Tender Life experiences

The Agate Hunt

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Often referred to as ‘rock hounds’ they are at home on the shore of the biggest fresh water lake on the planet. Superior. Walking among the big and medium rocks and peering down to see what treasures the fresh wash reveals. The pros have a flashlight to shine through the crystalline formations and see what is in there.

Julie and I visit the ‘North Shore’ once or twice a year and wander several beaches that are known to have agates hidden among the clutter and clatter of stones. The waves wash up and that’s a good place to look too.

Very old stories of rocks and water wash through our minds. How long has that incredible Agate been polished and tumbled about? Where did it originate from? Grasped with thumb and forefinger and turned around a bit in the light. Plunk. Into the handy bucket you are carrying or, if it is reasonably flat, and not an agate, it is skipped out across the water. Skip, skip. Skip, Skip plunk. “nice one, four! A little curl on the forefinger, spin and whip flat to the surface.

Tedious work and it can lead to forward bending that lasts a bit longer than the expedition. Bring the treasures home and then put them in a larger container. Everyone around here has one. Some polish them in tumblers and even cut them and make them into jewelry. Usually though, they wind up in a glass canning jar and the lid gets a bit dusty. Treasure, it’s like that. Acquisition is the thrill and the exchange of worth is one man’s treasure is another man’s..rocks.

This is why when I haul the garbage container up the driveway (empty) I look down at the gravel and every now and then, stop and pick up a likely candidate of Stone treasure. Nope. Maybe! Nope. It was raining today so I didn’t have to spit on one to see if it was what I hoped it was.

That’s’ my life. Treasure hunting. Books are the best place for me to hunt. Suddenly words catch my minds eye and I look a bit closer and see treasure. Stop and look. Can I see or hear without getting in the way? Centuries of beauty in plain sight and there is no purchase involved. Just look and gaze into eternity flowing into you. Don t’ forget to breathe. Tears are OK. They wash our stony hearts and the glow is seen that was always there. Once again Adonis is mine, and I am His. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Why Do We Pray to our Lord

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Immediately after the illuminating and inspired message from a man before us is an invitation for those in the room to come to the front if they wish for prayer. It was my first assignment to assist, to help those who would know their hunger enough to be bold and come forward.

My first experience at this large church gathering as I came out to a landing high above the room I began to weep, immediately. I was overcome with the hunger I felt from a thousand souls facing forward. Was it my hunger I asked. “Yes it is also their hunger that is now overwhelming you with all men’s hunger.” Like all of us as children when we need bread for our body, we run towards our parents for food but it is first of all we need their love.

I went down the long side stairway to the main floor and did not trip with my worn shoes and soul. I went forward to stand before the huge bass bins (speakers) and faced the room with my friend who knew what to do and knew I was in the right place with him. Still stunned by the voice that told me it was hunger that all of us have. What can I say to them that ask me for prayer? Those words are suddenly given.

A handful of a thousand felt that hunger and came to us to tell them once again, that He loves them, in that moment. They needed to know that He would never leave them when their world grows dark and holds them in His arms and loves them the He way he always does.

The real needs we have for healing and assurance are always known by our eternal Father. His desire is first for us to reach towards His heart and loving presence. The giver of life wants to give us Himself and indeed tell us once again of His love. His Spirit in our hearts is kindled to flame and His tender voice is heard.

The tears flow among them as the hunger for Him brings forth His presence once again, in that moment, He holds us close and fills us with the bread of life. The one thing that we needed, the only thing. It is the wonder of the words, audible at times when we are alone, that indeed say, “It’s OK, I am with you right here, right now.”

Most of us are a bit shy about asking for prayer and just the moving forward to ask another to join in with you is brave surrender. In the past, prayer with others was done by a handful of us behind doors. It started in our pastors office, then we moved to a small room that had a sign on it. Prayer. It’s a declaration of hunger for God to others and the others are most likely just as hungry to join you. After all, Jesus said when two or more of us join together this way, He is among us.

