Tender Life experiences

Steeple Chase

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was at an ongoing book sale that a local library has in one of their meeting rooms. The books are arrayed with spines up and a double row so you can see all the titles. Only a dollar apiece and they are in excellent condition.

I looked and muttered authors and titles to myself as I fingered my way down the front row. Most, if not all were novels. The impression I instantly got was they had all been read by a handful of devotees to the genre and were not getting checked out anymore.

I was startled when one of the back row books had a title of Spiritual Literacy. Quite a change from Danielle Steele’s work. Nice bindery and excellent glossy cover that book had. It seemed it was not checked out much as it wound up in the ‘cut out bin’ too. I quickly grabbed it up and flipped a page or two and what I read was enough to make the dollar price insignificant. Yard sale gem or a find at the second hand stores.

The Quote I randomly turned to was indeed on spiritual awareness and in a most direct and refreshing statement of truth. The statement tendered the astonishing way contact with the spirit of all life occurs and how we expect it to. A full range of eastern sages to modern thought was summed up. We think of a spiritual department of our life. Activity at the penthouse of our minds. Top floor.

If you are feeling a need for such things, get going and punch that 43rd floor button and get ready to pray, meditate, chant, focus on something to get in touch with the real deal of life.

Hence the steeple chase for western minds that a steepled building is the place where these things are talked about and experienced. I do look for the pointed buildings as I drive and wonder what they mean, why are they pervasive and how do you build and keep one?

Those steepled buildings are an excellent place to taste the sacred and also a good place to trigger the hunger for more. It’s the whole idea to grow and mature in our faith.

That one reference I randomly turned to goes on to state we can experience the sacred in everyday life. One simple statement startled me: “I come alive when I hear or play music” or “I come to life when I am in the garden, working with my hands” A.

Those are the areas when we are spiritual. To be vital, awake and aware. I did this today when I was swimming my laps. I started looking through the water as I swam and began to pray for the other swimmers I saw and often knew. Strokes and styles and finishing pushes. I have a really good instructor that almost won gold in a relay race. The only reason she didn’t was that a teammate jumped into the water at the triumphant finish and the whole team was disqualified.

She is my wife and I firmly believe the win. She taught me things and I teach them to fellow swimmers when they are receptive to small changes.

I like to do that and it makes me feel alive. It is connection with spiritual activity. I did not realize that until I saw the wisdom in that incredible book.

Another example: A small group of people get together regularly in a home or in a church and discuss and answer one question. They go deep and share their lives stories.

Spirit led and gifts of spirit. Volunteer work is as rewarding to the people served as the servers are. I was not aware of why I felt fulfilled working on weekends in a large church gathering, helping in media production. Visual and sound. I found people approachable and eager to share their lives with me. If I was asking questions of them instead of banging on about myself it usually ended in mutual prayer. There was connection and an uplifting spirit.

It’s easier if you allow the spirit to move within and give you guidance for the hungry and open hearts. It’s very enjoyable and often leads to continuing growth and friendships. Growth in us and them.

Recently I have been mourning the deaths of so many close friends and immediate family. Why me? Now things have changed and I am seeing the Spirit moving around me, with me and in me. Church is great and we have heard that we are the Church.

As Thomas Aquinus reminds us: “ Diversity is the perfection of the Universe” 13th Century Jack Gator Scribe

A. Brother David Steindl the music of silence

With many thanks to the Grantsburg Library andThomas Moore, and Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat

Jesus on the West Bank of Minneapolis

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There it was, there it still is. A two story mural depicting Jesus with his hands open to all who would come to Him At the intersection called Seven Corners, visible plainly from Washington Avenue. It was the building housing Souls Harbor.

That mural was painted there some time ago, it was there when I was working at the New Riverside Cafe back in the very early 70’s. Several columns in Gator’s Grace Notes have been printed in various newspapers about those times. ‘40 Acres of Musicians’ is one of them.

Seven corners refers to a major intersection that signals the end of Washington Ave and Cedar Ave and an on ramp to the freeway, Highway 35. Perfect spot really. “And there shall be a highway and a Road and it shall be called the Highway of holiness” That quote is found In The Bible, Isiah 35. As an aside to this story, I am going to use that verse as the title of my upcoming book.

