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

Jack reads..a lot. There are open books scattered throughout the house, some dog eared, others left for perusal at some undefined date. Some of those books are older ones that Jack read some before. There is a bit of wonderment, even from Jack, why would he read once again a book devoured times ago?

There is a joy involved in reading again a MacDonald, a Bunyan or even a Dante that defies a description by observers or even Jack himself. “ I thought you had read that one” or “ I guess you need to go through your Lewis again” It’s not that at all. It’s a hunger and the joy of a meadow once trod upon that comes into view. Quite unprepared for astonishing beauty, the lay of the land forgotten and unexpected things underfoot. Vague memories, stirred into sight and remembered more strongly than before.

It’s hard to leave and there is a presence that brings a smile and appreciation of it. The time Jack was reading his care-worn ‘ Mere Christianity’, and it occurred to him why some folks, even his own, are a bit puzzled about this habit of his. Almost as though a reaction to eating again a well prepared meal from the Mrs, or impossibly devouring a sandwich eaten years ago. Of course, there are favorite dishes, and the memory of them is fleeting but pleasant. “Didn’t we put horseradish on this sandwich last time?” can always pop the bubble for the cook.

The point is, it’s not the exact same sandwich eaten long ago, but seen and tasted anew. Even the drawings or lithographs are seen with more experience and depth. Perhaps, akin to the horseradish, it is better for the lack of it. It is, however, the same book that was not quite as absorbing or understood before.

There is one book that Gator reads over and over and always finds something new. It’s fascinating. The undeniable, “That wasn’t in there the last time!” It feels as though one of the Gator family has stuck a page or paragraph into the book just to astonish and puzzle Jack. Fun game if it were real. But of course, none of us are talented as bookbinders to pull it off. Jack does know a good friend that could do it. That friend doesn’t need to put paragraphs into Jack’s favorite book. It’s his favorite book as well and Jack, at times, puts paragraphs into his book by just speaking them. It’s called scholarship. Good friends, they share the love of old books and they both have the same favorite.

As usual in this column, you probably know the book Jack reads as his favorite. It’s a history book which goes back to the time before time. At the last chapter the book looks ahead in time to tell us history to come. Amazing. Some folks dismiss this book as fiction instead of history. Some people re-write it to agree with their feelings. Some people read it and see themselves revealed in it. It’s a real thriller, lot’s of intrigue and miracles. Whole nations becoming rich and powerful and then serious mistakes are made that destroy those nations. Tough people and weak people. People who put trust in pieces of trees (really!) People that destroy their own children for gain (sound familiar to the abortion industry of today?) Fierce battles, foolish kings. Prophets, people that hitch rides on flamed out chariots and valleys of bones turning into an army. The Earth turning backwards, complete burning destruction to cities and even a woman that turns into a pillar of salt! The whole story hinges on the hero of the book. It’s a young man from a crummy town that can heal people and give them the truth about themselves and all life’s purposes. He gives his life for everyone and promises those who love and trust him a grand eternal life. Oh yes, the hero dies and comes back to life! It’s the Bible, still the world’s best seller, available at quality book stores everywhere. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

A very pleasant late afternoon driving home. Riding in the Gator sedan with Greta in the left hand seat, Jack as co-pilot. A little controlled breeze from the sunroof swirling as it exited a slightly open right rear window. Delightful.

An exquisite meal at Watershed earlier with communion. Chianti, artisan bread with the Baruch, Ashem, Adonai toast at the end. On the deck overlooking the Osceola Creek. The rapids burbling and rushing below. Perfect.

Gator and Greta dressed to the ‘nines’ and being themselves as they enjoyed ‘eating out’ with more class than the nearby burger joint up the hill. A few conversations overheard as a gifted raconteur regaled his table well. Stories loud enough to somewhat enjoy. He was enjoying himself anyway. Don’t we all do that at times? Grace.

