Last Waltz at the Duluth Band shell

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

They were always the best gigs. Weddings. Playing for a wedding was indeed, icing on the cake. The music our band played was very polished and incredible. I was the guitar player and we had a mandolin, stand up bass and our leader was the fiddler. Square dance music from the old days and we also had a caller for the dances. Several of them. We were well known and royalties were coming in a little from the sale of our CD. On our way to small fame and fortune. Years rolled by and the gigs kept coming. We had a reputation and were in demand within a few states drive. It was fun and the energy was very high paced. We loved one another, often rode together. I was known as the rhythm monster as I changed up things from easy swing to double time back up, back and forth and it was fun and it worked.

After a few years, the CD’s sales began to drop off and the royalties faded. Every musician knows these things. If we had done vinyl recordings, we would have made the racks of records that are found in many quality music stores. Also in second hand thrift shops.

Our children were young and the constant travel every weekend took me away from my family. None of the other musicians had children. At my last last gig at the Duluth band shell it was known by the band that it was my last one. Poignant and emotionally charged for us all. We had been together for years and it was time. I was needed at home and that was good and right.

During this time together, at one of our band rehearsals I put forth at our upcoming dance camp that we have a church service on the Sunday. Our leader, the fiddler and his wife quickly refused. I acquiesced. The mandolin player did not stand up for the Sunday morning idea. I was young in the faith and my enthusiasm for our faith was not shared. I knew then, it was an important pivot point for me and my family.

I did let it slide but I think that it was important to make it known It was important to me. The lead fiddlers wife is Jewish and I lightened things up and lightly said, “Well, how about on Saturdays?” Nonetheless, she was not a Messianic Jew and did not consider Jesus as her Messiah. She did not attend Temple either. After the light laughter it was over. No worship service at our Sunday gigs. I would have conducted it myself but our leader did not even consider that. It was offensive to him as his father was a pastor and there was resentment. It happens with some children that get put into believing when they do not.

A short time ago, a similar disappointment occurred to me when a paper I was columnist in told me that I had to stop writing references to Jesus. After over three years with the paper, the new owner decided it was offensive to the readers in NW Wisconsin. His choice and now, my choice. I decided I not comply and was politely fired. Two other columnists who quoted Scripture were let go and I was next on the list. There was disappointment among a lot of readers for these decisions. “What happened to pastor Seth and Sally?” was commonly said. After a while it was accepted by the populace. The paper continues to get thinner. Just a coincidence?

The editor, a good friend, gave me the news of the impending cancellation and approved my way of bowing out of my column but said to me, “I envy your faith” I miss writing every week with them and in my last column just told a false hood that it was too demanding to write a column every week. It felt good and right to quit gently rather than make a fuss that is not constructive to the way I am supposed to live.

Actually, I write a lot, sometimes every day. It was a graceful way to leave. My readers were puzzled and once in a while someone will tell me they miss my column in that local paper. I do too.

At my last concert in Duluth, we were going to play my favorite waltz, ‘ Ashoken Farewell’ by Darrell Angar. The fiddler did not like it when I played along with him, I was not his equal but it was a good duet for me. I went to hook up my fiddle and he instantly began playing, not waiting for me. It was hard for me to know, once again, I was indeed, second fiddle. I did not make any mistakes but in retrospect, I should have accompanied him on guitar. It is easier to play a tender song like that with keys or a guitar in the background.

At Julie’s and my wedding we had four fiddlers stand around her on the alter and we all played a Scandinavian waltz, Helsa Dem Dar Hemma. Kevin McMullin, Bill Hinkley, Mary Dushane and I.

After the Duluth last gig, Kevin asked me “How does it feel to be finished with us?” I answered, “relieved” Not the answer he was expecting as I looked at his face. Now I stay at home more and helped raise our two sons. Home schooling and all the neat books by Dr. Suess and lots of Veggie Tales. It worked, Julie did most of the education work as she has a Masters degree in those sorts of things. At this writing I was working with my oldest son, Bjorn, as his assistant media director at Eagle Brook Church in Minnesota I started out on the prayer team and moved to production as a camera operator. Tripod only, the hand helds are ‘somewhat’ heavy for me! My youngest son, Soren. is the drummer in a worship band for the Riders for the Son motorcycle group. Julie is now a Bible study leader with members throughout the world on the internet.