It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

Thanks once again for George MacDonald and Jon Thurlow for truth written and often sung.

The Lord’s Gift of our Life

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The view from our front porch on an early winter morning is quiet. There are no homes around in view but we know who lives in the ones just over the hills. Quite a few of those homes are lake homes and they are quiet now too. No one home. Gates on the driveways and no tire tracks either. Up the road about a quarter mile there is a township road that leads to a few homes, one of which we can barely see. Just a window glow when the trees are bare. It’s over a half mile away. The picture is of the sunrise over the barn and the maples. Nice clear and cold morning. No yard light on the single power pole, not needed here. Besides, the power company charges five bucks a month to keep you awake at night.

The dog barks and runs to the long windows to the east when a vehicle is heard coming up the long driveway. Such incredible hearing with those long floppy ears. If it is one of the family, she knows that too and turns away and greats her favorite one in the hallway. As for me, she takes a peek, gives a wag and goes back in the kitchen. Oh, it’s only you. Hi. Maybe hanging around for a pat and scratch or two.

The flag is waving off the porch and we wave next to the flag at family and guests there as they drive away. Early or late. That too is a great ritual of rural life. Seems good and right and most an old tradition going way back to old sepia tone photos. “Y’all come back and we’ll fix you a plate!” Southern hospitality.

Obviously, it’s quiet and except for an occasional half ton ford with a rusted exhaust out on the road. Coyotes at night wake us all up and we get out a rifle but they are gone as soon as the door opens quietly. Maybe is the chambering of a round. Not welcome here and chickens out by the barn are protected. The chickens crow and the coyotes howl. Wake up and grab a rifle.

I think about the folks in the city as they start their day. No Orion in the clear moonless mornings, just street lights and traffic as the city wakes up. I grew up there. No clink of the milk bottles coming up from the alley, just many vehicles and an occasional gun shot. Not coyotes this time. Here it’s wood smoke and the glow of the kitchen light on the snow, you and the stars saying hello. I live in the country now and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Strategic Prayer Command

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a white van, one of those tall ones that have a contractor’s business painted on the sides. Sometimes on the front hood as well, but reversed so you can read it in your rear view. That is an oddity of mirrors we get used to. I never even think I am really shaving the right side of my face when it looks like the left.

So the van was parked at a loading dock at the local church building. Right away I want to make that clear. The building houses the church. Usually it is called the church of…something. Named after one of the gift’s of the Spirit. A rarely seen one is the First church of Self Control.

The white van had the sides (and the hood) painted with the name of the group: Easy Yoke of Deliverance. Obviously transporting something that was needed for the people at the church building. e)narevileb fo ekoy ysae seen walking up to the front of the van. That way you can see it in your mirrors!

I stopped to chat with the driver and he had a name badge on and was very friendly. It wasn’t long after that he asked me if he can pray for me. Seemed appropriate with the cross over the loading dock and all. I asked him why he would do so for me, a stranger. He told me that compassion is the fruit of solitude and the basis of all ministry. A pretty old saying from St. Anthony from the fourth century. Wisdom, given to me from two thousand years ago that was timeless. The more I mulled it over, the more sense it made. I called myself a Christian, but had never experienced nor heard these things. Intrigued and stunned, I wanted to hear more.

His prayer was short and unusual. There was no ‘Christianese’ and flowery language. He prayed right into me and told me simple things that I struggle with and that there was great hope in Christ who lives in my heart. Stunned and pleased with that directness, I began to follow the people that hopped out of the van. They waved a plastic pass card and entered into the building.

They knew the driver had prayed for me and waved me in with them.

It was fairly early in the day and the lobby had only a dozen people moving about. It was obvious that ‘services’ were being anticipated and the waft of fresh brewed coffee was in the air. It was pleasant and there was a genuine welcome in the air too.

