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Name of Middle Names

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A repeat of a dream for several nights. Different places, different people, same impressive sign of the times. Suddenly an impossible thing happened throughout the world. Every man, woman and child had their middle names changed.

On birth certificates, passports, licenses of all sorts. Every thing that is our ID was changed overnight and all the middle names were the same! All men, women and children. Impossible. What government Be responsible for this? My middle name changed in everything in my wallet, safety deposit box, bank and card account! You too? does this mean to us as an impossible event and what are we to do now? All humankind were now ‘relatives’ as we usually are given a middle name for someone in our family line. Thousands of years ago this became ‘set in familial stone’ One time a man deaf named his son by the simple name of ‘John’ while his family was aghast over tradition violated.

The dream I had twice in a row was similar in chaos. As in most dreams, the moving about in unfamiliar houses and cities was a given and easily forgotten in the fog of early rising. Not the middle name though. It stuck in my memory till this was written. Must be written was the inevitable.

I liked my new middle name because it was familiar and powerful. I never grasp the equality of the name. It’s not done. The respect for the original owner of that name was embarrassing if wasn’t for the fact that everyone had it too. The dream meant a new thing was happening.

The dream name is found in several songs that I sang and played. My family knows the name and who it belongs to. Of course, the new middle names are the first name of the real owner who actually was the first person to have it. It is the name above all names and is the first and last of a name for our creator, lover and written on the galaxies and all stars visible and imagined.

The name in the dream was Yahweh. Pretentious to an embarrassing degree, but there it was in my dream. What did it mean? What does it mean? It means family and a precious thought of unity and beauty imagined, only in my dreams to show me something. A time when all mankind will be united to the same family with another new name written on stone, a white stone for all eternity.

Yahweh, the beautiful, wonderful, lover of our souls, gave the dream to me not to call us all gods or think we were. It was the dream of a sign and wonder that God Himself was approaching. The time when old men will have visions. Young men will have dreams. I just got the dream as a gift. It’s pretty good. Norman Eric Peterson / Jack Gator

Atomic Child

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was 80 years ago when the City of Hiroshima was destroyed. It was exactly my first birthday. August 6th 1945. I just saw a friend holding his one year old child Sunday and him toddling off after he reached for my hand. D day was exactly two months before I was born, June 6th 1944. Those things got me to thinking about my life and betrayal by the world. It led to war and destruction and the loss of millions of lives. Lust and greed fueling it.

As many of us, I was betrayed. My best friend in the Navy did so. My first love and fiance left me secretly. The girl I was in love with when I lived on the West Bank had a sexual liaison while we were staying with my father in California. Dad was betrayed by my mother. When my girl visited an ‘old friend’ while we were at my Dad’s, she slept with that friend. My dad’s response when she returned late that night was: “they all do that” It got to be normal life for me.

I grew wary and found it impossible to get involved with anyone, especially women. I never knew why really, as many of us do, we just think these sorts of things are normal life. There are details of my life about these things that I do not reveal, they are too personal and harsh. Even for this writing to the public and my family. Just like the world’s history. I will some day.

Then today, while I was reading about WWII and all of these thoughts were prancing about in my mind, The sun came through the building storm clouds. It shone right on my face as I sat in the living room with a history book in my lap. I heard: “ I was betrayed by my friend too, and I know exactly what you have been through” Comforted and even cradled I was overwhelmed. “I will never betray nor forsake you” Words from the creator of everything.

The last time I was betrayed was the newspaper Editor that printed these sorts of things I write. Too much Jesus and we will have to let you go he said. I am comforted and affirmed now when I remember my response: “Will you then allow me a final column to tell my readers I can’t write a column every week, that it’s a burden”? It was printed and I did not betray him and the owner of the paper. It was a lie of course, but it seemed like the decent thing to do. After all, they would not print the truth of the matter.

