It’s inevitable for everyone. Time, always ticking away the seconds in the kitchen clock. So loud in the evening, I can just make out the click track. I turn around and brush at the bathroom sink. Not long afterwards, I slide into bed, ready to read to Julie who is already there, and I glance at my alarm clock with a startle. Time has flown away again and it’s ten minutes past and it is ten minutes gone forever. Wasted? Used? Just gone really.
I am recovering from a bad fall at this time. Tripped on a rug going into the bathroom early, Just getting ready to drive to men’s Bible study. Driven instead to the ER for bruised ribs and badly cut hands and bit upper lip. Blood all over the floor and I made noises and Julie and Soren were with me quickly.
Bandaged up hand, swabbed and wheeled into the X ray habitat. No concussion, no broken parts. Even my glasses were intact. Flat out fall. Drugs today that help me breathe deep breaths.
Soon after I am thanking Jesus for the fall. If you had only spared my glasses from breaking, Itwould have been enough. If you had only kept me from breaking bones it would have been enough. If you had only kept me from broken teeth etc.. The Dayenu prayer.
What was going on that I would not drive early Thursday morning down south 25 miles to the study? Protected? Encouraged to turn once again to God who knows all things and guides me through my path every day?
Today I get to read my Pascal in my ‘fall asleep chair’ Light and stacked books close on a small table. An earmarked page catches my attention again (it’s OK, the book is mine) I quote:
“There are only three kinds of people: Those who serve God, having found Him and arereasonable and happy; others who are occupied in seeking Him without having found Him andare also reasonable, but are unhappy. Lastly the remainder live without seeking him and havenot found Him, they are foolish and unhappy.”
So I am reasonable and happy serving God. It’s pretty good. Jack
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
Decades ago, there was a connection and an area wide idea. House concerts with well known folk artists who played acoustically. Mostly these concerts were actually in homes of people who listen to those types of things. Many, if not most of these singer/songwriters were well known from the popular radio show, ‘The prairie Home Companion’. This radio show was hosted by local personality and writer, Garrison Keillor.
I knew these performers from my immersion in the folk music scene back in the early 70’s. I toured with a few of them and they all played at the New Riverside Café in Minneapolis. It was good music and an outgrowth of the beat generation ( Jerry Garcia, Joan Baez, Carolyn Hester, Utah Phillips and Woody Guthrie to name a few) It was the musical time of the singer-songwriters and very popular when I was in the Navy overseas. I even ordered a classy Martin D12-20 to be mailed overseas to my ship. Never arrived. “Lost in transit” as so many of us were as well. Middle sixties, lots of war everywhere.
When I got back home, I went to Schmidt music to ask about that Martin guitar they shipped. No delivered notice received by them. They still had my 400 dollars on account and pointed to the wall display of guitars and asked me which one I would like to have. I picked a Brazilian rosewood D28. Still have it, It’s worth has increased over the years.
I went to Junior college and transferred to another after a short stint in my Mother’s basement after discharge. A common experience for vets at that time. Focus is a common experience issue for vets. You miss all your buddies but you don’t miss the rest of it. Authority rebellion occurred with me as well. I tuned in and dropped out as the saying of the 60’s went. Long hair and an attitude of hippies and old beatniks began for me. The wars were not popular with anyone.
After a year in Mom’s basement, I moved into an upstairs apartment in a somewhat unfashionable part of town and met my lifelong friend, Bruce, at the yellow cab stand at the airport. They became roommates at the crummy apartment. It worked. I practiced painting on the walls of the apartment doing reproductions of art seen on the Beetles albums. Acrylic paints left over from my Minneapolis School of Art classes.
After a short time with Bruce he and I began playing country blues together. Advertised as 16 string blues (Math issue) , they went under the stage name of ‘Actual Mexicans’
Before we met, Bruce spent half a year on China Beach, Danang, after getting blown up in a PSY OPS truck. After a month or so, Bruce’s skin got lighter, I said “I thought you were a black guy.” Bruce then replied, after his distinctive laugh, ” Heck no, I’m a dark Norwegian with curly black hair. ” It became the subject of many humorous conversations. He is gone now and I miss him a lot. You know how it is. We grieve. Not lament. I still hear his merriment laughter when I screw up.