The driver came alongside of me and showed me about this large and pleasant atrium and the second floor area as well. Everyone we met had a name badge and they were moving about cleaning, preparing snacks in a room for them and popping popcorn! My escort prayed with a handful of them and I saw from the balcony other groups of two and three doing the same for one another. My escort (Bryan) prayed for the popcorn man and we walked about with a fresh bag and greeted and prayed for more staff and volunteers we encountered.

Escorted into the huge empty sanctuary I promptly began to feel tears welling up and asked if it was hunger going on with me or an anticipation of the people soon to fill the empty seats. The answer was yes. This was definitely not church as usual. I was in love and knew beyond doubt, I was in love with the builder of this building, the town, the city and the planet. The builder and giver of life to me and everyone that I saw. Never had this happen before and I have never been the same since. That answer “yes” just came into my thoughts with clarity and authority. Still does.

I stuck around and I was captured by this love. Eventually, I joined this team I met and the joy at praying for people was so refreshing, I had to do this. Not only in the building, but everywhere I went. I began to be bolder and found baristas and store owners along with commercial drivers that deliver packages to me, welcoming the prayers. I now ‘see’ the hunger for that romance of Christ’s love. What a gift! I never seem to run out of that gift I can give now. There was a lot of preparation for me before I saw that white van. It became very clear that my life had been formed and fashioned to cradle the love of Christ. It took a long time for me, but there are similar stories. I thought I was through and tired of life. I was actually tired of death.

A new ‘job’ or calling as the van driver told me. One of the best jobs and the benefits are all written down in the company brochure, the Bible. It’s pretty good. See you there. Jack Gator scribe

Subvention

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

(An offer of assistance)

There is, in all of us, a wish to be known as a good man. A man of morals to always be a good neighbor. But we know we are not good. Selfish, angry and full of …ourselves. My boot laces can’t lift me to be all I think I can be. They aren’t even tied when I try.

There are moments of frustration, and anger, that seem to supplant our good and replace it with self-justification. Driving is a good example for me. Reacting to a driver that I feel is a threat or foolishness. Whatever or where did that anger or at least, that judgment become paramount in my mind at the time? If I promptly examine the emotions it becomes clear that I am not ‘totally good” but quickly justify myself by comparing my good with someone lack of it. Of course, if I act like an idiot does not make me one. There is great hope for me. At the very outset, of foolishness, it begins to be exposed and there is faith that change can occur.

Christianity promises me that I will be cleansed of these things but I don’t like the process at all. As C.S. Lewis so eloquently puts it, then I am like a rabbit and the pulling out of my fur and flesh painfully makes me recognize my real state of ‘goodness’ I don’t even treat myself very good if I am honest. At the point just stated, I become morose about my ungracious thoughts and promise to try and do better. I need help to change.

The only real solution to these problems of trying to be good is the embrace and surrender to Christ. To open the door or window to the gentle and persistent voice telling me that I need more than good intentions and self image of my mind. The story by George MacDonald, ‘on the back of the North Wind’ Comes to mind when young Diamond blocks that breath in his loft and he hears a gentle voice say: “why do you block my window?” There is no window in this loft! ” I did not say A window, I said My window”

I need to listen to that gentle voice and die to my good intentions and my self images . Frustration can overwhelm me with the task of realizing my need to become more and more Christ like.

The death of myself can be stated in a simple parable. Trapped in a rushing stream, soon to drown and be smashed in the upcoming cascading waterfall, already heard ahead as the rocks are funneling the water. Suddenly a hand appears from the riverbank stretching out to rescue me. What must I do? Do I say, “Easy for you, there is a rock under you and you are standing on the riverbank!” Or do I clasp the hand of loving rescue that will save me from my inevitable doom. Always a choice. Life or death, choose now.

Those of us who are tired of life are actually tired of death and we desperately need the life of living waters. I want to be like a tree, planted by a stream of living waters. With my roots that go down deep.

