It began in my childhood. A realization that there was something that delighted and puzzled. While playing on my sisters piano I began to tear up over the slow melody of the moonlight Sonata. Soon, after walking home alone, from grade school, the song was more important than lunch with Casey Jones and Roundhouse Rodney on the TV. It made the school go away. All of it. The forbidden room of his sisters was his at noon and life began anew. Sis’ lunch was at Junior high school and there was no chance of her discovering the invasion. After all, I was born exactly two months after D-Day and understood invasion. I never heard her play on that upright when I was home. She probably waited until I was not there.
A knowing of music is where it began and I still work in that genre. Hearing a song being played or sung for the first time and hearing it afterwards, sometimes audibly like a very soft echo. Recordings, live or remembered have the same effect. Usually the first two measures or so. I even hear the silly song that our new washing machine makes to tell us it is done till it fades!
It then began to occur in a way that an old friend, Judy Larsen, called it the “Twink” or being ‘on all the time’ I see what way the music is trending and also know which notes would fit in to enhance enjoyment and anyone playing or listening to the extra notes. I recently found a CD I was on, recorded in 1979 at the Grizzly Den in Osceola. It was a country swing band, Dandelion Wine. A lot of jazzy stuff and fiddle tunes that I used to play in contests. A few mistakes here and there, but it was pretty good. I also played fiddle with Dave Dudley, a local CW artist with his own bar, Dudley vile, during those times. I also began to want applause on the faces of the audience waltzing past the stage.
My family now is put off by some of the songs like ‘Gotta get drunk’ and ‘ Swinging doors and a jukebox, my new home has a flashing neon sign’ It paid the bills with double bookings that can still see be seen as faint penciled gig dates on the kitchen cabinet door frames that had the old black wall phone nearby. (Soft wood, #2 pencils.) that was before post it notes had been invented. (Early Eighties}
Sometimes it was rhythm changes too. I was known by the square dance band , Duck for the Oyster, as the ‘rhythm monster'(enjoyed often by the band.) Signature and talented music readers can either have fun with it or get puzzled and irritated. Sometimes sung words in syncopation with the written ones. It works. Because I had poor vision and couldn’t read the sheet music in front of me.
One time I thought I had been scheduled to play violin/fiddle with a duet and got up on the stage with them and began to do so. They were a solid duet and they kept looking back at me with puzzlement. I was blocked from engaging with them and so quickly withdrew from the stage. I muttered about my fiddle having issues to keep them at ease. It was OK with me, I didn’t know their set list either.
My improvised music additions led to unexpected events. I was asked by Jerry Garcia to join his group in California, The Grateful Dead, after a jam session in Minneapolis. Why? “Because I liked what you added!” was the reply. I was flattered as there were a dozen guitarists in a circle playing at the same time. All eager to show their talent to the famous musician. I said “thank you but I can’t do that.” California meant meant death from drugs. That band is all dead now. Grateful? Not sure about that. Read about it in Motorcycle pilgrimage 5 and 40 acres of musicians.
Lately there have been other downloads of words that come to me that are not musical. They are answers to prayer requests or just visions of events in words that come unbidden. They just come. Uppermost and undeniable. Often in prayer for some situation for someone I just met or has asked me for prayer. Things uttered that can’t be made up. Situations that arrive fully formed and often, I am reluctant to utter them. Is this just me thinking or is it You Lord? This can be a problem. Discerning our own opinions or thoughts.
There is an opportunity for me to speak these words from the Spirit to someone else. I realize that Wisdom has come with these words at times. Not to speak them would hinder the person being prayed for. Often it is fear leading to my hesitancy to tell of the difficulties that follow the vision. Being a conduit at times can be shocking and my thoughts can get in the way. Mistaking my own wounds for healing others wounds. Jesus is so kind and won’t let me go when it is important to him. I refuse with a shrug and His gentle insistence keeps my attention until I do His will. I tell people sometimes He is the most kind and wise nag I have ever met.
A story I just read was about a Jesuit priest in his middle nighties that got off of a train and saw a very beautiful woman coming towards him with a policeman next to her. She said “It’s him, He’s the one!” The priest sad he was so flattered that he pleaded guilty and spent a month in jail. (De Mello)
The wisdom of the old desert fathers has also helped a lot. Words are just words and silence can be a very good choice. Listening is required of us. Quieting response to people speaking and simply listening to them and the Spirit then conveys understanding. , It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson and Jack Gator
The latest news popped up after I was just looking at the weather forecast on my computer.
More rain and the videos of flooding on the Mississippi with a few garages with water up to the entrances where a car should be. Laughing owners in the shot, what else can they broadcast? A man retiring from a shoe repair shop after spending his whole life there. A good man and a well equipped shop. A necessary business but no one interested in taking it over. I had my favorite shoe shop in St. Croix Falls and they sold their building and moved down to Dresser, about 5 miles south. I can’t imagine the town without it. Walking five miles from town when you need new shoe laces. It’s a loss for main street for us. The new location has more room and it is next door to a huge factory making soda pop.