We got a bit antsy and Bruce knew some people who lived in Berkeley. Why not ditch this joint, get some cool motorcycles, strap our guitars on the back of them, and go west? A long story in the archives here under ‘ motorcycle pilgrimage 1-6. After the pilgrimage we came back to Minneapolis and I wound up on the west bank and got involved at the New Riverside Café. Music, my real life focus’ became the catalyst for the next few years. I joined the Riverside staff.
It was glorious for Bruce and I to be playing on the stage where famous musicians and poets came. I got a money to perform, bit none of the of the cafe workers did. Record contacts helped for some of us and we had a good friend at KQRS radio that did some recording of myself and Bruce. Alan Stone was his radio identity.
Remember records? We never made one although we did some reel to reel stuff at the radio station. Tony Glover worked there as a DJ at those times too. Tony was already well known from recordings of Koerner Ray and Glover. (I just had contact with John Koerner late last year for a funeral for one of my good friends, another 12 string folk artist, kyell. He also had a distinctive laugh.) How many times friends and their laughs are remembered!
I finally tired of the poverty of the café, and I started track labor with the railroad. Upon urging from Bruce, I moved up to Trade Lake a half a mile from him. That was in 1976. Bruce lived just down the road from my 30 acre homestead. It was a good introduction to the rural life. Frozen pipes, racoons, gigs with country western bands and lots of new friends. Wood heat. Chain saws and splitting mauls. The railroad work got me fit enough to endure the northern life. It felt right and the air was clean and the noise of the freeways was gone. Highways 35 and 94 surround that area.
Through Bruce and and my music connections, we continued to visit the West Bank. It was grand times and upon meeting a radio star at a party, he and I got loaded on some of my homemade wine. First and last time they ever got together. I dropped the name of his good friend that performed on that show to get in the door. She was the fiddler for the Powder Milk Biscuit Band.
I was still friends with a lot of the West Bank performers from the café days. They were usually broke and I offered ‘House Concerts’ up north of Highway 8 in Wisconsin for them. Actual money was made, not much, but gas and housing guaranteed. Advertising of those concerts found it’s way into the St.Paul Pioneer Press. Turn outs were large enough to get a scramble for usable chairs, baked treats and front row seats. It was grand for a time and my musical friends became a rumor and a quaint source of amusement for the locals. Most of the ones attending were radio fans. Old hippies that had graduated to organic gardeners and ford 8N tractors. Those times are gone now. Radio shows are passé with U tube, CD,s Television and the internet. Television is actually now supplanted with Netflix and other streaming computer web sites. Wireless internet? Lots of wires otherwise!
We are not the better for computer transition. It is not nostalgia perse, but the loss of good fellowship and neighborly entertainment. Except for a very occasional pricey large venue concert, there is little to replace this loss.
There is one platform where some of these musicians still play however. It is not billed as entertainment. Some of these ‘old timers’ can still be seen and heard locally. It’s in the churches and it abounds. Old hymns, gospel and up tempo worship songs. The music just starts getting in the groove of a team playing off one another and way to soon, it’s over. Older pickers, strummers and such. It’s called worship music.
One of the greatest fiddlers I heard, quit the stage and it’s acclimation and applause. We all thought it was a tragedy for us. At that time it did not make sense to me. Later, much later, I discovered why he went on to play for Jesus. The applause from Jesus moves me and it moves my spirit and the joy is stunning. It often causes the me to stop playing and just stand, overwhelmed with the Joy. Jesus loves the worship. After all, the man after God’s own heart was a musician. He loved to dance for Him too. David. It’s the best music. Jack Gator
It was at a time when I was very enthusiastic about community service. Problem was, I didn’t have a clue as to what that looked like. From earliest days, I was a loner, growing up self focused. Finding pleasure and personal piece, with an appetite for self importance and recognition.
Being a mechanic, and a pretty good one according to my satisfied customers, I chanced to see the headline on a big city newspaper section. ‘God’s Grease Monkeys’ Perfect fit. I was a new Christian and had the usual images of what that meant. Be nice and get extra points for doing something for a stranger. It was in the Bible somewhere. God likes that stuff after all. God himself is pretty nice and that seemed to be the ticket for theological success.