I was a hippy at this time and I was happy. Living in an apartment on Cedar Avenue a few blocks away, 605 ½ Cedar. It was a hot spot of the musicians in the city as was the New Riverside Cafe, referred by the in crowd that worked there as simply “ The Cafe” Pronounced as ‘the Kafe’ by these in the know and we who staffed it. Ground zero for me, fresh out of the Navy and growing my beard and hair as fast as possible.

Lots of bean sprouts and other veggies on the menu as the Cafe was vegetarian. Cheaper and better for you and the neighborhood. The favorite menu item was soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. We fed the neighborhood, most of it pretty poor folks. I would give the soup for free to many of those people and and when they asked for the sandwich I would offer bread, good bread and explain to them that this was what we had to do for free food. For quite a time there were no prices for food there and a price for the world class music in the big room, overlooking Riverside Avenue.

The entire neighborhood is now Somali and the business’ there all have NE African names, but the people are pretty friendly. The buildings are still the same but none of them have old hippies staffing them. The free store, Cafe Extempore, Durable goods, Dinsaur Motors, and Bellvile and Hoffman’s guitar shop are all gone. As am I. I miss it sometimes and think about walking around the old place just to get the new flavor. (If I figure out the menu of the west bank restaurants) who can tell? We will trade stories!

We worked a miracle in urban development then. Stopping the development of Heller and Segal’s dream of “A new town in town’ A rent strike and political rally’s and the help of the local Anglican Diocese was the protest plan. A lot of publicity in the Tribune and it worked. At least most of the west bank that was left stayed undeveloped into high rises. Since the West Bank was so close to the Mississippi, it housed a lot of northern European immigrants in the early days before us. It was known as ‘Snus boulevard’. Chewing tobacco and sidewalks as spittoons was the Scandinavian way of nicotine consumption.

The movement of America’s Revival, the Jesus movement was in full swing. Almost everyone who worked at the Cafe’ were not interested in Jesus. Hippies were more into mantras and Eastern versions of wisdom. The impetus for the very low or non existent food prices came from Father Teska, an Episcopal priest that helped fund the whole adventure.

(His diocese was very helpful for me later on.)

We were all clueless to creation and our Creator. I became aware that my only faith was in me and as a result, I was not really satisfied with my life. It took a few decades before I understood what that mural of Christ was telling me.

The diocese helped with the legal issues I was in with the military after discharge. I was still living on the West Bank, but I left the Cafe to work for the Burlington Northern as a track worker. My first job with them was shoveling ballast for a section surfacing a hump yard. It was more physical than the work of a cafe worker. I survived and thrived. Real money then, over 6 dollars and hour! After a summer of that I got pretty jacked and confident in manual labor. It was like military comrades. Joking and sharing hard work.

I shoveled ballast for months and noticed that the guys moving the tracks just hung onto their lining bars while I shoveled constantly. Ballast to be thundered under the ties by a massive surfacing machine. I worked right next to it. I asked one of the men how do the lining bar men get assigned that position? “First one to the work site gets their choice of tools”.

The next day when I stepped off the old school bus that took us to the work face, I yawned and stretched and then burst into running and grabbed a lining bar. Lots of kidding about that for all of us. New guy wises up. I did a good part of a year on surfacing gang and then I listened to my old veteran friend, Bruce, who lived in NW Wisconsin and he bluntly told me to ‘get out of there and buy a house a half mile away from his. I got a GI loan and bought the house. I had no idea what I was getting into, it’s not like buying a truck. (more of Bruce and I in the “motorcycle diary” series.

Living rural, 75 miles away was different than the west bank and it took some getting used to. I then began commuting to a section crew that was in Dinky Town, just across the river from the west bank!

A few visits to an old friend from the cafe, Raplh WhItcoff at the Durable Goods store got me a nice new Josnereds 80 chainsaw that really helped me with the firewood production. I can’t run it now but can still lift it up. My gandy dancer muscles had no problem back in those days. It’s all right, It will break your wrist to start it, when it will start. My son, Soren, recently restored the old 80 and it is an amazing saw for it’s era. Determination to start is still the key. 80 cc’s of engine is enough for a small motorcycle.

