“Have you seen the ad? Forty acres with a farm and a good well! Dug by Jacob’s Water Worx!, only 400 thousand and it’s fenced! Good water”
I have it on good account that the reality was owned by old Lot and his wife was running it. Business was brisk and sales were definitely up. People were streaming in because the listings were somewhat affordable and life was easier there too. Actually, life there was steaming hot and there were no laws against red light districts. Good restaurants and night life along with friendly neighborhoods that weren’t so judgmental.
It was the new age of Dionysian life we have all dreamed about. No more morals, no more books, no more preacher’s dirty looks!
Lot’s S & G reality came upon some real hard times and the city it was in did not fare well. It was destroyed utterly according to the Smithsonian by an exploding meteorite at two and a half miles above. It caused winds of up to 740 miles per hour and hot sulfur from the explosion destroyed what was left of the two cities. (Sodom and Gomorrah)
There were several branch offices in those two towns and they did not fare well either. No one lives there now. Recent archaeological digs have turned up some corroborating facts, somewhat, about the disaster. There are not any documents from those cities that have been discovered either. One old S & G reality sign was said to be jammed into the salt sea which is quite a ways away. The winds aloft perhaps put it there.
There was mentioned in the Smithsonian magazine a curious fact: A large deposit of salt has been discovered among the ruins of those 2 cities.
Lot’s wife was very concerned about the realty franchises when she and Lot ran for their lives. History from a very old book of the Bible (Chapter 1) tells of her fate. She paused, turned and looked upon the devastation and turned into a pillar of salt. Interesting ‘coincidence of the Smithsonian’s teams discovery of a large salt deposit. The very old book referred to this remnant of the wife as a ‘pillar of salt’ Nothing about the size of her demise.
The realty was continued by Lot’s two grandsons, Moab and Ammon. They settled in two different countries and are not available for comment. Rumor has it that the ‘good life’ of S & G went on for some time where the brothers settled. Family traditions.
Enjoy the analysis thanks to the Smithsonian for confirmation of an old story. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
It began with an invite from Norm’s friend, the one he really met in a hospital. That’s in another column, ‘A battle for individual worth’ When that friend says something to Norm, it’s important and he listens.
This time was over a food truck Gyro. A casual remark about a gathering near their homes. About a mile or so away at the Trade Lake Swedish Mission church Up on a hill from the one time bustling community of Trade Lake.
A picnic/potluck was promised and Norm got mildly interested. “It’s next Saturday. Pick me up, I’ll be waiting at the door” Norm looked it up with a quick search of the paper archive (the one Norm used write for). The time was listed as well as the main speaker. He was a former pastor of his for 10 years and the mild interest turned into a firm draw. Since Norm and Julie had a pretty successful garden that year, It seemed good to pick and slice up some ripe tomatoes and offer those. Julie finished the offering with an oval Pfaltzgraff serving plate and perfect garnish’s of Basil leafs with fresh picked snow peas in the center. Norm was hoping this would be OK and it was an instant hit and ALL of it was eaten afterwards. It was well received as fall had begun in earnest and picnic dining was looking OK, nice late fall. Back to the service…
Norm picked his usual spot in the front pew and had a little chat with the two brothers that were doing the worship. Nice young men, and they listed the songs. Hymn’s. The beginning one, however, is one of Norm’s new favorites, ‘How great thou art’ done by a Gaelic band with bagpipes. It sounded promising. Two guitars.
The young men began, and when it got to the chorus, Norm rapidly began weeping and stood up. Maybe it was the other way around. Hands held high and really worshiping as the song rang out in that old wooden Mission church. The tears were unbidden and unexpected and he did not care if no one else was standing or not. He was in the front pew and it was easy to just let go and leap up.
The salt from the tears became a badge to him that a good thing was happening. Right there, right now. It felt so free. The last song was America and Norm, military fellow he was, stood with hand on his heart and thoughts of this incredible constitutional country where he could stand for the flag. Below the flag, fastened to the wall, was one of those classic paintings of Jesus with His eyes looking up. Right at the flag.
The two guitarists played more songs and Norm noticed one looked a lot like his youngest son and he was deep into the songs. He knows that look and that sound. It’s obvious, undeniable and perfect.
