There came a moment in Jack’s life of a spark of a fire landing inside of him. A man was speaking while all around the man, people were singing. There was fire in the man and in his eyes. Jack was astonished as the words the man was speaking were indeed flames that had hot sparks flashing like meteorites towards Jack.

The sparks landed on dry tinder that was aching as kindling for the fire that was coming to it. A fire being fanned into a burning flame that would never cease. An eternal fire. Jack did not know what was happening to him at first. It felt good and right. It was right up the hill from home, a Christmas Cantata. Jack was not interested. Another Christmas celebration did not interest him. Reluctantly Jack went with his family to the church.

There were many questions inside of Jack, questions that everyone asks. Why am I here? In this case, right here, right now. Jack was transfixed by the fiery eyes and the beam of light bringing the glowing sparks to him. The astonishment of a life time of wonder being fulfilled. Am I dying? That kind of astonishment.

The complete and perfect source was being downloaded and the fire became hot. The spark, cast out from the eyes of fire had indeed done well. It was worth every moment in that man’s life to ignite Jack’s dry and tender life. The warmth began to settle into Jack’s deepest well. That place again of eternity. ‘YES! More, I have been waiting a long time for this. Jack was transfixed. The man was talking directly to Jack.

The man’s face was lit by a spotlight from the balcony. The light came straight to Jack. The man was telling well known secrets. “Mary, did you know that the tiny hands you hold were the hands that flung the stars into the sky? “ Yes, of course was the only answer Jack had. Of course, someone had to do it! Again another truth: “Mary, did you know that the lips you kissed are the lips that blew life into the world?”

Same answer. I don’t believe in something from nothing. It went on and on. Truth, undeniable truth that explained so many things that Jack could not explain. No one could explain those things that Jack talked about and the things we all talk about. A few people had tried to talk about truth of life to Jack but it was as though Jack did not want to hear them. I can figure this out. These people talk like old mumbling preachers or the ones who come to the door that are overdressed. Jack has always tuned out people that know more than he does. Even his calculus class in college. Jack,arrogant and selfish. The usual conclusions of the withdrawn and frightened.

This experience was unexpected and unmistakable. Music too was a direct pathway to Jack’s inner man. Singing and playing most of his life helped Jack to always listen to different music until he got bored. Not this time.

It was the concert of a lifetime of concerts. Played and listened too. Answers to all the songs Jack had ever been involved in. “Mary did you know that those eyes can see who you are” Yes! I have been longing to be known, understood and loved for all those parts of my being that I have held within me.

The music swelled up again, the spotlight beam widened to the choir as Jack began to weep, the cry with the beautiful one he had just met. “It’s all true” Jack began saying over and over. He had looked into the eyes of the creator of all things great and small. Galaxies and red giant stars. DNA and microbes within Jack. Jesus told Jack why and who and when. Never to be forgotten again. Jack’s wife knows now the impossible had happened.

Jack began to see truly love. He knew that he was loved and embraced by the eternal creator. It was time and that is a birth within Jack. Let the flame burn so it can be seen by others and tell them about me. Love with all your heart, spirit, strength and soul.

Since Jack was 11 years old he was on his ham radio tapping out the letters over and over again; CQ CQ (anybody out there?) I seek you I seek you. It was the best Christmas present that Jack has ever received. Unexpected and beautiful beyond description. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

It’s quite a journey for me to track down myths, fables and reality all in the same search. Worldwide.

It started simply enough with the word Noel which derives from French. Christmas. It is also a woman’s name that means ‘born on Christmas’ German Langenscheidt or Das Weihnacten also translate to Christmas eve.

Searching some more brought up the actual celebration of Christ’s birth in Rome of 336 AD which turned into a festival until the 9^th century. There is some strong evidence of the Dutch putting their oar in the water in 1773 to celebrate His birth.

So where does this Santa Claus myth begin? Perhaps we can go back to 2 BC and and the myth of Odin who was a bearded, cloaked man that traveled through the sky? Sounds like a precursor.

Then we have the name of a real saint, St. Nicholas, a 4^th century Christian Greek Bishop from Myra (Turkey). In the celebration of him in Europe, children got gifts on December 5^th and opened them on December 6^th .

So, the nations of Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg and North France celebrated ‘SinterKlass who had a long white beard and wore a red cape and judged children about the naughty/nice thing. He became Santa in 1773, merging St. Nicholas, Sinterklass and the English, Father Christmas.

Finally in 1823 ‘ A visit from St. Nicholas‘ turned into ‘Twas the night before Christmas‘. He was plump, jolly and dressed in a red suit and rode in a sled pulled by a reindeer. He slid down chimneys to deliver toys to well behaved children. There, that was easy now wasn’t it?

That’s the secular mixed with religion in festivals. How the naughty or nice thing started goes away back to philosophers and People who thought a lot about the who, what and why of existence. Not just to children though. We all seem to know somehow what the definition of being naughty or nice is don’t we? Except for hard core existentialists that believe whatever they say are those things. They are Rather naughty to put it lightly. Use magic to float down chimneys or stuff them up and eliminate the entire household with CO gas. Combine the two and leave coal in stockings as a warning to children that the next time he shows up it won’t be so pleasant.

So with all of this preamble, how does this apply to us here and now? The Holy days, or some say holidays, are a time of celebration for all of us. How we celebrate is wonderful because we live free to do so. The lights, the tinsel and the socks on the mantle are fun and a strange beginning and glimpse of eternal judgement or perfect light from the creator of light. ‘Let there be light’ indeed. We began to exist, naked and without a care in all of Creation. Unfettered and free to love or not. Sound familiar?

The best part for me is the definition of ‘nice’ in my favorite history book. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength and with all your mind and you shall love your neighbor as yourself” That sums up all the law and the being nice part quite thoroughly. Can we do it perfectly? Of course not. But we must try with all those things we have been given. Heart, Soul, Strength and Mind. It’s life 101. Simple and impossible it seems. One man did it right. He showed us how to live and how to love. You know him. Christ, the reason we celebrate Him and His gift of forgiveness for us.

Forget the stockings and the chimney magic fables. Stop what you are doing right now, look up to Him and listen to Him. Put up a tree by all means and remember that it was a tree that He hung on for all of us. Quite the Christmas ornament!

It’s more than Pretty good, It’s good itself. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson /Jack Gator

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