Fifty years later, we still heat with firewood in our parlor stove and Soren does most of the acquiring and splitting the wood. I stack and split kindling. I do remember how to swing wood hand mauls and have a good time doing so. Keeping my oar in as the saying goes.

Our property has increased in value after paying off the GI loan. Paradise in it’s own rolling hills valley with a private beaver lake and a prayer cabin overlooking it. 30 acres of peaceful country life. It was twenty six thousand five hundred dollars when I bought it. I now have a beautiful wife, two boys and indeed, blessings that just came. I found Jesus was right beside me my whole life and eventually surrendered my being and soul to Him. It took a while, I can be pretty dull and unobservant sometimes.

As I quote Monty Python at times: “Well, I got better” It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

A Fool’s Highway to Redemption

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Chapter One

Frederic Wisconsin, is a small town with almost a thousand people, and several deer. A small red fox runs across the state highway by the gas station around 4:30 every morning. The town has a restored railway station which is very authentic. There’s a caboose on a siding, a semaphore signal, a metal-wheeled cart with wood barrels and a bright yellow track-section car. A chain-saw carved wooden bear, stands near the roadbed where the metal tracks once ran.

The station anchors Main Street, which is about a block and a half long with diagonal parking. Frederic has a smattering of small shops: a hardware store, two bars, a library, and the usual shops that sell ‘antiques’ and knickknacks to tourists and used furniture to the locals.

Leaving town on the state highway you will find a gas station with well made waist-expanding doughnuts a car dealership and a tidy golf course with another bar. It is a cute town with a nice cafe and a second rate self-service car wash. The people in the town are fairly reserved but will speak with you if you speak first to them. A few of the people will wax nostalgic about the glory days of the railroad and the daily passenger train.

When first told of the twice-a-day train schedule, I knew I had missed something by being born 20 or 30 years too late. Of course, the tracks are gone except the siding with the caboose but the roadbed is now a merged bicycle/snowmobile trail. The bicyclists park by the bakery and the snowmobile folks park at the bar on the corner. Much to the towns confusion, the bakery has been closed for several years from a fire. Now they only sell wholesale and the main street side windows are covered up. There has also been a fire next door above one the bars. A fire no-sale. Two for the price of 4. Soon next year, the two buildings, which were destroyed, will rise from the ashes become one. A patio for patrons of the bar and bakery will finish the project. As I write this there is still windows and doors to install and the insides finished. The town is excited about the project.

There are five churches of the usual preferences, and even a small Amish community on the edge of town. Their carriages and the clip-clop of the horses add charm and fertilizer to the main street. The small town chugged along pretty well and the years brought the expected changes. A late night two dollar store and an old department store now selling secondhand furniture and dishes. There are treasures worth searching for: top line toasters and old hard-bound books. The two dollar store has a red box for last years latest movies. I always wonder why everything anyone buys from those quick two dollar stores smells like laundry detergent.

The early-morning men gather every morning, parking in the same parking spots and sitting at the same table. sipping passable coffee and eating good sourdough toast. The restaurant on the corner was named ‘Beans’ and now is known as ‘The Tin Shed.’ It is an early morning place of connections and warmth on winter days.

On those snowy winter days the village sweeps while its people sleep, the snow and drift removal goes on with the metallic rasp of shovels and the diesel snort of the plows. Some merchants shovel other store-front sidewalks because they have hearts for it. There is camaraderie in the winter, a hunkering and shared misery too: dead car batteries, ice on the roofs and leaking roofs in downtown with all the flat roofs common in row-house shops.

The down-town sometimes appeared like an old man with teeth missing. There were too many empty store-fronts. The draw of the big box stores about 25 miles south takes a toll on local merchants. A small town can only support one antique store or one that has used books, Jackets and couches. Frederic had a burned out bar, a bakery with no public access, an empty appliance store and an excellent hardware store. One old one with everything you need a new pharmacy and clinic. There is a friendly grocery store with a deli and things the big box does not handle. My favorite is Lingonberry jam. There is an exit power door that sticks open slightly and that is a reminder that the wholesale grocery business operates on a rather slim margin. It still works but keeps the entryway nicely cool in the winter.

There is a food truck that shows up in the summer by the old railroad depot with great gyro sandwhiches. A tow behind coffee business is faithful a block up the main street parked at the laundromat lot. Great coffee.