Looking down at his feet, firmly planted on the old puncheon floor he was transported to a C.S. Lewis vision of an old farmer worshiping at vespers. Ask Norm, he can detail it for you.
It was a simple old church building with a nice isinglass wood stove and photos lining a wall of neighbors long gone who’s names are still on the mailboxes. It was called a mission church because camp missions were funded by potatoes sold to the local starch factory. The factory is long gone but some of the funded local church camps are close by that grew out of those times.
There were four of them within the township. Two have been sold, one of which Norm met his wife at. Whispering Pines Camp. She was the director and introduced him to a mile and a half of pristine lake shore with an isthmus called picnic point. Tall pines and trails for young campers that came, spring to fall. The lake shore view brilliant with reds and yellows around the lake. The season was then closing down and near the end of tents and dining hall chatter for another season. The sale of this beauty was imminent and the buyer, a developer, built his mansion out on the point. They took down the cross, chained to two trees near the lake and that was somehow, the saddest loss.
At the mission church, (which will never be sold) it was the way worship should always be done. Done well with heart and spirit shifted into top gear and the accelerator floored. Still transfixed as I type this. Unanticipated ecstasy and revival of the best kind. It was beauty and poetry of the best kind. Norm picked up their clean oval dish and they went home. Another memory of clarity and beauty.
It was a ‘mandatory’ meeting. All hands on deck sort of thing. No head counts per Se’ but the feeling of head swivels noting that sort of thing. Facing forward we all pay attention to what is being said or demonstrated to us. This information is essential and a lot of us take notes in our journals. The desire is to understand it all with alacrity and conviction. This meeting should help.
The mandatory part is spelled out in a very old book. The folks that wrote that ‘how to’ manual knew things some of us have forgotten, even if we had read them a while back.
Memory is not the problem. The desire to remember is. Once a week we all meet together.
Quite a bit of the information is written by different authors and some of them use different sentence structures and can be unclear to some of us, including myself. Basic stuff as to which way do you want to live in the world. Always your choice to know which path you are to go to.
Revelations are quietly done. Creator to created. A lot of times just the two of you. There are no badges of seniority or symbols as such. Just knowing what comes next is exciting enough. The pay is the same plus very good retirement benefits. Learn everything but knowing your Creator is the outcome expected. Not knowing about Him but knowing Him as your closest friend. His heart is always open but incredibly enough, quite a few of us just want to read about Him thinking perhaps we know everything and have discovered a precious jewel in that knowledge. 1.
So, there are some of us who listen, but just ‘tune out’ and think about other things. The main speaker is serious and often humorous. It’s more common than we think. I can only imagine the research and inspired writing that coalesces into these talks. It seems so fluid and easy. It isn’t.
I am one of the blessed few that stay behind after the meeting is over to talk with anyone that wants to know more about the world and what it means to them. I am very glad to be called to be there because it usually leads into revelation about our world to both of us. There are a handful or less that attend to help right afterwards. For a room that once held hundreds, perhaps a dozen or so would like to be prayed over about their lives. Hunger for more than just knowledge is the key. Hunger for love reassured. Hunger for the food of love and the water of life.
The world’s part is worship and knowing it’s Creator with eager and open hearts. It is my extreme pleasure to tell them of this Creator and that He knows everything about them. He is eager to help and above all that, loves to hear our concerns about our lives. He is Jesus, King of the universe. Getting to know him and talk to Him is the greatest reward of our life. It’s the hardest and best thing we can ever do. {It gets easier!) and It’s pretty good, Jack Gator
A Powerful word, the most powerful word that exists. A foundation for eternity and a word that cannot be forced or coerced in any way. The Word was with God and the Word was God.
Many people, including myself, realize that that Word has four letters and they are summed up with the clear vision that it is intertwined with creation itself. Indeed the beginning of all things that are and were created. It seemed to me the hardest thing to really understand, these four letters, Word. Indeed, what was this, the first Thing God did? Alone, incomprehensible to me.
Today, those four letters became clearer and more beautiful. Creation indeed. The one thing, the only thing that is needed to complete it all. The one thing I needed to complete my life and give me purpose. For everyone’s purpose to exist and be filled with joy and understanding all things.
