The world has packed the phone booths and no one knows the number of another one. “Operator? I need to be connected. Can you do this for me? No, I do not know the number But I need to talk to them” Dial tone.

What is the question? What pushes us into that isolated phone booth? Who do we need to connect with?

It seems safe in the old fashioned phone booth. Sure, it’s glass and anyone can see me, but the door closes and maybe the people I fear will respect my need to be alone.

Perhaps I don’t need to talk to someone about this transparent loneliness I need to embrace. I need to be alone and yet, I know I need someone desperately to understand. No phone booth will take a message and help me call back. Someone took the phone book and all that is left is the chain. I wrap it around my hand to calm me.

Maybe later I’ll put on my mask and stroll into a shopping place and look around for something I need. There must be something I have forgotten that I really need to get. I cannot see very well as this mask fogs my glasses. I cannot see if anyone is smiling or not and I assume they feel the same way. Just assume they are as afraid of me as much as I am of them. Fear, my nemesis and my excuse for bad behavior.

Our nation, our country does not trust anymore. We don’t trust the government. We don’t trust our police force. We don’t trust the news we stream in daily. It’s no wonder that there are flash mob thefts, car jacking, drive by shootings and the like. We don’t trust ourselves and the things we were perhaps taught about trust.

There seems to be a shadow malevolent power that somehow is broadcasting destruction to us. There are a lot of exposes’ on the media of course. The shadow power is never named, never mentioned. Too risky. No doubt at all if named, the namer will be censured and dismissed as a conspiracy kook. Another schulb that spends their time hacking web sites with cold pizza and Dr,Pepper close at hand.

What’s the cure for all this destruction? It threatens our very country and our founding principles in the Declaration and the Bill of Rights. It will be exposed and defeated by one method only. Prayer. The Creator Himself sees these things and wants us to talk to Him. Earnestly. It’s not that He will change everything to suit our fancy and relief. He will talk with us as we talk to Him. Calming and assuring that this terrible destruction we see and feel is not what it appears to be. “Trouble, You’re gonna have trouble. But when the Bad is good. Then the good is not bad”a. Don’t be surprised by this and pray hard for His Love to flood us. To hold us and give us trust as His very gift. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

a. Clifton Chenier and his Louisiana red hots

here is a worldwide pandemic of…Fear. There is also, accompanying this Fear, a host of issues that come out of the Fear pandemic. Riots, Thefts of cars and looting stores. There is rage and violence citizen to citizen.

Anyone reading this doesn’t need these things pointed out and named.

There is an underlying result of this pandemic. Isolation and what is referred to as ‘existential methodology’

Big words, big meaning. As long as our own religious activities, evangelism and lives are not disturbed, we will be OK with an authoritarian government. Referred to as personal peace and prosperity 1. A serious inflation combined with an economic breakdown can cause anyone to panic and worry about their life-style of pleasure and no troubles. “We got trouble and that starts with T and that rhymes with P and that stands for Pandemic.”

All of this, whatever viewpoint you have, is ameliorated by truth. It’s difficult to discern with the news, Facebook, Twitter and Bitter and the like. As the front of my favorite T shirt says: “The back of this shirt is false.” The back says “the front of this shirt is true”

Everyone, I mean everyone, has an opinion and there are, of course, opinions about opinions. We are fearful of making a mistake, offending someone about our decisions. Mask Up! Mask Off! Mandates, Passports for the ‘right thinkers’ Even the government seems as confused as we are. The Fear acronym: False Evidence Appearing Real. It works. The song ‘Fixin’ to die rag’ by country Joe and the Fish seems appropriate at this time. The song was about the draft. Gator got drafted when he was at Recruit Depot in San Diego. Timing was important back in those ‘good old days.

One of the refrains of that old song ends this way “..Ain’t no time to wonder why, whoopee we’re all going to die!” It’s ironic for Jack. Now you have to get shot to survive. And of course, if you don’t want to get shot, you are scorned and called names. Fear again. Fear of the government and fear of your neighbor. How can we get rid of this national fear? The same way the early Christians did. Trust and give it all, not just part, but the whole heart to the Lion of Judah, Christ. It seems simple but was the hardest thing for Jack to do (mentioned a LOT in previous columns).