A curious thing in small towns is an almost precognition of most things happening that are interesting and tasty to the tongue. An event gossiped about at the corner cafe would instantly be the new topic at the library’s world- problem solving group of men gathered in a circle of comfortable chairs, or at the local bar next door over cups of morning coffee. The hand cut Jo-joes come later. Worth the wait. Real burgers as well.

Then one of the closed store-fronts was suddenly transformed from an appliance business into a prayer room. No one in town knew what a prayer room was; it sounded beneficial but odd. A few speculations were made, but no one went in when the lights were on and music was heard. It was often quite loud, with drums and piano and even a violin and people singing.

There was beautiful hand-carved lettering visible from the sidewalk claiming prayer for the town’s county and even the county to the west which encompasses the river named Holy Cross. (St. Croix Falls) my family were the musical staff with myself on the fiddle. It was pretty good. The last ‘set’ was beautiful. It started at 7:20 and ended at 7:20 The clock had stopped. It was definitely a good sign.

“It’s some kind of new church!” was a popular speculation. Simply put, the songs also had scripture being sung along in various music styles. We were mostly hidden behind a partial wall. We were in there quite a lot and we were known as friendly and there was prayer now and then in the stores for people in town. One of the bakers down the street was healed of a lifetime of headaches; this was news. “When does your free clinic open?” “What denomination are you?“ A few sidewalk questions came over the years. Once in a while I would put a chair out on the sidewalk while live music and prayer was visible on a computer screen through the window. It was a simulcast of a prayer room in Missouri.

Indeed there was a mystery with this small-town House of Prayer. How did it get there? And after four years, where did it go to? And of course, the town’s biggest question: what was it? No one really had the answer to all these puzzles except for us, a handful of people who built it and staffed it. For after all, there was no pulpit and no preaching. To quote Leonard Ravenhill, “Preaching affects time, Praying affects eternity.” There was a call from eternity and to most people, it didn’t make sense. At best, it seemed to folks like a Salvation Army storefront. They wondered,”why here?”Why not? The presence of the Living God Jesus, was strong and joyful. We miss it and some locals do too.

Small town America, the heartbeat of faith and freedom for everyone. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe

Walk and Keep Your Eyes Open

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was finishing up a 2 hour prayer meeting in town and was going to drive to an appointment about a mile and a half away. The appointment was with my chiropractor. .

So when I was walking out to my car, I ‘heard a voice’ in my mind. Akin to remembering a forgotten chore. The strong voice of someone in the family. Undeniable and at times, saying something I did not want to do.

“Walk to your appointment” ‘ “It’s a very good day for a walk” ‘“There is a very nice trail to your right! Your bicycle club helped build it!” Three times I tried to ignore that still soft voice. The soft voice then said; “keep your eyes open” I thought of treasure to be found on the trail and I began walking, now somewhat eagerly. Treasure! No gold or folded money was seen except trash and waterlogged cigarette remnants. “Cross the road” was now ‘heard’ I obeyed. Instantly, after crossing, I saw envelopes in the grassy ditch. Many of them and midst them, a small broken wood box. Dozens of envelopes scattered for 20 feet in the grass.

I began gathering the envelopes. They were all addressed to the same person in a town 20 miles away and all were postmarked with a military return location, Korea from 60 years past. I opened one and it was written by a soldier was writing home. Touching base with simple questions: “How is the combine working?” Farm things. The few dozen envelopes and the busted box were easy to carry to my appointment and Intrigued and excited now, I walked back to town and drove home with the treasure. (My chiropractor was intrigued by the story and helped me out with a stout rubber band to carry the letters.)

The last name on the envelopes was familiar and Julie and I called after finding the families last name in a phone book. A kinship girl we had that was from there and had that name! She answered and told us that the letters were all from her Grandfather and his home was recently broken into.

I imaged the thieves had thrown the box and the letters from their car window then, seen as worthless to them. That young woman came right away and thanked us for the small but significant treasure returned.

It felt very good to all of us and it was obvious who gently insisted I walk the day before. It was our best friend Jesus that the whole family talked, prayed and sang prayers and songs to in that simple but beautiful prayer room for four years. It helped us to be obedient to the voice of the Lord and at many other times we were given great comfort and joy from Him who was always there with us. Sometimes I don’t hear those soft and firm messages from Him. I tell people that story now and then and it is another reminder to me to keep praying and listening. “Be still and know that I am God”

That prayer room on main street is now a tatoo parlor, but that treasure found in the ditch is a reminder of the many gifts we are given. This was another eternal moment to hold and keep and share with you.

