Healing

Desperate

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A request was before me . “Come with me and help pray for those that need it”. Not the usual request to ‘pray’ for someone with a few other people. Unusual request and never before heard by me. I said ‘sure’, I like to pray.

I was with a new friend, Bryan, A man that I soon instinctively referred to as my brother. There was a stranger near us a few weeks ago, at the next table at a coffee house, an older woman, asked who the two us who we were. Bryan and I had been reminiscing about an astounding local man and that woman was this man’s mother! I told her we were brothers and gave our names, It was my response to a simple request by a stranger that in some way felt right to Norm and Bryan. They now refer to each other as brothers, indeed. The woman was now smiling and it was because her son that we were speaking of had died recently. He indeed was a bright light to us and the community. He walked with the Lord.

A man of faith was my new ‘brother’ and as it turned out, a volunteer at a church gathering around 50 miles away. A rather large church that broadcasts their services worldwide for the spiritualy hungry. My wife and I, Julie, and a double handful of neighbors had been watching these services and were intrigued by them. The live services from the broadcast felt right and good.

A month later Bryan drove me 50 miles to that church to help in praying for a few people that desired it. I had no preconceptions about the building (campus) and when we got there, the large two story building had a parking lot filled with many vehicles, akin to the MSP airport. No cab stands but a big entrance and people holding the doors open at it. There were at least thousand cars parked. The church building was immense and yet warm and friendly. (The address caught my eye. 777, the first numbers on my old Gibson Mandolin). We went up to the second floor and Iwas given a lanyard that had ‘Prayer’ on it.

There was breakfast laid out and coffee. Everyone in the room was a volunteer. It was the first service and it was on monitors and speakers throughout the building. Bryan bought me an Americano and we went up to that volunteer room for the breakfast offered. The prayer team welcomed us and soon, it was time to go down into the sanctuary to pray for people that desired it.

The first thing I felt was the hunger in the room. It was strong and undeniable. I immediatly asked the Lord ‘was it my hunger or was it theirs?’ . “Yes” was His answer. there were about sx people arrayed as I was with “Prayer” on lanyards. The service ended and the main speaker said anyone desiring prayer to come down to the front of the platform. Astonished, I saw the people line up in the aisles. Perhaps a hundred or more, waiting for me and the team. I had no idea of what to do next, but I had been given a small bottle of anointing oil and did not know what to do with that either. “Anoint them on their forehead if they wish to have you do so.” A quote from St. Augustine: “For it is one thing to see the land of peace from a wooded ridge..and another to tread the road that leads to it”A.

Standing in front of the huge bass bin speakers, I looked at a man looking for direction and I smiled and nodded my head. The man, also smiling, stood in front of me and immediately I asked him if he would like to be anointed. “Yes” was his answer, on the forehead was his preference. I daubed a bit of oil on my forefinger and put in on the man’s forehead as a cross, then told him that this was a baptism of healing and asked the man what he would like prayer for

He sais his wife thought she was ugly and she did not believe her beauty assurance words from him. His need was personal and spoken from his heart I told him of his obvious love for the Lord and and his wife would see her beauty in his eyes later that day. We both cried a bit and the man hugged me after asking if it was OK to do so. It was indeed welcomed. After the second service it was more healing requests from dozens or more people, eager to meet a prayer warriors words of healing and comfort. The prayers I gave to them were given by our Lord to me who sees all our hunger for His heart.

The other people that came to my eye connections received what I listened for from Jesus that whispers truth to us. Many tears and quite a few strong embraces came with that given truth. I felt very well used and and astounded. Never had this happened to me so many times, with so many people eager with desperate needs. The honor of conveying the blessings of the Spirit stays steady. There will be more blessings to convey. Not only in my writing but also in person. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator, scribe

A. St, Augustine Confessions, VII, xxi

Prairie Life Near the Twin Cities

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was subtle and it was a destroyer of families. Work for the men in tall buildings, not within walking distance.

The new city age of commuting, milk men down the alleys and trolley cars. The fifties, when I was single digits old. It was subtle and the beginning of an ending. The most important thing of all disappeared. Intimacy.