I was blessed by a vision of swimming with Jesus, I was in pain and had my eyes closed, meditating on live worship music in the room and suddenly, I was swimming with Jesus! He said He knew I loved to swim. We swam together doing the side stroke, facing one another. He asked me if I wanted to go underneath the water? “You can breathe down there!”Then I answered, how deep is it? He said, “how deep do you want to go?” Startled, I opened my eyes and was healed of a leg injury that was plaguing me. I instantly went to pray for someone that was praying for me.

We had a good time of prayer that day. Never forgot it,

That was the beginning of my wish to pray for others that want to go deeper still into the loving arms of Jesus. Our Lord and rescuer from the world of ourselves. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Opening Day of the Season

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a fairly warm day and as usual, filled with the Saturday fall preparations. My son went up on the roof to clean the chimney and meanwhile I had assembled the brush and extensions. It went smoothly and next it was time to empty out the accumulation of flaked creosote, take down the parlor stovepipe and clean it on the shop floor with my special ‘tricks’ of extracting the brush. Clean up the nasty black and combine it with the dirt falling off the tiller on the back of the trusty diesel. John Deere of course. I took apart everything, Built a fire and warmed up the parlor stove. Put stuff away, cleaned the gutters (might as well, the ladder was still there) I sat alone, ruminating on my first deer hunt, 40 years ago when I moved here. Local boys gave me a 30-30 and told me to stand up on the pine ridge behind a tree, in the dark. It was very cold in 1976 and the lake over the hill was frozen solid.

I heard a sound of the ice cracking that sounded like a whale booming. I was shocked and decided to come in and get warm. Today, my youngest son went out before sunset as I was building the fire and taking care of the chores. I heard the shot. Another one shortly after that was a coup D grace. A nice four point buck and as I write this, off to the local German meat shop. Julie went with (she missed a nice doe) and they will be back soon with the old ford pickup, a little blood on the bed with the rust and the tailgate that miraculously, still works.

It’s meat on the table and my son phoned and said don’t touch his 7.62, there is a round stuck in the chamber. I think I’ll have another glass of wine and ruminate on the day. A good day as usual.

I am not sure how it goes with the weekend folks (referred to a cottagers when we met some Superior islanders) They mean well and pay dearly to live over the hill on the lake. Sometimes they ask politely if they can hunt on our acreage. It’s hard to have a half acre to enjoy the north woods tranquility. They bring fireworks and we enjoy our firearms. Good city folks that want what we have too. There is neighbor to neighbor stuff between us and it is amazing what a home made jar of dill pickles will do to open up a relationship with them.

We love living here with all our garden pests and firewood foraging. The incredible roof raking and driveway snow blowing. ‘Powers out again’ Trundle the generator down to the power panel and do the loud clack of the transfer switch. Plug in the pickup and Sunday morning, the drive into the city church campus to join the prayer team. Learning the most important thing we are here for. Love the Lord God with all my heart, all my soul and with all my mind. From the womb to our face to face, known and loved by the creator of all these things.

Love my neighbor indeed, I am doing my best as I learn. Even though their kids drive their UTV’s loud and fast down our road. City folks, you gotta love em’ and they Love our Lord too. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

It’s all Good

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

There is no explanation that works for anyone. Who can explain life adequately to us?

The age old question that stares us down when we are realize we know nothing about life. Why? Is there any reason for the evil that has occurred to me or anyone for that matter. The senseless deaths, the wars of unbelievable savagery and mayhem. Our own thoughts of indecent behavior and revenge against the ones who have wounded us within our very core. Lust seems to fit the thoughts I have. For everything. Power, riches, prestige, fame and the fawning over me by myself. Astonishment that I am not at the least famous, elevated by the very talent I have been given since birth. Music and poetry that flows almost effortlessly.

Why am I seen as so good when I know every day I am not. I envy the man’s wealth that appears to be stealing everything I crave. Even relatives that have finagled my inheritance. The worst revenge is against someone long dead that deserves my curses and at the least, my disappointment and poverty or worse yet, the wounds that lie deep within my hypothalamus.

Fear and anger all mixed together from someone that abused or seemed to want to kill or maim my very being. Who indeed has planted that deadly garden within me?