All interpretations of these four letters are that the Word was Jesus. How can this be? All of scripture is now referred to as the story of Jesus, the Word. The Bible is the Word and through it all things were created and nothing was created without it.
Only this morning, as I was trying to understand our world and the seeming collapse of it did it make sense. The Word is Love. Jesus indeed was the love, the one thing that cannot be without being given. The Father Himself gave us the most precious of all things, the freedom to choose love itself. Without the choice to love or not is the foundation of all things.
Love, It must be chosen not created by us. The only creation by God was love for He alone, as us all now, could not love without another. Love the Lord your God with all you are, all your strength, power might and spirit. All of it. God’s only begotten Son was love. The incredible Word. Jesus.
After all, the entirety of this Word requires another to love and be loved. What indeed is love?
Both lovers listening, and gazing upon one another with rapture. In the beginning, perfect love, eternal love and sharing everything that is. The wedding vow of eternity as we now become the bride of Christ with this love. He gave His life for us, can we do no less?
As a veteran, I look upon my fellow warriors with love and honor them for the courage they showed to defend this country that is founded on the freedom to love one another. In our country’s constitution, in the beginning is indeed, that all men are created equal. All of us. Able to choose good or evil. At conception and birth, all equal. We can indeed choose to love as we grow. It’s very hard (I know this as you do) but it is a choice. “Life or death, choose now” as Jesus spoke to me so long ago.
This morning as contemplating the beginning of all that started our country it became it bit clearer to me. Our beginning too of our countrys first pact with one another that all men are created equal. Capable of love and being loved. Then and now as differences of opinions, faith or not and appearances become nothing compared to our birth as free men created equal to be lovers of God. We choose to love as in the beginning we were given the freedom to love or not. It is only possbile when we understand the Word.
The hard part, the hardest part is choosing and the best part is having freedom to do so. This is the foundation of our country. Love it or not, we still have the freedom to choose love and eternal life. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
A hectic day with the usual errands and heavy work. A friends mother needed some work on her vehicle and it turned out rather complicated. Shredded wiring, trouble codes and the usual inaccessible places.
One more detail on that, a new dipstick which was only available about 25 miles away. The rest of the family was processing firewood with the usual plethora of chain saws, trailers, wedges, ice water and good gloves.
Dry and dead trees were wedged and fell with that mixture of snapping and rustling turning louder and with a rending tear of the notch, a thumping crash felt and heard. The chain saws began their work slicing and dicing the branches and measuring with the bars, a nice 16 inches long. Dry stuff on the hoof that gave off bowling pins mixing music together. Good for this winters burns in the parlor stove.
I went to town to get some fuel and had time to run after that dipstick down off the big highway that connects our two states. The part was correct and when I turned from my parking spot, I felt a bump and truck began to lean a bit and in 50 feet, the truck was parked with a destroyed front tire. No spare. Well, there was one under the frame that has been there since the late nineties. Flat and rusted in place. That was OK because there wasn’t any Jack or lug wrench. B prepared was turned into a B flat tire. It looked rather the worse for wear. All floppy and the treads were hardly there anyway. Probably ran over a nail or a beer cap I t thought. Sidewall failure.
It would have been a disaster on the road at speed. No accident happened in front of an auto parts store. I tried calling on my cell but the signal was terrible, always is up on the big St.Croix hill. I went outside to my leaning Ford Ranger and logged into the nearby grocery store that has good WiFi. It was about 3 o’clock. Second time the old truck had failed at a very slow speed.
The last time it failed, a tie rod end fell off in our parking lot. That is one of two parts that are connected to the steering mechanism. Providence, and once again, my life was saved by the Lord. “Coincidence” some folks say. A double negative was my response.” Yeah, right” He is always good. Obviously it wasn’t my time to leave the planet.
So I called home to the firewood team and there wasn’t much to be done. Then I called triple A and they said “due to a high level of requests there would be a delay in response time.” Sounded like I had just called the power company after a bad storm. It was OK but I regretted not bringing a book along.