The friend that sold me out for his addiction in the navy converted to faith in our savior Jesus shortly after I visited him on his dead bed in Maryland. I was permitted to see him pass into Eternity on the exact time he died thousands of miles away. He told me as he disappeared , “It’s better than you said!” It was a turning point in my life to say the least of it. His wife was comforted as I spoke with her later that day.

There is no room to prevaricate about the state of the world now, it is filled with anger and betrayal and is not surprising to me. The words I heard when that glow of the Son warmed my face this morning are timeless and eternal truth. I am loved and held forever. Norm Peterson “the Gator”

Discovering Friends

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It would seem like a natural event. Developing a friendship with someone that attracts your attention. Usual things. “It is not a reward for our discriminating and good taste” A. As usual, these things occur as a chosen event.

Examining friends of my past, I wonder about these things. What was it about Bruce for example that brought us together? Being the only veterans at an after hours beer joint?

It seemed so at the beginning when I offered him a shabby room to ‘crash’ where I lived in the other shabby room. A run down neighborhood on the wrong side of the tracks. A dump really. Bruce drove a really nice Austin Healy and I had my grandfathers old Buick. Ah yes, it was that both of us played guitar! You would think so, I did.

We both had things to teach one another and that was not obvious to either of us. It seems to me he had more to teach me but that isn’t the point at all. Neither of us had a clue about what to do with our lives and how to do it. Wine, women and song had been tried and found wanting.

Laughing a lot with the ‘Park Lanes” he smuggled in from Viet Nam in his stereo. We played music and found jobs with a third rate mobster that knew we had nothing to loose and had made our bones in the military. He spent six months at China Beach recovering from a near miss and I spent six months at hard labor paying for another near miss in Spain. Blown out of the military and we were brothers almost instantly. “you too! I thought I was the only one” B.

We traded the two cars for motorcycles and headed out on the highway, lookin’ for adventure. The song by Steppenwolf fit perfectly. We indeed, were born to be wild. We listened to that record along with Cream and other early metal music. Those songs were the ones that Bruce played while he drove through the ‘viles’ in Vietnam. Top volume on a loudspeaker on the roof of his 6×6. He would stop and show movies as part of the Psyops program while I was across the world in a top secret room getting messages from the CNO about our little war.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Big guns and missiles, or automatic weapons and people that were the unfriendly kind. Take your pick, no choice really.

My columns ‘motorcycle pilgrimage’ have the details but what is more amazing is the arranged coincidences that enabled Bruce and I to meet and listen to one another.

We had adventure, whatever came and that was at the same time that Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper acted in Easy Rider. 1968. Bikes with kick starters and sleeping bags. Our guitars strapped on ‘sissy bars’. Not custom choppers like the movie, just an old Enfield and a BMW.

Death threats, lost highways off of route 66, Angels appearing and a Senator in the desert. Adventure we went on willingly, not the adventures we had in the military. We were in control and that is another great illusion of life.As music itself touches us in the deep parts, timeless music that goes beyond the spoken word or even the words of a song, the arrangement of the eternal music draws us closer to life.

All of our lives are parts in the everlasting orchestra and the conductor has set us for His pleasure in the first chair. Chosen by Him.

Bruce was and is my closest friend. And still is as time streams by so fast. He died years ago and I did not even know he was ill. That happens a lot to me. There is so much I do not know about these things. Why am I the survivor? It would seem many wondrous things have since come about, and I write about the blessings and struggles of life that we all know.

The conductor and author of the grand symphony has the score and we watch and pray as he once again, raises His baton and puts life before us. We indeed, are His instruments of the beauty we get a view of now and then. The love and hatred, losses and treasures. Pain and health all allowed and known on that narrow, beautiful road we all walk. It’s pretty good. Norm

A.& B. C.S. Lewis The problem of Pain

Bruce and his wife Cindy with me at their home in Minneapolis

Dream Connection

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

How do you teach a method of connection? What do we connect with? Or who do we connect with? The biggest question for me what is connection? The topic just ‘happened’ to come up in one of the myriad books that I leave around the house. You know, or are, one of those people that read when eating, before sleeping, when waiting for those two things. Skimming, flipping through chapters, some of the pages dog-eared in a good place to start again.

So, the topic of connection was in one of those scattered piles throughout the house and it stopped a thought train with screeching brakes and a trail of sparks on the tracks of otherwise placid reading. Connection. Why would I want to connect with someone I have never seen, but just read about? A connection in a dream about Hemingway I just had? Why try to connect with a great author that has left the world decades ago? There is a way to connect with him by reading his writing and taking notes. Was the dream a connection with my memory, one which I have been missing or ignoring for decades? The dream seemed to be from my best friend who told me important things.

It was a vivid dream. I was in the big city and drove by a splendid home that triggered a memory of connection. I went up the sidewalk to the familiar home and was welcomed in by several people that knew me. The memory of living across the street and being mentored by Hemingway when I was a boy flooded in. The books from the fabulous library loaned, hours sitting with ‘Papa’ and being told, someday I would be writing truth with skill to make images with words. Stories of adventure. The dream ended with one of the daughters telling me it was so good to see him again and would I like to stay for a while?

There was a loud noise that sounded like explosions and I was awoken suddenly with a strong wish to remember the dream by writing it down. At four in the morning. (The sound sounded like the summer people having fun blowing things up.) It was only the family dog.

It seemed the dream was a message from my self. Deep in rem sleep, dredging up ‘connections’ that surfaced as reality sleeping dormant. Or was the dream a connection with someone else that had spoken it? I write about life, but to develop a story like this one was ego and wish palpable. Still remembering the dream knew what the connection was and with who.

It was encouragement and confirmation from the greatest authors ever known. “Keep writing, stay steady and tell the truth . Don’t try and make your writing original, write the truth and and write the story as best you can and originality will come forth.” Indeed, the question of ‘what is truth’ was asked centuries ago and the answer was silence. The truth of that life was obvious and the words written about that life still capture and hold us. When truth is revealed, it is a beauty sought.

Sometimes only five words can take your breath away and be remembered forever. Connection. As coming awake again from the dream of life. The reason, the hope, the answer to so many questions. The book that can be read again and again that speaks and shakes our inner man with it’s truth. A book worth dreams awake or asleep. Dreams of destiny and worth.

I was stopped on the sidewalk soon after this column was printed and directly asked; “did you ever live in Spain where Earnest lived?” I answered yes and he furrowed his brow and walked away. I did not mention that when I lived in Spain I was in prison for six months for evading a murderer and running from the military police. It affirmed the column’s legitimacy for that man. It was fun to tell that truth, I left off the prison detail.

As Johnny Cash said: “Sooner or later, everyone comes back to Jesus. The Bible, It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson

A Door Gunner and the Old Fiddler

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a beautiful drive, one I take often to a small church about 8 miles north. On Fridays that old Lutheran church gives away bread from a bakery 80 miles south. Every Friday for years they have done so. I pick up as many bags as they will give me as I give away most of to a local secondhand store about 7 miles to the East. Caring Hearts. I like to drive those rural roads.

Today, I drove past a place of good memories, on a lake called Wood and glanced at the places on the road before the lake that I like to look at. Old abandoned houses that used to be pretty swell and houses that have acres of metal junk around them. Wind-rowers, hay loaders, antique bulldozers. Tons of steel, waiting for nothing, akin to tossing old scrap lumber out to be burned out in the field thing. How that stuff got out there and what the price of steel is going for occurs to me. Reminds me of an old forest that is past it’s prime and the mess that is too. Wood lying about is a lot easier to look at.

I drove past wood Lake (we have a lot of nice ones nearby) and remembered an old friend that was a veteran like me. He had it rougher and served on Helicopters shooting people out of the door with a belt fed machine gun. A .50 or .30 caliber. Don’t remember him mentioning that. A war in Vietnam that no one wanted, a war I was drafted into as I was in basic training for the Navy! I just missed that meat grinder. A returning veteran was hated by many Jane Fonda fans. Danny Carlson was this veteran’s name. He was friendly to me and our stories were good to share with one another.

Danny knew I was a country western fiddler on the local bar circuit and he wanted to have some fun and put on a fiddle contest at his lake shore home. OK, I got hold of another fiddler, Bill Hinkley, and we set it up with a stage overlooking the lake and advertising it at the local watering holes. We even took out an add in the newspaper. This was a big deal for towns under 2000.

We got a half dozen fiddlers to show up for the chance for the 1st place prize and the beer kegs would set the stage for some good fun. Bill and I started out demonstrating what fiddling was with Bill’s wife Judy on guitar. Then we started the contest. Bill, I and Judy (official judges) got to sit right up front on the beautiful manicured grass which sloped gently down to the lake. Quite a few people showed up.

Good acoustics too from the water. Near the end, an older fiddle player showed up. He was at least as old as I am now and needed a bow. We got him one and he started sawing away. His tone was off and the speed wasn’t there, but the Bill and I and Judy looked at one another with a nod. This was the stuff of legends. We knew what this man had been and in our ears, still was. Bad bow, arthritic hands, bent over and knowing it was the best he could do. We gave him the 1st place without a doubt. Bill and I were thinking that we can even play at this man’s age we would be blessed to fiddle as well as he was. Uncle Zeke was his name and where he was from and were he went is still a mystery.

“The struggles and events of his life are just the cover and chapter page of the book of his life. The book no one on earth can read is the real story and every chapter is better than the last” 1.

Dan a short time afterwards, died across the road from his lake home in his trucking outfits office from carbon monoxide gas. In his sleep. My wife, Julie almost died from the same danger from a bad propane furnace way out west when she was camp counselor before I met her.

So Every time I drive past Danny’s old lake home I think of these things and ask Jesus, why? Why take Dan and spare my wife with only a bad headache and some temporary cognitive loss’? We will never know until I read that book of real stories that I can’t read now.

Somehow, in some way I find that answer adequate. I still ask why these things happen and am getting better and waiting for the answer I already know. Ask me sometime and I will let you in on what He says to me. Usually stop, look and listen. I am so glad Julie survived that carbon Monoxide and we have this incredible life together. Thank you Lord!

Somehow I know there will be that book about Danny I can read and I will read it with him. I will share those books with my old Navy buddy that will hand me his book as he reads mine. It’s pretty good. I like reading really good books.

Norm Peterson. (aka Jack Gator)

1. G.K. Chesterton “the apostle of common sense”

Desparate

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was with a new friend Bryan in a coffee shop about 20 miles from home. We began speaking of the former owner and praising his character and the way he lived. He died a few years ago and we miss him. At the table next to us was a woman by herself and she asked us who we were. Instantly I said Bryan was my brother. It felt right. From that moment on, we have been brothers to one another.

She was now smiling and said she was the mother of the man we were speaking of. She was drawn to her sons name and we were pleased to have spoken so well of him with her nearby. Another ‘coincidence’ arranged for us and her. That man, Jake, was indeed a bright light to all who knew him. He walked with the Lord.

My brother was a volunteer at a church that was about 60 miles away in Minnesota. It broadcasts it’s services world wide for the spiritually hungry. My wife Julie and I and a dozen other neighbors had been watching those services together. There was authenticity and it felt right and good.

A month later, Bryan asked me to help him pray for people that were attending those services. He drove he and I down to the ‘cities’ the next week on a Sunday morning. I saw a parking lot as big as the one at the Minneapolis airport, filled with cars. We parked near a sidewalk that did not seem to be a parking spot but Bryan said it was fine, he parks there all the time. There were at least a thousand cars parked already.

I was expecting cab stands, I drove them a long time ago and this place seemed a good spot to wait after dropping people off. No cabs seen. The big double doors were attended by a handful of people with name badges on. As we walked towards the door, I noticed the address of the church. It began with 777 and those are also the numbers inside my old Gibson Lloyd Loar A model mandolin! Those things catch my attention. A confirmation and connection. The people at the doors were very bright and welcoming, that got my attention too. It didn’t feel forced or phony, It was genuine. I noticed that Bryan had on a name badge as they did. Really neat ones with magnets under shirts or jackets to hold them in place.