It’s pretty good,

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Photo of our friend Jon Thurlow worshiping in a prayer room taken by the author

The Ringing Glass

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A gathering of believers that desired the presence of God. How do you encourage someone to just watch and silently pray in a filled room? “what are the words?” was asked of me decades ago and there was only one thing I can say. “There are no words”

The poetry of ages past and the age to come are a beginning of those words. Language that rises up as a single leaf of an acorn. Sitting in a prayer meeting that was filled with warfare and strong words filled with fury and signifying nothing. The flowing of the Spirit and shapes the rock and creates a river

Where did all the anger at ‘the enemy’ go awry and turn ourselves into angry people. Stop Him! Pull down the statue and erase the presence of them but it’s no use. That statue is within us and can’t be erased that simply and with an angry attack.

I sat silently and sipped my wine in a delightfully thin glass. Watching in wonder at this thing that had happened to my dear friends. I finished the bit of wine and went to the sink to rinse the glass. I put water in it and swirled it around and rubbed the rim lightly. A song emerged.

Breathtaking song, once again that stops our mind for a second. The sound of a hummingbird nearby or the sweet ruffle of wing feathers from a low flying peloton of geese overhead.

I took my thin glass of new wine and silently went out the door to the porch. I sat in the swing and had a sip and swirled the wine as an aficionado would do. I then ran my had over the rim again while still swirling. Another worship song arose and plunged my spirit into my violin mind. I played along behind my closed eyes as the song rose up and did business with the wind in the high tree nearby.

The wine was gone quickly and other thoughts and visions poured out into me. Can these visions, satisfying and soothing be taught? No whirling dervish or blasting horns of battle can even come close to the ecstatic cradle of the living God. Caught up in His fellowship and finding revealed beauty in the wind and song of songs.

“Daughters of Jerusalem, tell me if you find Him. I am love sick” Gather the oil of gladness and fill your lamps and worship, and wait for the beautiful One to move among us. This is the warfare of Holiness. Sometimes with a shout for sure, but usually with a graceful kiss upon the hearts of His lovers. All around you, in front of you and behind you and within you, He is with you, He is for you, He is for you. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe

The Games I play

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

My family loves to play games, especially with guests after dinner. Sometimes with old TV dinner trays in the living room. The ones made out of wood that seem wobbly and will spill your dessert on your lap. Almost antiques inherited of course, from childhood, watching Lunch with Casey or Captain Kangaroo while munching on mac and cheese.

My family, especially me, hesitates when the announcement from my wife comes: “Hey, let’s play a game!” Somehow it takes place and I really get into it, but reluctantly at first. Why do I hesitate? I know why, because I play games all day and it would be good to stop for a while.

What games do I play? First one today, try to undo the new toilet paper roll without it looking like the cat shredded it for fun. Next, see if I can get my pants on while standing up without any wobble. Make the bed while counting how many times I have to go to the other side.

My record is twice when the cat does not complicate the game.

Driving to my morning rendezvous with my son and counting how quickly I can dim my head lights just before a car comes before me. If I get them before they do, I win. Best strategy is to see them coming before around a curve ahead. I think it’s courtesy foremost but it is actually my game as I declare; “I win” if I do it first.

It’s fun for me and it distracts me from the tedium and sameness of some of life’s tasks. I realize as I am writing this how much I do this. Counting things is foremost, like chess only my ‘opponent’ is random and usually myself. How many times can I throw the Frisbee perfectly flat and fast for our dog to leap and make a perfect catch? She even plays the game and takes a long run after a spectacular leap and snatch. I call it a victory lap.

The best game is when I swim very early and try to guess how long I will have to wait to get ‘my’ lane (wall lane) and the best part of the game is to see how long it takes me to pray for the other swimmers as they are also up early and playing the game of timing from the big clock at the other end of the pool.

I win the game if I pray for them, the swimmers, the drivers very close behind me in the dark, even the oncoming cars with a headlight out. Then the game becomes a delight and no longer a game of counting but an attitude of gratitude for the opportunity to once again, talk with our Lord and thank Him for His help in giving me delight in people around me. He likes that and I wonder at His smile and laugh when the supposed game turns out to be true life. It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator. Norm’s Scribe

Bullfighter

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

A saying I attribute to Sitting Bull. He spoke of the two wolves inside of us as well. I wondered about this wisdom this morning and ran across more wisdom from Michelle O’Rourke. The little bulls are the battle we have with the little deaths we all must experience in our lives.

The loss’ of physical strength or stability in using what I have left. The bull of my early times swinging spike malls and 16 pound sledge hammers. I agonize over that when I should just join that death with me being the matador and the bull, joined with that blade.

We all have them, those little bulls we embrace. The world inside that speaks failure and personal weakness or loss as the source. To rise up from the sand and brandish the blade and put that snorting thought to death. There are also the worlds many wolves that linger, just beyond the glow of our inner campfire. Eyes lit and eager to pounce upon our sense of worth and trample the fire.

That indeed is the leader of the wolf pack, sense of worth destroyer. I think I am worthless because of changes that come to us all. Physical strength, provision fears. What will become of me when those around me see this?

We indeed do change as we approach death. In old age or in disease or accident. All of us.

My favorite quote from Woody Allen: “I am not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens” Why do I cling so hard to my little bulls when I know they must die with me as everyone knows. Playing games within that Jesus will return and I will just be caught up with Him. Maybe I am akin to Enoch and will just ‘leave’ (after a long life) or Elijah who ascends in a flamed out custom chariot with really fancy custom wheels.

Better to listen to our God with his Mighty hand and outstretched arm that delivers time after time and tells me how much He loves me and will never leave me. Loves me the way only He does.

Many times He has shown me my true worth. Small things that are even bigger than the wolves that whisper and howl. He says, “Go here and talk to someone I will show to you” A purpose and all I have got within me. The reason I have had things happen that I can’t explain as excellent and good. My life unfolding with a mystery of loss and gain. Not embracing my mind and the abilities that I have been given as my very own brilliance and creation.

Indeed, the blade must go deep and true to put to death all those thoughts of self importance.

Listen to the creator of all things brilliant. He will give you all the encouragement and worth you ever have needed. He will turn your losses, your grief, and sadness into joy as you dance in the light of His light. Sit at His campfire and the wolfs of the world will not dare approach. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Old and Useless

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Not very long ago I was meeting some new people and was introduced to their family. I looked upon one of their children and he said to me “ You’re Old” I agreed and was nonplussed at the child’s observations and his immediate truth telling. Yes, I agreed, I am at least 8 times older than you. I felt a little sting. Aren’t we supposed to say afterwards: Wow you look great! I never would have guessed that you are that old.

I’ve said to several people and meant it too. I’m doing pretty good as my scribe puts it. Very active physically but there are deterioration’s that come with age. The saying is with age comes wisdom! Sometimes.

I can get a bit cranky without any knowledge of the segue to judgment. Usually these days when I am driving and get passed by a roaring vehicle on the double yellow only to have to slow down a half mile ahead as they turn left. Thinking quickly that I am commanded not to call anyone a fool, I use a Russian word and of course, the Lord does not speak Russian.

I indeed am old and gnarly but I have a nice smile. Shoppers at the big box smile back when they see me. Why am I not as blocked or mission focused as others are? They roar by me too, only to turn one aisle ahead and stop with another cart parked in front of them. I just shake my head briefly and cruise by as I look upon the crowded aisle of indigestible instant meals in boxes. I like Ramen but it’s not in that aisle. Betty Crocker meets the Roadrunner on aisle 5.

A piece of wisdom comes to mind from a Chinese story from approximately 2400 years ago. Looking upon a very old and twisted tree and relaxing in its shade were a young man and an older one. The older man said the reason the tree was there for them was it was useless for lumber and so left to grow old and large and give us comfort from the sun. Useful indeed.

The stumps around it testified to many chairs and tables There were no benches there. It indeed had grown well and it was very old. I like that story as gnarly as I am, I indeed am not useless either. You are now reading the wisdom I have read from before Christ our Savior. He does not consider me useless and neither does he consider you useless either. The vehicles that pass me on the highway are just eager people on the highway of Holiness. Perhaps they are eager to meet our Creator and lover. I must embrace that wisdom and I will smile and bless them. I’m getting better! It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe.