People started stopping and rolling down windows asking if I needed help. One of them was a man I know pretty well that goes to the same Bible study every week. “Just waiting for the tow truck, thanks!” He asked if he could do something and I answered I could use lunch. He smiled and they drove off to the north. The grocery store was about 200 feet the other way. He might have thought I was making light of my situation. I wasn’t
A man in his middle thirties or so walked up to my open window and asked the same question. At that point I got out of the truck, shook his hand and thanked him for his concern. Quickly it seemed, we began really talking. Who are you, where do you live things. The conversation engendered by my curiosity, started towards dealing with disappointments. I noticed no wedding ring and he said he was divorced. I said something commiserating and then asked if he had children.
It began the revelation between two men, strangers that friendship was being offered. Delighted we pressed on with two boys for each of us and his had cowboy names. I asked if it was a well known country singer’s name and he affirmed it and I remarked that the singer was a man of God. He smiled and agreed. We were off way past the pulpit and the pews and started getting deep. He told me of his childhood church history and I replied that I had met many preachers of that denomination that illuminated grace and the love of Christ.
“An Episcopal Priest saved my life when I was freezing outside of his home, I was then living in my truck” I know he loved Jesus and I loved him. Not the usual of ‘not our denomination’ judgment. He lit up and told me he wasn’t much on church attendance. I then spoke truth to him that that does not have much to do with intimacy with the living Spirit of Jesus, really. I read C.S. Lewis and his mentor, George MacDonald a lot. They taught me those things.
We spoke of our lives. He works with machines that package candy bars, 100 a minute. He fixes them when they misbehave. I talked about my half century of owning an automotive repair shop and of being completely foolish in being unprepared completely for a simple flat tire on the old company truck. Things that people speak about when getting to know one another. It went on quickly enough and we began to delight in our ‘chance’ meeting.
I took a leap of faith and stated that our meeting was not chance but the whole reason I was there having a dead Ford Ranger and he was there to extend a hand to a stranger. It was our Lord putting us together to encourage him in his now renewed interest in these things. I almost felt like a pastor again . It was just what I needed as well. I had been feeling rather down that morning and my wife was trying to tell me I was very useful around the farm. After all, I speak like an idiot at times but that does not make me one.
I am often weak and don’t feel adequate enough to for my ego and past sole support of our place. Our strong son is now the strength we need and of course, that is why I bought the used chain saw from a second hand store the day before. It needed sharpening and carburetor adjustment. My son sharpened it well and I set the idle and off I went. I was working my son and all the family were loading and sawing too.
Soren, my son, dropped some huge dead trees. It was sweaty and noisy. It was good. I was reminded of my life and health and the beauty of our family life once again. (Now back to that flat tire.)
I got back in the our truck to wait, maybe write a note for the tow truck and looked up and he had arrived. Good timing, again. He was looking for me. He knew the area but there are hundreds of cars and trucks there.
The tow truck operator told me he would meet me at the grocery store parking lot while I bought lunch and we were off. I got extras in case he needed lunch too. He did not want any hot fried chicken, so I ate it all. A pleasant 30 mile flat bed drive home and it became easy work to push the truck onto the hoist and take off the tire. We obtained a spare and tools. Never had a flat since.
Now it became evident that this conversation with that young man down south was fulfilling work and it was very good. Another inconvenient pause in life to meet someone and have each of us encouraged. Most likely the whole reason for the perfectly safe place to have the flat
The B flat became Be sharp and I began to see. As a musician and punster it seems to fit this story perfectly.
History thoughts began with my morning drive to a Bible study. Starting to drive over our hill to the lake ‘cabins’ below the hill. Nice road, paved a number of decades ago. Before the pavement, the drive was quiet and the lake had about 500 feet or more between each cabin. First was the WWII surplus Quonset hut that had snapping turtle shells arranged on the garage. A garland of them. Nice folks with an artesian spring who’s outlet went under the road, down to the lake shore and kept a stock tank going all year filled with healthy fishing minnows.
The next cabin down the road was old and had a little outhouse next to it. There wasn’t anything for hundreds of feet until just before the bridge there was an old Ma and Pa ‘resort’ with four red cabins. Another few hundred feet down was an old farmhouse on a hill with butternut trees. Butternut hill. A ways down was another small cabin and that was about it.
The snapping turtle folks had a dock and the resort had one too. Things have changed a bit in the last half century or so. Another dozen homes and as many docks are there and along with it a lot of chained gates on the driveways. Another new road to the east and one going south to the public landing with about twenty more homes.
The two lakes, big and little Trade, connected with the bridge, were pretty decent fishing lakes and the water was clear. Today the smaller lake is surrounded with new houses, some of them with multiple chimneys and three new roads.
The flat bottom boats or the ‘newer’ aluminum V hulls with small motors have been replaced with pontoons and 500 horsepower Japanese engines on low gunnel bass boats. There are still some fish here and there and the water is all green and weedy. It seems that all those incredibly powerful motors churn up the bottom of the lake. Something about releasing phosphorus that hangs out at the bottom for a while.
There is also a fascinating invention called a Jet-Ski that holds one person, goes incredibly fast and all the loons and fish are a bit disturbed about it. Very loud they are. Sort of sounds like a 57 Chevy with a hot engine and straight exhaust pipes. Going around and around an old flat bottom fishing boat with gaiety and huge waves. The boat attempts to surf much like I did in California with storm surf.
At least there are no dangers of jelly fish although the boat could ‘pearl’ (that’s when the front end of your board goes under the wave a bit) I did that once and a jelly fish slid under my surprised jump and went off behind me. Their boat now could take on a bit of water and cause the the gunnels to get a bit closer to the surface.
The noise on the weekends gives the impression that a small highway is just over the hill and the evening fireworks are competing with thunder from huge pickups towing boats. A lot of the new folks are pretty friendly and know our outfit on the fringe of the lake. They buy eggs from us now and then. One of them remarked about our old style home with the blue fan wood sunrise trim above the gables and porch. A few upgrades over the last 30 years or so. One comment was intriguing. “It’s too bad it’s not closer to the road so you could see it!” One fifth of a mile is close enough for us.
Everyone knows these things. It’s the illusion of progress. The dodge em’ cars are fast and some are electric. Go fast, pass everyone and get ahead for some reason. An anachronism song from my past comes to mind as I drive our old Ford Ranger and I sing, “Forty miles an hour is a good speed to go” Besides that, if I go any faster, the now empty garbage can in the bed will fly out. Just a trip to the village recycling and home again to our flashy old home that inspires somehow. Nice place, some wish it were theirs to own and be seen.
As an old friend once said on his radio show: “That’s all the news from Lake Wobegon” It’s pretty good. Jack
Norm worked with a man from Stalingrad that was somewhat fluent in English, This man, Stefan, ran the largest machine in the shop. After working on the shop floor for a time, the Russian was seen by the Norm as the heartbeat of the shop. Stefan was always moving, lubricating, adjusting even while the huge machine was running.
There was quite a bit of noise from the machine as it worked and no one talked much to one another. Stefan hardly spoke to anyone except Bob, the foreman. He was the first person Norm had ever met from a mysterious country. The impressions of Grade School duck and cover from nuclear war did not seem to fit this man. He was a simple man with a good job.
Indeed, a humble man, obviously of some means, Stefan wore old white dress shirts and woolen trousers. In the summers and the winters. He didn’t socialize but did share lunch with the men. The only heated room in the whole building was the bathroom, so that was the lunchroom too. Running water was handy and it was a welcome break from blowing snow and gloves that made assembly hard. This factory made power poles and cross arms that held insulators for the wires.
There was a loneliness from Stefan and it was expected when you saw him. Perhaps it was because of the war and his time at the battle in Stalingrad. Rarely did he speak of these things but Norm, being an introvert himself, set himself to be a servant to him. Reading Russian classics gave him the way to treat a Zek or prisoner. It can be seen from Dostoevsky’s writing of the mid nineteenth century. ‘The house of the dead’ is a good place to begin this discovery.
As a new guy in the ‘barracks’ of the factory, Norm knew he could attach himself to Stefan as servant to a lord. Small things like bringing in some sweet rolls known as Vatrushka or smoked fish to share. It is the way things are done when men are together in the prison of work. Norm had a friend on the East side, a great violinist, Peter Ostrushko that knew the places to go for authentic foods. vatrushka sweet buns and such too. Norm was intrigued with Russian culture and now, at hand, was a fellow worker that lived those things. It was a path to a desired friendship.