We went up a large spiral staircase and on the second floor, Bryan gave me a lanyard that simply said ‘prayer’ We walked down the balcony and into a room labeled ‘volunteer central’ There was breakfast laid out and tables that faced several TV screens that had the live stream of the service going on in the sanctuary nearby. Where, I had no clue yet.

Bryan had already bought me an Americano coffee downstairs and we sat down and were greeted by members of the prayer team. Soon, it was time for us to go and pray for people. I still had no idea what that was going to be like. Bryan led the way down the balcony the way we had come and we kept going past the stairway to a corridor that led to a doorway on our left. There was no one else in that hallway.

Bryan opened the door and there was a small platform with stairs to the left going all the way down to the main floor and leading to the left side of the stage where the Pastor was speaking. I stood there crying as I looked out upon thousands of people looking down and instantly knew I was experiencing a strong emotion of hunger. Through my tears I whispered: “Lord is it their hunger or mine I feel?” He said yes. It was overwhelming and never before had I walked through a door like that one!

Bryan and I walked down that long stairway to the left of the stage. The prayer team was there already. The service ended and the pastor said anyone desiring prayer would come down to the front of the stage. Astonished again, I saw many people come up from their seats and head down to where we were standing. The team leader quickly handed me a small vial of anointing oil and told me to ask them if they would like to be anointed on their hand or forehead. “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” 1.

I was standing in front of the big bass bin speakers and I saw a man looking for direction and I smiled at him and nodded my head. He came over and stood in front of me. Right away I asked him if he would like to be anointed and chose to have his forehead be so. I dashed a small amount of oil on my right forefinger and drew a cross upon him. I told him this was a baptism of the Spirit and then asked him what he would like prayer for.

He said his wife was convinced she was ugly and did not listen to him when he told her she was beautiful. His need was personal and spoken from his heart. I told him of his obvious love of the Lord and today, his wife would see her beauty in his eyes when he returned home. Those words came directly to me to say, they were firm prophetic words. I had never considered that prophecy, Just listening.

We both cried and that man hugged me after asking. It was indeed OK and welcomed. After the second service it was more healing requests from dozens of people, eager to meet a prayer warriors words of healing and restoration. All of the prayers were given to me as a response to hunger.

Many tears and many strong embraces were in response to the words I gave. I felt well used and astounded again. Never had this happened to me so many times. People with desperate needs to connect with truth. The honor of conveying blessings from the Holy Spirit stays steady in my heart. There are blessings from my public writing and there will be more from speaking them as well.

I am now at a different campus and am involved in media production with my son. I occasionally slip into an area overlooking the right side of the stage after my work is temporarily done. I am hidden there as I am dressed all in media team black. I pray up there and watch to see if any of the prayer team needs help. I love that team too along with all the other volunteers that make a huge difference for the people who attend. It makes a big difference in us too. The joy goes both ways.

This is how I envision ‘church’ Like the very first ones we read about. Prayer to one another in unity with spiritual songs and and spoken words of His timeless blessing for us. The teams realize this and that is pretty good. Norm Peterson, Eagle Brook church volunteer.

1.St. Augustine confessions VII.

God’s Grease Monkeys

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was at a time when I was very enthusiastic about community service. Problem was, I didn’t have a clue why or what that looked like. From earliest days, I was a loner, growing up selfish and smug. Protected. Stuck in the usual ways. Find pleasure and personal peace. The voracious appetite for self importance and recognition. We all have that, it’s impossible to see real land when in the middle of the ocean. We feel alone and adrift most of our lives. A lifeboat existence.

I was an automotive shop owner/ mechanic, and and doing well at making a living . By an amazing coincidence, I chanced to see the head line on the Sunday edition of the Star and Tribune. ‘God’s Grease Monkeys’ Perfect fit! New to the faith, eager, and I had the usual images of what that meant. Be nice and get extra points for doing something for a stranger. It was in the Bible somewhere. God likes that stuff after all. God himself is pretty nice and that seemed to be the ticket for theological success!

I read on and the article outlined a garage in the cities down south that repaired cars for people that had little or no money. Perfect! A shoe-in for me. I picked out a few hand tools, a code reader (that would show the one’s in charge I was a professional and serious)

I showed up and they gladly put me to work. An oil change and a headlight bulb or two for starters. On the floor of the shop. Later, the next month, the staff figured I could do more complex things and assigned me a brake job and a tail light. That helpful team even stuffed my Volvo station wagon with food that was part of the Grease Monkey outfit! “Spread it around your neighborhood” were the instructions.

Right. My neighborhood is primarily lake homes and farmers. We ate most of it and gave some bagels to a fellow mechanic in town. Isn’t that what freezers are for? It was good food, veggies, breads and canned goods. Once a month I went down there, I connected with another mechanic as well and we developed a friendship.

I was racking up God points and then the inevitable for all car ministries occurred: The repeat ‘customer’ with yet another car, and another after that. Judgment time. Point blank. No mercy. The Ministry was buying the parts too. Tires, wheel bearings, blower motors, filters, window regulators (look it up) and lots of light bulbs.

When questioned about those things, often the car owners response would be “oh, I sold that one you fixed a while back” There was disappointment and later, much later, I realized they are just like me. Then I Felt used and ineffective. Just like I usually felt. God seemed silent on the matter, and I needed help in hearing Him. After all, they couldn’t afford to fix their vehicles and this was a way out of financial distress.

The concept of a ministry involving my repair skills still made sense though, and a short time later I started another one, closer by with my new church and friends. Same thing happened. ‘Why am I doing this?’ “I’m just being used!” This time I was ready to listen to the Lord.

“Correct Norm, you are being used. What are you learning, what is happening to you? Do you find joy no matter what, do you connect with Me and talk to me? I will show you things beyond your dark curtain that will give you great joy! It started to dawn on me that I was not praying, not abiding and not listening to Jesus. Why am I here? Good question!

I got better after that. It took some time, and eventually I began to get serious about these things and started seeing and listening to Jesus. The attention I always craved was always there, from Him. I surrendered leadership. Not instantly as most of you know. Eventually I began witnessing to the owners of the cars we were repairing. Now the question came from the car owners! “why are you doing this?” There was, indeed an answer now, a somewhat surprising answer to everyone. “Because Got told me to”. Most people just take these sorts of ministries in stride and as I did, never wondered why anyone would help a stranger like me.

Later now, the car and food ministries are gone for me and my family and other ways to serve have taken their place. Volunteers are always needed in many God centered ministries and those ministries are everywhere.

Examine your own life and you too will find many times and places that the Lord has used people to help and steady your walk (and drive!) As a favorite song goes: “open the eyes of my heart Lord, open the eyes of my heart, I want to see You, I want to hear You”

Guidance as I was guided, to yet another new area of my life. It seems that happens to everyone. It always has. We are led to places and people flow towards us as we live. Myself, I am enjoying the humor and strength that our Lord uses with me as He shows me that narrow highway of Holiness that leads me on to Eternities Eternity and His smile.

After all is said and done, that’s why I write about it! It’s getting pretty good. Jack

Worship

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A common word, found in everyone’s vocabulary and is used quite often in many signs and personal conversations. The tricky part is, what and where does this occur?

The most seen places are church bulletin boards or big outdoor signs. My personal preference is to call them by their resemblance to marble cemetery markers. Tombstones. Often lit. Sometimes they have times listed and can be read if you are going slowly. They always say Worship.

I studied worship at a school down in Kansas City and it became clear to me where the words and body postures came from! Hebrew origins from a while ago. A long while ago.

The first one is very familiar, Hallal. It shows up in a lot of singing and is the base word of Hallelujah. It means to be clamorous and be seen as foolish in praising the Lord. I have been surprised at my own responses when a band sings Jesus, Jesus, you make my heart tremble. I toss up my hands and weep at His name. I am reserved because I do not want to smack someone nearby in my enthusiasm for His name.

Sitting up front with no one in front and room to step out works well for me.

I have asked camera operators if it is OK that I am there and they understand and try not to hit me with the back panel of the hand held camera. I tell them I am aware of their fiber optic cable and will not step on it. (stepping on a coil of it when it is on top of itself is a cardinal sin) Fiber means glass. Operators worship too but it is easy to forget when you are working to tell the story.

I am involved with media production of worship and the simultaneous thrill of the clarity of worship can goof up a good camera shot when you are dancing with joy at the same time. It’s good to be close and among the leaders of the room’s worship. You know it’s real.

Shabach means clapping and shouting. That encourages musicians and if it offends you then you are probably in a bad mood or in the wrong place. Pentecostal worship is exciting and easy to engage with. I love it when the singers Shabach. It’s spontaneous in many places.

Zamar is worshiping our Lord on musical instruments. Plucking strings and joyfully singing praise. Zamar at nine and eleven would catch my attention! I especially like Banjo Zamar.

Barak is kneeling down or bowing down. Rhythmically bobbing works for many. I have seen a few people in a sanctuary just disappear as they fold up in front of their seat. It’s easier if the seats are further apart. Don’t worry about the carpet, facilities staff cleans it after every service.

Yadah is the extension of your hands. There is a separate word for halfway up in the air, I will have to look that one up sometime. You have done all of these things! It’s quite OK as the posture of worship is very traditional and as we all know, God never changes so it seems we should pay attention to that fact. Worship is a romance and Love is most of it but astonishment and joy are hooked on. It’s impossible for me to ignore knowing that I am involved in the timeless and overwhelming beauty of meeting with the creator of all things. Crying happens.

“Don’t you get shy on Me, come on and praise the Lord” Joy, it’s pretty good. Norm the Gator

A Sister at Laguna Beach

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The Laguna greeter.

There was a time in my life that I was a dedicated surfer. I moved in with the president of my old high school class (King?) and far from being the outcast weirdo in high school, now I was one to be admired. With borrowed a surfboard from a slightly older young man who lived downstairs from the apartment in Hermosa Beach. There was a bond instantly between them as they both had the same last name and were both slightly autistic and emotionally intense in various ways. Different and knowing they both were.

So, I went to the beach every day and learned how to surf. Readers of this column will remember that time in the article, ‘Super Chief’ I just loved surfing and was totally committed to it. I slept on the floor of my room with the board next to me so I would rise early without disturbing the other young men and walk a half a block down to the beach. Except for the jellyfish, it was a time in my life that means a lot to me 50 years later.

At one of the parties in the apartment, a young woman (girl) took a fancy to me and slipped into my room during the party and I offered her the other side of the surfboard to lie on. No seduction. Genuine friendship and it astonished her and there was a bond, a different young man that treated her with respect and friendship. Carrie is her name

She never forgot that and after a year or so, I was in San Diego, Navy training base. After basic, I went to A school at the same base. and was then training young Naval men radio operations. I had a background in radio from my amateur radio days and still held a general class license.

I wondered if Carrie, was still at her Uncles place in Laguna Beach. I called her and she was pleased. She asked me to visit on a weekend. Since I was now on staff, I had every weekend off. I even had civilian clothes to wear. Little did I know I was in a pretty good situation right out of boot camp.

Because I washed out of the nuclear submarine service (bad color vision.) I was no longer striking for nuclear technician,so they told me I would be a radio operator. They knew my skills at being one. I trained young men in Morse code in A school and basic electronics. It was the best duty assignment I had with the Navy. Myself, I learned how to touch type listening to code. Nice thing to know when the code comes at 30 wpm

The San Diego bus to Los Angeles went right through Laguna Beach and I went to see Carrie. She picked me up at the bus stop and drove me to her Uncles place in the hills. She drove 1957 Corvette convertible, bright red and powerful with the first stock fuel injection in a sports car. Her Uncle was on an extensive art tour in Europe at that time and the car was there for her to use. A wealthy art dealer in Europe and he had a pretty good ‘duty station’ too! I never met him nor know his name.

