Tender Life experiences

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

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

The Importance of a Face

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There was a photo on the cover of a DVD that Gator picked up from the local library. The photo showed all the characters in the movie and it was the first one made of a comedy series with those actors. Startlingly, one of the actors face had intelligence, warmness and composure. The actor’s role was just the opposite, and in other comedy movies and series’, he was portrayed as a low IQ goofball. A comedic shortstop that set the tone in various scenes. It was Bob Denver that played Gilligan on the island and Maynard G. Krebs in the Dobbie Gillis series. A face can show a lot of personality and feelings.

With the recent public orders of wearing masks, Norm resented the lack of those sings seen. A lack of smiles given and even compassion and knowledge shown forth. Akin to the actor’s photo, hidden in portrayal of the real person. Some friends that have totally bought into the extreme danger of public life, not being told by authority that germs and aerosol microbes are fought with our immune systems. But even with the mask, you can see their eyes showing fear and isolation. Also judgment on Norm for not masking up. He smiles a lot and seeks faces that smile. Norm and his family also have good immune systems. Comorbidities play a big role in death from the vaccine and infections, as Norm’s doctor tells him. Hospitals were told to write Covid on the death causes.

So Norm and his family have all had ‘the disease’ and Jack’s short term memory has gotten worse. Is that one of the byproducts of the bad virus? Possibly. Norm is getting close to 80 and the memory issue is his past duel with seizures that wiped out a portion of his minds Rolodex for a few things. Some names, some old events that usually allow his family to tell the stories. Not bad actually, Norm can then pull the memories up from a different approach in his mind. He calls it his goggle search engine and works in the background when he surrenders for a short while. Events and names what he wanted to remember. “Ahah! His name was Edwin!” This is common with aging. Memory has always been depicted as an issue in the elderly as we remember the distant past and not more recent times. “ Excuse me: what was your name again?” He knows this is happens with everyone. Still, it is irritating. Short term memory is irritating as well. Why did I go to the fridge just now?

Norm creates mnemonics to remember names. A story that triggers the name for good. ‘He looks like an Englishman, Mike, a pilot in the big war and his wife, Vickie, is a derivative of Vickers, an engine in some of those fighter planes. Things akin to that. Try it sometime! It works to places, names and other memories. Some folks really like it when explained to them. Everyone has trouble with names that are given for the first time. Faces are triggers for all of us and when you can only see the eyes, the mouth and smile are gone and makes it harder to recollect them. Some memories such as Quadratic equations or solid geometry are pretty faded but Norm remembers his phone number and city address from seventy some years ago. Jackson 9-6604 and 4208 Russell avenue North. Minneapolis 12. His ham radio call sign and the ones of his friends that he tested for novice licensing. That too is in a different location inside his mind and a lot of aged people have that ability. Perhaps if Egyptian Pharaoh Ramses could be resurrected, most likely he would remember his adopted son, Moses. Of course, the Smithsonian would really rally around that miracle. Norm saw Ramses when he was in Washington. The body looked a little worse for wear. “Hey son god, what do you recollect about the Red Sea?”

Norm wonders about what it must have been like for the family around Lazarus when at the dinner table as he remembered dying and wondered about those three days of inactivity. That detail has not been clarified. Since it was Jesus that resurrected Lazarus, there is no doubt it was complete. Saying“Lazarus, come forth” was necessary for if He had said “Come forth” there would have been a lot of formerly dead showing up.

While Norm was in church in Grantsburg, his Navy friend Chuck died in Maryland. He died at the same time Norm saw and heard him. God gave Norm a small glimpse of eternity for Norm’s witness and delight. “ It’s better than you said!” His best friend said that when he appeared clearly before Norm. He often wonders about that. What did he say to him when he saw him just a month or so ago. What was God doing, revealing eternity to him? It’s OK to write off Norm’s experiences from your own views of life. It’s a lot to get hold of. Norm was there, he knows it’s true. As Jack always says, “it’s pretty good” Jack Gator

The Deaths of precious Family Members

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was in the spring when Jemimah, the family Brittany spaniel began to show some odd behavior. She had been with the family for over 10 years and Julie had trained this extraordinary dog with many commands. H, speak,crawl, roll over, and a few others. She was really good at begging for food too. Many a meal around the oval oak table would have family plates the focus. The pooch would be on the floor gazing with a fixed stare at those plates. Jemimah loved chewing on ice cubes and when Norm would clink one or two in his favorite glass, she would rush in to the kitchen. Just in case one cube would fall. Norm made sure that would occur.