I read on and the article outlined a garage in a suburb of St. Paul that repaired cars for people that had little or no money. I got the address and time of this outreach and picked a few hand tools, a code reader. I showed up and they gladly put me to work. An oil change and a headlight bulb or two for starters. On the floor of the shop. The next month, the staff knew I could do more complex things and assigned me a brake job and another light bulb replacement. Those can be harder to do as you might know.
That ministry team even stuffed my Volvo station wagon with food that was part of the Grease Monkey ministry “Spread it around your neighborhood” were the instructions. Right. my neighborhood is mostly lake homes and farmers. We ate most of it and gave some to friends in town.
I was racking up God points and then the inevitable for all car ministries occurred: The repeat attendee with yet another car, and another after that. Judgment time. The perfect ministry was buying the parts. Tires, wheel bearings, blower motors, filters, window regulators and lots of light bulbs. When questioned about things, often the response would be; “oh, I sold that one you fixed a while back”
There was no more clarity for me. However, my coworkers were good with these situations. I did not take it to the Lord in prayer. There was a reason I was there which I did not know. I just showed up because that’s what people of faith do. I was puzzled to this giving away to strangers.
I started another car repair ministry,ten miles away with town friends. The same thing happened. ‘Why am I doing this?’ “We are just being used!” This time I took some advice and sat with the Lord.
What are you learning, what is happening to you? Do you find joy no matter what, do you connect with Me and talk with me? I will show you things beyond your dark curtain that will give you great joy!
I knew that I wasn’t really nice and I was not praying, not abiding and not listening. It got better after that. I began to open up and began seeing and listening to the Father I always craved. I surrendered leadership to Him. I began talking, singing a bit while I served the ones given to me It was pretty good. Jack
There are many phrases most of us use. These usually are heard when we speak of a life event, small or large.
Perhaps a crop fails unexpectedly or a deer is found in front of you while speeding through the highway. Many times these life events seem negative, and cannot be understood. Such things are said to others that seem casual but have world views that alter the basic ways we feel.
An example: A neighbor suffers an accident that kills them. A neighbor that could be seen as a ‘bad neighbor’ that has done things most of us would refer to as wrong behavior. The usual phrase would be: “He deserved it” or “that’s what happens when you go against Jesus’ command to love our neighbor” Bad Karma, darkness generates dark results, the inevitable outcome of sin. Forgiveness not judgement is very hard but is our part of the neighbors errors.
These thoughts are a result of our fear to assign events, good or bad, to a thing resulting in attitudes or behavior of us or others that has consequences. A logic statement that is basic is, ‘Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc.’ It means: ‘After something, therefore because of that something’ Confused yet? An example of belief in charms we have nearby. Talismans, anything to deny God and the horror of an uncaring and empty universe.
Being relieved that you remembered to put that plastic replica of a saint on your dashboard or your Bible in a certain reserved spot at home or in a public worship setting. Horse shoes nailed open side up by your doorway.
Anything, anything to express a reason behind an event, good or bad. Being relieved that you were wearing the same outfit you had on at the casino when money came your way… again. Your lucky shoes perhaps? Up to the point of blaming ourselves for failing in some way has logical explanations that the universe does not consist of random events. There is a ‘Post Hoc’ event that determines Propter Hoc.
The usual example for that feeling about bad things that happen to us is ‘ Well, I guess I deserved that’ or someone else saying it about you.
Anything to not view our world as just random atomic activity creating obstacles or bridges that govern all events. An excellent research paper on this will start with the book of Job in the Bible. (it’s in between Esther and Psalms) The whole book is about a man that is accused again and again by his three friends that he has done something against God that has caused his misery.
Job’s friends accuse Job of being an unrighteous man, a sinner in some way. Job’s reaction to these accusations? As he has lost everything of value to his life he states: “ I know that my Redeemer lives” After all the things that God has allowed (not Done) Job will worship God. Faith, the very gift of God.
Do we look to the creator of all that is and all that will be as our servant? Do we look upon Him as evil? Do we look and worship Him in seasons of good and bad as our master and creator that loves us more than we can even imagine. There indeed is a seductive evil upon the world.
“As someone asked C.S. Lewis, “are you really asking me to believe in this creature with horns and a tail that causes misery and actually demands I worship him?” Lewis answered him “ I don’t know about the horns and such but if you do desire to meet and see him and obey him, you will see him indeed.
As for me, I will worship my redeemer, whatever comes upon me. It’s not easy, there is never a guarantee of ease. Only the guarantee that He is my treasure.
A nice family gathering on Friday. The entire family, all six of us at the expanded kitchentable for the Shabbatt celebration that We do every week with the three of us, Soren, Julie and myself. We lit the candles to God and Tabetha sang the song of dedication in Hebrew. Beautiful, I love it when she does it when she is here. Her mom, JoBeth, flew up from Florida to be here..
As usual, a great supper, this time with abundant servings of our garden. Potatoes, carrots, peas,beans and tomatoes. New balsamic from a good friend just returned from Italy with it.
“ Please pass the chicken (sauteed in basil and olive oil) “Bjorn”, Can you top off my wine with that blackberry? Tabatha bread for the blessing and our candles are burning bright at the middle of the feast. We eat the bread and toast the Lord. Baruch, Hashem, Adoni with the wine.
The aftermath is the dishes being washed right away by Julie and Tabetha’s mom in the nearbysink. The rest of us move to the parlor and conversation begins to accompany the clatter ofthe dishes settling in the drying rack.
I hover over the conversing and sit in my chair and meditate on an open a C,S. Lewis book on prayer. I Left, out of sorts and I walk out on the porch, say hello to the outside cat and walk over to the swing under the Chinese elm that shades it. I contemplate moving further away and decide to open the garden gate and walk to the middle and sit on the restored bench, surrounded with flowers.
I sit and pray for guidance of my desire to speak but my feelings of ‘Hovering’ witch is social signal to join in when I do not desire to. I hear a humming bird also hovering and look up to see it an arms length away, facing me and emitting chirps I did not know they did. Back and forthwith the buzz of it’s wings, closer than belief. God was speaking to me. “you are seen”
I get up and walk back to the gate and am distracted by a butterfly next to me, feeding on the nearby zinnia’ One I have never seen with distinct yellow dots. It did not flap it’s wings like the monarchs do while sipping. It’s enough Lord, thank you. I leave the garden and go directly back to the house.
“Where did you go?” I answer the best I can about speaking to God in the garden. And then I enter in to conversation. Eventually there are hugs and waves goodbye and we clean up more and head off to bed. I have an interesting dream about editing a series of slides about the life ofAlbert Einsteins life for production and awaken before anyone and light up my computer to edit this column. A snack and orange juice and finally it is time to stack fire wood and get another 2 firewood loads from a stack at a neighbors. It is nice big chunks that our neighbor sold to us as they had quit heating with wood.
Our wood shed is about half full for the winter of 26 / 27.
Moving through a hurricane, we had a sea anchor set. This anchor, set at the stern, is adrogue that gives a steady pull, deployed like a huge parachute dragging behind the ship.Steering into the oncoming waves at an angle to prevent being pushed sideways and the pull from the drogue preventing us from pitching forwards. (It’s called pitch poling in nautical terms.)
We had to keep steaming to punch through and keep adjusting the helm to enter another wavecoming at us. I was standing two decks above the main deck and the waves were thirty feetabove me. The ship had a big draft to the plimsoll line, so I figured 60 foot waves.
I watched the spray covering the bow back to the masts as we kept steady onward. I heard thatwe were in the ‘shadow’ of the island of Malta. The place where Paul the disciple was shipwrecked. A real place of peril for everyone. Right in the middle of the Mediterranean sea.
It occurred to me in afterthought as I was listening to a podcast was the phrase of being safe and secure as an Anchor was used, quite a few times. We had huge anchors and used them when we had to ‘anchor out’ at a seaport. Tied up at a dock, we used hawsers and fore and aft ‘spring lines’ to stay steady. Anchors kept us in one place of course. The anchor of my soul gives me the image of the sea anchor. Moving through my life with it’s usual storms and holding on as best I can and relying every time now with staying the course with the Lord’s sea anchor. Keeping me pointed straight through my life filled with peril and
my penchant to change course in rough places.“My anchor holds against the gale” Not to stop but keep pressing in to the goal. Don’t get off that true and righteous path.
“ The safest road to hell is the gradual one—the gentle slope, soft underfoot, with out sudden turnings, without milestones, without signposts “ C.S. Lewis
Stay the course, He will hold you and guide you and give you peace. It’s pretty good and guaranteed.
Another hot, ‘almost summer’ late May day and the commitment to do something around the farm. The rest of my family was elsewhere in the county working and getting chores and visits done. I was Alone and it was in the high 80’s. Lazing about with my Lewis and MacDonald I heeded the call to work outside. Weed whip the small ditch next to the driveway. I can do that! Get dressed in the jeans with a small chainsaw rip on the left pants leg and a white T shirt.
The battery whip was loaded with four strings and the fully charged delta battery. The big one. I began in the approach to the long mini ditch and swung the whip, side to side and it began to get sweaty. I poked an earlier garden wound on my left forearm and went inside briefly to put on one of those band aids that pulls your skin up when you try to remove it.
Swinging that whip and clogging up once in a while and looking ahead for progress. Taking small bites of foot tall weeds until I was almost out of battery power. I was relieved that the lights where down to one. Time to put the big 60 amp on the charger and check the fridge for lunch. Back to C.S. And perhaps Winship or Bunyan. Improvise the day and cool off.
I was afraid I would fall when I was in the ditch. I sat down to rest and could not get out of that ditch. I have an old Karate move of swinging my legs beneath me to stand. It did not work as everything was uphill. I finally scooted out and then flipped upright. The fear of being unable to move was surprising. Fear mode, small or large is not an operative mode to be in.
Is that where I am in world view? Fearful from past experience and therefore always afraid. Of who, what or when it all started. Sixty years ago. I would be unable to ‘get up’ Maybe it was fifty. Trapped and unable to ‘get up and just go’ We all have those remnants, akin to spilled food by a careless sweep of an elbow. Now it’s on the floor and nothing will bring it back. Tasty toast or a tasty meal of doing what we always want to do. Move about and pick up ourselves and justget onboard with our train of thought.
Fear of being chased by a perverted relative, fear of the bully. Fear of the guard who wanted to just see the fear when he stared at me with humor of dominance. The kangaroo court, handcuffs and out of control. Is this my world view? I will be unable to escape the floor, the ditch, or the death we all fear?
“Fear not for I am with you” The words of my creator that I read and listen to. Truth as was asked of Him. What is truth? We are eternal beings and He loves us. How indeed can I fear Him and His love presence?
I needed to pull some steel staples from a corner post. The garden fence was coming down and was going to be ‘recycled’ as a fence for the upcoming chicken yard. A prison exercise yard with out weights and the tough guys with fur are usually on the other side of the fence.
The first time I had chickens a half century ago, I was pleased with the eggs and felt like a real small farm owner. One day I looked north from the kitchen window and saw a fox running next to the north fence line with a pillow in it’s mouth! Very new at agronomy I quickly realized the big white object was a chicken. Time for a chicken yard my neighbors informed me. Now, half a century later, a new chicken yard was being planned with the old inadequately high garden fence.
The deer ate our snap peas, beans, tops of the broccoli and brussels sprouts last season. Some of the flowers were nipped in the bud but the Kale was OK. Figures. Time to put in all wood posts and 7 ½ foot coated fencing. That fence would ‘discourage’ the deer and we would be able to eat fresh veggies this summer.
Thus the old perimeter fence was in process of removal and as it was bent around the corner posts, it was held on by those steel brads/ staples very firmly, top and bottom. It was my job to remove them and help roll up the old fencing. The damaged fencing had to be yanked out and flattened to take to the scrap yard along with the barbecue, T posts, truck rims. Those things had reached the end of their service life.
I had to lie down on the grass to pry out that spiked metal with a judiciously placed screw driver. A hammer assisted the placement and the prying went well. I was pausing after setting my ‘lever’ and looking at our home and being pleased and astonished..again..at what had been done in a half century at this homestead. White siding with sun ray blue half moon trim over the gable ends and upper windows.
I always said I wanted to go as Matthew did in Green Gables. Out by the fence just falling over I was in the perfect place with the perfect spirit to realize this was eminent. Bright sun and the spring weather was in the high sixties. I laid my head back, on my side I surrendered and reached out with my arms for Jesus and held tight. It was right, it was perfect and Julie and Soren would find me just as I had spoken to them about this scenario. I soon awoke to the son in my face and felt relieved and disappointed. Not now but the beauty will never leave me
The staple came out, the spikes came out and the post was free of it’s burden. Once again Jesus had touched me and told me how he loved my surrender and it was pretty good.
Everyone, I mean everyone had to learn the basics when we were children. It’s obvious even to an old man like me. Riding a bicycle for example. Did anyone climb on to a 10 speed racing bike and right away began strongly climbing hills with it? Of course not. So how did we get to that point of an understanding and skill to pull it off (starting with a smaller bike with training wheels of course) There had to be a teacher, an adult with knowledge and strength coaching, encouraging and helping us do so.
Another example: Writing and understanding language that is written. No one, not even Einstein, can do so right out of the gate of childhood. First huge flash cards, gentle words and skill as a teacher-parent to help us. The the writing part (my handwriting can use some improvement) but as sloppy and ill formed the letters are, imitating the adults writing words to teach us. Maybe even holding our child’s hand to help. It works, it’s the way things are done for every child ever born.
As adults, we still need this training. Some call it school or primary, secondary, college an upward learning which still needs an adult with knowledge and skill to ‘hold our hands’ to continue learning. As an example: I can now play stringed instruments, my son plays a full drum kit. He learned from movies and instruction from books and a few other drummers. Not me perse. A side note; the piano is considered a percussion instrument! How did I and they learn how to do this? Another Adult who knows these things. In my case, even bowing the violin while I attempted to finger the notes. Such off key and bumbled sounds caused my kind friend an excellent fiddle player, Bill Hinkley, to wince but so did my learning bicycle riding cause some laughter and kind advice. At least I did not fall off the violin.
‘So easy when you know how’, is said. These are simple thoughts that I am just reminding us of reality, so obvious, we do not even have it cross our minds. Even potty training. Teaching is a skill not all of us have but potty training is a skill that all parents realize they must do. It’s one of the first classes along with eating spinach.
When we are all grown up adults (except me who took longer to want to grow up), we seek a purpose and a reason we are alive. It’s the big question which opinions abound to answer. Often as we are getting older, we get serious.
Some of us do not want a complex answer. We look to an older adult that has some answers. Why are we here? How are we here? There even is a book which starts with those very words! Here is the the name of that book which many dismiss as ludicrous. The Bible.
As I have stated before: It is a book that is written by adults and if you don’t want to read it, please don’t dismiss or talk poorly about it. Wait until you become an adult and can think clearly. Read it, ask questions and understand what it says. It’s the only clear and rational explanation for why we are here.
There are also many other books which address the reason we are here and what to do about it and I have read a few of them. Many of them say we are here because of a random event that occurred long ago and we are also a result of randomness.
These too are books made by and for adults to read. Most of them are made up stories that are fun to read. Akin most really intriguing fiction that engages our imagination. All of those fiction books, tell us there is no purpose to life except to enjoy it and die. What’s the point of that? We hunger for meaning to our lives, not oblivion. I asked a friend that I swim with what he thought happens when he dies and he replied, “worm food” When he gets older, I can speak to him again about hope and faith. I pray this will occur. God knows these things.
The Bible tells us our God of all, created us just to give us the choice of loving Him or not. After all, Love can’t exist without a choice to love. Why do you think there is the Father and the Son? Both God and both in love. We question the Bible, some dismiss it, some read and understand it. It is a book that shows us why we are here, and how we got here.
At first reading it can be challenging. That’s the best part! You will be intrigued and read it over and over again. You can start anywhere in it. A good place to start is the book of John. It’s in the New Testament in the last half. This book tells us the real meaning of life and why we are living. It is an older book,written by many authors, and they all have the same subject, and the same Hero.
Darwin and Dawkins and other writers and philosophers, desperately write fiction to assuage their fear of there actually being a God that knows more and than they do. Most intelligent people do not believe a big firecracker from nowhere created us. None of them say where that fireworks came from. It’s God that created us to love Him and one another.
No one knows where God came from, ask Him when you see Him. It’s easy to say that, Its the hardest and most fascinating thing I have ever tried to understand, and realize what I am to do about it.
When that love overcomes us, It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator
1. Thanks to Gregory Koukl for his writing to help me understand a few things.
