he and his third wife went to her home town in Tanzania.

Dad had sent me a a postcard when he remarried. That postcard had a picture of his “new family”. Most of them were working for Jacques Custou exploring the ocean or were involved with climbing Everest and getting their PHD’s in research of some kind. I felt a little out of it with Dad’s new family. Railroad Track worker on 30 acres seemed of at the other end of the success spectrum. I had no idea what had happened and did not get an invite to the funeral or the reading of the will for that matter. I went back and picked up the chain saw, walked or staggered back to the house and dialed the old black wall phone in the kitchen, I knew only one number in California, Dad’s,and got my uncle on the line!

The will had already been taken care of and my uncle now lived in Dad’s ritzy home in Rancho Bernardo, near San Diego. “He told me I was to be the executor of his will!”I shouted into the old Bakelite wall phone. I was puzzled until I realized my uncle has the exact same name as I do. “What did he leave me?” Was the somewhat broken question.”Nothing but we will send you some pictures he took and his camera too.”

Staggered by the theft, I could only say one thing, “I want his ashes, I know what he wanted me to do with them” Uncle and Cousin sent the ashes of my father and photos/camera and as a bonus, a metal box with fly fishing hand made flies. It was a small box in the mail box at the end of my driveway. Dad wanted his ashes put into a trout stream. They fished together back in the days before the family imploded when I was in high school

At a folk music gig way up the coast of Lake Superior, I noticed a small stream next to the lodge and in the morning, took Dad’s ashes down to the stream and tossed them in a hand full at a time. There was a surprising swirl of man sized ‘smoke’ over the waters each time! I took the identifying metal dog tag and skipped it out in the lake at the mouth of the river. Just like a flat stone would skip. I got a triple splash before the metal tag plunged into the water. It was a tough goodbye without knowing the story of the death and not even knowing he was ill. The tears fell into the small stream at the loss and shock of a ruined family coming home in yet another surprising way. Coming back to be burned down again.

I went back home after telling that pleasant man that owned the lodge the story. It was a nice place to stay and the owner was an acquaintance of my Berkeley house mate, Charley, who played with me the night before at the lodge. Good music to get lost in. Old country blues with a 12 string and my 6 string D28.

About a week later, got a call on the old black wall phone from the lodge owner. “Hey, just wanted to tell you I caught a really nice Rainbow just up stream from the lodge” The owner knew the story. It felt right, It was a trout stream, a good one and I still remember those man size swirls of ash from the ceremony beside that stream. I tossed the box, but not into the stream. It was a perfectly done task for my Father.

So, there was no inheritance from Dad’s money but my cousin did get to send his kids to college with the estate. I asked him when my boys were grown, decades later, if now he could help sponsor their expenses for college. “Nah, I’ll pass” was his response. My other cousin refers to him as ‘Rotten Rodney” Seems to fit.

The memory of that funeral by the river still lingers long afterwards.. It was the perfect and right thing to do. The stream’s name is the Cross River, way up shore of Superior, and later in my life, Jesus became the center of my life. I found the eternal truth about the Cross and the money I lost means nothing now. The honor that the Lord set forth for me is on that steam is the real treasure.

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson

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Dreams and Visions

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There is a saying that in these times your young men will have dreams and your old men will have visions. What are these things really? Why do I remember some dreams vividly and others barely at all, or even if a dream came to mind upon yawning awakening? Some dreams we have never forgotten as well as some ‘visions’. First things. Looking up the definition between the two reveals this: Dreams actually occur 3 to 6 times a night and last from 5 to 20 minutes. Visions usually are contained within a dream and can be somewhat translated by ‘The Word’ Scripture, the Bible.

After all, there is a great mystery about these things and many highly educated people have completely declared great and lofty dissertations upon these things. Rem sleep (rapid eye movement) Psychological triggers for actions or action to be taken stuff. The experts will fill us in on something they have dabbled in and graphed oscilloscope tracks, written long and indecipherable dissertations read by other long winded professors that pontificate lengthily on their dreams and their contents. Education is often a great thing, no question there. Often the high brow attitude can be a trap for us when we are ‘rightly lauded’ for some theory that sounds good.

I have had visions and dreams as most of us have. I remember some of them still after decades of ruminating on his strange and yet, rewarding life. Thankfully, my dreams are made clearer when I write them down. Writing is a version of the two-edged sword. It gives others a story that they have not heard before and it gives the writer an outlet and sounding board for that writing. I welcome critique or praise of my writing. It means someone actually read what I wrote besides the editor and proof reader! It’s quite easily done, at the bottom of every column there is a choice to ‘like’ or comment. I assure you, every of these options, I see and reply to.

What makes a reader of books do so with alacrity? Re-reading old favorites is an indicator of a reader, even beloved children’s tales of Mr Toad and Badger. One of my dreams is my favorite: I was running towards a tall man with one eye. I had a stone in my hand and I was going to stone the man as he was ‘unclean’ Obviously a dream set a some time ago when that was popular behavior. (people still stone, but with letters to the editor and on Facebook with words.) Sticks and stones rhyme has a somewhat unpleasant origin per-Se.

So, I ran to the one eyed man that kept smiling at me and there was no fear on the man’s face. As I drew near the man said; “Look behind you” There were scores of men, running down a hill coming near, also with stones in their hands. When they were on the other side of a fence quite near, the one eyed man declared: “In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is King.” Astonished and deeply convicted, they, along with me, dropped our stones. End of dream. You can sort that one out, I have an interpretation. Dreams are more direct and can be within a dream or heard or seen while awake. I have had several of those kind as well. They have saved my life. They have led me to impossible, simple tasks that have affected strangers. One was punctual and healed a hip problem while I was sitting in a large room delightfully listening to a team of musicians and singers praying to the Risen Lord.

Jesus appeared as we were swimming (one of my favorite physical things of course) The Lord and I were both doing the side stroke facing each other and Jesus said “Do you want to go down? You can breathe down there!” I asked him, “how deep is it?” Jesus answered, ”How deep do you want to go?” The vision abruptly ended and I was healed. How deep do you want to go? I got out of my chair in that room and began to dance around. 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

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Falling in Love

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

This column appeared in the Paper around March of 2020. I snipped out the column and did not snip out the date. Often, I will look at a column with a fresh revelation about it’s subject and do a little bit of rewriting. Just a little. This one reflects a thought I had on December 7th as I was playing my viola with my family worship team in a city named after an Indian Chief, an hour south of the our ranch. Osceola. It seemed appropriate to share, after all the first motorcycle I owned was an Indian Chief. It’s pretty good.

FALLING IN LOVE Rewritten on December 8th, 2020, Edited on October 14th 2025

There is an emptiness in everyone that longs to be filled. That longing is in all of us, all. You can choose to ignore it at a fairly young age or put it aside for a season of decades. But, it’s still there and must be satisfied. It isn’t wishful thinking or a romance of sorts. It’s closest description is holding your breath for as long as you live. That emptiness is just as painful and destructive as not breathing. It’s akin to a hole inside of you that never is filled by you.

When in the womb, we have the answer for that longing. The connection with that emptiness is fulfilled by the presence of the lover surrounding you. That is, until you leave that warm swimming pool inside. An immediate cry comes forth. You cried, we all do as soon as we take that first breath. Disconnect, absence of the surrounding oneness, the lover of your soul and the supplier of all you need. Food, air and communication. It was offered with tenderness and awe of your life.

That longing now again needs to be filled. The food and comfort are given now in our vulnerable existence and that works. It’s not as intimate as it was, but now we can cry out if we are lonely or hungry or hurt. The child knows much more than we realize and there is one time in history that two unborn children knew they were near one another and moved as best they could in the womb towards each other. I’ll tell you in a bit if you don’t know who they were.

So a child grows into adulthood, and finds the world their mollusk that is never quite good enough to fill that eternal longing for that security and romance. The one we all long for. There is only one thing that can satisfy. Not money or power. Not sex or children. None of those things can. There is love from people or pets that seems to satisfy but they have an unpleasant habit at times of dying or betraying us. Realizing that the emptiness wasn’t really filled after all, the search begins anew. Spoiler alert: There is one thing that fills without a doubt and it lasts forever. It is the Lord Himself! Yes, I know. Another preacher. But this preacher knows the truth from experience.

We were created for this romance from the beginning of time. “In the beginning..” That’s when time started and throughout mankind’s existence the longing for the Lord has never ceased. When Mary and Elizabeth (her cousin) met in their pregnancy, Jesus in Mary and John in Elizabeth leaped for joy within the womb. John knew it was his Lord and Jesus knew it was His beloved.

As is our basic training for eternity here, we sort of know what love is and you don’t read a book about your future spouse to know them. You talk to them, look upon them and know them throughout the hunger for that longing. It’s almost enough but the real romance requires reading the love letters and talking a lot with the lover of your innermost being. We were created in His image. What does that mean? Making a decision to love someone is the image. We must choose to love anyone, and He chose to love us. We are identical in that way. We must choose. No one, not even God can make us love. He will not cross the threshold of our heart unless we ask Him. Ask Him about everything. He will fill that longing and love you as you decide to love Him. He always loves us, we must choose to love him. Let the romance begin. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson /aka Jack Gator