I have noticed an uptick in velocities lately. 65 is the new 55. The speed limit signs used to say 55 day 45 at night.Not only on the highways and byways but everywhere. Rear ended in the baking supplies aisle as I was looking for canned garbanzo beans. Little did I know they were in the next aisle. Found them and fronted the shelf as there were only a half dozen back a ways. Pulled them up (it’s called ‘fronting’ in the retail biz) I thought that was a kind thing to do. I missed them first time around and I am certain there is ‘someone’ out there that needs them too.
I began to notice traffic in the carts had picked up since I entered the big box store. The speed of the carts picked up, and I found a check out lane that was staffed and began to wait my turn. It’s always easy to pass the time by reading the scandal magazines with gossip about the royal family. I got rear ended again. A lot of downward smile remnants and avoidance of eye contact. I have written a column about this called ‘anxiety’ but this time I remembered my recent church experiences. ‘Be anxious for nothing’ from a short book called Philippians, chapter 4.
I am a volunteer at what people refer to as a Mega church. Beautiful place to be and I have made many friends with staff and other volunteers. It’s easy in the earlier mornings because there are very few of us around. We wear name tags which helps those of us that have loose pages in our memory name section. I have an excuse for my internal Roledex missing entries. Seizures a half decade ago. Usual complaints we all have. The electrical system in me got a few circuit breakers tripped and corroded. A little rewiring needed. After a few months, we all remember each others names. Usually.
I stay at my volunteer position all morning from 0700 and leave around thirteen hundred hours. By that time, the parking lot is fairly empty and it is easy to find my way My son who is on staff as production director (I am the assistant director) drives us and buys me a crafted press near Forest lake on our way in. Perfect time for Father/Son chats as well. thepicture above is my son at the directors console
We spend a lot of our time in the media production room and have breakfast at VC (volunteer central). In between services we get to go into the lobby and chat with people and relax. Sometimes I go into the ‘green room’ where the musicians relax and pray with them It’s a pleasant Sunday in church. I am at comfortable there and since I am there every Sunday, I am a familiar person. A lot of volunteers are there on one Sunday a month.
The usual flow is somewhat different. Within minutes after the service is over, it is almost impossible to enter the main sanctuary and work your way to the front. The salmon upstream with four to five abreast coming at you. No one makes room and it is puzzling and scary in some ways. It feels like a fire alarm has gone off. The worshipers have spoken to God and I want to ask if He spoke to them. I like hearing about those things.
Same deal in the lobby and the parking lot. There are orange cones volunteers put out and police directing the outlets to the frontage road. It’s a lot like leaving the airport. A lot of give and take getting out of the lot. One message encouraged us to give way once in a while to someone waiting to get in line. “you don’t have to be Mother Theresa and let everyone in, there are cars behind you as well”. Just pay attention and move but slowly.
Why do we rush about? I can understand a crock pot miles away or a plane scheduled. It’s that way everywhere, always. Not just in this church.
I would love to chat about this mornings worship, the music, the soul scratching messages. The lobby food is all gone, the coffee shop is closed and it feels like we should now wave goodbye to a pleasant ‘restful’ holy day. The musicians leave as soon as the second service is over. After the second service begins, the food is put away in VC and the cleanup starts.
I like the big lobby in between the 9 and 11 services. People leaving and going but the atmosphere is gentile and relaxed. Some people go to both! We do, we have to. When the second service is over, the camera operators come in to our control room and hang up their electronics and badges and we mention a few shots that really were perfectly, and artistically done
We have a good half and hour to shut it all down and say our goodbyes to staff that are hard at work cleaning and making certain of their tasks. I like going through the corridor between our control room and the musician’s ‘green room’ and trying my hand at a double flip on the plastic hatchet throw target. Sometimes tickling the ivories on a old baby grand that is there with the rest of the stage and cables.
That area I Sometimes refer to as the ‘junk drawer’ corridor. A big electric lift platform next to a work bench with a microphone being soldered. Which hadn’t been touched in 6 months It feels like our shop at home with neat stuff. I soldered it last week with my learned skill building short wave transmitters. A delicate touch is required. I still love the smell of rosin core solder.
Alone among several thousand people and in this instance there is someone beside me and with me and is always for me. He turns His face towards me and gives me peace. I can introduce you to Him if you are interested. I would love to, no rush. It’s pretty good,
I was with a new friend Bryan in a coffee shop about 20 miles from home. We began speaking of the former owner and praising his character and the way he lived. He died a few years ago and we miss him. At the table next to us was a woman by herself and she asked us who we were. Instantly I said Bryan was my brother. It felt right. From that moment on, we have been brothers to one another.
She was now smiling and said she was the mother of the man we were speaking of. She was drawn to her sons name and we were pleased to have spoken so well of him with her nearby. Another ‘coincidence’ arranged for us and her. That man, Jake, was indeed a bright light to all who knew him. He walked with the Lord.
My brother was a volunteer at a church that was about 60 miles away in Minnesota. It broadcasts it’s services world wide for the spiritually hungry. My wife Julie and I and a dozen other neighbors had been watching those services together. There was authenticity and it felt right and good.
A month later, Bryan asked me to help him pray for people that were attending those services. He drove he and I down to the ‘cities’ the next week on a Sunday morning. I saw a parking lot as big as the one at the Minneapolis airport, filled with cars. We parked near a sidewalk that did not seem to be a parking spot but Bryan said it was fine, he parks there all the time. There were at least a thousand cars parked already.
I was expecting cab stands, I drove them a long time ago and this place seemed a good spot to wait after dropping people off. No cabs seen. The big double doors were attended by a handful of people with name badges on. As we walked towards the door, I noticed the address of the church. It began with 777 and those are also the numbers inside my old Gibson Lloyd Loar A model mandolin! Those things catch my attention. A confirmation and connection. The people at the doors were very bright and welcoming, that got my attention too. It didn’t feel forced or phony, It was genuine. I noticed that Bryan had on a name badge as they did. Really neat ones with magnets under shirts or jackets to hold them in place.
We went up a large spiral staircase and on the second floor, Bryan gave me a lanyard that simply said ‘prayer’ We walked down the balcony and into a room labeled ‘volunteer central’ There was breakfast laid out and tables that faced several TV screens that had the live stream of the service going on in the sanctuary nearby. Where, I had no clue yet.
Bryan had already bought me an Americano coffee downstairs and we sat down and were greeted by members of the prayer team. Soon, it was time for us to go and pray for people. I still had no idea what that was going to be like. Bryan led the way down the balcony the way we had come and we kept going past the stairway to a corridor that led to a doorway on our left. There was no one else in that hallway.
Bryan opened the door and there was a small platform with stairs to the left going all the way down to the main floor and leading to the left side of the stage where the Pastor was speaking. I stood there crying as I looked out upon thousands of people looking down and instantly knew I was experiencing a strong emotion of hunger. Through my tears I whispered: “Lord is it their hunger or mine I feel?” He said yes. It was overwhelming and never before had I walked through a door like that one!
Bryan and I walked down that long stairway to the left of the stage. The prayer team was there already. The service ended and the pastor said anyone desiring prayer would come down to the front of the stage. Astonished again, I saw many people come up from their seats and head down to where we were standing. The team leader quickly handed me a small vial of anointing oil and told me to ask them if they would like to be anointed on their hand or forehead. “For it is one thing to see the land of peace from a wooded ridge…and another to tread the road that leads to it” 1.
I was standing in front of the big bass bin speakers and I saw a man looking for direction and I smiled at him and nodded my head. He came over and stood in front of me. Right away I asked him if he would like to be anointed and chose to have his forehead be so. I dashed a small amount of oil on my right forefinger and drew a cross upon him. I told him this was a baptism of the Spirit and then asked him what he would like prayer for.
He said his wife was convinced she was ugly and did not listen to him when he told her she was beautiful. His need was personal and spoken from his heart. I told him of his obvious love of the Lord and today, his wife would see her beauty in his eyes when he returned home. Those words came directly to me to say, they were firm prophetic words. I had never considered that prophecy, Just listening.
We both cried and that man hugged me after asking. It was indeed OK and welcomed. After the second service it was more healing requests from dozens of people, eager to meet a prayer warriors words of healing and restoration. All of the prayers were given to me as a response to hunger.
Many tears and many strong embraces were in response to the words I gave. I felt well used and astounded again. Never had this happened to me so many times. People with desperate needs to connect with truth. The honor of conveying blessings from the Holy Spirit stays steady in my heart. There are blessings from my public writing and there will be more from speaking them as well.
I am now at a different campus and am involved in media production with my son. I occasionally slip into an area overlooking the right side of the stage after my work is temporarily done. I am hidden there as I am dressed all in media team black. I pray up there and watch to see if any of the prayer team needs help. I love that team too along with all the other volunteers that make a huge difference for the people who attend. It makes a big difference in us too. The joy goes both ways.
This is how I envision ‘church’ Like the very first ones we read about. Prayer to one another in unity with spiritual songs and and spoken words of His timeless blessing for us. The teams realize this and that is pretty good. Norm Peterson, Eagle Brook church volunteer.
A common word, found in everyone’s vocabulary and is used quite often in many signs and personal conversations. The tricky part is, what and where does this occur?
The most seen places are church bulletin boards or big outdoor signs. My personal preference is to call them by their resemblance to marble cemetery markers. Tombstones. Often lit. Sometimes they have times listed and can be read if you are going slowly. They always say Worship.
I studied worship at a school down in Kansas City and it became clear to me where the words and body postures came from! Hebrew origins from a while ago. A long while ago.
The first one is very familiar, Hallal. It shows up in a lot of singing and is the base word of Hallelujah. It means to be clamorous and be seen as foolish in praising the Lord. I have been surprised at my own responses when a band sings Jesus, Jesus, you make my heart tremble. I toss up my hands and weep at His name. I am reserved because I do not want to smack someone nearby in my enthusiasm for His name.
Sitting up front with no one in front and room to step out works well for me.
I have asked camera operators if it is OK that I am there and they understand and try not to hit me with the back panel of the hand held camera. I tell them I am aware of their fiber optic cable and will not step on it. (stepping on a coil of it when it is on top of itself is a cardinal sin) Fiber means glass. Operators worship too but it is easy to forget when you are working to tell the story.
I am involved with media production of worship and the simultaneous thrill of the clarity of worship can goof up a good camera shot when you are dancing with joy at the same time. It’s good to be close and among the leaders of the room’s worship. You know it’s real.
Shabach means clapping and shouting. That encourages musicians and if it offends you then you are probably in a bad mood or in the wrong place. Pentecostal worship is exciting and easy to engage with. I love it when the singers Shabach. It’s spontaneous in many places.
Zamaris worshiping our Lord on musical instruments. Plucking strings and joyfully singing praise. Zamar at nine and eleven would catch my attention! I especially like Banjo Zamar.
Barakis kneeling down or bowing down. Rhythmically bobbing works for many. I have seen a few people in a sanctuary just disappear as they fold up in front of their seat. It’s easier if the seats are further apart. Don’t worry about the carpet, facilities staff cleans it after every service.
Yadah is the extension of your hands. There is a separate word for halfway up in the air, I will have to look that one up sometime. You have done all of these things! It’s quite OK as the posture of worship is very traditional and as we all know, God never changes so it seems we should pay attention to that fact. Worship is a romance and Love is most of it but astonishment and joy are hooked on. It’s impossible for me to ignore knowing that I am involved in the timeless and overwhelming beauty of meeting with the creator of all things. Crying happens.
“Don’t you get shy on Me, come on and praise the Lord” Joy, it’s pretty good. Norm the Gator
There indeed is a ‘but’ in our in all of our thoughts and actions. My brother and I were at a local eatery/bar and our waiter was ‘interesting’ to us. The waiter seemed to be a rude woman. Very sarcastic too which to me, can be charming . (I have become aware that being sarcastic is not a very good conversation trend) It’s fun when you are with a close friend. Just don’t make a habit of it.
I asked if they had french fries and our waiter replied. “it’s a bar, do you want a beer too?” The fries were good, not hand cut but OK. I still did not know what to say to him. His costume was pretty good. He had nice trim razor bangs and hair with slight blue coloring. Oh well, so what, It was a person which the establishment had hired, Most certainly followed by local whisper gossip heard in small towns.
A saucy Lisa Minelli with menus and a pad and pencil. Cute, attractive but giving us a wry inward thought. A movie actress pose with hips slightly bent to the side accompanied by a wry smile. Both my brother and I are very humorous types and attend the same church which is very scriptural and very welcoming. To everyone. Love one another is a prime focus. Everyone.
The recent topic that was being preached was about the ‘buts in our lives’ Spelled with One T. Many ways we all use that modifying word. I will do that, but I do not have the time thing. In our immediate situation, I will accept this waiter but without judgment. Respect and the usual friendly banter we all have towards people in the service industry. Good tip always.
We continued our delicious meal with our usual brother to brother ways. “ what do you think our waiter is?” Not sure. “Sarcastic and forgot my refill on my coke!”. In my usual direct way, I asked our waiter if they were a Christian? A firm NO came forth with a disgusted description of his mother that was a woman of faith and how controlling and offensive she was. Boldly replying to my question. Instantly I asked “would you like to be one?” No never!
My brother then went up to the bar and showed our waiter the bill and he said “it was wrong as it was too little”. “No one has ever done that before!” the waiter said. Our sodas were removed from the bill for being forthright and honest and the bill was then the ‘correct’ amount. Outside as my brother readied his Austrian motorcycle and I prepared to walk to my truck, we smiled and I swept my hand towards the ground and said “seeds were planted”
We both smiled and agreed, indeed that was good. Declaring our Christian belief andshowing respect and honesty. It was pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe
The flash and flare in the east and it is time. Move away from the comfort and deep sleep, awaken to dawn. Shut of the alarm clock, rise to the circadian rhythm of my body. Grasp my robe from the hanger on the back of our bedroom door. Close the bathroom door and glance at my tousled hair. A small pleasure in the new toilet seat that lowers itself slowly and doesn’t bang.
There are duties and places to be and now, it’s easier to find things because there is light beginning to arrive from the east. There is a small Brownian movement from the dust and I turn on the coffee maker. Go back in the parlor and open the side draft, rake the coals and put on a few pieces of wood.
I Find the good bread and drop two slices in with the timer set to max. The good bread is heavy. I ponder finding the cash for that upgrade on my cell phone already as I check the wood stove. Can we afford it? After all, everyone in the family has a new phone. Mine is old and I need to be current. It is the state of made things, they are old by the date they are put for sale. New and improved. No ‘good till’ or expired dates on your cell phone, but now I can’t find a screen guard to replace the cracked one. “You have to get a new one, yours is several years old. How much? Only 35 bucks a month forever.
It’s better with the shredded wheat on the shelf, we all know it’s good for a few years on our shelf. Silly thoughts along with dream remnants that linger until they too, pass into the storage area in my mind that is never too full and unavailable now and then.
There is a shuffle and purpose at hand to indeed waken fully and the hot caffeine warms my old ceramic cup. Carefully, set it down besides the fresh toast and open up a book next to the vitamins and various pills. The accouterments of morning rituals. The book now at hand is a collection of short stories that take slow reading to understand. Sarte, Sallinger and the rabbit eared current choice is Tolstoy’s ‘The death of Ivan Illych’
Nothing to it. Toast and coffee and a little orange juice to sluice down a hearty meal of existential writing and with some of the greatest short stories ever written. It’s still early and my son is stirring a bit. I come to the part of the story when Ivan knows he is dying and no one will be honest with him about how they feel about it and him. Only a peasant boy tells him the truth.
A quote from la Rochefoucauld is remembered: “One can neither stare long at the sun nor at death” During the war the thought was, it will come quickly It did to that shipmate on the horizon. It was close but I am OK. Next stop, Palma De Mallorca. Great liberty! My acquaintances ship has been sunk over the horizon. Tough luck. Time to celebrate after freedom from with the liberty boat and have a few drinks in his memory.
We go on, inwardly feeling we will live forever and poor old Ivan, it must have been his diet or that he just wouldn’t go to gymnasium as they advised him so many times. After all, his whist game was more important to him. There was nothing to be done. and here I am hundreds of years later, dressed for a church funeral service. I am Still in my book and almost awake.
A funeral then to go to. The fact that we are soon to be in that silken and narrow box does not cross our conscience. Even when the preacher tells us we are off the hook by death of Jesus’ sacrifice, we do not comprehend the sacrifice, it’s not totally understood. Tithe well and we might walk as Enoch did and not have to suffer as Ivan illych did. That’s it! The second coming and it will all work out! Don’t worry, be happy.
Death is defeated knowledge lingers and we are all good to go. Mourning seems to have passed us by. Ask not who the bell tolls for, it’s you. Old Ivan, it was his time to go. The rest of our family is up and dressed and we drive a dozen miles to the church for a funeral for a neighbors son.
Is there lunch after this funeral? Should be. It’s good here at the church of endless life. Maybe if I get in line before every one else does! I do not want to miss that apple pie I saw as I walked by the kitchen!
No one knows the hour of our death. People of faith in Jesus know what His resurrection means for us. Still, I like it here and I know my loved ones will have Shiva at the house. I do not like to think about the weeping, just as I wept as the coffin wheeled by me and I reached from my seat and gently prayed as the polished wood slid beneath my extended fingers. A young boy taken from us in tragedy.
Live well, love well and spend a lot of time speaking and listening to our creator that knew us when we were yet to be born. “why me?” “why am I here and what am I to do? I ask of Him. He answers gently. “I knew you would know the joy and sorrows of life and I Like how you write and talk about it and Me. That seems pretty good.
It was just a memento, really. A friend had given me the coin, in honor of my service in the six day war, back in the middle sixties. (The story is in my column, Soaring.) It is a recollection of the times at sea when my ship was threatened by a Russian guided missile Frigate at night.
That young woman could buy a coffee in Jerusalem at a Cofix store or some noodles with the coin, but it meant more than that. It was a confirmation from a total stranger that Jesus holds her tight, and will always love her. Right here right now. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
The rescue came from ‘above’ with a tomcat fighter on our side of the war. Battle group stuff.No body died at that time but it was very terrifying nonetheless. For both ships and crews.
So, many decades later, that five shekel coin wound up on my dresser. Covered with dust many times and mostly forgotten with the usual dresser top debris. Pens, pencils, notes on small post it pads and a jewelry box with alligator pins, bow ties and very ancient and worthless cuff links. There even was an old hand-held ham radio transceiver up there with a nice whip antenna. Battery was dead. I found the charger and the battery works. Two meter rig, handier than a cell phone with 5 watts instead of 1/2 or less.
One day, a Sunday, I was getting ready to go to my volunteer position on a prayer team. Early in the morning as the church was about an hour and a quarter drive away. I grabbed a handful of quarters to buy an espresso and at the last moment put them aside on my desk and grabbed the 5 shekel coin and pocketed it. No reason really, just felt right in my left jean pocket. It belonged there that day.
On the somewhat dark morning drive there was a whisper in my spirit that I was to give the coin to the first person I met when I walked in the door. This is an interesting time of day to get into the church as it doesn’t open the doors until 8. I had left a message with a pastor that oversees the facility that I would be in early. I was being dropped off by my son who works at another campus of the Eagle Brook church nearby (Blaine) He is a director of the media department and has to come in early to set up the equipment and test the simulcast stuff. I was early at 7 and walked up to the big doors from the parking lot and it was pretty quiet. Lots of parking at that time!
When I reached the locked doors, a woman inside the second set of ‘airlock’ doors smiled, and came right up and opened the outside door and greeted me by name. Very pleasant considering there are over 800 staff people in the organization. Ten times that many volunteers. I dug into my left hand pocket and handed her the Israeli coin. I told her briefly why I did so. She widened her eyes and told me I did not know how much this meant to her. She is a missionary to Israel, is involved with these things and later, at an early gathering on the second floor, she gave it to a young woman that was going to Israel soon. Her plane had been canceled due to the new war.
This post was written several years ago. Since that time I have moved to the Blaine Campus and am an assistant director in production. I still slip down and join the prayer team if they have need. Dual chitizenship!
“Hey, introduce me” Thinking of all the prefixes quickly to describe the person standing next to you. Uncle, Aunt, child, spouse or parent are the usual choices. We are all faced with that a lot and the easiest one I have found is to say; “We both have the same best friend! That’s how Social situations are the usual place that question is put forth. A gathering. Anywhere really.
If asked we can expound on the situation but it often suffices to settle the polite inquiry. Conversation then can go deeper between the three people. It’s fun to find connections between us. Often it seems serendipitous when mutual discoveries are found.
Some people refer to this as “providential” but to me that sounds like an insurance company.
Many times I have used ‘Miracle’ for so-called chance encounters that are incredible and so complex with place/timing and circumstance, that I like to use the word miracle. Things happen that we can’t explain. I have had plenty of them and have given up on randomness to explain them.
I can tell you about some of the real interesting ones, I have already written of them. They are at my web site publication, ask me and I will give you the location. One of my favorites is the way I met Julie, my precious wife. A miracle, no doubt about it. Undeniable and funny too.
How about you? Do impossibly neat things happen to you that can’t be explained by the Brownian movement of randomness? It happens every day most days for all of us. I look ahead to it. I am willing to venture that is a common occurrence for you too.
Do you have a best friend? Most of us do and of course, as we get older, a lot of them die. Pass away is the polite term for that. My new friend that I share a relationship with as having the same best friend have that in common too. Our best friend died some time ago but is still in our hearts when we talk about Him. He lives on. Eternity is like that. Time can’t stop love nor destroy it.
Talk about miracles! Our mutual best friend didn’t stay dead! He still talks to us. It is very subtle sometimes when we hear from Him. We have to be quiet, real quiet and open in our spirit to Him. No cell phone or text needed. Just listen.
By now, you have figured who our mutual best friend is! The nice part is, He be yours too. He gets around a lot and spends time with many people. Of course, you can ignore Him but the nice part is, He doesn’t get mad when you do. He never forgets anyone and you can talk and listen anytime day or night. No long distance charges. Let me know who your best friend is and chances are, if you have read this to this point, It’s probably the same one as ours. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe
It was a good friendship. An E4 and an O6. That’s a Petty Officer third class and a Captain. We were also neighbors. Myself and Pastor Russ. Neighbors that met riding bicycles on passable blacktop roads. Russ lived about a mile and a half away from me and once in a while, we would go for a ‘spin’. There was another huge difference between us as Russ was a category 2 racer and I just liked to ride. Cat 2 is pretty professional and impressive. He was a very good rider to be with. I learned a lot.
One remarkable day, Russ was riding alone and met a very pretty and friendly bicycle rider. She was riding nearby and as Russ was married to Debra and a pastor, he was safe to ride with.
Not long afterwards, Russ mentioned to me about this woman. “She runs a lakeside camp nearby, it’s called Whispering Pines. Pretty good cyclist too!” Myself as a lonely bachelor, was intrigued. I knew where the camp was and began thinking about Russ’s new friend. Just by coincidence a real woman cyclist that lived nearby and with a job! Obviously fit and friendly. Russ said she was pretty too. I considered calling the camp. Why not?
Meanwhile, that cyclist, Julie, was out in Washington state at a conference. She was at a local bar near the Canadian border and the bartender, Margaret, was gregarious and asked Julie where she was from. She told her where the she was from and the bartender, casually wiping down the bar said, “where in Trade Lake do you live?” “What! No one knows that dinky little township!” Margaret replied, “My grandparents lived in Trade Lake” They had a few things to talk about then.
Margaret, incredibly enough, was an old friend of mine and gave Julie my phone number. Julie put it in her wallet and when she returned to Wisconsin and the camp, tossed that piece of paper into a drawer in her office. A Junk drawer holding device to eventually have some of it’s contents put into a round holding device standing on the floor nearby.
On a particularly perfect day for cycling, I decided to call the camp and asked for the director. I gave her my name and mentioned my friend Russ. I also told her that Russ and I rode a lot together and asked if Julie would like to ride sometime. “It’s that Guy! The friend of that bartender way out west!” Julie consulted the head cook, Cora who was her trusted friend if it would be OK to go ride with me. “why not? Sounds safe, a pastors friend” she replied
So Julie told me OK, and being mostly clueless but aware that neutral territory was not at her place nor mine, I suggested we ride our bicycles towards one another on county road M and we meet that way. I saw Julie coming towards me, uphill and riding strong. I waited for her, watching her technique. Pretty good climber.
We did a short 50 mile ride and I asked her out to eat afterwards. Little Mexico, a great local restaurant with homemade guacamole and chips, they had good Mexican beer too. Cora said: “why not?” And so we went. This time I drove my car, a Volvo wagon with a bike rack on the roof of course.
That wise cook had some chocolate cake for our dessert when we returned. After many enjoyable rides later, some of them with pastor Russ, it began to be clear that this whole thing was a coincidence of extraordinary circumstances.
Sometime later when my old friend, Margaret, the bartender, got in touch, I told her the delightful bicycle romance story and then she added one more fact. The exact place on County road M where Julie and I met, was right at the driveway where Margaret’s Grandparent’s had lived. As this story has been told many times, I always say; “It was a miracle, God’s handiwork”.
Julie continued managing the camp until another director was chosen for the job. She moved in to my farm and we played house for a time. We also began working at 7 pines lodge nearby in Lewis. Fresh caught brook trout and fried carrots was the main menu. It was also the only thing on the menu.
The manager was a good fly fisherman and had us, the waiters, put on mystery dinners. All the guests became suspects in the mystery murder and myself and Julie played the hosts of the hotel where the murder was. The manager did not take part in the play as he was busy in the kitchen.
Out of the blue at home, Julie and I proposed and it seemed to make a lot of sense to us. ‘Shacking up’ later on when I became baptized, we realized living in sin was also a description. It seemed good and right. I did get the wedding ring made from my Grandmothers ring. Proposing was an equal opportunity proposition. It worked for us. Still does. More perfect timing. We were married at 7 pines lodge and the wedding was a fabulous affair. The square dance band that I played in (Duck for the Oyster} came to help with the music as well as Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson and Mary Dushane from the Powder milk Biscuit Band. Myself and three fiddlers stood in a circle around my beautiful bride and we played a Swedish waltz, Helsa Hem Dar Hemma.
A Real log lodge with a stream house that straddled the trout stream, that was where we spent our wedding night. The running water made bathroom breaks occur often. It was glorious and one of those memories that is permanently set within us. The dance was at the West Denmark church hall and we still have a photograph of Julie’s dad strutting down the middle of the Virginia Reel dance. More food and leftover wedding cake.
My mom drove up in her Buick convertible to attend our wedding. She almost left in the beginning of the ceremony saying that her dog needed her at home. She stayed with some gentle urging from a good friend of ours. It was obvious that something was going on with mom. Dementia. Her dad had the same issue and died not long afterwards of the onset. Mom was still living in her third home in Bryn Mawr Minneapolis.
After a few years went by and our two children were growing and our farmhouse was rebuilt to double it’s original size. (right before Bjorn, their first born arrived) My Mom agreed to help finance the huge mound system that was needed for the ‘upgrade’ to our home. Bedrooms for the kids after all.
My mother was fading and I drove down at least every week to help her out. Managing the bills and looking after things. Not too long afterwards, about a year, we moved Mom up to our area into a nursing home. Julie had an old pastor friend, Barry, agree to come up to talk to my Mom. however, she died that night and he came up anyway and spent hours with me at the kitchen table. “Mere Christianity” was referred to a lot and I brought up other religions, Buddhism, Islam and my early family attendance at a Christian Science church in Minneapolis. “What about you? What do you think about all this, we are talking about you” It was a very important Question. This was serious and I had a lot think about. Barry slid the C.S. Lewis book across the table and it made sense the more I read it. Still do.
Barry’s church, a Congregational one, agreed to do mom’s funeral with a meal and even light a candle every Sunday for a week or two. No charge. Character in a great man of faith. We began attending as we both were becoming closer to being Christians. Julie already was one, I was still wary.
Soon thereafter, I had a life changing experience at Russ’ church (Russ was in the Navy as a chaplain then and there was a new pastor) . A Christmas cantata was offered and I reluctantly said I would go. Of course, Bjorn and Soren, our sons, were in Jammies, and went up on the choirs risers just before the concert! Great embarrassment for us as we were not well known even though the church was only a mile and a half away from our home. Zion Lutheran.
The Holy spirit overcame me as the choir was singing ‘Mary did you know’. A man in the choir began reciting the words of the song. All I saw was his face and those words changed my Life. Forever. “It’s all true! He is creator of all things! Somebody had to do it! Random evolution never made sense to me.
Pastor Barry said Christ loves me! I still believe the Holy Spirit was running the spotlight up in the balcony so the man reciting had the light directly on him and the angle of the light reflected right to me. It was the major point in my life. The church is still there and once in a while we go to a smorgasbord there. That experience was so overwhelming that attending would not work. The memory is too strong. I stopped once and told the new pastor about these things and he showed me the sanctuary where it happened. It seemed to encourage him. He has the same last name as ours, Peterson. Small world indeed.
Our marriage continues to grow as Julie was already a believer in Jesus. It was good news to her as well. Many times that story still brings tears to me. You know the feeling. Words began to fall short and it’s hard to speak them. That song, obviously, is my favorite and I weep and worship when it is sung.
Our whole family began attending Pastor Barry’s church near Amery, but with the two boys, it was hard to go 80 miles round trip every Sunday. There was a ministry too even further away at Lake Elmo, it was an automotive repair ministry (God’s grease monkeys) and I continued to be a volunteer there. Our Volvo was filled with food while I was working. I was a foreign car shop owner at that time and I was pretty useful. It was another blessing that continues on in various ways. Every church gathering we attend has miracles when we look. He is pouring His spirit out on us. You too.
Later, at a sweet corn feed at a local church, we met Pastor Roger Inoway and the relation with Grace Baptist, a church association for us began. It was only ten miles away in Grantsburg, Wisconsin.
Our family began attending that church and eventually we started a successful food ministry there. The monthly event was named Feed My Sheep. It was coupled with an automotive repair ministry, Grace Garage. The food ministry was a bright spot for us as we got to minister and pray for the people waiting in an adjacent room. They were waiting to be called to get in line for the food distribution. People still comment to Julie and I about those prayers and some healing that occurred. The church made me a deacon in the process too.
News came that the camp, Whispering Pines, was in need of a temporary manager while it was up for sale. Julie and I stepped into that position and soon after, two pastors showed up on motorcycles at the camp. They expressed interest in buying it! Perfect. Keep the camp Christian owned and run. A good vision for us for certain. We got baptized at Whispering pines soon afterwards. Pastor Barry had never performed a baptism and so dunked us three times. “Father, Son and Holy Spirit” and I saw him above me in the clear lake water. I asked him what he saw as he looked at me. “A dead man” he perfectly replied.
There was a quick transition to those new motorcycling pastors church with the blessing of the Grantsburg leadership. Back south of Highway 8 again! Our family fit in well and eventually became the worship team there. We were licensed as Pastors but weren’t installed. When the two Pastors they were hoping would buy the camp didn’t buy it we left. The camp was sold to a real estate developer and after a neighborhood fight about loosing the beautiful Methodist camp to a developer, it was developed into high end lake homes (½ mile of lake shore went with the camp) It was time to find a church closer to home and after dreaming together about their next move, both of us got the same named local pastor.
That church seemed appropriate and it was only a few miles away. You have noticed that a lot of what is called ‘Church Hopping’ occurred for us. It wasn’t that at all. It was Church involvement and being led by the Spirit. About five years at each house of worship was average. All of it extraordinary and good.
It’s a hard life at times and our whole family has had many challenges from both of our pasts. We are still together and praising the Lord and his way of loving them. Our Lord does not have a plan. He is plan. Now we listen to Him and we follow His leading. The Lord speaks quietly and we are getting better at listening.
We continued singing and playing songs to Him and about Him, writing a few of those songs as well. It’s better than my bar band, and I am not even obligated to wear a cowboy hat. We did move to another church again to a refurbished bar that I played with the country western band! It was a new life about 30 miles away. I occasionally played Viola and the Mandolin there. South of highway 8 again. As I write this we have again been called to another gathering, Eagle Brook in Minnesota. I am working with Bjorn who is the media director and he asked me to become his AD (assistant director) It’s a long drive but he drives most of the way after I drive to his place about 28 miles south. I am also being trained as a camera operator.
We do wear our faith on our sleeves. Just like in my Navy days in a way. This story catches attention to unbelievers. It still catches our attention around May 23rd as well. our anniversary day.
Who can foretell the leading of the Lord? Jesus guides as he provides and that is challenging and exciting.
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
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
Jack gators grace notes 