Many thanks to Chuang Tzu amd Henri Nouwen.

In Retrospect

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

A beautiful October morning that started with windshield scraping and is now showing the glisten of maple leaves in bright sunlight. Drying just for me to gather and spread onto the strawberry plants within our garden.

It is October 16 as I compose this and I decided to sit in the living room sunlight and read a delightful book, A year with C.S. Lewis. It is a gift to me from one of my mentors and good and loved pastor. I read the quotes and entry for today and realized that today is the day that C.S. Lewis’ The lion the witch and the wardrobe was published in 1950.

I was six years old then and had just entered first grade at Loring Grade School about six blocks away from our home in North Minneapolis. My sister, Diana, was in fifth grade and soon to be in Junior high at Patrick Henry School about six blocks away to the east.

A few years have past since then and I have been through the usual life we all experience. Again, in C.S Lewis’ The problem of Pain, there is wisdom that struck me today as encouraging. This book was quoted in my Calendar for today and the assurance of my life unfolded.

“I have seen great beauty of spirit in some who were great sufferers. I have seen men, for the most part, grow better, not worse with advancing years…” 1.

As the sun advanced across the living room floor, I began to see my life once again. Many interesting escapades and many close calls along with poverty, imprisonment and bitter sarcasm resulting from my embracing that pain.

And yet, somewhat recently, I have begun indeed growing better and not filled with fear and hatred of the world and myself included with it. A gentling and calming that surprises my family and other friends. I still keep my wit and humor but it is now tempered with a romance of life that gently pushes the pain aside. I like it and the opportunities to give the little bit of that transforming Grace from our Lord are coming forth. The thrill of action and prayer abounds when the transformation and healing come forth from Him.

There is great hope and Faith growing within me and those are the very gifts of God.

It’s pretty good.. Jack Gator scribe

1. C.S. Lewis The problem of Pain The type writer photo is the one that Jack and Warnie Lewis used

The Aeolian Harp

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Wind chimes, the delight of the flutter of blown leaves or the sway of a tall tree from a breeze that can be heard. These simple things generate a delight that can be explained that have never been explored in the emotion we feel.

The sudden pleasure and smile within our spirit is not even noticed in some ways. It’s just there. We are mostly unaware of the two forces within and without of us. There is a sudden flash of lighting and the instant thunder that shakes the house as the imprint on our retina starts to fade from the sun hot blaze strike. Nicoli Tesla would stand up clap and cheer every time he heard a bolt of lightning. A miracle all of us have heard of the connection between negative and positive EMF. From clouds that can weigh up to a million pounds!

We can then tremble at the power and fear felt or immediately be amazed in delight at the impossible power in a cloud of water. A thought that brings us to our spirit connection and the calm presence of our familiar lover of our soul.

The wind chimes again come to mind. That storm with the wind and thunder may have played a fast tune on them before they became tangled and perhaps so tangled that they could Knot easily be put right. [pun] Are we then to look about the strings and tubes and give up and toss the whole assembly? Or, take hold of the calm and rightness of beauty in the storm and take it apart lovingly, and bring the chimes back to life.

I have begun to see the connection between emotional storms and the music of the Aeolian harp that responds to the storm and gives us the steady center of our being. Full of sound and fury is the world and ourselves if we don’t listen for the calm and clearing skies within us.

“What if all animated nature be but animated harps diversely framed that tremble into thought, as o’er them sweeps plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, at once the soul of each, and God of all?” A.

Prayer seemed unnecessary. As I heard the breath of God tell me, once again the old saying of no one really knows where the wind comes from and wither it goes. He was telling me that His breath indeed is the breath inside my lungs I can now use this inward gift to praise Him and live in His presence. An Aeolian harp sings and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

We must be sensitive to nature’s voice if we are to be truly human. This is the whisper of God’s voice to us. I was at a prayer meeting where we were told to find a place where we could, in isolation, pray. I chose to go outside and sit on a porch. I began to hear wind and watched a very tall tree swaying it’s top.

1. Colerigdge Many thanks to the writing of Carl R. Trueman