Jemimah’s odd behavior was physical and worsened rapidly. The DVM was puzzled but saw on an XRay a strange thing with her heart. There was an antibiotic already being used and it seemed to help but one morning the dog could not get up, could not eat nor drink. She would wag her tail lying down whenever told her favorite words: “good dog, good girl” that was all she do now. She convulsed several times and it was decided to have her “put to sleep” When Julie and Toby came back from that event, the whole family lost it. Crying, sobbing and praying for release of the anguish of loss. Surprising emotional collapse really, Jemimah was loved by many friends as well. She had a way of staring into your eyes and then shutting them halfway when scratched just so: under the collar or in her ears. She was buried that evening up on the hill overlooking the home and a small lake on the other side of the ridge. Impossible. Sweet pain,with her favorite rope toy in the blanket as the small handfuls began gently dropping down into the grave. The next day, Norm took a big load of rocks to build a cairn and put grandfathers rock in the middle with some astounding blue and white wildflowers just picked nearby. More tears as they sat on the hill below the grave.No one really slept well. Most of us know this experience. It comes to us all.

The family wondered why there was such a strong, palpable grief with all of them. It seemed it was the first time that the loss was a loss of total love and surrender. More than all the loss’ earlier of people. Stunning and healing beginning of broken hearts among them all. Realization of what total devotion and love really looks like. Decisions to close off their hearts in the past and then being delighted that they had indeed opened their hearts and it was once again, possible. A parting gift from a devoted companion. Loving and loved.

Why is this memory and grief not felt when a sometimes a family member, a father or a sister not felt the same? There were several deaths in Norm’s family, one fairly recently of his sister. The relationship was broken some time ago with her. She was deeply offended when Norm and Julie last saw her. She felt judged and thought she was less loved. The only memory that Norm has of that decades ago visit was the presenting of the truth to his sister. by Norm and his wife, Julie. They remember that there was a very brief moment of mild flirtation that sis gave to Julie. It was clear that Diana had embraced same sex attractions and relationships. That’s a mild way of expressing it. Politically correct in these times. The rulers of Sodom now our rulers.

Later, when Norm worked hard every week taking care of their mother there was little communication or any support from Diana. The usual winding down of a life; assisted living, nursing homes and funeral. A funeral that resulted in Norm becoming a Christian man. Property given and sold and a splitting of the money. Sis was living far away on the west coast and couldn’t help with these things. There was bitterness conveyed over the phone and eagerness to get ‘her share’ of the sale monies. The loan mom had made to Norm for a needed mound system was not quite paid off and sis dismissed it as “that’s your deal” Payment to a merchant that delivered food to mom was still needed to be paid.” If they didn’t bill you for it, then why pay it?” she also said. Anger came from the phone when sis stated she had been cheated when Julie told her she had been overpayed a few thousand more. Sis demanded Norm “Stay away from my kids!” and she also wanted ½ of Moms’ ashes.

Puzzling, astonishing and anger. Just before these unpleasant rages, Norm had embraced Christianity and it was apparent that sis had rejected it. Years later, unable to locate where his sister had moved to, Norm got a Christmas card from Dianas kids. In one sentence of the card, there was mention of the death of Diana and also of their precious dog as ‘difficulites’ they had gone through recently. It was shocking, and yet, a communication between Norm’s and his nephew’s family. It was a start of truth revealed to Norm’s family. The same way Norm was notified of his father’s death. The postal service bringing news. An extreme feeling of rejection that was apparently a family tradition. Greetings from Diana’s son, to her brother and my uncle. Seasons greetings. You are worth a few words of events of some importance. The death of our precious pet and your sister.

These days there is the decline and immanent death of Julie’s father and all Norm thinks about is the inheritance which would help his family survive their financial decline. The recession and reliance on loving sons and their social security to endure the times. Remembering the truth of life and the giver of all things brings him back from fear of loss and he is realizing the world’s fears of loss and destruction. An unexpected vision which gave him release. The photo of her dad embracing their first son, Bjorn, was the only time that Norm had seen love from her dad. The vision of her dad on death’s door being able to embrace his grandsons and know what was happening would be more precious than gold, more precious than silver. It would be enough for Norm. It would be enough when Julie’s dad passes into eternity.