It can be hard to stand for our faith. When I remember that time again with the Ducks, I pray for them. Often. I was replaced with another guitarist, but he was not a rhythm monster. They went on for a while and quietly disbanded. It was not the same for them either and I do miss it. There was a lot of love among us.

I went on to play with a few worship bands and led worship at several church gatherings. My family began a house of worship in a local town and we had wonderful times singing, playing and writing songs. It lasted for almost 4 years.

These days, at 81, I have not been playing out anymore. I miss it but am now writing about our Lord; a lot. Almost 400 columns now and also write for my web site. Another newspaper near Lake Superior, The Bottom Line News and Views welcomes my writing. It feels good and right and continues to grow my prayer life. This is what I have been set to. Write about real things and always praise the Lord within the stories. After all, He did save my life by speaking to me and how many things have happened afterwards I cannot list them all. He likes to have fun with me and I like it too.

I still play music at home now and then, not ensemble, even learning on the keyboard. That feels good and right too. It’s pretty good, Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

We are in Control and it’s all Your Fault

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It’s easier to put the blame on somebody than admit that we have not the slightest idea what is ‘going on’ and why so many things have been going wrong. The term used to be ‘have gone south’ but then I would be accused of some sort of prejudice to say so. I have moved north of highway 8 so that seems to be the right direction. (NW Wisconsin wisdom)

Whether it is the weather which now we think we can control or people’s thoughts we can control and demand they be changed, it is indeed the theater of the absurd.

“It’s the fault of all those people that are using their bread toasters too much!” Or, “It’s your fault for going to work in a selfish way” Take the bus!! Drive an electric vehicle!” I would perhaps if the bus was not being driven by someone else. I have a difficult time already getting enough batteries for my flashlights and garage door remotes. I have heard that rechargeable batteries are the answer if you have enough extra power to fill them up. Can you even imagine a small rural homestead with three or four people with electric cars and one charger? The experts tell us it can be done! There is enough wind and hot air coming from the District of Columbia to power windmills. The experts tell us it must be done.

Somewhere an electric chair is waiting at Amazon. There are many experts for anything you can imagine or anything they can imagine. They tell us what is what and who is who and the world is packed to overflowing with them. Of course in English, ‘Pert’ refers to someone that goes boldly forward in speech and behavior. I would then assume that an expert used to do so but now goes backwards? To go boldly backwards to where so many mistakes have been made and to go where everyone has gone before. An expert on the Enterprise of fools.

I, for one, have had quite enough of backwards thinking or worse, Sometimes shouted, often just quoted by an old expert. The old classic folk song, “If I had a hammer” Indeed, hammer in the morning making handles for wood signs explaining why all the shouting and demanding everyone change society and thought. It reminds of the Vogon guard in the Guide to the Galaxy that really liked the shouting part.

It’s satisfying to be self righteous but of course, it is impossible to make yourself righteous. Only one man showed us how to be righteous and it wasn’t riots and shouting. You know the man I speak of. It is said; with age comes wisdom but often just age shows up. Stop, look and listen to our Creator. He knows everything and He’s Perty good. Jack Gator.

With a wag of the gator tail to Douglass Adams

The Agate Hunt

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Often referred to as ‘rock hounds’ they are at home on the shore of the biggest fresh water lake on the planet. Superior. Walking among the big and medium rocks and peering down to see what treasures the fresh wash reveals. The pros have a flashlight to shine through the crystalline formations and see what is in there.

Julie and I visit the ‘North Shore’ once or twice a year and wander several beaches that are known to have agates hidden among the clutter and clatter of stones. The waves wash up and that’s a good place to look too.

Very old stories of rocks and water wash through our minds. How long has that incredible Agate been polished and tumbled about? Where did it originate from? Grasped with thumb and forefinger and turned around a bit in the light. Plunk. Into the handy bucket you are carrying or, if it is reasonably flat, and not an agate, it is skipped out across the water. Skip, skip. Skip, Skip plunk. “nice one, four! A little curl on the forefinger, spin and whip flat to the surface.

Tedious work and it can lead to forward bending that lasts a bit longer than the expedition. Bring the treasures home and then put them in a larger container. Everyone around here has one. Some polish them in tumblers and even cut them and make them into jewelry. Usually though, they wind up in a glass canning jar and the lid gets a bit dusty. Treasure, it’s like that. Acquisition is the thrill and the exchange of worth is one man’s treasure is another man’s..rocks.

This is why when I haul the garbage container up the driveway (empty) I look down at the gravel and every now and then, stop and pick up a likely candidate of Stone treasure. Nope. Maybe! Nope. It was raining today so I didn’t have to spit on one to see if it was what I hoped it was.

That’s’ my life. Treasure hunting. Books are the best place for me to hunt. Suddenly words catch my minds eye and I look a bit closer and see treasure. Stop and look. Can I see or hear without getting in the way? Centuries of beauty in plain sight and there is no purchase involved. Just look and gaze into eternity flowing into you. Don t’ forget to breathe. Tears are OK. They wash our stony hearts and the glow is seen that was always there. Once again Adonis is mine, and I am His. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Coyotes on the Internet

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments

It’s usually very early in the morning that the howling of the pack of coyotes comes through the small open window in our bedroom. Just a little fresh air is nice, even in the winter, but the hoot of the owls and those pesky coyotes wake us up now and then.

Tempting to get out the big flashlight and the flat trajectory rifle that shoots tiny bullets very, very fast (4,000 fpm) a .220 Swift. It’s too early in the day and we all are asleep. There are no sheep to protect and we tire a bit of the old chickens that are down on production anyway. However, they are in the coop and the pets are in the house so we roll over and pull up the quilt.

Those coyotes remind me of Facebook and my postings of these columns in a way. How many hits have I got from yesterday? We eagerly howl and prance around with success of the hunt for fame and perhaps even a meal or two. “Lets have lunch sometime, I really liked your latest”

It’s a relatively new addiction for everyone. Not too long ago with 56K modems and twisted pair phone lines, the concept of watching movies and world wide communication with almost instantaneous speed was reserved for the military.

Back in the sixties, I would be in the top secret communications room. Locked in. And with teletype hooked into a pretty fast network at sea, we did pretty good. When I was a teenager, it was with CW ham radio (continuous wave, Morse code) I was able to communicate with other ham operators overseas sometimes. It was fast but no audio and certainly no video streaming! After all, light speed is pretty fast but the technical description would be, Not much bandwidth.

So now, I sit at my desk with fiber optic internet hooked up to my computer and look at my stats for my face book and my Word Press web site at the same time. How many ‘likes’ and even comments on my latest posts! Even a heart emoji takes the thrill to a new level.

The internet coyote howls arise as some of my blogging pals have a huge fan club and mine is just starting to grow with only 400 columns so far. Encouragement isn’t bad of course, but the bragging and howl in my spirit is taken as more than encouragement. Come to the feeding trough of fame! You are important and we will trade the meals as you chow down on my blog and I on yours. Wait till my book comes out!

As I write about my best friend, Jesus, I realize the coyote howl is a world’s weak way of expressing worth. Power and fame and sometimes even fortune to those that can get the pack to howl the loudest. When I am gone, those coyote howls will be gone too. There is treasure in the Lords still, small voice of eternity speaking of real worth to me. It is the greatest treasure. And it is forever indescribable love. It’s pretty good.

Jack Gator       ( with a poetical thank you to Allen Ginsberg for his Howl.)

Why Do We Pray to our Lord

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Immediately after the illuminating and inspired message from a man before us is an invitation for those in the room to come to the front if they wish for prayer. It was my first assignment to assist, to help those who would know their hunger enough to be bold and come forward.

My first experience at this large church gathering as I came out to a landing high above the room I began to weep, immediately. I was overcome with the hunger I felt from a thousand souls facing forward. Was it my hunger I asked. “Yes it is also their hunger that is now overwhelming you with all men’s hunger.” Like all of us as children when we need bread for our body, we run towards our parents for food but it is first of all we need their love.

I went down the long side stairway to the main floor and did not trip with my worn shoes and soul. I went forward to stand before the huge bass bins (speakers) and faced the room with my friend who knew what to do and knew I was in the right place with him. Still stunned by the voice that told me it was hunger that all of us have. What can I say to them that ask me for prayer? Those words are suddenly given.

A handful of a thousand felt that hunger and came to us to tell them once again, that He loves them, in that moment. They needed to know that He would never leave them when their world grows dark and holds them in His arms and loves them the He way he always does.

The real needs we have for healing and assurance are always known by our eternal Father. His desire is first for us to reach towards His heart and loving presence. The giver of life wants to give us Himself and indeed tell us once again of His love. His Spirit in our hearts is kindled to flame and His tender voice is heard.

The tears flow among them as the hunger for Him brings forth His presence once again, in that moment, He holds us close and fills us with the bread of life. The one thing that we needed, the only thing. It is the wonder of the words, audible at times when we are alone, that indeed say, “It’s OK, I am with you right here, right now.”

Most of us are a bit shy about asking for prayer and just the moving forward to ask another to join in with you is brave surrender. In the past, prayer with others was done by a handful of us behind doors. It started in our pastors office, then we moved to a small room that had a sign on it. Prayer. It’s a declaration of hunger for God to others and the others are most likely just as hungry to join you. After all, Jesus said when two or more of us join together this way, He is among us.

It’s pretty good, Jack Gator

Thanks once again for George MacDonald and Jon Thurlow for truth written and often sung.

The life of a Lover of Jesus

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

How can this be? A quilt of life that is surprisingly delightful and just as easily not comprehended. Everyone has this road of travel and when trying to explain our lives. For me, it seems like I am bragging about adventure and failure, fear and success and a thorough drifting about life as a blown about maple leaf in the street. Just there by some random wind. Wrinkled by the forces that put me there, run over a few times and still seen as it once was. Life that hangs onto creation, fluttering in the blown wind of God’s breath and now, seemingly bound for …somewhere.

To that leaf, it seems an exciting life, watching growth and seeing other maples growing nearby. Weathering snapping lightning and severe winds. Basking in life giving light and warmth and envying the oak leaves that are better at hanging on through the winters.

Being reborn every year and feeling the contribution of energy given in enough amount to give again the impossible sap that nourishes the created tree and the people that know the sap is also to nourish them with sweetness that always delights.

What is my purpose in life? To grow and feel my life unfold with reward and danger. Then be gifted and surprised by hearing it’s OK to be what I am and to move with the wind of the presence of God’s breath and guidance. It wasn’t always obvious I was being prepared to a purpose of serving when it seemed that survival and pleasure was my given life. Subjective or Objective reality. The Tau and the famous Greek philosophy or our own versions of truth which are subject to us and our emotions. Instead of listening to the perfect truth of Christ. ‘The abolition of Man’ by C.S. Lewis explains these things better than I can.

The trauma of violence of childhood, and then wandering throughout the land and being blown about by seemingly random events that formed me. Having my own secretary at 16 years old in a mansion in Minneapolis, working with the Boy Scouts communicating via Ham Radio to a far flung camp without a telephone. Then failing my calculus in engineering at MIT, joining the military and being caught up in a war at sea. More wandering and evading death in California many times, once with the audible voice of God I did not know, eventually I started an impossible auto repair business in rural Wisconsin. It was Successful and then I was blessed with marriage and two children and a beautiful and faithful wife. Hearing again those words that can’t be believed by many people. Gifts of God.

I saw my best friend, speak five words to me and enter heaven from 2000 miles away. Many things that eventually lead to leading worship in a tiny rural church that gave me and my wife documents saying we were now pastors. We put them in a drawer. My whole family built a house of prayer in a small empty main street shop if Frederic, Wisconsin and staffed it for almost 4 years. Singing and playing and praying. We were overcome with God’s beauty and love. We also traveled a little around the country worshiping with other lovers of Jesus. Our sons with us in DC and other places.

Now the maple leaf is indeed withered and quieter, still blessed with sustenance and beauty. And now joined with other people that have similar blessings and and need for sustenance and encouragement.

I tap into that flow of life once again that I am given by my creator, that gift of light and love that was always there. I am beginning to watch and stop and listen for the voice that is the best book and the words given to me. What’s next for the weathered one? Excited and puzzled and weary at times, I keep looking ahead to another chapter and move with that breath of life. Often I still look up at that tree of life and know the very atoms I am made from still spin within me. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson and written by Jack Gator

Kindling

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The carriers of hope move through the earth, walking among the hungry ones. Those that hunger and thirst can be seen as glowing coals waiting for the fire to grown within. The burning one is walking and seeking those that are looking for their fire to grow.

They are waiting to be overcome with light and then flare the fuel in them that waits eagerly for the kindling.

It is the job of small pieces of kindling to be gently placed upon those coals that have been waiting for a bit of fuel to once again, bring into flame the passion for the remembered fire that blazed within them. A small amount of the spirit is enough to once again, bring the banked fire once again into the heat of fire that can be seen. The warmth begins to radiate out and be a place to rest and bask at.

It is the gift to be the giver of that small amount of spirit, to be the donkey that has the small pieces of kindling fire starters to lay upon the banked fires. To gently walk among the glowing coals in the darkness’ and encourage them, once again to be blazing light that illuminates and radiates to the hungry ones to be the lights in the darkness of the world.

There is joy within the donkey servant that brings that small amount of encouragement to help, once again to a seen flicker of fire. To bring a handful of fuel to create the heat of spirit. To tell the ones that within them that it is good and right to become a carrier of kindling too.

The larger and larger flames begin to grow until the small fires radiate the heat of love and laughter of smiles among the people as it grows. Drawn to the place they know that this can occur once more. The hunger is beginning to be satisfied within with tears of joy. Knowing this is the reason they are together.

The donkey moves along with it’s kindling. Quietly looking for that glow that shows hunger for those thin and light burdens of fuel that once more will fan the fire into a blaze of satisfying joy. The yoke of the wood is easy and well placed to carry. It is early morning as the night fades and eagerness of gathering begins again.

The small donkey knows it’s mission continues and the smile within him grows and becomes visible as the tears flow once again. The shepherd opens the gate and the he moves again, eager to obey.

It’s pretty good. Jack

The Lord’s Gift of our Life

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The view from our front porch on an early winter morning is quiet. There are no homes around in view but we know who lives in the ones just over the hills. Quite a few of those homes are lake homes and they are quiet now too. No one home. Gates on the driveways and no tire tracks either. Up the road about a quarter mile there is a township road that leads to a few homes, one of which we can barely see. Just a window glow when the trees are bare. It’s over a half mile away. The picture is of the sunrise over the barn and the maples. Nice clear and cold morning. No yard light on the single power pole, not needed here. Besides, the power company charges five bucks a month to keep you awake at night.

The dog barks and runs to the long windows to the east when a vehicle is heard coming up the long driveway. Such incredible hearing with those long floppy ears. If it is one of the family, she knows that too and turns away and greats her favorite one in the hallway. As for me, she takes a peek, gives a wag and goes back in the kitchen. Oh, it’s only you. Hi. Maybe hanging around for a pat and scratch or two.

The flag is waving off the porch and we wave next to the flag at family and guests there as they drive away. Early or late. That too is a great ritual of rural life. Seems good and right and most an old tradition going way back to old sepia tone photos. “Y’all come back and we’ll fix you a plate!” Southern hospitality.

Obviously, it’s quiet and except for an occasional half ton ford with a rusted exhaust out on the road. Coyotes at night wake us all up and we get out a rifle but they are gone as soon as the door opens quietly. Maybe is the chambering of a round. Not welcome here and chickens out by the barn are protected. The chickens crow and the coyotes howl. Wake up and grab a rifle.

I think about the folks in the city as they start their day. No Orion in the clear moonless mornings, just street lights and traffic as the city wakes up. I grew up there. No clink of the milk bottles coming up from the alley, just many vehicles and an occasional gun shot. Not coyotes this time. Here it’s wood smoke and the glow of the kitchen light on the snow, you and the stars saying hello. I live in the country now and it’s pretty good. Jack Gator

Strategic Prayer Command

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a white van, one of those tall ones that have a contractor’s business painted on the sides. Sometimes on the front hood as well, but reversed so you can read it in your rear view. That is an oddity of mirrors we get used to. I never even think I am really shaving the right side of my face when it looks like the left.

So the van was parked at a loading dock at the local church building. Right away I want to make that clear. The building houses the church. Usually it is called the church of…something. Named after one of the gift’s of the Spirit. A rarely seen one is the First church of Self Control.

The white van had the sides (and the hood) painted with the name of the group: Easy Yoke of Deliverance. Obviously transporting something that was needed for the people at the church building. e)narevileb fo ekoy ysae seen walking up to the front of the van. That way you can see it in your mirrors!

I stopped to chat with the driver and he had a name badge on and was very friendly. It wasn’t long after that he asked me if he can pray for me. Seemed appropriate with the cross over the loading dock and all. I asked him why he would do so for me, a stranger. He told me that compassion is the fruit of solitude and the basis of all ministry. A pretty old saying from St. Anthony from the fourth century. Wisdom, given to me from two thousand years ago that was timeless. The more I mulled it over, the more sense it made. I called myself a Christian, but had never experienced nor heard these things. Intrigued and stunned, I wanted to hear more.

His prayer was short and unusual. There was no ‘Christianese’ and flowery language. He prayed right into me and told me simple things that I struggle with and that there was great hope in Christ who lives in my heart. Stunned and pleased with that directness, I began to follow the people that hopped out of the van. They waved a plastic pass card and entered into the building.

They knew the driver had prayed for me and waved me in with them.

It was fairly early in the day and the lobby had only a dozen people moving about. It was obvious that ‘services’ were being anticipated and the waft of fresh brewed coffee was in the air. It was pleasant and there was a genuine welcome in the air too.

The driver came alongside of me and showed me about this large and pleasant atrium and the second floor area as well. Everyone we met had a name badge and they were moving about cleaning, preparing snacks in a room for them and popping popcorn! My escort prayed with a handful of them and I saw from the balcony other groups of two and three doing the same for one another. My escort (Bryan) prayed for the popcorn man and we walked about with a fresh bag and greeted and prayed for more staff and volunteers we encountered.

Escorted into the huge empty sanctuary I promptly began to feel tears welling up and asked if it was hunger going on with me or an anticipation of the people soon to fill the empty seats. The answer was yes. This was definitely not church as usual. I was in love and knew beyond doubt, I was in love with the builder of this building, the town, the city and the planet. The builder and giver of life to me and everyone that I saw. Never had this happen before and I have never been the same since. That answer “yes” just came into my thoughts with clarity and authority. Still does.

I stuck around and I was captured by this love. Eventually, I joined this team I met and the joy at praying for people was so refreshing, I had to do this. Not only in the building, but everywhere I went. I began to be bolder and found baristas and store owners along with commercial drivers that deliver packages to me, welcoming the prayers. I now ‘see’ the hunger for that romance of Christ’s love. What a gift! I never seem to run out of that gift I can give now. There was a lot of preparation for me before I saw that white van. It became very clear that my life had been formed and fashioned to cradle the love of Christ. It took a long time for me, but there are similar stories. I thought I was through and tired of life. I was actually tired of death.

A new ‘job’ or calling as the van driver told me. One of the best jobs and the benefits are all written down in the company brochure, the Bible. It’s pretty good. See you there. Jack Gator scribe

The Twins of Our Life

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments

It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt.” ~Fyodor Dostoyevski

It is indeed, Doubt that is essential to the path of faith in Christianity. At first, it seems that doubt is gone, once faith is embraced. But is it? I must confess that I doubt at times in the seemingly impossible promises of eternal life and all that precedes it.

Protection, provision, guidance and comfort. At times it seems my life is not protected nor provided for and the comfort I desire seems as though it is the carot out of my grasp. The guidance is forgotten for a bit and I lapse into some sort of swampy thoughts. It takes the silence to look back on my life when I have been blessed by all the excellent things that I have not even asked for.

Simple things that have been the foundation of the questioning expression on my face. You know that move of your own face. A slight tilt of your head, a slight frown and the wrinkle of the forehead. Looking down a bit and your eyes pulled in along with the frown. Sort of a sad look combined with the look of puzzlement. Trying to understand a missing thing. A lost tool or something said that you didn’t quite hear. Doubt of your ability to understand or grasp reality. Doubt and confusion coupled. That can’t be right. I just saw that object. What did she say? Things akin to doubting your own understanding and not quite trusting your memory of touch, sound, sight and proprioceptive sense of balance. Off kilter in puzzlement.

Perhaps tripping over your own feet and falling to the ground or falling to the depth of your being. Doubt.

In isolation it can be devastating. With the help of someone who loves you, there is a helping hand. Reaching in to pull you up out of your fear. Love abounding to once again, reassure and rescue us from our own self doubt. A rescue that can give faith. “You’ve got this, your OK and I am here beside you, always.

Faith in another one’s words and showing you your own worth. Faith in the words of your rescuer.

This is the path to remove the doubt, the doubt that diminishes and eliminates faith. This path is well known and written about in scripture. Everyone has doubts. I look back when I feel the doubt sleeting into me. I look back on the miracles and to others, impossible communications I have been blessed with. Indeed, the helping hand of our rescuer. Jesus. He has been with me when I did not know who He was. He has whispered words to warn and guide my life to love rather than follow my indifference or even hatred of other people and really, myself.

The only way for me is to silence my mind and listen. A very old desert father in the third century put it perfectly. “Where is your savior? Why don’t you ask Him yourself? He said listen” He doesn’t lie to me and if I really am quiet and listen, He will talk to me and tell me truth about the path of Holiness. That narrow path that anyone can walk. Neither looking left nor right but walking true. Listen and walk true to the spirit of God.

It’s Pretty good. Jack Gator, scribe