The blossoms of deadly nightshade that always seem so beautiful and right and beckon me to indulge in a glance and embrace. They bloom once again, deep within me and seem so clear, and yet unknown when they disappear and leave behind wreckage from my speech and thought.

Lately, there have been moments and astonishing thoughts that delight and surprise me with the obvious correct behavior I do. Not my usual modus operandi. Why did I say or do that? The only explanation is a whisper of beauty that overwhelms within. A very quiet and almost still voice that obviously is not usual but is embraced as right and true within my very given core.

“It’s all good. You are weaving the tapestry of things we cannot see. It’s all good.” A.

I must bury myself in the one who died and rose again. I can’t get around myself without Him. It’s the way it is. The creator of all things that is the truth, even faced with evil and wonder.

“What is truth?” was asked of Him many times and yet we listen to the evil that sits close by and whispers to us from the beginning of time. Our freedom to choose life or death given by our creator allows this whisper to once again get in our way and try to seduce with lies.

“Did God really say?” You know who he is. Now listen to the quiet and right voice that is now holding his arms wide open and always loving you. Welcoming you when you turn your minds sight to see him. Put on the robe and the ring indeed for once again we have listened to truth. A sigh of beauty appearing.

I encourage and almost shout it to myself and everyone. Listen and hear the voice of Jesus who loves us.

Jack Gator A. Chris Tofilon photo courtesy of Peterson Garden

Oh, the Beauty of the Man

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Drinking my morning coffee and I sit in warmth and I see the wood, dry and split and stacked in the shed that I see as I gaze from the kitchen windows. It’s close by, that firewood. Wheel barrow close.

Cut and split by my son’s strength As he provides for the old home, living with his old folks that live there.

The aging and leaking radiator was replaced with a beauty as now the kitchen and rooms put forth heat accompanying the parlor stove glowing with the dry wood creating fires warmth.

I see the winter’s cold from the north wind. And now the shops are warm too, as he labored with skill to make the furnaces there bow to his strength and will.

He loves us and works on the homestead that our family grew in, Someday it will belong to our son. Now he cares for us and we will pass it on to him. The old farm with barn and fences and a chicken coop too. Solid shops full of tools.

The country ways, well and good, as it always has been through time, with neighbors close by Who know us and love us as they visit with the good excuses, “have you any eggs to buy?”

That old farm, where the family has lived as a half century passed by. It will be passed on to our son and some day we will pass on to the lover of our souls that knows us all

We worship our Lord together who indwells our hearts as we truly love one another. A song about the one full of grace and truth, someday he will come for you. “Oh the beauty of the Man.” (Tim Reimherr) Jack Gator

Fear of Death or the Secret place

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Our choice, always our choice. Hide from life and truth or go into the secret place and connect with the Truth and seek His presence and listen and speak of our fears.

As in the garden, they were hiding from their fear. Listening to the author of fear. We do this, I do this and must be aware that instead of hiding, I must go to the beautiful place in the garden and talk with Jesus about my trembling self.

Our lives now are filled with anxiety and exhaustion. The world is darkening and death is looming upon the holy land of Israel. It is ramping up our usual lives of the lack of funds and time to do everything we need to do. Everything, including the best things which lie before us that seem out of reach. Life in the garden can be exhausting. Weeding, planting, tending and worry about growth and the elements that seem to conspire against us. We fail to see the wisdom and guidance that shows us every step on that highway of Holiness. Staying steady and trusting all circumstance.

Our lives seem chaotic and opposed by the world. We worry and rush about and exhaust ourselves instead of going into the secret place and listening to the master gardener. We both have a go-to secret place on our land. A small and cozy prayer cabin, overlooking a very small lake near our western property line is Julie’s place. Mine is up on the south hill with rows of large pines. They are in long rows, with a level path down one row. At the beginning of that row is a bench made of green treat wood. My son, Soren, built it for me. I can complain and weep and listen there. Little hard to do when it is filled with snow and below zero though. There is a wood stove in the prayer cabin. A trudge through thick snow which gets blown to the ridge above it. After that, it’s snowshoes for Julie and tough sledding on boots for me. Worth it IF there is a fire already lit! I am lazy and don’t do it if I can sit by the fire in our parlor.