Something similar happened to Norm in a dream. He was with his father. There was Norm’s dad on a subway. Norm was seated and dad was a strap hanger right in front of him. Norm asked, “have you seen the boys?” With a smile, a big smile that had never seen by Norm, his dad nodded yes and it was beautiful. It made things right.

Norm has been given the ability to forgive along with his family and that is the strong assurance of Christ who lives in them, Julie and their sons. Also in their oldness’s wife. There is now a glow of forgiveness does not come with forgetfulness but it comes with Grace and peace and comes with assurance of an inheritance. The treasure of life eternal with the creator of all things. Norm and Julie are praying and thanking for that Holy embrace from Jesus. That promise has indeed been given to their family. It also was spoken by Norm’s friend Chuck when he died. Thousands of miles away. A treasure to him that endures and that event is told to many who want that testimony. It was indeed, a gift of God. Eternal and beautiful. That assurance is a guidepost that Norm’s family can remember and grounds them on solid ground. Blessed assurance, gifts from God are pure Love.

In the end, it’s pretty good. Norm Peterson, the Gator

Christmas Feast

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

First published 2011 when there was deep snow on the ground

There it was, indeed a table set for family and a few friends as well. The exquisite food, paid for by a relative in advance. A wise and generous relative, gone on a Christmas day past. Loved and missed at the table now.

The family, gathered in our home, every Christmas Eve to eat well and satisfy the gathering with exotic things. Brie, Lingonberry jam, Home baked bread out of the farm’s wheat. Tasty nuggets of chocolate treats and cookies made once a year. Treats, some pulled from the larder that are saved for this time. Some from Julie’s work at Valley Sweets in St.Croix Falls.

There is a Christmas ham in the crock pot that simmered all day and filled the house with it’s savory smells. Appetites were honed and sharpened as the winter of winters was preparing another snow storm. Already the new sidewalk was drifted half over from the bitter sleething of fine snow. The wind had not abated much from the night and the drive home from a delightful worship service was fraught with drifts on the rural highway. Narrow triangles of show, now created by the dry snow the county plows had just cleared that day.

It is perhaps the only time that snow is seen as beautiful and appropriate. The old images of sleighs to visit. Pulled by a team of Percheron horses. The blankets and even a few hot bricks tucked in to be heated up again for the ride home. Wood cook stoves and wood or coal parlor stoves that worked pretty well at heating a home. No worry about the pipes freezing because there were none. We have a painting of a sleigh heading for a church but the horse looks fake somehow in mid stride. Tough to convey motion in a painting. I think maybe a slight brush stroke of snow behind an upraised hoof would have done the job. Art critic.

Candle light services with luminaries out in the snow to entice and welcome. Classic songs to be sung, you know the ones. Everyone has them memorized. The big round wood stove in the corner (should be in the middle of the aisle thinks the same art critic) We all have these memories of times past before we were born. Stories passed down by past generations that had to walk miles uphill in heavy snow. To school as well as church.

Another image that I have is the short peace in the midst trench warfare in France. Soldiers apprehensive and then hearing the opposing army singing Silent Night in German. Slowly rising up from the trenches and walking towards one another, perhaps with a bit of whiskey or brandy to share. Impossible to contemplate with the guns and cannons silent the enemies meeting on no man’s land. Men’s vision to be truthful. The Man full of grace and truth who someday will come for you. This is the reason the fear was pushed aside. We have all been afraid a long long time, but Papa is here and He will take the fear away.

There is impossible joy in the midst of the world’s battle for many things. Power, possessions, and dominance.

We all know the story, even those of us who think the story of Christmas is only about being rewarded because we have not been naughty. We think we are on the ‘better be good’ part of the perceived equation. It’s not any of those things. The reason that Christmas has the impact year after year is because the story is true and the good news is impossible to explain with only words. It is indeed a feast. It is felt and it is known by all men. It is joy and the present of good news that cannot be earned. It is indeed a Christmas present that must be opened by everyone that sees it and know what it is. The only present that still surprises with astonishment. Every time. It’s pretty good. The feast of life with Jesus Norm Peterson / Jack Gator