The way things used to be, such a common phrase indicating nostalgia for the ‘good old days’. It is much more than that. my father worked as a fireman and Mom eventually worked downtown as a secretary for the public schools. Gone was grandpa’s little farm and both families living close by to one another. A neighbor near the farm complained that Dad was supposed to live in the city to be a fireman. The move to the city was inevitable and plans were made to buy a nice house in the north side of Minneapolis. The country life was comfortable for me. The creek down the hill offered fishing and adventure. Life was the smell of good earth.

“Hey kids, tomorrow we get out the rock boat and get the rocks out of the main field.” Groans from both me and my sister but with memories of Grandma’s supper with the fresh doughnut holes with chicken dumplings and real mashed potatoes. The ‘boat’ moved slowly and Freddie, my friend nearby, joined the ‘party.’ There was always a bit of humor that came forth too. “Hey, that rock looks just like Mr. Mosher!” Grandpa laughing from the old International also saying that’s not the way to speak of him! Guilty as charged, but still snickering when we looked at each other. Working the land together as Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote about in her newspaper columns.

Not long after those halcyon days of laughter and sharing in the good times and difficult or even sad times, it ended. Gone,the best days of my life. The fire department was a good job for Dad. Secure income.

They moved into the city as Dad continued working for the fire department, and to afford the nice city house, Mom had to work and leave us alone at the new home. A lot. The one room school house a mile away was not the way things were done in the city. There weren’t any potato fields or big vegetable gardens either. The biggest loss was the absence of parents when they were needed. Not being available at home when bad things happened. I was lost in the waves of change. Waking up at Bunyan’s Vanity Fair. The cute girl next door was a forbidden friend for Jack. She went to the ‘wrong’ church.

Make your own lunch and wait after school for Mom or Dad. Alone in the house. No more family games and no neighbors or relatives coming by. The big church downtown and bullies at the neighborhood school were incomprehensible. No one seemed to care about children at home or at the next door neighbors. Gone were the sights of a broken piece of equipment on a neighbors field. “I going to go over to Rick’s place and see what we can do” sorts of things. Day cares started up and everything had a price. From workers of the soil to wage earners surviving in toil. Children did not understand this. In a child’s eye it was abandonment and loss.

And so it goes as progress turns into regress for the new price of hearth and home. Our home now had a fireplace in the living room but it was never lit. The big coal furnace in the basement provided the heat but the hearth never provided a family room’s comfort. Now the gathering of family was the flicker of the black and white television set and intimacy was knowing the names of the characters on the screen. Big life became substitute life and families losses were significant. Children became actors in the play of city life. Do well at school and play with the strangers and you make friends if you don’t cry. First grade in the big city.

Gone the instantaneous comfort of a mother’s loving touch, the guiding hand of a Grandfather as the soil turned rich under the plow and disk. Love for neighbors seen and demonstrating love for everyone. Gone was “It’s been a good day, let’s read that book! Who knows where we left off?” Instead, lonely days. Akin to a room of the house suddenly disappearing. But dad and Grandpa were good carpenters and rebuilt some of the loss.

But Dad and Grandpa were not seen during the day and Grandpa and Grandma still lived in Golden Valley. I withdrew into myself and began to embrace short wave radio after a few years in grade school. I got my ham radio license just before going into 7th grade. I then had communications with total strangers around the country that were as lonely as I was. But dad and Grandpa were good carpenters and rebuilt some of the loss with me observing the new wood shop in our basement and Grandpa teaching dad and later, dad teaching me. I still have some of the old tools and a wood tool carrier from them. Now my youngest son has some of those tools on a special shelf in his wood shop here on the farm.

There is another carpenter that will restore all our loss’. He is the best restoration worker in the world. Jesus, He will make all things new. A perfect man with wood in the shop and wood on the cross. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe

Rainbow Over the Garden

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There it is. A rainbow, in it’s original glory. Rain reflecting the colors of the spectrum. A symbol that the Lord said He would give us as a sign that He would never flood us again.