Julie and I decided to go to another secret place that we share on Thursday night. It is a small place of worship on Sundays. We set out a cell phone and put on a live session of intercession from a place we have been. It was a worship set of worship with the Word from iHOPKC and it was calming.

We began to pray for our nation, the war overseas in the Holy land of our Savior Jesus. More fear and voices that say many things. Fear among the lovers of the living God and those that do not. As it grew dark through the windows and our prayer began to ask for the true Life that exposes darkness.

There was a whisper, a presence of movement. We were alone in the room and were not alone. A rustle felt as someone walked by, a puff of air moving close by. We both felt it and our prayers went on for several hours. It was time to go home and speak about these things in the car.

There were more requests for prayer to combat weariness among our friends and leaders in the area. We know the answer to them all. Trust, and pray to the living God. It’s pretty good. Norm

Relaxing at the Trade Lake bridge

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a late spring day, filled with promise and delivering most of it. Warm, almost hot, with a great number of plants in the garden and clear sky’s except for the wildfires in Canada depositing the smoke above. A bit hazy but not oppressive. You can get a sunburn if your not careful!

The snow peas are coming up now and a lot of stuff is in the ground. Raspberry bushes putting out tiny flowers and asparagus is pouring out of the ground. Weed whipping and mowing around the house and property being taken care of by our son. Now he and his good buddy, Zeke, are now splitting big rounds of wood for the woodshed. The 30 ton hydraulic splitter is now working vertical and it’s kinda noisy. The boys have on ear protection and it’s time to go fishing for some relaxation in the calm waters under the Trade lake bridge.

We put all the gear in the old Ranger bed and drive down about a half mile to the bridge. All of our new friends on the North shore are getting ready for bed in the twin cities. We get to the bridge and there is already a guy fishing on the east side of the bridge. He hooks a small sunfish just as a bass boat appears going east and the fish tangles a bit on the bow of the boat. He just caught a boat and the fish! Amazingly, the line untangles, the fish comes up and the boats pilot apologizes for the event. Sort of the area word of OPE, rhymes with soap. We all do it, mostly at Walmart when carts are on a collision path. Accompanied by ‘Sorry’ Try it, you’ll see.

The boat had a 225 HP engine on the transom, spitting cooling water out in a neat stream towards the starboard. Going nice and slow through the channel between Big and Little Trade lakes. Good helmsman.

Only sound around. Nice and peaceful. Norm spreads out the seat of the canvas campfire chair, puts his feet up on the bottom rail and can see Julie’s bobber just at the edge of the Lilly pads on the north side of the channel.

Perfect cast. Ahh, this is more like it! It’s Monday and there is no traffic coming by and the motor craft are away, idling into little Trade.

A loud small gas engine breaks the silence. It is a Cabin owner spraying off their dock. Lots of water causing small ripples in the channel and it is loud. Oh well, probably left overs from storage on shore. It will end soon.

The operator continues until we leave a half an hour later or so. Her husband drives up in a 4 wheeler and asks her if she got the sides and underneath parts of the dock.

The humor gets Norm’s attention. Quiet time at the lake indeed. The older guy on the other side of the bridge could care less. When Norm congratulated him on catching a bass boat AND a fish, he didn’t hear a word. Probably the power washer noise. He was preoccupied anyway and not smiling at the unusual catch of his. The bluegill was pretty small and not a keeper. Norm would have quickly tossed the fish into the bass boat as payment for a prize for being a good sport.

That catch and release was worth the trip alone, even though Julie didn’t catch anything but the early green ublick that appeared a bit early in the year. It was good to drive back home to peace and quiet and water the new snow peas and let the cats in the house. Another day in the paradise of near the lake living. It’s pretty good. Jack