Minneapolis is more inclined now to repurposed older buildings on main streets that sell tobacco, payday loans and lottery tickets. The old stuff has to go. Much akin to decades ago when the city decided to tear out the trolley cars and leave transportation to buses or personal transportation. Even bicycle lanes for some but certainly not most people. Rail transport is European and practical.
When I grew up in the North-side, I used my bicycle to deliver news papers and was not even considering riding it to south Minneapolis to the dentist! Alone. Of course, bikes then were heavier with one speed. There was no need to even consider bicycling around the city, there were trolley cars everywhere that even would carry me to the dentist in the South-side of town.
The local was easy to catch. A number 16 that went from Thomas Avenue all the way downtown. I would get a transfer ticket and walk down Washington avenue to catch the trolley car to the dentist. It was easy and safe and at that time, no muggers, kidnappers and youth with pistols eager to shoot someone. The ride on the trolley was noisy. I liked noise like that. The clicking of the change machine next to the driver. The switching of the electric power mast to the overhead wires and, of course, the clank of the track switch being changed at the same time. They had a really nice bell to warn cars an pedestrians.
The news today is about new trolley cars being put in and whole neighborhoods were outraged that the city would do that. We liked them fifty years ago! They were Convenient and cheap and practical. Now the store owners and residents are outraged at these things. I think it’s a great idea. The new city criminals do too. Mayhem and robbery and just beating people up for fun. Times have indeed changed. The city is scary and filled with angry imbeciles. That’s a Dostoyevsky quote.
It’s not very good, but it would be very good with more of the population having faith in Jesus. Another advantage that rides along with Christians. “Love your neighbors and love your enemies. Many times the same person” a . It’s pretty good Jack Gator
I have noticed an uptick in velocities lately. 65 is the new 55. The speed limit signs used to say 55 day 45 at night.Not only on the highways and byways but everywhere. Rear ended in the baking supplies aisle as I was looking for canned garbanzo beans. Little did I know they were in the next aisle. Found them and fronted the shelf as there were only a half dozen back a ways. Pulled them up (it’s called ‘fronting’ in the retail biz) I thought that was a kind thing to do. I missed them first time around and I am certain there is ‘someone’ out there that needs them too.
I began to notice traffic in the carts had picked up since I entered the big box store. The speed of the carts picked up, and I found a check out lane that was staffed and began to wait my turn. It’s always easy to pass the time by reading the scandal magazines with gossip about the royal family. I got rear ended again. A lot of downward smile remnants and avoidance of eye contact. I have written a column about this called ‘anxiety’ but this time I remembered my recent church experiences. ‘Be anxious for nothing’ from a short book called Philippians, chapter 4.
I am a volunteer at what people refer to as a Mega church. Beautiful place to be and I have made many friends with staff and other volunteers. It’s easy in the earlier mornings because there are very few of us around. We wear name tags which helps those of us that have loose pages in our memory name section. I have an excuse for my internal Roledex missing entries. Seizures a half decade ago. Usual complaints we all have. The electrical system in me got a few circuit breakers tripped and corroded. A little rewiring needed. After a few months, we all remember each others names. Usually.
I stay at my volunteer position all morning from 0700 and leave around thirteen hundred hours. By that time, the parking lot is fairly empty and it is easy to find my way My son who is on staff as production director (I am the assistant director) drives us and buys me a crafted press near Forest lake on our way in. Perfect time for Father/Son chats as well. thepicture above is my son at the directors console
We spend a lot of our time in the media production room and have breakfast at VC (volunteer central). In between services we get to go into the lobby and chat with people and relax. Sometimes I go into the ‘green room’ where the musicians relax and pray with them It’s a pleasant Sunday in church. I am at comfortable there and since I am there every Sunday, I am a familiar person. A lot of volunteers are there on one Sunday a month.
The usual flow is somewhat different. Within minutes after the service is over, it is almost impossible to enter the main sanctuary and work your way to the front. The salmon upstream with four to five abreast coming at you. No one makes room and it is puzzling and scary in some ways. It feels like a fire alarm has gone off. The worshipers have spoken to God and I want to ask if He spoke to them. I like hearing about those things.
Same deal in the lobby and the parking lot. There are orange cones volunteers put out and police directing the outlets to the frontage road. It’s a lot like leaving the airport. A lot of give and take getting out of the lot. One message encouraged us to give way once in a while to someone waiting to get in line. “you don’t have to be Mother Theresa and let everyone in, there are cars behind you as well”. Just pay attention and move but slowly.
Why do we rush about? I can understand a crock pot miles away or a plane scheduled. It’s that way everywhere, always. Not just in this church.
I would love to chat about this mornings worship, the music, the soul scratching messages. The lobby food is all gone, the coffee shop is closed and it feels like we should now wave goodbye to a pleasant ‘restful’ holy day. The musicians leave as soon as the second service is over. After the second service begins, the food is put away in VC and the cleanup starts.
I like the big lobby in between the 9 and 11 services. People leaving and going but the atmosphere is gentile and relaxed. Some people go to both! We do, we have to. When the second service is over, the camera operators come in to our control room and hang up their electronics and badges and we mention a few shots that really were perfectly, and artistically done
We have a good half and hour to shut it all down and say our goodbyes to staff that are hard at work cleaning and making certain of their tasks. I like going through the corridor between our control room and the musician’s ‘green room’ and trying my hand at a double flip on the plastic hatchet throw target. Sometimes tickling the ivories on a old baby grand that is there with the rest of the stage and cables.
That area I Sometimes refer to as the ‘junk drawer’ corridor. A big electric lift platform next to a work bench with a microphone being soldered. Which hadn’t been touched in 6 months It feels like our shop at home with neat stuff. I soldered it last week with my learned skill building short wave transmitters. A delicate touch is required. I still love the smell of rosin core solder.
Alone among several thousand people and in this instance there is someone beside me and with me and is always for me. He turns His face towards me and gives me peace. I can introduce you to Him if you are interested. I would love to, no rush. It’s pretty good,
I was with a new friend Bryan in a coffee shop about 20 miles from home. We began speaking of the former owner and praising his character and the way he lived. He died a few years ago and we miss him. At the table next to us was a woman by herself and she asked us who we were. Instantly I said Bryan was my brother. It felt right. From that moment on, we have been brothers to one another.
She was now smiling and said she was the mother of the man we were speaking of. She was drawn to her sons name and we were pleased to have spoken so well of him with her nearby. Another ‘coincidence’ arranged for us and her. That man, Jake, was indeed a bright light to all who knew him. He walked with the Lord.
My brother was a volunteer at a church that was about 60 miles away in Minnesota. It broadcasts it’s services world wide for the spiritually hungry. My wife Julie and I and a dozen other neighbors had been watching those services together. There was authenticity and it felt right and good.
A month later, Bryan asked me to help him pray for people that were attending those services. He drove he and I down to the ‘cities’ the next week on a Sunday morning. I saw a parking lot as big as the one at the Minneapolis airport, filled with cars. We parked near a sidewalk that did not seem to be a parking spot but Bryan said it was fine, he parks there all the time. There were at least a thousand cars parked already.
I was expecting cab stands, I drove them a long time ago and this place seemed a good spot to wait after dropping people off. No cabs seen. The big double doors were attended by a handful of people with name badges on. As we walked towards the door, I noticed the address of the church. It began with 777 and those are also the numbers inside my old Gibson Lloyd Loar A model mandolin! Those things catch my attention. A confirmation and connection. The people at the doors were very bright and welcoming, that got my attention too. It didn’t feel forced or phony, It was genuine. I noticed that Bryan had on a name badge as they did. Really neat ones with magnets under shirts or jackets to hold them in place.
We went up a large spiral staircase and on the second floor, Bryan gave me a lanyard that simply said ‘prayer’ We walked down the balcony and into a room labeled ‘volunteer central’ There was breakfast laid out and tables that faced several TV screens that had the live stream of the service going on in the sanctuary nearby. Where, I had no clue yet.
Bryan had already bought me an Americano coffee downstairs and we sat down and were greeted by members of the prayer team. Soon, it was time for us to go and pray for people. I still had no idea what that was going to be like. Bryan led the way down the balcony the way we had come and we kept going past the stairway to a corridor that led to a doorway on our left. There was no one else in that hallway.
Bryan opened the door and there was a small platform with stairs to the left going all the way down to the main floor and leading to the left side of the stage where the Pastor was speaking. I stood there crying as I looked out upon thousands of people looking down and instantly knew I was experiencing a strong emotion of hunger. Through my tears I whispered: “Lord is it their hunger or mine I feel?” He said yes. It was overwhelming and never before had I walked through a door like that one!
Bryan and I walked down that long stairway to the left of the stage. The prayer team was there already. The service ended and the pastor said anyone desiring prayer would come down to the front of the stage. Astonished again, I saw many people come up from their seats and head down to where we were standing. The team leader quickly handed me a small vial of anointing oil and told me to ask them if they would like to be anointed on their hand or forehead. “For it is one thing to see the land of peace from a wooded ridge…and another to tread the road that leads to it” 1.
I was standing in front of the big bass bin speakers and I saw a man looking for direction and I smiled at him and nodded my head. He came over and stood in front of me. Right away I asked him if he would like to be anointed and chose to have his forehead be so. I dashed a small amount of oil on my right forefinger and drew a cross upon him. I told him this was a baptism of the Spirit and then asked him what he would like prayer for.
He said his wife was convinced she was ugly and did not listen to him when he told her she was beautiful. His need was personal and spoken from his heart. I told him of his obvious love of the Lord and today, his wife would see her beauty in his eyes when he returned home. Those words came directly to me to say, they were firm prophetic words. I had never considered that prophecy, Just listening.
We both cried and that man hugged me after asking. It was indeed OK and welcomed. After the second service it was more healing requests from dozens of people, eager to meet a prayer warriors words of healing and restoration. All of the prayers were given to me as a response to hunger.
Many tears and many strong embraces were in response to the words I gave. I felt well used and astounded again. Never had this happened to me so many times. People with desperate needs to connect with truth. The honor of conveying blessings from the Holy Spirit stays steady in my heart. There are blessings from my public writing and there will be more from speaking them as well.
I am now at a different campus and am involved in media production with my son. I occasionally slip into an area overlooking the right side of the stage after my work is temporarily done. I am hidden there as I am dressed all in media team black. I pray up there and watch to see if any of the prayer team needs help. I love that team too along with all the other volunteers that make a huge difference for the people who attend. It makes a big difference in us too. The joy goes both ways.
This is how I envision ‘church’ Like the very first ones we read about. Prayer to one another in unity with spiritual songs and and spoken words of His timeless blessing for us. The teams realize this and that is pretty good. Norm Peterson, Eagle Brook church volunteer.
It was at a time when I was very enthusiastic about community service. Problem was, I didn’t have a clue why or what that looked like. From earliest days, I was a loner, growing up selfish and smug. Protected. Stuck in the usual ways. Find pleasure and personal peace. The voracious appetite for self importance and recognition. We all have that, it’s impossible to see real land when in the middle of the ocean. We feel alone and adrift most of our lives. A lifeboat existence.
I was an automotive shop owner/ mechanic, and and doing well at making a living . By an amazing coincidence, I chanced to see the head line on the Sunday edition of the Star and Tribune. ‘God’s Grease Monkeys’ Perfect fit! New to the faith, eager, and I 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 the cities down south that repaired cars for people that had little or no money. Perfect! A shoe-in for me. I picked out a few hand tools, a code reader (that would show the one’s in charge I was a professional and serious)
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. Later, the next month, the staff figured I could do more complex things and assigned me a brake job and a tail light. That helpful team even stuffed my Volvo station wagon with food that was part of the Grease Monkey outfit! “Spread it around your neighborhood” were the instructions.
Right. My neighborhood is primarily lake homes and farmers. We ate most of it and gave some bagels to a fellow mechanic in town. Isn’t that what freezers are for? It was good food, veggies, breads and canned goods. Once a month I went down there, I connected with another mechanic as well and we developed a friendship.
I was racking up God points and then the inevitable for all car ministries occurred: The repeat ‘customer’ with yet another car, and another after that. Judgment time. Point blank. No mercy. The Ministry was buying the parts too. Tires, wheel bearings, blower motors, filters, window regulators (look it up) and lots of light bulbs.
When questioned about those things, often the car owners response would be “oh, I sold that one you fixed a while back” There was disappointment and later, much later, I realized they are just like me. Then I Felt used and ineffective. Just like I usually felt. God seemed silent on the matter, and I needed help in hearing Him. After all, they couldn’t afford to fix their vehicles and this was a way out of financial distress.
The concept of a ministry involving my repair skills still made sense though, and a short time later I started another one, closer by with my new church and friends. Same thing happened. ‘Why am I doing this?’ “I’m just being used!” This time I was ready to listen to the Lord.
“Correct Norm, you are being used.What are you learning, what is happening to you? Do you find joy no matter what, do you connect with Me and talk to me? I will show you things beyondyour dark curtain that will give you great joy! It started to dawn on me that I was not praying, not abiding and not listening to Jesus. Why am I here? Good question!
I got better after that. It took some time, and eventually I began to get serious about these things and started seeing and listening to Jesus. The attention I always craved was always there, from Him. I surrendered leadership. Not instantly as most of you know. Eventually I began witnessing to the owners of the cars we were repairing. Now the question came from the car owners! “why are you doing this?” There was, indeed an answer now, a somewhat surprising answer to everyone. “Because Got told me to”. Most people just take these sorts of ministries in stride and as I did, never wondered why anyone would help a stranger like me.
Later now, the car and food ministries are gone for me and my family and other ways to serve have taken their place. Volunteers are always needed in many God centered ministries and those ministries are everywhere.
Examine your own life and you too will find many times and places that the Lord has used people to help and steady your walk (and drive!) As a favorite song goes: “open the eyes of my heart Lord, open the eyes of my heart, I want to see You, I want to hear You”
Guidance as I was guided, to yet another new area of my life. It seems that happens to everyone. It always has. We are led to places and people flow towards us as we live. Myself, I am enjoying the humor and strength that our Lord uses with me as He shows me that narrow highway of Holiness that leads me on to Eternities Eternity and His smile.
After all is said and done, that’s why I write about it! It’s getting pretty good. Jack
A famous author from England was known as the Apostle of common sense. I would earnestly recommend reading anything he wrote! In our most recent times the term common sense has been said by our current president and so I delved into that phrase and it’s origin.
Many dialectic courses use the phrase ‘common sense’ but as a consequence there is always a position in the discourse that does not seem very sensible. The way of discovering truth in any topic was handed down to us from the Greek philosophers and they were pretty wise guys.
This type of truth seeking was very commonly taught in school “back in the days” of education. Redire to the English primary schools and these sorts of things were absolutely a foundation of logical thinking and debate. In a forensic class? Scientific discovery which in Latin thousands of years ago was referred to as ‘Ache’ finding beginnings of all things.
Echoed in the TV series ‘all things great and small’ with James Herriot? Darwin had his day with his dialectics that he believed explained evolutionary theory. This is also taught in schools throughout our country. It is a vary controversial topic, Ache or origin. It delves into a political stance in the hierarchy of our education system and is not taught as a dialectics course.
This is not common sense and is a recent phenomenon of indoctrination in education. Have you had enough large words for a while? Do you take notes when these topics or opinions are presented in this type of dialectic? Lets talk! It’s good to exchange ideas and stances on important things like this.
The writer I was referring to at the beginning was G.K. Chesterton and when told he was not to write his newspaper columns about Religion or politics he responded: “There is nothing else to write about” That was The Illustrated London News, a very famous London newspaper.
As a side note, I have had the same thing happen to me and I found great comfort in this common issue throughout our country. Every discussion, every controversy, is about religion and politics. Religion is about our relationship with God and politics is about our relationship with our neighbors.
As Chesterton again stated: “We are told to love our neighbors and also to love our enemies: probably because usually they are the same people”
A great thank you to Dale Ahlquist and G.K. Chesterton Norm Peterson aka Jack Gator
The beginning of the deer rut was in full bloom and visible to our family. Reaching up to take an hour off the living room clock, I saw four deer on the driveway. It’s only about 25 feet away from the front porch and those deer were in top gear. Two does, two bucks. One of the bucks jumped into the fenced garden and seemed confused when he hit the corner pole. Tumbling back into the Brussels sprouts bed, he leaped up and tried another jump. After that try, he ran back where he came in and performed one of those steeplechase leaps over the fence and into the woods close by. We noticed one of his horns was missing. So it goes.
I was running late in the next morning. It was still dark and the vehicles behind me were lighting up the road, same as I was. Of course, being the leader of a string of cars means you are first in discovering fur covered obstacles in the right of way. I swing my electrical side view mirror glass away from my vision to reduce the glare. It’s nice that their high beams reach miles ahead but it can be deafening optically.
As expected, all the cars a distance behind passed me on the flats. Good, now I can drop down to five under instead of ten over! Remembering from my youth, the two speed signs that had day limit and night limit. Usually ten under for nighttime. Coming up to ‘deer alley’ I saw a vehicle on the opposite shoulder with it’s hazards blinking. About half ways down the hill. Very close to where a few years back an eight thousand dollar deer was encountered by our car. I pulled over to the shoulder, put on my emergency flashers and went across to the other car. I brought my tactical flashlight as well.
The driver of the car met me and filled in the blanks. “Hit a deer, front right tire went flat and I’m trying to get this original equipment toy jack to lift the car.” I held the light and we finally got the plate under the pinch weld. The car began to rise and there was a hopeful lug wrench coming out of the trunk. Custom wheels, it didn’t fit. At least they weren’t theft proof lug nuts but the size was bigger than stock. A sixteenth of an inch bigger than the wrench for stock wheels. A rough guess but after 40 years of wrenching I was confident my guess was correct.
They began to chat about the coming election for governor and other offices. It quickly segued into the state of our country. As the two of us began to share our analysis of the unbelievable destruction of the economy and morals, we agreed to do what we can to counter this disassembly of our democratic republic. The last things we said to one another was about our money. “It’s worth about seventeen cents on the dollar since a few decades ago, but the money we have has not changed in one way. Yet. Our wallets and pockets all contain the reassuring statement, ‘In God we Trust’ They both agreed this was a very good idea in these times! Faith and Trust in God.
The stranded motorist had a friend that lived close by and he was contacting him on my cell phone as I got ready to leave. Knowing about the lug nut socket and wrench to turn it, the man had heard from his friend it was handled and the tools would soon be there.
Saying thanks to one another and I then turned on my flashlight feature again, it flashed bright and I waved it to the vehicles approaching. No one had stopped when myself and the stranded motorist were at work, and not one even slowed. The oncoming cars, seeing both hazards on and my flashing light swinging, slowed down. I crossed safely and headed off to my late appointment with my son at the coffee shop, still miles away.
I did not speed but kept the limit. I looked behind me on a long hill descent into Saint Croix Falls and the vehicles behind were perfectly, safely spaced. It resembled a string of pearls going down the road.
Very surprised, I pulled up to the coffee shop right on time, a little ahead of my son!
I was only one minute off rendezvous time. The shop had just opened up. It didn’t compute as I had spent at least ten minutes with the stranded man. Compression of time. It has happened at various times and in different ways throughout my life. It made interesting conversation after the Bible study that my son, Bjorn and I brought our coffees and Bibles to.
The flash and flare in the east and it is time. Move away from the comfort and deep sleep, awaken to dawn. Shut of the alarm clock, rise to the circadian rhythm of my body. Grasp my robe from the hanger on the back of our bedroom door. Close the bathroom door and glance at my tousled hair. A small pleasure in the new toilet seat that lowers itself slowly and doesn’t bang.
There are duties and places to be and now, it’s easier to find things because there is light beginning to arrive from the east. There is a small Brownian movement from the dust and I turn on the coffee maker. Go back in the parlor and open the side draft, rake the coals and put on a few pieces of wood.
I Find the good bread and drop two slices in with the timer set to max. The good bread is heavy. I ponder finding the cash for that upgrade on my cell phone already as I check the wood stove. Can we afford it? After all, everyone in the family has a new phone. Mine is old and I need to be current. It is the state of made things, they are old by the date they are put for sale. New and improved. No ‘good till’ or expired dates on your cell phone, but now I can’t find a screen guard to replace the cracked one. “You have to get a new one, yours is several years old. How much? Only 35 bucks a month forever.
It’s better with the shredded wheat on the shelf, we all know it’s good for a few years on our shelf. Silly thoughts along with dream remnants that linger until they too, pass into the storage area in my mind that is never too full and unavailable now and then.
There is a shuffle and purpose at hand to indeed waken fully and the hot caffeine warms my old ceramic cup. Carefully, set it down besides the fresh toast and open up a book next to the vitamins and various pills. The accouterments of morning rituals. The book now at hand is a collection of short stories that take slow reading to understand. Sarte, Sallinger and the rabbit eared current choice is Tolstoy’s ‘The death of Ivan Illych’
Nothing to it. Toast and coffee and a little orange juice to sluice down a hearty meal of existential writing and with some of the greatest short stories ever written. It’s still early and my son is stirring a bit. I come to the part of the story when Ivan knows he is dying and no one will be honest with him about how they feel about it and him. Only a peasant boy tells him the truth.
A quote from la Rochefoucauld is remembered: “One can neither stare long at the sun nor at death” During the war the thought was, it will come quickly It did to that shipmate on the horizon. It was close but I am OK. Next stop, Palma De Mallorca. Great liberty! My acquaintances ship has been sunk over the horizon. Tough luck. Time to celebrate after freedom from with the liberty boat and have a few drinks in his memory.
We go on, inwardly feeling we will live forever and poor old Ivan, it must have been his diet or that he just wouldn’t go to gymnasium as they advised him so many times. After all, his whist game was more important to him. There was nothing to be done. and here I am hundreds of years later, dressed for a church funeral service. I am Still in my book and almost awake.
A funeral then to go to. The fact that we are soon to be in that silken and narrow box does not cross our conscience. Even when the preacher tells us we are off the hook by death of Jesus’ sacrifice, we do not comprehend the sacrifice, it’s not totally understood. Tithe well and we might walk as Enoch did and not have to suffer as Ivan illych did. That’s it! The second coming and it will all work out! Don’t worry, be happy.
Death is defeated knowledge lingers and we are all good to go. Mourning seems to have passed us by. Ask not who the bell tolls for, it’s you. Old Ivan, it was his time to go. The rest of our family is up and dressed and we drive a dozen miles to the church for a funeral for a neighbors son.
Is there lunch after this funeral? Should be. It’s good here at the church of endless life. Maybe if I get in line before every one else does! I do not want to miss that apple pie I saw as I walked by the kitchen!
No one knows the hour of our death. People of faith in Jesus know what His resurrection means for us. Still, I like it here and I know my loved ones will have Shiva at the house. I do not like to think about the weeping, just as I wept as the coffin wheeled by me and I reached from my seat and gently prayed as the polished wood slid beneath my extended fingers. A young boy taken from us in tragedy.
Live well, love well and spend a lot of time speaking and listening to our creator that knew us when we were yet to be born. “why me?” “why am I here and what am I to do? I ask of Him. He answers gently. “I knew you would know the joy and sorrows of life and I Like how you write and talk about it and Me. That seems pretty good.
It was a good friendship. An E4 and an O6. That’s a Petty Officer third class and a Captain. We were also neighbors. Myself and Pastor Russ. Neighbors that met riding bicycles on passable blacktop roads. Russ lived about a mile and a half away from me and once in a while, we would go for a ‘spin’. There was another huge difference between us as Russ was a category 2 racer and I just liked to ride. Cat 2 is pretty professional and impressive. He was a very good rider to be with. I learned a lot.
One remarkable day, Russ was riding alone and met a very pretty and friendly bicycle rider. She was riding nearby and as Russ was married to Debra and a pastor, he was safe to ride with.
Not long afterwards, Russ mentioned to me about this woman. “She runs a lakeside camp nearby, it’s called Whispering Pines. Pretty good cyclist too!” Myself as a lonely bachelor, was intrigued. I knew where the camp was and began thinking about Russ’s new friend. Just by coincidence a real woman cyclist that lived nearby and with a job! Obviously fit and friendly. Russ said she was pretty too. I considered calling the camp. Why not?
Meanwhile, that cyclist, Julie, was out in Washington state at a conference. She was at a local bar near the Canadian border and the bartender, Margaret, was gregarious and asked Julie where she was from. She told her where the she was from and the bartender, casually wiping down the bar said, “where in Trade Lake do you live?” “What! No one knows that dinky little township!” Margaret replied, “My grandparents lived in Trade Lake” They had a few things to talk about then.
Margaret, incredibly enough, was an old friend of mine and gave Julie my phone number. Julie put it in her wallet and when she returned to Wisconsin and the camp, tossed that piece of paper into a drawer in her office. A Junk drawer holding device to eventually have some of it’s contents put into a round holding device standing on the floor nearby.
On a particularly perfect day for cycling, I decided to call the camp and asked for the director. I gave her my name and mentioned my friend Russ. I also told her that Russ and I rode a lot together and asked if Julie would like to ride sometime. “It’s that Guy! The friend of that bartender way out west!” Julie consulted the head cook, Cora who was her trusted friend if it would be OK to go ride with me. “why not? Sounds safe, a pastors friend” she replied
So Julie told me OK, and being mostly clueless but aware that neutral territory was not at her place nor mine, I suggested we ride our bicycles towards one another on county road M and we meet that way. I saw Julie coming towards me, uphill and riding strong. I waited for her, watching her technique. Pretty good climber.
We did a short 50 mile ride and I asked her out to eat afterwards. Little Mexico, a great local restaurant with homemade guacamole and chips, they had good Mexican beer too. Cora said: “why not?” And so we went. This time I drove my car, a Volvo wagon with a bike rack on the roof of course.
That wise cook had some chocolate cake for our dessert when we returned. After many enjoyable rides later, some of them with pastor Russ, it began to be clear that this whole thing was a coincidence of extraordinary circumstances.
Sometime later when my old friend, Margaret, the bartender, got in touch, I told her the delightful bicycle romance story and then she added one more fact. The exact place on County road M where Julie and I met, was right at the driveway where Margaret’s Grandparent’s had lived. As this story has been told many times, I always say; “It was a miracle, God’s handiwork”.
Julie continued managing the camp until another director was chosen for the job. She moved in to my farm and we played house for a time. We also began working at 7 pines lodge nearby in Lewis. Fresh caught brook trout and fried carrots was the main menu. It was also the only thing on the menu.
The manager was a good fly fisherman and had us, the waiters, put on mystery dinners. All the guests became suspects in the mystery murder and myself and Julie played the hosts of the hotel where the murder was. The manager did not take part in the play as he was busy in the kitchen.
Out of the blue at home, Julie and I proposed and it seemed to make a lot of sense to us. ‘Shacking up’ later on when I became baptized, we realized living in sin was also a description. It seemed good and right. I did get the wedding ring made from my Grandmothers ring. Proposing was an equal opportunity proposition. It worked for us. Still does. More perfect timing. We were married at 7 pines lodge and the wedding was a fabulous affair. The square dance band that I played in (Duck for the Oyster} came to help with the music as well as Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson and Mary Dushane from the Powder milk Biscuit Band. Myself and three fiddlers stood in a circle around my beautiful bride and we played a Swedish waltz, Helsa Hem Dar Hemma.
A Real log lodge with a stream house that straddled the trout stream, that was where we spent our wedding night. The running water made bathroom breaks occur often. It was glorious and one of those memories that is permanently set within us. The dance was at the West Denmark church hall and we still have a photograph of Julie’s dad strutting down the middle of the Virginia Reel dance. More food and leftover wedding cake.
My mom drove up in her Buick convertible to attend our wedding. She almost left in the beginning of the ceremony saying that her dog needed her at home. She stayed with some gentle urging from a good friend of ours. It was obvious that something was going on with mom. Dementia. Her dad had the same issue and died not long afterwards of the onset. Mom was still living in her third home in Bryn Mawr Minneapolis.
After a few years went by and our two children were growing and our farmhouse was rebuilt to double it’s original size. (right before Bjorn, their first born arrived) My Mom agreed to help finance the huge mound system that was needed for the ‘upgrade’ to our home. Bedrooms for the kids after all.
My mother was fading and I drove down at least every week to help her out. Managing the bills and looking after things. Not too long afterwards, about a year, we moved Mom up to our area into a nursing home. Julie had an old pastor friend, Barry, agree to come up to talk to my Mom. however, she died that night and he came up anyway and spent hours with me at the kitchen table. “Mere Christianity” was referred to a lot and I brought up other religions, Buddhism, Islam and my early family attendance at a Christian Science church in Minneapolis. “What about you? What do you think about all this, we are talking about you” It was a very important Question. This was serious and I had a lot think about. Barry slid the C.S. Lewis book across the table and it made sense the more I read it. Still do.
Barry’s church, a Congregational one, agreed to do mom’s funeral with a meal and even light a candle every Sunday for a week or two. No charge. Character in a great man of faith. We began attending as we both were becoming closer to being Christians. Julie already was one, I was still wary.
Soon thereafter, I had a life changing experience at Russ’ church (Russ was in the Navy as a chaplain then and there was a new pastor) . A Christmas cantata was offered and I reluctantly said I would go. Of course, Bjorn and Soren, our sons, were in Jammies, and went up on the choirs risers just before the concert! Great embarrassment for us as we were not well known even though the church was only a mile and a half away from our home. Zion Lutheran.
The Holy spirit overcame me as the choir was singing ‘Mary did you know’. A man in the choir began reciting the words of the song. All I saw was his face and those words changed my Life. Forever. “It’s all true! He is creator of all things! Somebody had to do it! Random evolution never made sense to me.
Pastor Barry said Christ loves me! I still believe the Holy Spirit was running the spotlight up in the balcony so the man reciting had the light directly on him and the angle of the light reflected right to me. It was the major point in my life. The church is still there and once in a while we go to a smorgasbord there. That experience was so overwhelming that attending would not work. The memory is too strong. I stopped once and told the new pastor about these things and he showed me the sanctuary where it happened. It seemed to encourage him. He has the same last name as ours, Peterson. Small world indeed.
Our marriage continues to grow as Julie was already a believer in Jesus. It was good news to her as well. Many times that story still brings tears to me. You know the feeling. Words began to fall short and it’s hard to speak them. That song, obviously, is my favorite and I weep and worship when it is sung.
Our whole family began attending Pastor Barry’s church near Amery, but with the two boys, it was hard to go 80 miles round trip every Sunday. There was a ministry too even further away at Lake Elmo, it was an automotive repair ministry (God’s grease monkeys) and I continued to be a volunteer there. Our Volvo was filled with food while I was working. I was a foreign car shop owner at that time and I was pretty useful. It was another blessing that continues on in various ways. Every church gathering we attend has miracles when we look. He is pouring His spirit out on us. You too.
Later, at a sweet corn feed at a local church, we met Pastor Roger Inoway and the relation with Grace Baptist, a church association for us began. It was only ten miles away in Grantsburg, Wisconsin.
Our family began attending that church and eventually we started a successful food ministry there. The monthly event was named Feed My Sheep. It was coupled with an automotive repair ministry, Grace Garage. The food ministry was a bright spot for us as we got to minister and pray for the people waiting in an adjacent room. They were waiting to be called to get in line for the food distribution. People still comment to Julie and I about those prayers and some healing that occurred. The church made me a deacon in the process too.
News came that the camp, Whispering Pines, was in need of a temporary manager while it was up for sale. Julie and I stepped into that position and soon after, two pastors showed up on motorcycles at the camp. They expressed interest in buying it! Perfect. Keep the camp Christian owned and run. A good vision for us for certain. We got baptized at Whispering pines soon afterwards. Pastor Barry had never performed a baptism and so dunked us three times. “Father, Son and Holy Spirit” and I saw him above me in the clear lake water. I asked him what he saw as he looked at me. “A dead man” he perfectly replied.
There was a quick transition to those new motorcycling pastors church with the blessing of the Grantsburg leadership. Back south of Highway 8 again! Our family fit in well and eventually became the worship team there. We were licensed as Pastors but weren’t installed. When the two Pastors they were hoping would buy the camp didn’t buy it we left. The camp was sold to a real estate developer and after a neighborhood fight about loosing the beautiful Methodist camp to a developer, it was developed into high end lake homes (½ mile of lake shore went with the camp) It was time to find a church closer to home and after dreaming together about their next move, both of us got the same named local pastor.
That church seemed appropriate and it was only a few miles away. You have noticed that a lot of what is called ‘Church Hopping’ occurred for us. It wasn’t that at all. It was Church involvement and being led by the Spirit. About five years at each house of worship was average. All of it extraordinary and good.
It’s a hard life at times and our whole family has had many challenges from both of our pasts. We are still together and praising the Lord and his way of loving them. Our Lord does not have a plan. He is plan. Now we listen to Him and we follow His leading. The Lord speaks quietly and we are getting better at listening.
We continued singing and playing songs to Him and about Him, writing a few of those songs as well. It’s better than my bar band, and I am not even obligated to wear a cowboy hat. We did move to another church again to a refurbished bar that I played with the country western band! It was a new life about 30 miles away. I occasionally played Viola and the Mandolin there. South of highway 8 again. As I write this we have again been called to another gathering, Eagle Brook in Minnesota. I am working with Bjorn who is the media director and he asked me to become his AD (assistant director) It’s a long drive but he drives most of the way after I drive to his place about 28 miles south. I am also being trained as a camera operator.
We do wear our faith on our sleeves. Just like in my Navy days in a way. This story catches attention to unbelievers. It still catches our attention around May 23rd as well. our anniversary day.
Who can foretell the leading of the Lord? Jesus guides as he provides and that is challenging and exciting.
Jack gators grace notes 