So, I would come up every weekend and lounge around the pool that overlooked the ocean and do a little painting (with Uncles paint equipment. The brushes, canvas, tripod and acrylic paints.) Occasionally my new ‘sister’ would bring a young man home and introduce that man to me as her brother was a way of overcoming the puzzled look I got from the men. I liked that immensely. My ‘organic’ sister never liked me.

They were one-night stands and that was understood by all. A new sister that liked him, I liked that. One weekend, I called my old high school president that was living in the Hollywood hills and asked ‘sis’ if he can borrow the Corvette.

The occasional boyfriends never even got a nod with that question. She knew when they started saying “Hey Carrie can I….NO” I drove up to LA and visited my old buddies who were living large in the Frank Lloyd Wright Circular apartments. Class. The red Corvette fit right in at the curb and I got a smile nod from everyone I saw. Poseur.

That corvette was fast on the freeway!

Back at the beginning of the city of Laguna, the Greeter there gave me a wave. (The greeter was a man that stood for years at the north end of the city and waved at cars)

All in all it only lasted a season of my life and made a big difference in both of us. She shared her heart in a way nether of them thought they would do or even contemplate and it was a good start on real relationships for them both. They had no idea they were both being trained in their hearts near the ocean and some of it stuck. Carrie treasured my paintings too, she said they would be worth a lot of money when I became famous. Still waiting for that, I’ll send her my book if she is still there.

It’s pretty good.  Norm Peterson RM4 Comservron 6 Naples, Italy

Common Sense Insights on Love

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

So many books, letters and columns are at my desktop and littered around my favorite living room chair. I read them as I am inspired at the moment and that is why I put post in notes at the pages where I leave off.

It’s a mess and a trip hazard if I am not tidying up now and then. Keep them out of the meander lines of nighttime walks to the bathroom. Common sense.

Lately I have been researching for love and what it really is. I have at least been instructed from early writers like Descartes and Augustine as good starting lines to start at. My usual trivial descriptions are easily dismissed. “I love my guitar”, “I love how that sounds” . I love that look or thousands of songs with essential love me or leave me themes. Movies with passion (Greek Eros) those lists are not endless but my point is, they point to opinions and attractions.

Reading an author that makes me look up from the book and wish I had a pen and pad at hand. Astonished at brilliance and clarity. My hero, C.S. Lewis, said he got a lot of inspiration from authors like G.K. Chesterton and George MacDonald and used their clarity and thoughts in his own writing.

Another example of common sense: “The mutilation of children is not “gender-affirming care.” Anti-white racism is not “anti-racism.” Illegal migrants are not “undocumented ‘new neighbors.’” A bisected cow in a tank of formaldehyde is not an important work of art”. 1.

This tells me that love is coupled with common sense which goes back to Descartes, look him up. He wrote thousands of years ago and he pervades truth which is also found in my favorite small book, John Chapter 17. The best example of love which C.S. Lewis expounded upon. Trying to love your neighbor is not easy, Just treat him as though you loved him and eventually, you will. So what is love? It has respect and admiration built in but it is far more than those things. As I have stated, I would not know my wife if I read some books or biographies about her. I can’t love my neighbor if I looked at a plat map. I can’t even really love fully my God and Savior by reading about Him! There is a decision to go deep into myself, to my core and then be silent and listen to the spirit that gently tells me what love is. The flood of love itself moves within me and is love itself. It is common sense and has always been since we were made.

I

Falling in Love with love that is visible in your eyes, your tears and sometimes a tremble of astonishment of Joy that overtakes. This is true love, the words fail me but you know what I am writing about. The breath taking embrace of a long lost person comes pretty close. How about being embraced as a long lost person? I look ahead to that embrace as I enter eternity.

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator 1. Roger Kimball