Gradually, Stefan began to understand Norm’s respect of the way Dostoevsky wrote of those things. There was even hot tea for break time and the very young Norm and the very old man began to talk. Drinking tea by sipping through a sugar cube. The deeper personal things that bond and enrich life. There was so much depth to Stefan. Indeed a man of the world and holder of the highest Soviet war medal, The Orden Pobeta which translates to ‘The order of Victory.” It is the rarest order in the world. Sometime later, Stefan showed Norm the actual medal. It indeed was beautiful. To actually touch and hold this badge of honor, given to his friend Stefan was humbling indeed. It was at Stefan’s simple west bank house in an old cigar box. To be continued part II
Subtle it seems. Just do like a good, saved Christian and you will be on the right track. The subtle thing is that doing is not correct, become is the right thing. Not becoming either, Become. It’s in a passage that stands out in my book printed around 1611. It is found in the updates to history in the 12th chapter. It was written by a manual laborer who was in Antioch at the time. I can get more specific if you contact me (gatorjack75@gmail.com)
Quite a few people in a meeting house heard this distinction between do and become and it was yet another world changer for everyone who read and reads it. Especially for me.
I felt if I was doing well with my life and becoming more and more like Christ, I was doing OK. There’s that word, doing again. Little by little, not getting mad in certain situations. Doing that forgiveness thing better. Giving now and then and even listening instead of talking.
On the straight and narrow road. Sounds right. Getting in the ditch and off track now and then. Like the path of Pilgrim in Pilgrim’s progress. Gradual improvement and maybe I would make it into Heaven, whatever that means. What would I do there? Be transformed into perfection? Why would I want to be in His presence when all I have is the questions of why.
It is been said so many times “How can a good God condemn people to hell?” Another one of those logic arguments that assumes an incorrect premise. Yes He is good. Impossibly good. We cannot even come close to knowing how good. The mad/sad angry God, good cop/bad cop thing.
We are already in hell, we just don’t know it. You have heard of the fallen world we live in. It’s true. It’s more than fallen, just look at your attitude and life. Just like mine. The details are very different and they are always the same. Trauma, pain, betrayal and hatred to start with. From birth to death.
I give in and rage at Jesus, alone in our car when I go by a home of the local lord of our land. Arrogant and bribed by Chinese destruction. Hatred and frustration. Another why is it like this? Just when our small farm is so beautiful and the air and water being offered to a foreign power. For money. For more power.
I am raging and now, caught suddenly with a light, coming into the car. Brilliant and yet soft with comfort and giving me a glance to the left to that hated family. He loves them too. He knows everything and gives me what I have been ignoring for decades. A way out, a way to an incredible and impossible thought of understanding. A blessing in my spirit that washes out the anger and pain and replaces that wound with a gentle sight of just another fallen man like me. Trying so hard to survive his past. Not awake yet and there is hope in my faith. As Paul has taught me when he was in Ephesis. Grace to that farmer because now I have Faith which is the very gift of God. Faith in love, faith in his embrace. Faith in the impossible love He has for me and him.
I met with that man several times, trying to convince that powerful and successful farmer of his foolishness and destruction. It didn’t work. I gave him a gift which he told me to give to his son just emerging from the machine shed. Sitting on his golf cart like a golden throne. The memory of anger and disbelief from my spirit. Now transformed in the love I was trying to give. Not giving with a smile and a knowing of the love You Lord have for him in his life too. I was not able to understand the world you created and Your people that live in it. Especially me. Flooded memories now as I drove past years later. Same place, same magnificent farm now seen by me as another man’s treasured home. Wounded in many ways, just like I was.
Not awake yet but as my old hero, George MacDonald taught me: “And why would the good of anyone depend on the prayer of another? I can only answer with the return question. “Why should my love be powerless to help another?”
Listen well and pray for the flooding of His Holy Spirit to all men. The gift of faith and the New life freely given. Go tell it on the mountain, here and there and everywhere. Go tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is born.
Norm was thumbing through one of his books stacked by his living room chair. Norm leaves books all over the house but usually next to his chair or on the kitchen table. It’s sloppy and reminds him of photos of eccentric men of the past. It is sort of pleasing to understand that the mess of books could be a lot worse mess. Brandy bottles. Perhaps ash trays filled with ..ashes. Norm imagines Winston Churchill’s sitting room. Brandy and cigars and books of wisdom and history. Books written with voices crying in the wilderness. The oldest man of God, Abram, believed in the Lord and it was accounted to him as righteousness. It brings the best comfort to Norm as he was doomed to condemnation, fully deserving of death but the Lord saw me there and because of His great love, He saw me there, because He’s rich in mercy and he made me alive when I was dead and He raised me up, and seated me with Christ. And it’s by His Grace that I am saved and it’s through Faith, the very gift of God. That’s in one of Norms earmarked and favorite books. You know which one that is.
On top of one of the nearest piles was a book with a quote from Dorothy Sayers. She was a brilliant poet and novelist from Oxford that was a contemporary of C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton.
Norm casually started reading about her and stumbled upon the short quote . It made Norm realize what he has been running up against for a while. Some of the short pieces and columns he has been writing, some of them published, have been critiqued as ‘too religious’ An oxymoron. A dichotomy. Norm does not have much time for ‘religion’ as it is understood by the world. It’s not about names, places, clothing, being good. Follow the rules and you’ll be all right, that’s religion. Hang on, that quote is short and included in a paragraph soon! Controversy can result from me saying these things. It isn’t how often you go to ‘church’ or sing praise or wave flags either. It’s only death and resurrection to New Life!
(Pastor Tony that’s two good words for you)
Dorothy’s quotes made that issue come to life and with her usual brilliance, gave Norm inspiration to somehow write a short paragraph or two to illuminate his answer is to critics of his writing. What am I doing wrong? He has even been asked to tone down the ‘religious’ stuff to make it more acceptable to the commercial purveyors of tabloids and such. Faith is not an opinion, it’s not working it up. It’s a gift, to you. You don’t deserve it and you cannot earn it. I know these things, it’s a gift that took me years to open and embrace. He opened my eyes one night and I realized the truth. Jesus is my Lord and King. Unshakable, the gift of God. A rock I can stand on. I get weak and he holds out His mighty arm and an outstretched hand and helps me to stay on His highway of holiness. A choice to accept His righteousness.
Dorothy wrote strongly that a big mistake is being made to separate work and religion. The workers of our world are instructed to be nice, don’t indulge in drunken revelry and attend worship at least once a week. How can anyone who works be interested in religion that does not address 90 percent of his life? After all, the man who wrote most of the Bibles new testament was a tent maker by trade. Norm cannot imagine him, Paul, being admonished for being too religious when he was working. It’s a bit of a stretch, but perhaps you are getting the picture.
Our constitution expresses the freedom of religion, not the freedom from religion. Our faith pervades our lives and it is a big mistake of the world to ignore that. “The biggest mistake the church has made is making work and religion separated departments”a. The early church was telling Paul that the first demand his faith was putting upon him was to make really good tents. Our church (meaning the people) in the first century was not filled with ceremony and rules. Revealing the faith was essential in those times, even if it meant persecution and anger from populations in the areas. People that had no Spirit in their heart did not understand nor comprehend how faith in the Messiah changed everything about people and how we relate to one another. Love, not judgment. Treating everyone with love and respect. Our faith is meant to permeate every aspect of a believers life. Not being known as just a ‘good person’
Norm realizes that his faith is not separate from his work either. After ‘retiring’ from his automotive repair business, he has heard how well customers were treated by him. Quite a few times Norm was treated badly by customers. It was tempting to return the favor. Encouragement continues to highlight the strength and well being given to Norm by his faith in Jesus, King of the Universe. ‘Religion’ is not mandatory and that is good and right. The choice to be shown the road of holiness is ours. That path is our life and you don’t walk it only on Sunday morning.
The title of Norm’s new book reflects this conviction. ‘A fools highway to redemption’ Life changing behavior from Attitudes to Zeal for real life, real relationships and real fulfillment. The cure for the ills of the human condition since the decision in the first garden to be our own masters. It’s very same thing I struggle with inside of me . I want to be just like God. He did not consider equality with God as something to be grasped. By me, by you.
Freedom from the world’s ways to look and act with real love, not just affection. Real love. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
Jack gators grace notes 