Then this Truth (another word for Faith) will become our focus rather than the world’s fear and anxieties. We find ourselves calmer. Boldness with the romance of the Risen Lord going before us. We find ourselves moving about in the world and seeing the light in other people of the way. Back in the early days there was a lot of danger in that recognition. If you were wrong, you might get arrested and killed. Perhaps those days are returning? We will know our brothers by their love. If you look with the eyes of fire you will see that in other eyes as well. Focus on Him and Him alone in all facets of your life and it will happen. There are no measures that anyone can do than that without the eternal intimacy within.

It is so much fun to look at a stranger and tell them that they are a Christian by the way they act. We can see it if we are open. We can feel that connection if that empty part our Lord built into us is filled now by Him. Anything can happen when our whole heart (not part, but all) is surrendered. Personal peace yes, but not by might, not by a platform where everyone knows our name. Not by fortune, and not by those little straps on your boots. You may ask as C.S.Lewis put it: “Is he safe? No, He’s a Lion, of course He’s not safe! But He’s good!” Love the giveaway, it’s the formula for eternal joy. (It’s found in Acts.) It’s pretty good! Jack Gator

1. Gregory Koukl

It was an easy task on the way back home. Early in the morning. Jack was passing through the closest small town to eye up the crowd at the corner cafe and drop off a book and a few DVD’s at the town library. There was a car parked near the library entrance. It looked a bit ‘rough. Paint faded almost to a gray primer color. Drivers door slightly ajar. The signs of travel on the budget plan. Living in the car type of thing. A jumble of belongings and a few empty white Styrofoam civilian ‘mre’s’ on the seat.

Gator knows the signs. He lived in a pickup truck out in the bay area about 40 years ago. He had built a wooden camper in the bed and it even had Plexiglas skylights, french doors on the back and a few shelves with ‘fiddles’ to keep things on them. Pretty exotic for a street person. There was a small propane one burner ‘stove’ to heat up Jack’s favorite meal. Dinty Moore beef stew. He liked it. The family grimaces at the image. It was cheap too. Playing on the street with his Martin Guitar for spare change. There was enough change for the can of stew and gasoline to get across the bay bridge and park overlooking the ocean. Open up the doors, cook up the stew and enjoy the view and the breeze. There were no bridge tolls at that time, just on the Golden Gate. It was a life of sorts. Homeless.

So, inside the library vestibule is the drop-off chutes for books and dvd’s. There is also a bench with free magazines opposite. This time, sitting on the bench was a man that appeared to be a perfect match with the gray car parked outside. Thin, needed a shave and very friendly. Jack asked if he was from the Dakota’s. Somewhat taken aback the man answered in the affirmative. “cold up there too” Jack replied. It was around ten outside just then. A polite conversation ensued and the drifter mentioned that the town had a lot of traffic in the bars quite close by. “After all, it is Wisconsin” replied Jack.

Book and dvd’s deposited, Jack walked across the street to his newer auto with good paint and tires. The doors and heater worked and Jack buckled in. Suddenly, that still, small voice told Jack to part with one of his Andrew Jackson bills (Jack had two of them). Not too hesitantly, Jack unbuckled and tucked the twenty in his right hand and walked back to the library.

As mentioned, Jack knew the signs. He knew the score. The man had most likely spent the night in the somewhat warm vestibule as a refuge from the rough looking car. Jack walked back in and held out the twenty and told the man: “It appears that you are up against it. Go get yourself some breakfast.” Surprised at the gesture, Jack was thanked and Jack left across the street to his warm car.

Twenty bucks that was well spent. Maybe on refreshment at the bar next door, maybe down the street at the cafe filled with men in hunting orange. It didn’t matter to Jack. There was no evidence of sleeping off an overdose of aliphatic ketones from the two dispensaries nearby.

A mystery and a gesture from a stranger that has Kingdom consequence. Someone noticed. The perfect someone that had an emphatic reaction to circumstance. Perfect timing.

Obedience to that still, small voice that Jack hears now and then. Almost always inconvenient and costly. After all, Jack’s family had a prayer room right next door for years and the ‘odor’ of hearts praising the Lord prevails on that street. It felt good to Jack. Useful. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

The missionary, out in ‘the field’, we have all heard the term and some of us have been one. There are so many ‘fields’ in the world. Gator had an image of this field as wading through a jungle or trudging about a very different terrain overseas. It seems everyone that has been asked, suggested to about this field, thinks of deepest, darkest Africa. Complete with Indiana Jones types and indigenous people that can kill you in many various ways if you make a social faux pas. The favorite one seems to usually be a blowgun dart or a bent tree branch with spikes. Too many movies about adventure for gain. The mission field has gain of a different sort. Eternal.

The foreign country field often involves flying on the frayed cuff. Sometimes sleeping in various airport or bus terminals in various positions. Pulling chairs together or dreaming of a quarter activated padded storage locker that slides out about six feet. Those dreams can come unexpectedly while sagging between those chairs. There are also predators in the terminals which could sweet talk a Chicago cop. The world needs those missionaries in many locales, but not just in far away places. Right in one’s own neighborhood perhaps.

The Gator family created a mission in their area of the world that gave families a bounty of food for ten bucks.

There are professional food gleaners that acquire food from distributors. Food that is out of date or about to be out of date. Some foods too that just don’t move as fast as thought. Pickled eels, fresh Beetle juice (two stars for that one), Dried mushroom flour, things like that. Gator has a ‘best by date’ that indicates he is prime for sale as well. About ten years ago. The food in reality is good fruit, veggies, breads and often meats as well. Several times huge cardboard containers of watermelons. It was always a surprise and usually delightful.

The best part of the ‘Feed my sheep’ mission was the two Gators (Mrs and Mr) that held a meeting before the food was set out on tables. In another room with chairs, filled with people with shopping bags, carts and cardboard boxes. Eager, at times, to hear what these intriguing reptiles had to say, they listened. There was nothing else they could do. Sort of a standby terminal for flying into the next room and getting your ten bucks worth of good stuff. Quite a few of them were Christians and taking care of the brethren is scriptural too.

So, the Gators talked to the room about how the food was obtained and why the volunteers showed up to help. Even carrying out the bounty to trunks and back seats parked nearby. Skycaps from a different sky locale.

Mr and Mrs Gator earnestly talked about the King who was nearby and had talked them into starting the mission and how the roomful of people could talk to this King themselves. He even touched some of them who had various physical and social ills. Some felt the romance of Jesus calling them to Him. Grace that led to faith, the very gift of God. A judge of all of us, but firm in His desire for all men to repent and Be filled with joy as they saw reality and the world with His eyes and heart. The gentle way of the Christian leaders among them was the catalyst that Jesus was using to talk to everyone in that room. It wasn’t easy many times, but worth it.

Often some people would be astonishingly healed of their ills. Returning recipients of the bounty had good stories to tell and it enhanced the expectation of something good. It also brought the King into sharp focus and reality. Truth. There were, of course, many of the public that were agnostic or even Pagans that ‘endured’ this.

A mission field right in the same county the Gators lived in! Only ten clicks away from their modest ranch and it felt good and right. They even got some of that good food too. So, you see, the mission field can be across the planet or in your own neighborhood. The key is to be available when the King lets you know of an mission that requires some one just like you. A special person that is perfect for the job. You. Completely unique, one of a kind and the mission can involve hundreds, thousands of people or just one. You. It seems the King is not interested in numbers of served or servants. His standards are just and true, just for you. He loves it when the ones he whispers to or writes love letters to, answer Him with an eager ‘Yes!’

Listen for His voice. He speaks softly and at times speaks right into your soul, unmistakable, and exciting. You can say no of course, but the task is suited for you and the rewards are simply the Beloved Kings to give. The best gift of all is His presence. There were folks at this ministry that were attendees at local Christian worship services that had never seen this type of prayer, of talking to Jesus as he was present in the room. He is the King and He promised The Holy Spirit to guide and be a helper to us. It never stops and the echos continue. You begin to recognize believers by their countenance. Telling them you see this is another mission field. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

The story always starts the same way. A ship, the Mayflower leaves Europe and sails for religious freedom (not to be confused with freedom from religion which came almost 400 years later)

The ship carried 102 passengers and it took over two months to make the crossing. Bad weather and the usual oceanic thrills and danger. They missed their destination at Plymouth (Not Belvedere as has been put forth) They had to sail across Massachusetts bay from Cape Cod a month later. Those pilgrims consisted of Catholics, Lutherans, Anglicans, Quakers, Presbyterians, Protestants and a few Jews.

There was a genuine deliverance, providential and we are sure, astonishing. Many of the ‘Pilgrims’ as they began to known, died in that first year and in 1621 the first feast began with about 90 of the Wampanoag natives with fish, venison (Five deer) Eels, shellfish, stews, veggies and beer. They fired guns, and drank liquor to seal the treaty of peace.

The treaty lasted till King Phillips war (1675 -1676) when a lot of colonists and natives lost their lives. About 54 years of peace. It was a war between the colonists and indigenous peoples. America’s bloodiest war as 30% of the colonists were killed (2500) and a dozen towns destroyed. About 5000 Wampanoag’s were killed. The head of the natives was Metacong known as Prince Phillip!

The colonists, of course, continued to pray and thank God for provision.

When the American Constitution was enacted in 1798, (221 years ago) Congress left celebrating to the states. Finally on October 3, 1863 President Lincoln proclaimed Thursday November 26^th. In 1942 president Roosevelt declared the 3^rd Thursday in November to give an extra boost to the merchants for another week of Christmas shopping! The Thanksgiving holiday 130 years ago had feasts coupled with the Yale vs Princeton football game (1876) In 1920 costumed revelers and Gimbals department store had a parade with Santa Claus. In 1924 the Macy’s parade, also in NYC had huge balloons.

Now the celebration is focused on Intercultural peace, immigrants and home and family.

Canada has their Thanksgiving on the 2^nd Monday in October. It began in 1578 for the thank fullness of Sir Milton Frobisher’s crew surviving. It was on November 6^th from 1879 and changed in 1957 to the 2^nd Monday in October. 442 years ago. Also thanking God for survival,They celebrated with salt beef and mushy peas. (This was 43 years before the Mayflower arrived.)

Alexander Hamilton, a founding father and Washington’s companion declared “No citizen of the U.S. Shall refrain from Turkey on Thanksgiving day” So, now we consume 45 to 46 million on Thanksgiving. Hamilton was killed in a duel by Aaron Burr. The usual Thanksgiving meal at this time was turtle soup, pigeon pie, hogs ears and stewed eels. Turkey, mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie seems a more pleasant menu. Jack’s sense of taste has not been the same since he had the Wuhan flu. He just could not do justice to the eels.

The turkey is odd, the first presidential ‘pardon’ of a turkey destined for the table was made by President Bush in 1989. It was remanded to a farm to live out it’s life there. Ostensibly uncooked.

Who knows how it turns out for a turkey that has a presidential pardon? Which would taste better? A Republican or Democratic turkey? The tradition of President Washington continues today. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Perhaps a little history is in order after several years of columns. The alligator part is convoluted but interesting non-the-less, it’s true as is most of the personal stories that have appeared here.

There was a fiddle contest and Jack did not have any ‘glossies’ to show off his incredible countenance and poise.

Searching shutter stock type photos for something appropriate for a cartoon like fiddler, one showed promise more than any other. It’s hard to find an exact match, but you get the idea. A good friend sketched the above logo to replace the cartoon. Very good friend. The complete sketch has an alligator lounging on a riverbank holding a fishing rod with a zebco real. pretty cool.

Grace notes. They are the little trills added in musical scores. Too rapidly played to notate but can be done with the musical note you see on the above logo…It’s the eighth note right next to Gator. An alternative and enhanced version of the term will come a bit later in this column. Play three of them quick and it’s pretty good to hear.

So there you have most of it explained, somewhat clearly. The fiddle contests were like any other sort of talent contest you have been in or watched live. As a contestant you dredge up your best stuff. The most beautiful waltz, the most furious and clever fast tune(s) Rehearse weeks before and on the spot of the contest. In the outdoor ones the parking lot is usually safe. An accompanist is a great help, guitar is the best if such a thing is allowed. Playing solo is revealing to the contestant. Nervous? Unsure? It happens all the time. Then there are Issac Stern fiddlers that have graduate degrees in music. They usually are half your age and their technique is flawless. Beyond third position of course (that’s way up in the stratosphere and neck stuff) It sounds gorgeous and often wins. A few times however, old Uncle Zeke shows up and with a little stagecraft and stunning old time fiddle technique, pulls off first place.

Time to rosin up your bow and check your zipper and stuff in your shirt. The judges are up front and sometimes appear like Robespierre who lost his contest in 1794 in France. Serious folks often. You don’t know who they are and sometimes they know nothing about music at all. Sort of like American Idol. If it makes you cry it might be OK. So serious. It helps to do a little jig and a joke, entertainment. It gets the crowd in a good mood.

Make sure the sound technician is on your side too. A serious nod of your head and an impressed comment on their four channel mixer from Radio Shack helps. Bring your own mic and such stuff. It helps calm you. Just don’t hit the mic with your bow. It’s a real stage fright moment. Set the mic far enough away from you.

Don’t pay too much attention to your competitors, you’ll get nervous..again. Look into that heart of yours and play the notes and slurs and fun jazzy stuff on the fly that you are gifted with. Jack isn’t very articulate on the fingerboard and compared to a lot of very good players, Jack is in the Yellow Cab metaphor. The old ones with the continental 4 banger under the hood. A little slow off the line but sturdy. Somewhat heavy in his frame too. One of his mentors, Judy Larsen told Jack once: “it must be nice to be on all the time” Jack realized it was the notes in his head that always had a little ‘twink’. Adding something to someone else playing. Of course, solo is a bit trickier. Pay attention to that small still voice that speaks to you. He will tell you what to play, note by note if you listen closely. Play for Him that loves it when you do. It will put joy in your heart and a smile on your face.

It’s nothing fancy I am mentioning. It’s listening to the man that has always loved your playing and wants to give you the rhythm that pleases, the impossible harmonics and flatted notes that shouldn’t be there. “Just surround those out of place notes with friendly ones and do it again. It will sound like jazz” Judy again.

Gator loves to play when his favorite mentor is his focus. He shows up a lot when you want Him there and that is the other explanation of Grace Notes. He is filled with grace and you will note it. It’s Jesus. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Every One Counts or Nobody Counts

Francis Schaeffer from L’Abri wrote a book that Jack reads so often that the appearance of the book could be described as ‘shabby’. Dog eared pages, coffee stains on the cover and other signs of good scholarship and a care free habit of Jack’s. Books are meant to be read. Over and over if necessary. Truth is a full meal of life and digestion takes time and circumstance. An irritating and comforting habit for the Gator family. ‘Where’s Papa?’

‘He’s in his chair in the living room, he was asleep last time I looked’ (with a book that is now on the floor or sitting next to him underneath his coffee cup)

Research is entertainment to some people, like Jack. He reads at breakfast a lot. It helps communication with the rest of the family if it is 4 am. Distractions such as conversation and passing the maple syrup are not an issue. Then. Sip the fresh brewed coffee from Berkeley’s storehouse of Jamaica Blue Mountain and Hawaiian Kona with a little Tanzanian Peaberry for the punch. Jack tries to not make too much noise with the grinder. Jack has gone to the length of hiding the grinder underneath his bathrobe when it is running. Anything to further his alone time.

Jack learned all these secrets from a next door neighbor some time ago. When Jack was living in the big city, his next door neighbor was Miss Thrope. She did not care for Jack or anyone else for that matter. Being reclusive, they were both intrigued with one another. Jack was in his twenties and Miss Thrope was a bit older, around 70 or so. A chance meeting at 6 am when they both were taking the garbage out put them briefly together. Quick shy glances and a slight uplifting eyebrow now and then did the trick. They were intrigued as members of the same extended family can be with one another. Miss Thrope said something, a bit sarcastically perhaps. “Like the classic two ships passing in the night, eh Mr.Gator?” Jack immediately responded, “More like two garbage trucks passing down the alley” It was then, the impossible friendship began with a little chuckle from them both.

Jack had to leave the neighborhood because being an academic works if you can get tenure or better yet, a position of a Don or a professor of the literature teaching and syllabus for the courses. Jack, however, had a manual labor job that was ‘up north’. It helped Jack get fit (he lost his conditioning in Boot Camp in San Diego.) Another story in the upcoming collection of stories.

Jack did stay in touch with Miss Thrope via email and such. They skyped and posted pictures on Facebook. Both of them were writers of a ‘different’ genre. The same authors were on their ‘best seller list’ as well. Aristotle, St.Francis, Origen, Pascal, Bunyan, MacDonald, Chesterton, Lewis. Just a few come to mind as this is written.

It didn’t take long for those ‘next door neighbors’ to discover they could talk for hours about an obscure and beautiful writing from Shakespeare or Milton. New stuff flew into their physical mailboxes, Jack as well as his good friend and confidant, Miss Thrope. They critiqued each others writing and columns written. No one knew what to make of it. C.S. Lewis had Mrs. Moore at the Kiln’s and no one knew what to make of them either.

Miss Thrope is now gone from all of us. She wore out herself. She made it to her late 80’s, and Jack misses her laughter and intellect. Two peas in a pot as Stan Laurel said. Jack is still Jack, even though he is married to a wonderful gal and they have three sons. None of them write steady, the youngest shows great promise though.

Jack still eats his breakfast alone most days and retreats now and then to another place in his mind. He likes the description of his life and Miss. Thrope. Her first name was Ann. Put it together, It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator

There is a common rule among all drivers now. 5 over. If you are in a hurry, 10 over. If you are in a real hurry, pass everyone even if it means a turn not far ahead (or passing on the double yellow.) In the early morning commute, the vehicles stack up behind you like a string of expensive glowing pearls. Keeping a common camaraderie among them month after month..”Oh here comes old one eye up from Bad Elbow, wonder when they are going to get that headlight bulb replaced”

Big rigs with huge grills, metallic white sharks so close that their headlights aren’t visible in your rear view. Hid headlights that allow them to see 17 miles ahead Old clapped out Chevy something or another, wheezing along with hydrocarbons sleething into your ventilation intake. Black Suburbans with lots of antennas, incognito.

The usual crowd found bellying up to the fuel bar, old acquaintances and odd new models. An occasional tuner with the uneven hot sound of cam work, masculine exhaust tones and turbo blowing off after passing. The triple porthole Buick bar where everyone knows how to ballroom dance. “See you at the Legion later!”

So, the unwritten rule, as stated, is at least 5 over for the pearl parade. Adjust that cruise button as needed beyond the basic when the string stacks a bit. An occasional maniac passing the whole string on a curve, over the double yellow because they estimate safety with oncoming headlights. Rebels living on a thin line, snorting adrenaline glee.

Jack has done that recently. Passing an old motor home that was towing a trailer, it seemed there was enough passing length to do it. The motor home, impossibly, began accelerating and another truck with a trailer moved up where Jack’s car was. They did not slow down to let Jack back in. Blocked and an oncoming car was now ahead of calculation. Jack had to floor it. Blessedly enough, the newer V6 responded and at 80+ Jack pulled in just in time in front of the head on death rendezvous. Greta was not thrilled. There was no other recourse except to head for the very steep ditch on Jack’s left. More death, a bit slower perhaps.

Of course, Jack had a good excuse to defy death. This time. The oncoming driver just flashed his lights. As though Jack could do something else but sprint. “I’m not slowing down for this idiot!” Death coming near.

So, if we tolerate the ease of breaking the speed limit (not TOO much, just enough to be unnoticed by the flashing blue/red lights donuts folks. Plain cake, doesn’t get on your uniform. They know the five over game too. The cops work hard and are on the line for us. I’m not critical, I know a few and they like humor.

So, the question is: How much ‘sin’ is 5 over the limit? 10 over perhaps? There are some folks that believe the more they sin, the more grace abounds. There is a long name for that attitude: antinomianism. Neat name for professing Christians that don’t worry about Jesus too much. “I’m OK, not as bad as the prodigal son!” So the question bears upon us: What do we do with the sin limit? What is it? Oh, and by the way, in case you miss it,

I am threatening you with the worm that never dies and the fire that never goes out. 1.

There isn’t any get out of hell card. We are all deserving an ‘ unpleasant eternal existence’ unless we realize that and come to a place where we want to be saved. Saved from what? Saved from the Father is the best explanation. He does not tolerate any of my sin. None of it, zero. We make up a ‘sin limit’ “I’m not so bad, really!” We Are.

Take comfort in not being perfect. There was only one perfect man and he died for me and you and actually, every person on the planet including ones not yet born! The incredible writer of over half of the New Testament put it well: “but I am carnal…for what I will to do, that I do not practice, but what I hate, that I do…Oh wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? I thank God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

It seems so simple and yet is the hardest thing to do. Admit the truth about yourself. Talk to Jesus, do it now before it’s too late. He will speak to you and give you joy. Talk to Him about all these things. Every day is a good idea. Saved and loved, It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

1. G.K. Chesterton and Jonathon Edwards 2. Paul of Tarsis

It was a long time coming. A revelation of the deep things Jack has stored within himself. It was quite a few years ago when Jack was just out of the Navy. He was living in his Mother’s basement and going to junior college. The third house that had a remnant of the Gator household, now containing Grandpa, Mom and the Swedish fireman. Not pleasant but the best Jack could do after getting discharged down in Virginia with one more free plane ride to ‘go home’. Not like coming home to a small town and getting the welcome back treatment on main street. Big city home and new neighbors that are somewhat crabby about mom’s Buick convertible, Grandpa’s older Chevy Biscayne and the Swede’s ‘spaceship’ with the huge tail fins.

A job came up for Jack, working the YMCA youth program. That is where Jack found the love of his life. A quick engagement and suddenly, she disappeared. Jack looked all over the big city, usual places, he could not find her nor anyone that knew her either. Weeks went by and the tension was unbelievable. A little Later, Jack found out she had left him for a famous stage actor.

That was a traumatic event that got filed away in Jack’s emotional file within him. It never occurred to anyone, especially Jack, that there was an emotional paradigm that was operative for decades.

Jack found his old fiancé in a mental lockup downtown quite a few years later. Same friend that told him about the actor. Jack bluffed his way in posing as a youth pastor. His past love was in a bad way, drugged. She came out of the fog briefly and asked Jack bluntly: “Why are you here?” Without thinking about an answer, Jack just told her; “because I love you!” A shift occurred within Jack. Unknown to Jack that was not the whole story for him. The fear and conviction of being abandoned again was deep in Jack.

Every time that a person, often Jack’s wife, would somehow disappear, the trauma would slide into Jack and unbeknownst to Jack, he would be back getting that phone call about the actor and his old fiance. The reaction would be to assume that the disappearance was some inadequacy in Jack or flat out abandonment. When it finally came to light; that emotional response, it was stunning and explained a lot of Jack’s odd behaviors and emotional oddities. Anxiety, depression, expected abandonment. It finally came forth around the kitchen counter, piled high with peppers from the garden. Jack kept focusing on a pepper that had a damaged part that jack really wanted to cut off. A very interesting focus when viewed afterwards. Cut out the damaged part. When he was brought back to what was being discussed about this age old wound, Jack had a life changing epiphany. Expecting abandonment around every conversation, every giving of attention and love. Why fight it, no one really cares enough to let you in on the secret dashing off to someone that is much more important.

Lies that Jack has embraced for at least a half a decade or more. Has anyone else ever made that unconscious decision to pull the pin again on that emotional grenade? It doesn’t go off with a sudden bang, it’s more like a nerve gas release. A vaccine to remove attachment to anyone that Jack would give a piece of his heart. The more pieces, the greater possibility of withdrawing. An unpleasant disconnect that was not apparent to Jack. Another ‘checking out’ to his loved ones. “I thought you might have called when you got there” or “I was out with our son in the shop, all you had to do was text me” etc..Expect, oh yes expect adoration from everyone because soon, they will dump you for someone else. Make sure you get the ring back. One of those trauma/wounds that lingers like a deerfly in the raspberry patch. At the end of this conversation, both Jack and his patient wife began to pray.

Revelation and freedom can indeed occur, it really can happen with a distinctly unique ‘tool’ that the Gator’s keep handy. Easy tool to find, you just have to want to find and use it. Prayer. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Everyone has one. It’s often the go-to place when your world does not make sense. A child’s ‘fort’ in an easily climbed tree or a cave of sorts nearby. A place found when wandering a bit perhaps. Created or found, a secret place is usually not such a secret from family. However, it is such a place that is a wonderful secret. Many times the only person who sees it as a secret place is the only person who knows of it.They Know what happens there and why it is there.

Jack’s secret place is known by the whole clan and they know where it is. “Up in the cathedral” A planting put in a ‘few’ decades ago that reminds Jack of the Vatican. Somehow, the Swiss guards let Jack in just to wander about. Jack had been living on the street for several months and most likely was taken by the guards for what he was: A street urchin seeking value and truth and wonder. The seemingly endless corridors that had perspective there stamped a vision into Jack. Long narrow corridors, lined with incredible artwork are, at the least, Cathedrals.

The Sistine Chapel was pretty good too but the Vatican itself was stunning to the artist within Jack.

This day was difficult as the family pooch had disappeared/run off/vanished. She even had on her electronic ‘call’ collar on and the hand held unit showed no signal bars from the collar. Out of range. Not good.

Everyone searched the whole property, up and down the township road too. Roaring about with the 4 wheeler that the pooch loves to race, no response. Oh oh. Hours went by and everyone retreated to their own secret places. Eventually, Jack did the same thing. Up the hill, into the pines and sat on the new bench (green treat wood) and began complaining to the creator of the universe about his beloved dog. Seems reasonable. He knows our hearts and impossibly, spends as much time with us as we want, just to talk. After all, He invented time so He doesn’t need a Rolex. More complaining from Jack as concentration on the conversations is difficult for him.

Please show me where she is! You know where, you know everything. Why is this happening to us, don’t you care? How can we find her? Can we do anything?

More of the same. That’s what nice about a secret place. You can get loud and passionate without concern for others around. They aren’t. So, just a day ago, God showed Jack that He heard him by dropping a pine needle right on jacks sweatshirt, right over Jack’s heart. When asked to show Himself, He did immediately and so now what to do.

Jack left his cathedral and walked the long way back to the homestead. Depressed but still moving. Mrs Gator gave Jack the remote control of the collar buzzer which of course, showed no signal from the dog.”Why don’t you drive around the block or something? Maybe you’ll get a signal!” Jack drove out the driveway and turned right and at the next driveway over the hill, he turned right again. Ok, this is where Mrs Gator looked before but it’s as good a place to start again I suppose. Long driveway, a mile in, Jack went left to the steep, washed out gravel road and stopped by a new home. Not willing to go down a very steep incline ahead, Jack put the car in reverse and looked at the data on the hand held. Five bars! The dog was ten feet away. Filthy and covered with burrs, she got in the back seat and Jack drove back home to a bathtub for the dog. Deeply thankful and knowing, he was led by a very quiet, still small voice. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator