Gator was mulling over some recent friends that came instantaneously and once having befriended him, walked out of sight, mission accomplished. Those memories stick and stand out when found in our soul memory, recalled years later with clarity and a smile. The important memories. It could be someone found us in need or we did the same to another stranger.

It usually begins with a smile and spoken word or three. “Can you help me?” or “Are you OK?” No hustle seen in their eyes, no agenda except contact given. Gator recalls wandering about in the big box, seeking a certain odd piece of weather-strip. A man near where it should have been. Not an employee. Gator asked him if he knew of this thing and he did. The man immediately walked a ways to the west (built in magnetic field detector, all Gators have them) It was quite a few aisles away and found among a special display of woodworking specialty items.

Thanking the man for being so kind and going way out of his way, Gator realized something that is also a detector within. He has to pay attention to use it and be bold when it comes forth. Gator looked the man in the eyes and asked, well proclaimed: “You are a Christian aren’t you” Yes was the smile. A hand of brotherhood, a gift of fellowship.

Another time, another big box, parking lot this time. It happened in in an odd way. Gator had his purchases (including the newspaper his recent column was in) and getting close to his car he noticed an anomaly. The rear bumper was in a bit of a decline, bad dent and a few scratches for accent. Awful.

Somewhat surprised and puzzled, Gator figured someone didn’t like the way he was parked. He made a rather loud noise but didn’t rant and rave nor drop his purchases which were intended for the trunk. A woman approached him from a parked car and began telling him she was sorry and Gator was relieved that she had stuck around. Calm now, information was exchanged. Her insurance company, phone number. The usual things. She thought her brakes failed so Gator, assuming his professional auto repair persona checked her brake pedal and told her it was safe to drive home. She said again how sorry she was and Gator stayed calm but somewhat dismayed at the body work that it would take. Photos were taken. She told Gator she was frightened at a confrontation and very pleased at Gator’s calmness.

Later that day, she called and told him her address which Gator had forgotten to write down. She had already called her insurance agent. Gator thanked her and then knew what to say: “you’re a Christian aren’t you” She asked how Gator knew and he told her, “it shows, I could tell” She was somewhat surprised and was very encouraged. Things went well for her, Gator also knew that. It will come to you too, this wonderful conversation. As you once again pilgrim, walk over a bumpy section of the path, at a crossing, stop, look and listen and you will hear His gentle encouragement;

“Tell them I know them. As I know you. This will give them My joy.” Be bold, listen to the Lord of all creation and tell world what you hear. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

There isn’t much more to it. The odd Gator, finding joy in giving his heart away at a risk. Aiming for the good, not under suffering, but with knowing a great task has been given him to share the truth with others who will listen. The truth about his best friend, Jesus.

A perfect active condition. It will depose us to grasp the good by habit. Just think about the moral life as watching a piano player go through training to play well. Prudence is a virtue and it leads us to the other virtues. When you are virtuous you will feel pleasure when that occurs. The world says, ‘morality is hard, we can’t take pleasure in it!’ Gator says yes, it’s hard but the joy is indescribable.

Can you discern that the Gator has been taking a philosophy course? Finally getting down to the student of Plato, the student of Socrates. Heady stuff. Gator has to listen to each lecture several times to get the gist of it, let alone pass the quarterly exams! Morality, virtue and the good. What are they?

Most of the ‘modern’ or ‘post modernistic’ thinkers couch things in terms of how swell it would be if we had our leaders taken from a very prestigious college. Groomed before birth perhaps, a little tweaking of their DNA and get the best of the best to tell us how to live! Authority, absolute with no absolutes. Instead, we go back to the Lyceum and find out what ‘good’ actually means. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the greatest thinkers of Greece and we could use a couple of them right now. The concept of ‘good’ and ‘virtue’ were debated, written about, over and over by them.

Amazing thinkers and contemplators of man. Of course, wisdom and virtue and goodness are the subjects that bring joy to ones looking for it. Some other folks go in the exact opposite direction and invent things like guillotines to disagree with some people. That direction really stifles dialectics.

Magnificent is expenditure on something great that is conspicuous. Spending a great amount in a harmonious way. spend with pleasure! Keeping close accounts is chintzy. Celebrate magnificence. Look at the beauty around us, where did it come from.? Magnanimity. greatness of soul. two peaks of human greatness. There is one man that knew these things perfectly and did them well. Jesus.

Someone great souled, what does this person care about? Honor. He doesn’t see anything else. Does God need money? Give honor. A person of honor is not someone who takes small risks, he takes great risks. May cost his life. . He wants to be the source who gives! Wonder:it’s the beginning of philosophy.

It’s not politics. The most important thing about politics is that there is no important thing about politics. Meditate on beauty, give yourself and honor flow out of you. Magnificence. Give honor to the one that created it, and radiates it. There is no greater thing you can do. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

The adults that can advise us on the tough questions I mentioned last week 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. A stumbling block for certain.

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.

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

If only I hadn’t believed my friend, Chuck, when he broached the subject of climbing down that roof drain pipe. We were recently led around in handcuffs for buying something legal. Confessing to the purchases and the investigators searched, but there was nothing to be found on us or in our lockers on board the ship. Already two years sea duty. Salty they say. The story behind it all is as follows:

It was the Six Day War between Israel and and the Arab nation. A proxy war between us and Russia. Israel had our weapons and F14’s and Egypt had Russian Migs.and communist support I was in Top Secret communications and we had just been ordered to do 24 hour watches with 12 hours off to recover.

It was ‘somewhat’ dreary and very hard to do. my best friend, Chuck, a signalman, opened his hand to me one day and showed me something he called a ‘pep pill’ “you can buy them at the pharmacy in port” “he said” Sounded OK and they worked. Methadrine, stronger than espresso but with somewhat unpleasant side effects.

They got by, but Chuck developed a fondness for the little white pills. He sort of ‘hid’ on board when he would get hallucinations and paranoid. I didn’t have a clue. Someone in the division turned them in and that’s where the handcuffs showed up. The CID came after them at an apartment they rented in Naples. We were placed under arrest and wound up in the Marine Brig on land and Chuck said a fellow ship-mate was coming after them with a knife that night because we had fingered him as the major pot distributor on board their ship. Chuck said he had fought him off. Chuck was a tough guy back in the day.

It was not like the movies with a one way glass, the guards just escorted us down a passageway and “Is that him?” as the entrepreneur stood about 12 feet away. Brilliant. They locked all three of us up on shore and in a common bull pen. Also not well thought out. Maybe that dealer did come for me at night with the knife? Chuck told me that. It was a long time ago. They did not lock up the pharmacist. As mentioned, meth was legal over-the-counter just down the street from our apartment. . Chuck just wanted out so he could visit the pharmacy in our old Naples neighborhood. He was very fond of the little white pills. Addiction.

We had the duty of cleaning the brig when we spotted the big drain pipe going down to the courtyard. About three stories below. A open window offered freedom and a few days later, we were gone and in Sicily by the time it was noticed. We spent a lot of time on the run and wound up in Rome. We lived with some street people who crashed in a dirt floor catacomb near Trevi Fountain. All of us were begging for 100 Lire coins from tourists in Italian ( Cento Lire per mangare) and snagging coins thrown from the economy tour buses. You could hear the aluminum windows on the bus’s snap open as the tourists tried to fling the coins into the ‘Three coins in the Fountain‘. Those cheaper tour bus tours did not stop at any of the sights and we knew which ones they were.

The 500 lire ones were heavier and worth about 5 bucks! Wetting your feet in the fountain was a sure arrest for us, but the coin toss was amusing to the policemen. Entertaining to a boring assignment. The cops tolerated the street people. Some of them were old enough to remember WWII, they knew how hard it could be.

I visited the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel when we were in Rome. (Chuck was mostly in a drug haze near the fountain) The Swiss guards just let me in. Maybe seeing me as the street urchin I now appeared as. Dirty and unkempt. Perhaps I was looking for redemption? After the astounding ceiling of the chapel with the finger of God reaching for the finger of Adam, I walked the halls and saw the incredible original paintings of the masters. I did not run into the Pope however. I just walked out the gates afterwards.

I found Chuck that evening, walking aimlessly near the fountain. He was easy to spot with his white tennis shoes. Finally looking a bit worse for wear, we wound up in Florence. Camping at Campagio David with a perfect replica of DaVinci’s statue of King David over the entrance! The cops came for us in the morning where we were camped and we wound up in handcuffs. Foolish sailors, using their military ID”s. Wanted men. Captured, this time in a car headed for Pisa and another jail. Just like the bad movies as we were very uncomfortable riding across Italy with hands cuffed behind us. A long drive and little chit chat from the guards. They had no idea why we were wanted after all.

As we approached our new residence, we leaned over a bit with the cuffs at our backs and saw the leaning tower out the window. “Wow, it really does lean a lot!” More unpleasant accommodations and finally the court Marshal. Sentenced to six months hard labor in a Marine Brig in southern Spain, Rota. It is what is called a ‘red line brig’ with guards ready and able with 45 caliber sidearms if you crossed that line.

We got tortured with sleep deprivation for three days and were allowed to join the bull pen after it: “Strip your bunk! Make your bunk! Go to sleep!” 1 hour intervals, repeat until you plead. It works. It breaks people down very efficiently. A little splash of water in your face to instill yet another round. (I still have dreams about that.) A recent sleep study could not be done as I knew someone would wake me up and the torture would begin again. Trauma hiding within my mind. It lingered for a ‘while’. Jesus helped me with that issue recently. He is so kind and of course, He was there the whole time. Always is for us. It took me a long time to realize that as well. Finally after being broken at the brig we were allowed into general population.

‘Fun loving Marines’ , bad duty for them with a few moments of entertainment now and then. After three months working hard in the heat, the biggest guard asked me if I would like to ‘dance’ with him in the isolation cell. What did I have to loose? A bit stronger from months of work shoveling sand blast sand from beneath dry docked barges, I said,“sure, might be a good time” ‘Ahh, you’re no fun’ the guard said and he went back to whatever it is that guards do.

Finally our time was up, I was discharged with an Honorable discharge (after a few years of legal action) and we were flown back to the states on a very uncomfortable C-130. What a career, and I was doing so well. A few more crows on my sleeve up to first class and it would be a path to Chief petty officer, the brown shoe Navy with better accommodations on board ship, retirement too. A career sought after, now gone. Why? Don’t we always ask that question..why me? To be continued…

I needed work. It was back in the 60’s and working as a dishwasher in a famous cafe’ didn’t pay much. The music at night was world class acoustic. The nation of many 40 acre musicians were drawn to the cafe. The pay for the workers was getting fed, bypassing admission prices and an occasional pitcher of beer across the street. The housing was leaky plumbing and roofs, bridge on the river Kwai back stairways and great love expressed. It was indeed a training ground for my escape from the city with enough money to survive living with the jack pine savages up nort’ (that’s the way they pronounce the word in NW Wisconsin)

I was hired on by the railroad on a fluke and in the rail yard office, I was referred to as Santa Claus because of my long hair.” Get on that old bus and it will take you out to the job site son.” A bunch of young bucks looking for some muscle pumping with good wages. It was just wages for me.

My first job was surfacing tracks for a new ‘hump yard’. All the tracks had a slight downhill grade so the cars would roll down into their spots for a train build. I got the low man job, shoveling ballast into the vibrating jaws of the tamper. It needed to be fed lots of rocks as the huge electric motors on the plunging fingers were constantly stuffing rock ballast under the ties. I got the rhythm and sort of liked the job as I got the swing down with a #2 shovel. Even got good enough to do a Queen Ann salute.

The first guys off the bus got the easy jobs and they always let me walk leisurely to the job site as they knew I would grab a shovel. A new friend on the gang wised me up to the drill. “First ones at the job site get the lining bars”. The next day I eased out of the handle driven door, gave a big yawn and suddenly burst into a run and got a lining bar to work the jacks. Surprise! Now you can have your old job back and get in shape was my generous thought towards the other man that now knew I was in the gang, ready for the work.

Camaraderie and all the badgering and insults and laughter to make the danger and brutal work go by. The testing of the hump yard with a blast of air at my back as a boxcar whistled by at a good clip maybe five feet away.

Later, after basic training with heavy tools, I got a transfer to a local section gang. Easier work. One time I was hit near my eye with a half moon of steel from a new guy spiking over the track. My foreman picked me up in his arms and ran with me across ten tracks to an ambulance. Big Leroy. Strong man. “Man, I thought you got hit in your eye!” Thanks Leroy! He cared for his men. He was the opposite of his friend, Woody. Accomplished worker and goldbricker too. He could think of more incredible ways to lean on a tool than I thought were possible.

A switch-man got coupled one day and they called his wife to say goodbye as when the coupler pin was pulled, he would drop dead on the spot. To this day, I cannot walk behind a rail car, even in a museum. ‘Cmon dad! It’s a really cool Pullman sleeper car!’ Sorry son, I can’t make myself do it. Trauma and fear. Of course I knew that car would move somehow and kill me. Everyone’s got a dose of trauma. It hides in your lower brain and pops out in a half a second with the proper trigger. Irrational fear usually.

I struggled for years with that reaction to various trauma in my life. A visit to a therapist helped me realize it. The funny part was when the session just started, he said “Now you are safe, there isn’t going to be a train coming through this wall” He didn’t have any idea that was one of my trauma triggers! It’s a joke with friends and family now. Didn’t feel that way at the time. The therapist and I had a laugh when I revealed my reaction.

At this time in my life, I began seriously conversing with he Lord, Jesus. Now I had a good friend that told me things, things I could do for other people. It was such an unexpected joy to hear from my Creator that would politely tell me things. Little things. Simple things that still amaze me and my friends. Things that I like to have in print so other people can take courage to listen to Jesus and act on their faith.

I sang a song for a woman I walked by while I was walking down a hallway in an assisted living facility. The Lord tugged on me with a quiet suggestion. “Go back and visit that woman sitting near her doorway.” I went back and asked her if I could pray for her. ‘Yes” she answered.

I prayed for her and first asked if I could put my hand on her shoulder. I sang to her: “You’ve been afraid a long long time, but Papa’s here and it’s OK. He will take the fear away, my little one”. Then I continued; “The man who’s full of grace and truth, someday He will come for you, He’s gonna make all things brand new, my little one” 1.

She liked it and rested her frail head on my hand on her shoulder. Blissful tears still come from the memory of speaking truth to her and to myself. That Man who’s full of power to make me free, someday He will come for me, I am his little one.” It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson /Jack Gator

1. Jon Thurlow

Norm was obsessed with motorcycles early in life. He would gaze at the ads in National Geographic for the Harley’s with clean cut drivers rolling down the road, the open road with the wind right there in their face. He could almost smell the hot exhaust and the sound of power. Up to this time, He had driven an older friends Sears Moped. It was a heavy bicycle frame with a small lawn-mower engine that was kinda neat and He would wonder why this slightly older man would allow him to drive it.

No problems really with the hunger that man had for friendship. He was a loner and not deviant as you already may be thinking. He was a bit odd like Norm and had no friends to speak of. The Moped was the man’s path to friendship but Norm did not respond to that so well. He had three friends that were troublesome as was Norm. The usual. ‘broken home’ was the whisper around the neighborhood and as a puzzled and angst driven boy, Norm joined his friends in trying ropes around burning barrels that people had near their garages and anticipating the flaming collisions as the barrels would swing back on the car.

He got caught by his father on that one and as per usual, was beaten in the basement with a wooden dowel rod. “Don’t cry, I’ll make it worse!” Stalag 17 in a North Minneapolis stucco house. His father had to take the heat from the neighborhood but Norm didn’t give up his accomplice. Besides, the other guy lost an eye when a .22 cartridge in one of the barrels went off. Enough pain for him for a bit.

So one day, another older guy drove into his alley and rolled up with an old Harley flathead 74 and asked Norm if he would buy it? Hundred bucks. By this time Norm’s father had been tossed out by the court and immediately Norm sold all his ham radio gear and bought the old bike. Investing the rest of the money in Ape hanger handle bars, Chrome plating the spring style suspension and putting on up-swept megaphone mufflers along side the chopped rear fender,it was ready for his version of Marlon Brando’s ‘Wild one’ and it was just in time for his senior year in High School.

It was loud and showy and the suicide clutch and the kick starter completed the image. Norm was despised by the staff and student body at his high school. Straight A record in Quadratic equations, solid geometry, physics and so forth completed the image. He may as well worn hair shirts and sandals and no one would have noticed. After all, he had a hook-his mother was attendance clerk down stairs next to the assistant principles office. She was a blond looker, single and ample insulation for Norm to be a bit outrageous. Grace was given. His mom had the principle wound around with her typewriter ribbon and a reduced sentence was given now and then. Mom knew the score.

He drove the chopper to the graduation party way up north and on the way thought there was pursut by a flying saucer. It had a yellow light that lit up the highway and it made no noise whatever. Parked on the side of the highway, all he could hear was the tink tink of the cooling exhaust pipes. The old Harley had a top speed of about 80 and gas was cheap back then. Usual party. Keg of beer and lots of odd behavior and now they all were ready for the world. Right. The chopper got sold for the gas to get out to San Diego where Norm and a classmate, Harry Rood, tried to sell encyclopedias, dressed in their graduation suits. They drove an old Nash till they got to the Seligman Arizona and it blew a head gasket on it’s last gasp of mountain climbing. A white Packard that used a lot of oil was traded for and they made it to San Diego.( More on that story in the column ‘Santa Fe Super Chief’)

They ate stolen oranges and grapefruit from the neighbors trees and never sold anything. The old briefcase from a brief stint at Minnesota Institute of Technology was handy to put the purloined fruit in for the trip back to the apartment. Preparation for life. Stumble around old Dago town and spend all you money on peanut butter and bread. The Lord was watching the comedy and already preparing Norm for his destiny. They boys improvised life as most of us do, thinking we are in control of..something.

God is patient. It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator

We have seen them, perhaps even own one. A key for our cars that has only to be with you to work at unlocking and driving. Amazing. There has been a lot of chatter about ‘marking us’ with some sort of chip, embedded in our skin. This almost invisible implant would unlock anything, pay anyone and identify us. Most certainly this could be freedom of a sort and also frightening to consider the abuse and total transparency of our lives.

A popular movie depicts this information as a constant advertising tool as we move about. The chip is also used in these movies to inform agencies where and who we are. This tool is already being used in another country to control and reward or punish anyone foolish enough to throw a Kleenex on the ground. The reward comes to another that picks it up. Big Brother indeed. Aircraft already have this information available to traffic controllers which makes it much easier to guide and inform pilots.

There is another proximity key that we also carry that identifies us as members of a club. Not exclusive, no special hats or badges. There is a spoken indicator but it’s tricky as it changes every moment. Way beyond the Enigma. However, Gator has begun to respond to the proximity key club members carry. The challenging part is giving the code words or phrases without hesitation because appearances do not reveal an approach. Disappointment can occur when the counter code word (or phrase is not given back) Perhaps language is a barrier at times. Some countries have many in small areas so another way to contact must be utilized. Nothing spoken, nothing worn, not even body language is reliable. Behavior helps but it is not the end all either! The reliable and undeniable way to recognize another member is within ourselves.

There is a story about two babies, still in their mothers wombs that used that method to recognize one another. When the two women met, (cousins), the babies moved strongly within them towards each other. Recorded in historical records by the way. It is also an excellent, best way, to be drawn to another club member. Have you dear reader recognized the club leader? Members, by the way, are always welcomed and seniority does not exist. It is the organization of believers in the Son of God.

His name is Jesus and he has many other names. Gators favorite is ‘Wonderful’ If you are a member, good advice is to listen very closely for the voice within that tells you about these things. It is a voice of thunder and softness. It is stern and loving. The asking for the voice within is very important. We can close a window in our heart to stop hearing his voice but the voice comes in His window, not just a window.1 Our heart, spirit, soul and strength are always there within. It’s up to us to make those core parts of us available to Him. He will patiently knock on that door/window pane for our whole lives-pursuing us but we must reveal ourselves to Him and ask. After all, window latches are always on the inside. Door locks are meant to keep outside. He will not put a foot over the threshold unless asked to do so. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

1. George Macdonald ‘On the back of the North Wind’ 1871 William Clowes & Sons limited

THE BURNING HEART

There is a growing angst in our nation right now. Conspiracy theory’s abound and it grows increasingly difficult to hold one’s tongue to express our own opinions on the state of our nation.

Gator has been getting better at listening and just acknowledging what he has heard. Not interrupting, not arguing but quietly changing the subject, gradually and without rancor. “That’s very interesting” is working somewhat. Conversation is exchanging ideas not trying to convince of your right ones. (If I’m right, and I usually am.)

Sometimes, Gator engages conversation about the Holocaust brought about by Margaret Sanger and her close association with Hitler. Most folks do not know who she was. Margaret was a proponent of Eugenics and the idea that certain ethnic peoples are below par and should be eliminated from the population. She convinced Hitler and now, her dream lives on in Planned Parenthood. These ‘clinics’ are located primarily in Black neighborhoods, 79% of them. Black lives matter in a different way?

Black women have the dubious ‘honor’ of being 36% of the ‘almost mothers’ leaving their unborn children at these PP clinics. Interesting numbers, look them up on Goggle after wading through all the sites on the first page lauding the wonders of abortion and the buzzword, ‘Choice’

The current elected president’s political machine put 400,000 flags on the mall for his inauguration which were to represent the people that could not make it because of Covid. The flags could be purchased on-line and the monies went mostly to…Planned Parenthood. Doing the numbers is easy. The percentages are: four hundred thousand is point nine percent of forty four million. (the number rounded off of the abortions made by Planned Parenthood.) The interesting part is that .9 percent is the number of people that have died in this nation from Covid that had a ‘case’! Coincidence?

Gator could go on and on about this issue, this attempted extermination. Indeed, black lives DO matter, especially to those perpetrating this worship of death. It’s an old worship of a ‘god’ that had children thrown into furnaces for sacrifices. Baal or under another name, Dagon. There are many historical accounts of this. We are more sophisticated in our country, we kill them and sell their body parts and fluids! Brings up the bottom line and it helps our medical people do so much more!

“We carry our primary reward in us—a lovesick heart fascinated with the beauty of Christ Jesus. Our primary reward in this life is this ability to feel God’s love for us and to feel love for Him. The anointing to experience God’s love from Him and back to Him is the primary anointing related to cultivating an intimate relationship with Jesus, the Bridegroom God” 1.

Gator’s choice decades ago, our choice in our country and world. Five words spoken to Gator when he was embracing death. Word’s heard by Gator’s ears. “Life or death, choose now” Choice indeed.

Choosing life in spite of our greed and a propensity for personal peace and prosperity. It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator

1. Mike Bickle

It’s a good friendship. An E4 and an O6. That’s a Petty Officer third class and a Captain. They were also neighbors. Jack and Mark. Neighbors that met riding bicycles on passable blacktop roads. Mark lived about a mile and a half away from Jack and once in a while, they would go for a ‘spin’. There was another huge difference between them as Mark was a category 2 racer and Jack just liked to ride.

One unremarkable day, Mark was riding alone and met a very pretty and friendly bicycle rider. She was riding nearby and as Mark was married to Debra and a pastor, he was safe to ride with for a bit. Not long afterwards, Mark mentioned to Jack about this gal. “She runs a lakeside camp nearby, I think it’s called Talking Oaks. Pretty good cyclist too!” Jack, as a bachelor, was interested. He knew where the camp was and began thinking about Mark’s discovery. Just by ‘chance’ A real woman with a job! Obviously fit too! Mark said she was ‘pretty’ too. He strongly considered calling the camp. Why not?

Meanwhile, the bicycle riding gal, Greta, was out in Washington state at a conference. She was at a local bar near the Canadian border and the bartender was gregarious and asked Greta where she was from. Greta told her where the she was from and the bartender, casually wiping down the bar said, “where in Cannon Lake do you live?” “What! No one knows that dinky little township!” The bartender replied, “My grandparents lived in Cannon Lake” They had a few things to talk about then. The bartender, incredibly enough, was an old friend of Jack’s and gave Greta Jack’s phone number. Greta put it in her wallet and when she returned to Talking Oaks, tossed that piece of paper into a drawer in her office; a wooden holding device to eventually have it’s contents put into a round holding device standing on the floor nearby–the trash.

On a particularly perfect day for cycling, Jack decided to call the Talking Oaks camp and asked for the director. Jack gave his name and mentioned his friend Mark. He also stated that he and Mark rode a lot together and asked if Greta would like to ride sometime. “It’s that Guy! The friend of the bartender way out west!” Greta consulted the head cook who was her entrusted friend. “why not? Sounds safe, a pastor’s friend after all”

So Greta told Jack OK and Jack, being mostly clueless but aware that neutral territory was the place to meet, not his or hers. Jack suggested they ride their bicycles towards one another on a local county road and they could meet that way. Jack saw Greta coming towards him, uphill and riding strong. He waited for her, watching her technique. pretty good climber. They did a short 50 mile ride and Jack asked her out to eat afterwards. Greta’s cook said: “ why not?” and so it went. When Jack dropped Greta off at the camp, the dear cook had some chocolate cake for their dessert. Many ‘mostly’ enjoyable rides later, they were married; a few years rides actually. She really was pretty too. Still is.

The excitement was that this whole thing was a put-up job. Later, when Jack’s old friend, the bartender got in touch. After telling her the delightful story, she related one more fact. The exact place on the road where Jack and Greta met was right at the driveway where the bartender’s Grandparent’s lived. Wow, what a story of coincidences!

After a few years went by and children were home-schooled and the farmhouse rebuilt to double it’s original size Jack and Greta suddenly realized who set this whole wonderful and very challenging life before the two of them. It was a hard life at times and the whole family had many challenges from both Jack and Greta’s past. They are still together and praising their Lord and his way of loving them. Our Lord does not have a plan. He is plan. So now they listen and they follow His words. They sing and play songs about Him, even writing a few of them. It’s pretty good. Jack