Driving home, commenting on the beauty of the homes visible. Two story with carpenters lace and porches, some with widows walks and many flowering bushes and perfect accouterments. A river town built right. There was a lot of traffic but jake braking was forbidden, the noise of the vehicles would just be a small rushing inside. They envision living there but without the other buildings, the maple trees and gardens. It would not be the same. Next window neighbors is the price for being capable to walk downtown for nice things.

As they drove by a Friday night concert in another town on the river, Jack was suddenly transfixed. There were a lot of people on lawn chairs, watching a stage below them. The band was just getting started as they slowly drove by. Heading north of highway 8 to their exquisite farmstead. The opening notes where instantly recognized by Jack as Johnny Cash’s ‘Folsom prison blues’ As the first lines began to fade the transition to old memories and surrealism.

Stuck in a prison vs living in the lap of luxury and just enjoying an old ballad that was never and will never be part of those listeners reality. Home to toast and honey afterwards. Driving a car or truck home without fear and without the air on for a change. “what’s in the fridge honey? Or should we go out?” More pretty swell homes overlooking the river and soon after, a half dozen trucks with boat trailers at the landing. Nice boats on the river. Fishing or just cruising on a swell night. Are you getting the picture?

We are millionaires in the world’s eyes and are worried about our 401k accounts. When our brief lives end, there is the auction with collectibles and coins. Antiques and machinery of all sorts. Not worth as much as when it was purchased, but hey, enough to pass on to the next family collector of wealth. Usually. Gator is not ranting about our wealth, not at all. His family is ‘doing well’ or as the usual greeting: “Hey, how are ya? I”m good” The usual banter when often Jack can’t remember the person’s name. We are good. Back to the concert and the old memories. “Stuck in Folsom prison and time keeps dragging’ on..”

Jack was recently in a men’s Bible study with a couple of dozen men around the tables. There was talk of jail ministries and suddenly, Jack asked the men: “Any of you guys ever done time? Even overnight for a minor infraction or a mistake by the police?” Those guys looked at Jack in an interesting way. The way someone is gazed upon when they are not wearing the right clothing or none at all.

Jack spent only a half a year in a Marine Red Line Brig in Southern Spain. Hard labor. It had it’s moments. We all marched double time to the mess hall and one of the guys had to bring that ubiquitous metal tray with food for the guard on duty. It was covered with a similar tray to keep the food warm. All the guys flipped the trays when running. It was a way to get back for a ‘dance’ in the isolation cell. It was really satisfying when the meal was mashed potatoes with gravy and shortcake. The term ‘Red line brig’ means if one of the ‘re-trainees’ stepped over the red line painted on the entry way floor, the duty guard was free to shoot you with his trusty 1911. No one tested the resolve of the door guard. Actually some of the guards were bored out of their gourd and would chat. It wasn’t too bad, really. Southern Spain gets a little warm in the summer when your shoveling sand or running a swing blade. The sleep deprivation and water to wake you up every hour for three days and nights was over the top too. Just a little welcome courtesy to show you around the place. And of course, put you in your place.

In some ways it made Jack have some empathy for the prisoners he would minister to much later in his life. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

The inspiration, a glimpse of Truth. The flag that Jack served under. Flying free from the fantail of his ship. All hands on deck. The enemy of our country aiming it’s guided missiles at him. Still the flag was there and it flapped off the fantail. Declaring we are the country of the free, home of the brave. A country that doesn’t give up when the odds and the enemies around us say we must quit, we must knuckle under people that don’t want those things, or worse yet, know those things and desire their own power more than the freedom we have.

We won all battles and we will do so again. These times, once again, will bring the true ruler into view. The only one that knows our hearts, sees our weakness’ and non-the less, loves us and heals us when we talk to him.

There are true lovers of the real power behind all things and these lovers have done, and continue to fight for the inalienable rights all men are endowed with. When told that all men are endowed with those rights,they pray for guidance that tells them how to honor all men and stand strong in their trust. Standing for that honor and knowing how to do so. The right ways to stand, the eternal rights given to stand. The knowledge that their hearts, given freely to their King, are guided and given strength. Enduring pain and suffering at times to do so.

You, reader, know these things. It was taught to us and if we suddenly realized that this teaching was right and true, there is no power on earth, no power of hell that can take that away. There will always be struggle to heal and be healed of hearts broken and at times, body breaking things to discourage us. It is imperative we do not give up nor give in to the weakness’ offered to us by evil and comfort offered. Judgment of our fellow man is just one of the weakness’ shown to make us less than what we are. C.S. Lewis, beloved author, suffered through two world wars and wrote great words that still show those truths to us. To no other man do I owe more for my ability to speak the truth. Sometimes I even listen and brought up short, I get back on that path of real life.

There was a time when Lewis was in a church service and he was critical of all the music he didn’t like and did not inspire him to love. He looked over the aisle and saw an old farmer, hands raised in adoration. A shabby old farmer with dirty boots, perhaps the only shoes he had. The farmer was weeping with joy and with his connection with God. Lewis realized suddenly he was not fit to clean and tie the laces of that man’s boots. Humbling and filled with the truth of his hearts emptiness, Lewis was transformed as Jack is when understanding how timeless and truthful that image is. Lewis too was nicknamed Jack. A good name Gator aspires to.

No one can denigrate the few men that saw these things, wrote these things and acted upon that truth. Our forefathers that open our eyes time and again. The constitution, the bill of rights. Inalienable rights to feel proud for the best things for us, here and now. It’s the good pride that sees beauty and love in others. Humbling pride that produces change in Gators heart. Change that gives great hope and real rest to him and all of us. We need to know the beauty of healing our hearts and minds together. We are broken and we must help one another to be whole. It’s the way of God. He gave us this beautiful way to stand together. No man is an island.

There is no greater thing than to love our God and love our fellow man, our neighbor. Love them even more than we love our own lives. The best love, the kind that never grows dim and gives joy and trust in the good thing. Joy that never fades, and gives us courage to be healed and made whole again. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

It was the early 70’s and Jack was a member of the New Riverside Cafe collective on the West Bank in Mpls.

There was a developer that wanted to flatten the whole 40 acres and build high rise apartments and ‘shops’ where everyone’s homes were. They also raised the rent on everyone’s house (they owned the entire neighborhood). It was an attempt to price all of the neighborhood out, and make everyone get out of the way of development.

A ‘rent strike’ was organized and it got a lot of publicity. Jack was living right on Cedar Avenue in an old brick house upstairs from the free store. There were 7 people in 6 bedrooms down a narrow hallway and the usual bathroom, kitchen and big living room. Most of them were musicians, some famous now and the apartment was just across the alley from the West Bank School of Music. Musicians were so prevalent that there were two venues on Cedar just for them and Jack. The Extempore and the New Riverside Cafe. Jack was playing folk and blues on his D28. He sang ok.

All of Jack’s roommates moved out to a reasonable home in South Mpls and Jack stayed on alone with his girlfriend from Slippery Rock. One of Jack’s friends advised him to quit working at the cafe and start with him at the Burlington Northern and work on a surfacing gang for big money. Jack took the job, got called ‘santa claus’ for his pony tail and long beard and got pretty muscular and fit shoveling gravel all day. He got a letter from the neighborhood developers increasing his rent to two weeks pay. Just to get him out of the building. The back stairway belonged in a bad movie and the rear bedrooms leaked rain water. None of the windows would open. Things like that. The cafe people were not rent striking like the neighborhood was, and Jack was in a bit of a bind. His friends said “don’t pay the rent!” “Go on strike!” and Jack decided to instead take an offer from the developers to move into a pretty nice small house they owned a few blocks away for less rent. Nice place. Now he had enough money to buy lunch for his dinners on the job from Byerlys and by this time he had a car that was only 20 years old.

Jack never went back to the collective people except to buy a bicycle and a chain saw from Durable Goods, run by one of the Cafe people. Jack followed his best friend (read motorcycle pilgrimage) and bought the little farm where he and his family still live. Jack went back to visit the West Bank and the house the developers rented to him was gone, as was a lot of the houses of his old friends. The old friends said hello and usually just walked away without conversation. Jack was a Quisling, or in English, a traitor. No matter how Jack felt it had to be done to move, he was persona non grata. He spent money as mentioned and contracted for an F style mandolin. Jack put all the money down and the mandolin was never finished.

Jack was very nervous and felt very alone up north of highway 8 on this 30 acre homestead. The VA loan helped him afford it and when he moved in, he went into the barn before going into his ‘new’ home (log foundation, a bit aged) Jack played a little fiddle in that barn and finally opened the front door and smelled an ancient oil stoves lovely odor and it took his cat a few days to get out of the moving van. It was April 1st by the way. It seemed foolish too.

It was a start, away from the rent strike and the neighborhood people that he let down. He had a good job, a car and a small farm all to himself. He still feels that friendship loss, and even to this day when he visits the Facebook page of the Riverside Cafe, he is not responded to or ‘liked’ for his posts. Still a turncoat of sorts and sometimes it weighs on him.

None of his old friends that he downed a pitcher of beer with at the 400 bar and made grilled cheese sandwiches for, have been in contact with Jack. It isn’t the thing we are supposed to do either way. Jesus tells us to forgive and love and Jack is trying to keep his promise to do so. It’s hard though, isn’t it? Jack has never heard life was going to be a breeze and filled with good things all the time. No other way to live, but it hurts to be seen as what Jack did, rather that what he has become. It’s pretty good. Jack

The adults that can advise us on the tough questions I mentioned last time (part I) are ofttimes, a bit hard to find. There are many prognosticators that insist their opinions on life’s big questions are correct and it is not a good idea to be there when they say so. Gator has been in that arrogant position and it has not worked out well. I did not take my own advice because I knew I was right. Point taken. Mistake.

It’s the big questions that generate heat. The small questions about automotive brands and reliability are not hard to turn into gentle laughter and disagreement. The big questions about truth and evidence of it are liable to turn into a stone wall of pat answers and foolish catch phrases. On both sides. We who strongly believe our opinions of life’s purpose are true. Our opinions are based on facts and those who disagree with those facts are immature, foolish and ignorant, right? People like us that feel that way are even more foolish than we believe others to be. There is a moral standard we must not ignore. It’s not a law per-se, but goes much deeper. It is a standard perhaps referred to as ‘given a reasonable doubt’ or perhaps the example of summit talks. You can never convince anyone of anything by anger or name calling. It takes dialogue. I’m not talking about violence or armed combat. I’m talking about listening.

Opinions are like software, it takes time to write out the program and push the ‘save’ button. It’s there on your hard drive then,and re-writing that opinion isn’t easy or even desired. It’s truth felt (a lot of times it IS truth) but the discussion must be done honorably not with sputtering and bluster. Doesn’t work with me, so I know it won’t work for you. Another opinion. I have a lot of them.

I have a friend that is firmly convinced that the earth is flat, the moon landings were studio fakes, the end of our circular earth is guarded by the NSA. You get the idea (unless you believe such things) When we read about something, such as New Zealand, we know it’s there because reputable people show us maps, exploring stories and so forth. We believe that New Zealand is real. I told my friend about my experiences at sea with radar and first seeing antennas and masts before the ship hove into view. Micro waves do not curve. He wasn’t convinced. I was a liar or was seeing an illusion. Truth was not the operative in the conversation. Neither of us could ‘win’ We let it go. It won’t bother me unless he comes to me with another version of truth that isn’t. He’s not my first choice as a navigator at sea.

There is another truth that I hold onto because I have seen it and heard it. It is the presence, and in one case, the voice of the living God. I know He is real and I know He cares for me, saved my life with His voice. Could I convince you that it is true? Maybe. In some cases, words fall short on a story, only the gentle passion for truth along with gentleness and patience will carry the message. Truth has another dimension. Telling the truth is akin to gardening. Seeds are planted. If the planting is true and the seed just and true, the fruit of the truth will blossom within. Cultivation with patience helps. In some cases the large chisel drag or plow is overwhelming to the seed and the soil. A good gardener listens and gives encouragement to both sower and sown. Spoken and written truth follows the same path.

It is not a coincidence that the ‘in the beginning’ story starts with a garden. Our seeds were sown there. A lot of weeds showed up around a tree and we have had to pull weeds ever since. Gardening and fruit To be an adult takes time and care and a lot of help. I am getting better at being an adult. I am learning how to listen and speak less. Perhaps I will be listened to when I tell the truth as it has impacted my life. An evangelist does not have to shout, Just tell the truth as best as they can.

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

There is a man that Jack trusts. More than any other man Jack has ever met. I’ll tell you about him in a little bit. There is another man, Jack talks to him less often, but the trust bond is there as well. This other man tells the truth to people. How many of us have a job like that? Tough job, really. Lot’s of training involved, study, college and ‘ample’ on the job training as well. The part that may confuse you is that the this man’s desire is to tell stories about the other man! Oh yes, truth is absolutely a job requirement for both men as well. Character, discernible, is a gateway into seeing these things. Usually, the eyes are the first indicator to character. You may do this without even knowing that you do so. Eyes that look into you as you look into them.

Gator has spent a lot of his life looking away, fearful of what he might see or be seen. You also know this without it being something you think about when you meet an old friend or are introduced to someone. When the eyes, portals into the mind are not giving information, Gator usually forgets their name as soon as it is said. This may also due to short term memory function a bit lacking. There are tests for this, usually avoided if possible. Who would want a total stranger telling them they were old ten years ago. “get used to it”

The second man has a lot to say to Gator and often, in a room filled with other reptiles, Gator will notice an unease in some as what this man has to say is a bit disconcerting and perhaps even confusing to those of us not used to communicating deeply. Questions are raised, sometimes boldly seeking some other fine point of the this man’s spoken words. Good questions, even encouraged and Gator has questions but usually holds them back because he is aware of an awkwardness of focus to others.

Gator would rather be silent and let the talk by the second man sink in a bit deeper without a distraction of speaking aloud. There was a man that did this speaking better than anyone since. He is long gone from us unfortunately. His name is Jonathon Edwards. A standard to which most speakers of truth aim for. There was one ‘speech’ that Mr. Edwards delivered that was so powerful and so convicting that a room full of ordinary listeners fell on their faces. There really was no other response that could be made when hearing the most important and life changing truth for everyone within hearing. A long time has gone by since that original speech but it remains powerful, convicting and stunning still.

The bold and inescapable truth taught was how bad we really are, especially if we think we are OK and are pretty nice. Compared with ‘those people’ we are in the ‘swell’ zone if there is a measuring device that could do that. Actually, there is a ‘swell’ or ‘free of faults’ measurement and on the other side of the gauge: ‘Bad and Wicked’ There is a thumb on the scale however and surprisingly, it’s our thumb. I leave it to you reader to decide which measurement the scale defaults to. Every time.

The revelation of who is first man is now at hand. He has many names that are used by many people to address Him. Somehow all those names are powerful nouns and are recognized easily by people that have met Him. Some of them are: Yaweh, Lion of Judah, First and Last, Beautiful, Shiloh, King of Kings, Everlasting, I AM, Chief Cornerstone, Teacher, Dayspring, Son of Man, Prophet, Alpha and Omega, Bread of Life, Savior, Light of the world, The Word, Branch, Good Shepard, Jesus. Those are just a few of his names.

As an illustration of what the first man does for those of us who look to Him for help, Gator will use the story of Al Quie and Chuck Colson. Many of us remember Watergate and Mr. Colson was convicted of conspiracy. Minnesota Governor Quie, quoting an obscure law, offered to serve the remainder of Mr. Colson’s sentence. Chuck did not take him up on it. The offer was real. Look it up.

Quite a bit of time passed after that before the Al Quie center was built at Lino Lakes prison. It was for the prisoners there to study Jesus and hear sermons from dedicated men that wished to serve. Gator was part of this ministry and was always told to give the sermon on the wrath of God. It was hard for Gator and he suspected the ministry leader was giving Gator an honor to select him for the task. Think about teaching a room full of prisoners about wrath and judgment. A challenge for certain. Gator has finally found out about God and His wrath. We deserve it but the first man has taken it upon Himself. All of it, for all of us. Impossible we say, but it’s historical truth.

There are many incredible stories about this first Man. No one is like this, no one will ever be like this again. Now I am flat out preaching and it feels good to do what my friend does for me. “There is something going on and you don’t know what it is, do you Mr. Jones?” Bob Dylan

It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

When you love somebody, it is no longer yourself who is the center of your own universe.

It is the one you love who is. You forget yourself. You deny yourself. You give of yourself, so that by all the rules of arithmetical logic there should be less of yourself than there was to start with. Only by a curious paradox there is more. You feel that at last you really are yourself.

The experience of salvation involves the same paradox. Jesus put it like this: “He who loses his life for my sake will find it” You give up your old self-seeking self for somebody you love and thereby become yourself at last. You must die with Christ so that you can rise with him. It is what baptism is all about. Frederick Buechner,

A thing that seems strange to the world but was the beginning of Christianity itself. There is a lot of that word, that impression that is integrated into life in our world here in the United States. There are church’s that are named as such. Some faith streams have new born children baptized to ensure they are ‘good to go’ You can think about that and make your own conclusion. Gator has concluded that issue himself. Judgment, Gator is good at that too.

So, another ‘in the beginnings’ story which intrigues everyone. A story that is lightly touched in the world and not really taken to heart in many ways. Not a simple story either. A phenomenon seemingly caused by a man that dressed as though he lived quite a ways ‘north of highway 8 ‘ and had a reputation of eating June bug sandwiches for lunch. An odd fellow that had people enthralled a few thousand years ago. People walked out to see him as he stood in a river. He was very adamant in shouting at them about coming into the river with him. There was also a bit of a decision one had to make before joining this man in the river. Repentance. Not a word used lightly these days and what did it mean to them anyway? Back in those times people were very wicked and did things to one another that were not very nice. Not much has changed since then either. It is a burden for Gator himself to think upon things he has done, thought about doing and things he once thought were pretty good to do.

Back to the story. This man in the river would then ‘help’ the people that were convicted they were a mess go under the river water and ostensibly, help them up. This was called baptism then and is still called that now.

This man called John saw his cousin coming to him to be dunked and cleansed and was astonished. His cousin was at that time a man of no reputation but John knew him well. John also knew his cousin was the creator of all things! The living God, Jesus. John, felt a bit overwhelmed it is written, and said that his cousin should be baptizing him. Nonetheless, he did baptize Jesus and the voice of his cousins father came out loudly proclaiming a father’s great pleasure. (That was God by the way) It got even better for all of us afterwards as well. There was a month and a half of fasting and being tempted for this man Jesus. The things we are tempted with only on a scale of eternity. Ultimate power over the world kind of stuff that we think would make all things right if we had it. We can only imagine the appeal of these things to have, with one caveat, sharing with the tempter this power.

Jesus told the tempter to leave in no uncertain terms and Jesus went on to be seen as King of all things, for eternity. For us.

Baptism. Jack was baptized a while back and the man of God that did that for him looked into the water at Gator’s face. When asked what he saw, he replied “I saw a dead man” Things got better afterwards. Still tempted but now aware of it. Not made right instantly. Quite a ‘bit longer than 40 days’ but a Gator being rebuilt in the spirit. Now knowing a bit about repentance and his weakness, there is great hope and trust emerging in him.

It’s pretty good, Jack Gator