Quite a few people have taken the symbol and the miracle of refracted light and have used it to illuminate fractured light of their own designated symbols and message.

There are many people that also have taken the beauty of the rainbow and used it as a symbol of a product. Quite harmless but still, diminishing the astonishment a child sees. Do you remember the first time? I remember the first time my son saw it. He was fascinated with the arc and even went to England to meet Ken Ham that came up with building a 1:1 copy of Noah’s commanded Arc. Rainbows of covenant between us and the Lord.

Another outfit decided that the rainbow would instead be a symbol of freedom for them. The concept does not make sense in some ways. Freedom? from what? The rainbow’s only freedom is freedom from an earth flood.

The Governor of our state thinks it is appropriate to fly a rainbow flag for a month celebrating endorsing the hijacking of the beautiful rainbow image. For freedom to embrace perversion. How enlightened. It will please 5% of the population that are on board with birth control by having pregnant men.”How many fingers Winston?” (Brave New World)

Remember Judy Garlands song, ‘somewhere, over the rainbow’ ? That symbolized the promise. We of the last century (don’t ask) would never believed that someday our public schools would be teaching the ‘new’ symbol and language. No more does the rainbow offer a promise of protection and commitment. It now offers the symbol of flesh used for pleasure and a prime focus of our awokened sensibilities. Awoken to the real freedom of endorsement of a child being able to be whatever sex they want to be. When our new Supreme Court Justice cannot define what the word ‘woman’ really means, then we are on the way to Ephesus or Pompeii redux.

Maybe the words ‘on the way’ are inappropriate. That train is here, at the station, engine idling. It has already arrived . How about sliding open that boxcar with the really neat rainbow painted on it? Oh look, it’s already open but there’s nothing inside but an unpleasant odor. What’s in the rest of them? Famous authors and ‘experts’ for Newspeak magazine perhaps. Professors and liberal teachers to indoctrinate the children.

That open boxcar in particular had a whole wardrobe for the King! Splendid it is said. A veritable rainbow of color and coordinated accessories. The parade has already started and has startled one young boy…”the King doesn’t have any clothes on!” He is walking around, prideful in his power. Naked and seen as a fool. You and I know the difference between men and Women. Counterfeit money is in the till. Try and spend it. Jack Gator Scribe

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

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

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

Painful Changes

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

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

Telestati

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The downtown Minneapolis square block window show is coming back. It was at Dayton’s store and will be again. Myself and my family would walk around the huge building, viewing every window’s offering to the story of the world’s Christmas. Fashion, appliances, gifts of all sorts. The window that I really looked ahead to was the one with the electric trains. A young boys fancy and dream. Who predicted that when I was barely a reasonable man, I would be building those train tracks for the Burlington Railroad. Not as much fun as the models. Good pay and more fruitful that going to the gym to work out.

Decades later, I found the real Christmas story. Not the story of the manger and the shepherds and the three wealthy astrologers from the East. The most amazing story. The little boy Jesus, asleep on the hay, coming to make a trade for all of us with his Father, by dying one day. There really should be a Roman cross over the manger scene.

Does this offend some of you? I know I was shocked when I heard the Greek word Tetelestai and found it’s meaning in the Bible. The word means completed, finished, paid and done. A debt satisfied completely.

This is why Jesus was born, this was the mission he accomplished. He was to pay off a debt owed to his Father. A debt so monumental that it is still impossible to comprehend the size of it. Everyone’s debt except His own and he had no debt of sin. I’ve never seen a son like this before.

Jesus did not come to us to teach us social justice. He did not preach salvaging the poor. He did use the phrase “Poor in Spirit” but this has nothing to do with wealth. It means those of us that know we are lacking in connection with His Father and need to know Him and pray for an awakening in our heart and Spirit. He did not come to us to teach about feeding lots of people or being really nice. It was foretold by many of the prophets in the Bible as to what he came for. Freedom and Joy and Everlasting life. The three basic food groups of love.

Jesus came to give Himself to be the perfect, unblemished sacrifice for a sinful world. Us. That is why he was born. Not to preach love and peace and care for the poor parse. God told Mary and Joseph that Mary will give birth to a son, and you will give him the name Jesus, because He will save His people from their sin.

John the Baptist points to Jesus and declares: “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” John, who was Jesus’ cousin knew about this. After all, the two of them met before either of them were born. Nice story, it’s good reading and, of course, astonishing and beautiful.

For centuries the Jewish religion demanded sacrifices of animals and food to atone for their sin. It made everyone feel a lot better as we go on sinning in spite of our tremendous offerings. God, giving Himself to death for the ones he created is the only cure.

I know about about sin, I should, I consider myself the be the chief of sinners at times. that’s a phrase I borrow from Peter the Apostle. Since my last name is Peters son I inherited that penchant for sin. That was 42 generations ago. Yet, The key is not bragging about how bad you were and are, It’s the thing that is true for every one who has, is, or will be living. All of us no matter how nice you believe you are.

You know it, even though we all think we will ‘make the cut’ because we’re not so very bad and we even go to church and give to the poor!’ An illusion we all embrace at some time or another. That’s in scripture too by the way. Talk to Jesus and listen to what He says. There is the moment that gives us incredible joy when we are delivered from a sinful behavior. It makes life real and purposeful for us and our loved ones. Still, we sin, and have sinned. The debt we owe to the judge of all things can’t be paid by us. We are to be holy and we are not. Now we are on that Highway of Holiness and shall not go astray.

That debt is the reason Jesus was born. He taught and loved and healed and showed us His perfect life. The only perfect sacrifice for us. A spotless Lamb which was a usual Temple sacrifice. But now, a lamb of God. Given to death for all , once and forever. Tetelesti. There is so much more, there isn’t room in this short column. It is indeed the Good News that we are ransomed from the righteous wrath of His Father. We deserve death, “He made me alive, when I was dead and He raised me up and seated me with Christ. It’s by his Grace, that I am saved and it’s though faith, the very gift of God”

Oh yes, Jesus is alive. I’ve never met a man that’s more alive. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.

With many thanks to Gregory Koukl

A life Hidden and Seen

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was several years ago when my whole family went to Washington D.C. we even took a friend with us. It was her first flight and she did the usual casual cool luggage rack and seat location. I had a little disagreement at the boarding ramp. The attendant told me my airline case for my viola was baggage and had to go into the hold. A stewardess for the flight was nearby. I explained to the attendant that the viola was made in France in the late 1700’s and it was not going into the hold. It was a bit of a standoff and the nearby stewardess told me to board the plane and she found a nice place for the case where the crew puts their stuff. I was thankful and very effusive with my praise of that crew member.

When the Delta flight began it’s roll out, the friend that was with us was a little nervous at the turbine noise and the acceleration. Like every first time flier, when the gear came up with it’s thumping and noise, she reached over and grasped my hand tightly. Every new flier does it. Grab the arm of the seat, anything. When we arrived at the airport in Maryland, we rented a van and the best driver of the family took the wheel. If you hesitate for more than ¼ of a second off the white line when the light turns green, you get the horn in back. Every time. Soren, our son, drove well and knows where the horn is on every make and model.

we found our rental apartment in an average city block which all their acquaintances who had been in D.C. Said was a neighborhood to avoid. Their host was very gracious, the stainless steel appliances were first rate and the first time we went to the national mall, a neighbor knew somehow where they were going and told them where to get off to catch the subway/metro. Nice neighbors in spite of the need for bulletproof glass at the local cafe. We had two tables and we sat at one. There were five of us. One of the cooks came out with an extra chair for Jack. Very aware folks in that neighborhood. It was pleasant. Our apartment was downstairs with a separate entrance. We leaned on the short chain link fence and chatted with the sidewalk passers by. One gal from next door kept trying to bum a cigarette. It was tempting to buy a pack across the street at the check cashing store, but our new friend on the bus said we would be out of cigarettes soon. None of us smoke.

That lady was focused. Becoming city mice, our family took an Uber back to the Airbnb. Cheaper than the Metro and without the burned oil smells of the fast train. The acceleration of the Metro was nice for me and Soren. Old drag racer and his son that drives a modified turbo Saab. Strap hangers swaying with the close walls flashing by, we enjoyed it.

All of us were there to protest abortion in a very unusual way. Each state had a tent on the national mall and there was 24 hour worship and prayer for our country and the unborn children. It was hot, it was crowded and it was wonderful. I saw the original stars and stripes at the Smithsonian and there was the actual Apollo 1 capsule among Saturn booster engines and the like. The original Spirit of St Louis was there too. It has hanging from the ceiling.

The whole mall was filled with tents, each one with a sign that said the state the worship team was from. Julie went up to the Washington monument and there was a Tepee there. She went inside and saw the drum circle. An older man looked up at her and firmly said, “You are First Nation” How do you know that? was Julie’s immediate question. “It’s in your eyes” was the immediate response. True. Her great Grandmothers name was White Feather.

After a while at home, We went to visit Grandma and Grandpa about 5 hours drive to the southeast. After a scrumptious meal, I went into the living room and relaxed to the point of a bit of sleeping. A dream/vision swept over me. A young, pretty girl with dark hair ran up to me and grasped me in a strong hug with her head on my shoulder. She was about the same height as Julie. It was a very Vivid vision, The young girl was wearing a thick wool coat, it was tan and her hair was dark. I did not know what to say or think. Visions from the Lord are sometimes like that. I heard His voice: “This is your child Greta who was miscarried. She just wanted to touch you and tell you it was OK. She is with Me now”

Startled awake, I went back into the kitchen and sat down at my place at the table and told the dream. I saw a glint of a tear in Grandpa’s eye. It was tender and reassuring really, this father of Julie did not show emotion, ever. All conversation was covered with a salesman’s chuckle and laughter, as though life was some sort of running comedy. Not this time. Serious stuff, he knew this.

I love to tell this story as it means a lot to me and Julie and it plants the flag of stopping abortion clinics firmly and unmovable in our hearts. People I tell it too are moved and I like to tell them how precious is our Creator and the life He gives. There is life after death, we are ‘overbuilt’ for life as it seems. There must be more than this short life, it’s hard wired into us to wonder about, dream about and even write about. Why do some folks rail against these things? Grace is given and Faith is the gift of God.

I love to quote writing and songs in my columns. I like this one. “There’s something going on and you don’t know what it is. Do you, Mr. Jones” 1. Indeed. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator scribe

1. Bob Dylan

A Perfect Triple

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A great quote from Francis Schaeffer: “ Everyone matters or no one matters” I was at the big box, getting the usual things. One thing from the far Southwest end and another two from the far Northeast end. Special stuff with all the right names and contents. It went very well, a perfect match to the pictures on my cell phone.

The store was packed with bad drivers of a certain genre. Fast moving carts darting around with determined pilots at the helm handles. Dodging and weaving. A familiar looking woman called out my name and since the seizures, her name was unavailable to my memory. She filled me in when gently told why I didn’t recall and the memories came flooding back. This has happened many times. There is a pathway that was closed to this type of recall but a detour can be available. Patience. They chatted for some time, it was very good. I and the older friend began chatting and exchanging catch-up stories near the avocados and plums. No matter which way they parked, it seemed they were in the way but it was OK. People seemed always in a very big hurry somehow. A delightful conversation and it was time to check out in the under 20 items line.

Hustling the cart out to the car, I thought he recognized another old friend chatting with an older woman with swell round glasses and a classy blouse. I put the groceries in the trunk, carefully putting a wool blanket around the refrigerated items and then, patting his pockets, he realized he did not have his phone.

I hurried back in and went to the customer service desk. There was a woman with her boys ahead of him putting change into a large bowl to be counted. Rolls of coins. Many rolls of coins. I just waited until another friend behind the counter called him over. I was just blurting out “Has anyone found a cell phone?” Within a second, not longer, a woman walked up to the counter and declared she had found a phone in the meat section.

It was mine. I thanked her profusely and prayed for her and her boys. I Told her to keep listening to the small voice that directs us to serve one another. I was overjoyed at the timing.

Leaving the store for the second time, phone in hand, I went to the woman he recognized in the parking lot. She had the hatch open on her van and they smiled and said each other’s first name as a greeting. Another conversation that was a real catch up type and she began on the subject of pulling the bad things we harbor in our spirit by the root. I told her: “be right back!”. The newspaper he bought he grabbed and brought it back to her, pointing out my last column.

The exact phrasing, “pulling bad things we harbor out by the “root” It seemed appropriate. She was so pleased at reconnecting after ten years had gone by since they had been in a church fellowship together. I was pleased at the timing again. She prayed for me and for those weeds in my spirit to be pulled out for good. The weeds seemed to be a lack of trust in the Lord and, of course, trust in anyone else.

Some folks refer to that type of thing as faith. One of my mentors said he threw out the faith word in conversations and replaced it with trust. If it works for you, great. Otherwise bypass that direction. Trust me, it’s OK.

Driving home, somehow fulfilled to the brim, I realized that my best friend Jesus, had hit a perfect infield triple. Three people blessed me, three people interacted with perfect timing to get on base. Not really a game, of course. This was the first thing I imaged when I reflected on what had just happened. Doesn’t happen very often in baseball either. Timing is the key. The lord who created time (first three words of scripture: “In the Beginning”) It was incredible.

I have been digging at the root of not trusting for a long time. Too many disappointments in life. Too much trauma. Too many bad things let into my spirit that generated a lack of trust. Again, in the words of Mr. Beaver in ‘The lion, the witch and the wardrobe’ “Is he safe?” asked Peter in the story. “Of course He’s not safe. He’s a lion! But He’s good!” a The Lion of Judah. It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator

a. C.S. Lewis

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

Thanksgiving

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments

A gift given to us, a surprise gift, is usually a surprise that awakens a feeling of thankfulness. We don’t call the store where it was bought to thank them for the gift, we thank the giver who thought enough of us to give.

A quote from a very well known evangelist is apropos as this time in this brief column. It is a quote from a well known evangelist from the 19th century. Her name was Hannah Smith.

Hannah Smith was known as the “angel of the churches” both for her eloquence and for her appearance in her evangelistic addresses to huge gatherings throughout Britain. In 1875 she published The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life, a guide to sanctification and total surrender to divine will that was translated into several languages and sold some two million copies around the world.      

A quote from Hannah’s book:

“Thanksgiving or complaining – these words express two contrasting attitudes of the souls of God’s children about His dealings with them; and they are more powerful than we are inclined to believe in furthering or frustrating His purposes of comfort and peace toward us. The soul that gives thanks can find comfort in everything; the soul that complains can find comfort in nothing.”                 

  Gator certainly has been a whiner and complainer for a great amount of his life. His excuses were many, most of them based on his choices that he thought were someone else’s to blame. Then Gator wondered why he had so few friends and felt ‘off ‘ most of the time. The good things were just referred to as ‘good luck’. The coal in his stocking was someone’s mistake or merely ‘bad luck’ Gator was/is pretty dense and finally the repeated rescue of his life by the ‘good luck’ became clear there was someone looking out for him that was mysterious and unexplained. It took years for Gator to discover who that was. It was akin to finding he had suddenly died and the doctor that saved his life was standing at his bedside. Smiling and pleased the foolish Gator finally had opened up and realized what was reality.

Car accidents, angry people with guns and missiles, heroin addiction and many others. These are the ones Gator knows about. Thankfulness was bubbling up from a long forgotten and ignored artesian well within. The creator of everything that is and was and will be was that smiling doctor. The healer of Gator’s stone cold heart (which still continues as there is a vein of very hard rock deep down) The doctor, the first and last, Wellspring of our souls, Beautiful one. Many names is He known by and the names continue to be put forth in Gator’s speech and song. You know who it is.

There has never been a man more alive than Jesus and He deserves thanksgiving from us. It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator