faith

The Best Advice, the Hardest to Do

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments
Al Quie

Chuck Colson

There is a man that I trust. More than any other man I have ever met. I’ll tell you about him in a little bit. There is another man, I talk to him less often, but the trust bond is there as well. This other man tells the truth to people. How many of us have a job like that? Tough job, really. Lot’s of training involved, study, college and ‘ample’ on the job training as well. The part that may confuse you is that this man’s desire is to tell stories about the other man! Oh yes, truth is absolutely a job requirement for both men as well. Character, discernible, is a gateway into seeing these things. Usually, the eyes are the first indicator to character. You may do this without even knowing that you do so. Eyes that look into you as you look into them.

I have spent a lot of his life looking away, fearful of what I might see (or be seen.) You also know this without it being something you think about when you meet an old friend or are introduced to someone. When the eyes, portals into the mind are not giving information, I usually forget their name as soon as it is said. This may also due to short term memory function a bit lacking. There are tests for this, usually avoided if possible. Who would want a total stranger telling them they were old ten years ago. “get used to it”

The second man has a lot to say to me and often, in a room filled with others, I will notice an unease in some as what this man has to say is a bit disconcerting and perhaps even confusing to those of us not used to communicating deeply. Questions are raised, sometimes boldly seeking some other fine point of the this man’s spoken words. Good questions, even encouraged and I have questions but usually hold them back because I am aware of an awkwardness of focus to others.

I would rather be silent and let the talk by the second man sink in a bit deeper without a distraction of speaking aloud. There was a man that did this speaking better than anyone since. He is long gone from us unfortunately. His name was Jonathon Edwards. A standard to which most speakers of truth aim for. There was one ‘speech’ that Mr. Edwards delivered that was so powerful and so convicting that a room full of ordinary listeners fell on their faces. There really was no other response that could be made when hearing the most important and life changing truth for everyone within hearing. A long time has gone by since that original speech but it remains powerful, convicting and stunning still.

The bold and inescapable truth taught was how bad we really are, especially if we think we are OK and are pretty nice. Compared with ‘those people’ we are in the ‘swell’ zone if there is a measuring device that could do that. Actually, there is a ‘swell’ or ‘free of faults’ measurement and on the other side of the gauge: ‘Bad and Wicked’ There is a thumb on the scale however and surprisingly, it’s our thumb. I leave it to you reader to decide which measurement the scale defaults to. Every time.

The revelation of who is first man is now at hand. He has many names that are used by many people to address Him. Somehow all those names are powerful nouns and are recognized easily by people that have met Him. Some of them are: Yaweh, Lion of Judah, First and Last, Beautiful, Shiloh, King of Kings, Everlasting, I AM, Chief Cornerstone, Teacher, Dayspring, Son of Man, Prophet, Alpha and Omega, Bread of Life, Savior, Light of the world, The Word, Branch, Good Shepard, Jesus. Those are just a few of his names.

As an illustration of what the first man does for those of us who look to Him for help, I will use the story of Al Quie and Chuck Colson. Many of us remember Watergate and Mr. Colson was convicted of conspiracy. Minnesota Governor Quie, quoting an obscure law, offered to serve the remainder of Mr. Colson’s sentence. Chuck did not take him up on it. The offer was real. Look it up.

Quite a bit of time passed after that before the Al Quie center was built at Lino Lakes prison. It was for the prisoners there to study Jesus and hear sermons from dedicated men that wished to serve. I was part of this ministry and was always told to give a sermon on the wrath of God. It was hard for me and I suspected the ministry leader was giving me an honor to select me for the task. Think about teaching a room full of prisoners about wrath and judgment! A challenge for certain. I have finally found out about God and His wrath. We deserve it but the first man has taken it upon Himself. All of it, for all of us. Impossible we say, but it’s historical truth.

There are many incredible stories about this Man. No one is like this, no one will ever be like this again. Now I am flat out preaching and it feels good to do what my friend does for me.

“There is something going on and you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” Bob Dylan

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Sea Anchor

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

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.

Norm Peterson/ Jack Gator

The Sight of a Smell

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was early in the morning when I saw the delightful smell drifting in from the kitchen. A haze,It was Soren my son cooking bacon for the family breakfast. Delightful, visible and delicious.A combination of several senses at once.

Another combination is lightning. The stroke, which grasps our sight as suddenly it appears and continues for a very brief time afterwards as dark lines as we blink it away. Then comes the sound. Calculating the speed of sound @ 1125 ft/s we come up with a mile every 4.7 seconds.

It’s fun to see how close the strike is by the timing of the thunder. So, we have sound and sight in combination. If the lightning is close, there is a smell of the ozone as well. The fertility of the earth is enhanced by the generation of Nitrogen. A natural fertilizer and the ozone protects us from the harmful radiation from sunlight! Quite a few senses involved. Sight, smell, hearing and the engagement of our mind in calculation and awe.

Along with the lightning, comes the wind and the rain. So now we combine sight, smell and sound in a different way with seeing the rain, hearing it spatter on our head or the rap on a roof. Then comes the smell of freshness. Does anyone have few words for the smell of the rain? It’s the smell that aromatic companies try to duplicate for those car ‘fresheners’ or scented soaps and dryer sheets. That isle in the big box store that gives us the challenge of holding our breath until we wheel past with the wobble-wheel cart, looking for toilet paper (Same breath holding reaction to the kitty litter aisle)

There is the smell of an old bound hard-cover book while reading it. We could talk about the delight of those two, but that’s another sense we have. Awe. It’s a natural emotional response to the senses combined. It’s a sense of presence of the Numinous Creator God. You may call Him a different name in your awe, I call Him Yahweh or Lord or God, the best one for him is Jesus.

Another sense often occurs with that Awe, shivering or a tingling of suddenly being aware of the supernatural that is always with you but now, sometimes visible (It HAS happened to me, but it is very rare.) After all, no one is supposed to see the face of God lest he die. In the words of Pogo..”Death, I can live without it”. It’s not the of God I have seen, it’s the result of His presence I have seen. I know He has permitted me to see things and hear things, along with that presence that is unbelievable when I talk about them. That’s OK if someone scoffs at these things, I was there.

As I have said before, I am not claiming any thing else. Just a gift we get if we know it is so. I look forward to this gift from Him with a smile of expectancy. None of us knows when it will occur, but it does and gives all of us more than we can try to describe in the description of senses. You have had this happen to you, but have thought of it as incredible luck or coincidence unexplained. It’s Joy, that’s for certain. Its pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

The Streetcar The Dentist and a Violin

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was in the middle of the last century that as a preteen I was given the task of taking streetcars to the family dentist. I know, it’s sounds like a long time ago. It was. Streetcars were the way to get around town. Everyone knew where they went. As the buses that replaced them, there were placards in front telling destination and the routes were memorized by all. There were transfer tickets, if you asked for one, that enabled the ride to go further in a different direction.

I was five or six years old when I went by myself downtown and further. There, of course, were young kids that would roll a big snowball onto the tracks. Harmless fun as the trolly would plow through them easily. The bigger kids would do those sorts of things. I never did it but saw it done by boys quite older than I. Older by a year or two! Usual seniority of life in public school.

We all would throw a penny off the top of the Foshay tower downtown. It was the tallest building in town and is still there. Now it’s the smallest tall building in town. Word was if the penny hit someone it would go right through them! Terminal velocity of a coin that weighs the same as a hummingbird.

The elevator was free but you had to use a coin to use the telescopes. It was a Nickle which could buy candy as well. A conundrum to a young anti-social Asperger genius. Three Musketeers or a Butterfinger. Tough choice. I thought the splitting of the Musketeer bar was a nice image of comradery. Too messy, no one ever did it.

So, onto the trolley (which had to switch the electric pickup mast when a change of tracks had to be done) the conductors had neat uniforms and a coin box with a little chrome handle that he would constantly twirl to sort out the coins dropped in. I Still remember the sound. Right hand, kachinka, clatter, kaching, etc. I would Get off on Hennepin avenue and walk down about six blocks to Washington avenue. There was a news stand on the corner and they always had the latest science fiction magazines. Later they hawked Mad magazines along with newspapers from all over the country. The next trolley would take me to the family dentist. Great, fun trip.

The streetcars are long gone, along with their tangle of electric power wires overhead. The tracks are gone and recently, tracks got put back in for fast and quiet streetcars. Metro transit. Every one misses the ding ding bell and the rattle of the glass and chrome change hopper. At least people my age do.

It was much later in the end of the century that I was shopping for my first fiddle and a friend in the string instrument world steered me to that family dentist! It seemed the delicate skill sets were just the thing for fine wood work. Oliver G. Olafson was the dentist/violin maker. He made 26 of them in the 1950’s The auction houses of today know of him and list his violin work as ‘inconsistent’ mine must be a consistent one.

I bought one and my friend bought one too! We called them by special names and they aged well. Since the dentists name was Olafson, mine became Olie.

My dentist was known in Mineapolis’ instrument players circles and the choice was good and neither of us needed dental care at that time. There was no Novocain for us either. The bow cost was even higher. It’s good advice from fiddle pros to spend more on your bow than on the fiddle itself. A local shop had a one star N.R. Pfretzschner bow for a few hundred dollars. The bow is now worth 3 to 6 thousand. It’s a nice bow. Musical instruments get better when they get older. Just like us.

That fiddle of mine is so loud that a microphone is usually not needed in small rooms. It’s a beauty. I am not aware of what it is worth. With age comes wisdom. Sometimes. So far I have not been listed as an antique writer but who knows. I can imagine the antique road show now. “We’ve got an 80 year old Swedish model that is a little careworn. Still has hair of sorts and speaks pretty good.” A lot of miles left on this one!”

Actually I have already been bought and the price was impossible to imagine. You know the buyer, at least I pray that you do. He was a master carpenter and worked with wood . He is known throughout the world. Ask me if you are curious and I can introduce you to Him. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Boundaries and Kindness’

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was 50 years ago, give or take. I was a brand new owner of a small acreage farm. Stranger in a strange land, city boy. Far away from the hustle of neighborhood living on the West Bank of Minneapolis. A.

I needed to be here, leaving behind an early drug gang, bars filled with people just like me. Full of myself and willing to share stories of adventure from 2 years overseas.

I would tell of an adventure in Lebanon trying set a friends soul a whirl. That was a place he always wished he’d been. But It didn’t seem to move him much when I mentioned to him then. He was probably thinking about something else and not a listenin. B.

It got tiresome, a pitcher of beer reappearing after work. My best friend told me: “Get the hell out of there and come up here and live near me!” Good advice and I did so. I met some new friends in a bar about 10 miles away. They liked my stories and I was pleased with these country boys. I was new and as a plus, I didn’t graduate from their high school.

They helped me a lot with country living. Gardening, hiring local small farmers to cut and bail my hay field and great help in general because I was a vet and my best friend lived half a mile away. Bruce, was working for his wife’s father selling fire extinguishers and Scott air pacs. He said I could work for him servicing those Scott air supply systems for local fire stations. I took the training but the job never materialized. That was ok, I still had the railroad track work down in the cities.

Hunting, ice fishing with tip ups and what roads to drive home when leaving the bar at night. They put a 30-06 in my hands in the fall and showed me how to go out and hide behind a tree during deer hunting season. Never saw one but got heard ice groaning and popping while I was out there and that scared me. It was very loud and sounded like two huge whales talking. For a moment I thought it was an alien just over the ridge, down by Trade Lake. I walked back to my house at a rather brisk pace and unloaded. No one else had heard what I did but later that week the locals took me ice fishing and I heard some moans and cracks zipping by. Fish at your own risk. Walk to the shack, leave the pickup at the landing.

I tried again, this time at day and walked back to my southern border with that trusty Winchester and came over a hill and there was another hunter in red flannel. He yelled at me; “What the Hell you doing back here!” I told him we were standing on my land and he turned walked to the property fence and hopped over. I walked right behind him and stuck out my hand across the wire. “Let’s start over again. My names Norm” We shook hands. It was pretty good. We got to be neighbors in process.

It reminded me of walking through a hatch at sea, I was a brand new radioman 3 and walked into Officers country. No big deal to a Lieutenant walking towards me and he helped me understand those boundaries. That’s the way it’s done. He didn’t write me up or complain to his division chief. I blundered in and learned about those things. He asked me who I was, smiled a small smile and said “Welcome aboard” Even shook my hand.

He didn’t complain to the division chief. Boundaries. We all have them, when someone crosses Your boundary do you tell them politely that has happened or do you call the sheriff and have them arrested and fined? Could be language you don’t want to hear or a face that looks at you with a leer. Do you have the where-with-all to say something on the spot or do you go to someone in authority and complain?

Always your choice to fix things right away, the right way, or make someone else screw it up and make everyone feel bad and even punished for a mistake. Civilization 101, courage to own up and courage to encourage. Do you really want someone else to do what’s right for you or can you handle it yourself. Every one wins when communication and contentedness is accomplished. The confrontational solution through another person can result in embracing shame and guilt. Self image problems.

We live in an unconnected and isolated time. Addicted to speed. If someone offends you in someway, do not be a grumbler but shake hands and talk. I try to take it to the Lord and He tells me how to lament hard things too, not to complain and as C.S. Lewis put it, to grumble until you become a grumble.

Taking my own advice, It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

A. Forty Acres of Musicians, { Gators Grace Notes.com }

B. Bob Frank ‘I saw old Jones today ‘

My Spirit is Moved Again

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

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?

It’s pretty good! Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Soaring

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 1 Comment

It’s an incredible photo from a walk close to our homestead. It prompts another deep region, even a place unnamed, and familiar. A perfect photo by my son of an Eagle, flying overhead and a gasp of purpose and life as viewed when Soren showed me the photo. The eagle had a glint in his eye and his claws were tucked in back, out of the air-stream. ‘Rotation, gear up’ A slight flash of light on his incredible beak and I shivered contemplating this aviator with talons and sharp, piercing beak. Danger close. it was flying into the wind, looking down. The intense stare at the camera and us, it told a story. A tale of life lived as a predator from the sky, silent and flying with irresistible death from above. No escape. No way to reason with the eagle. Can you envision a small animal, frozen in fear, unsure how to move.

I thought back to the fighter we saw launch from an aircraft carrier about 300 feet away. On the port side of our ship, a huge fleet Oiler, was Steaming at flank speed. Barely able to stay with the carrier. The oiler’s huge screws, making the aft mess deck thunder and shake. As it must do, the carrier had to maintain wind over the flight deck to help those fighters get airborne. The flight deck blast door up, engine at full, burning gallons of JP4 per second and suddenly, the fighter leaped down the deck, dropped a little off the bow and already had gear up and climbing. Awe inspiring at night ops. Rings of sonic disturbance coming off the engines fiery blast.

Steam swirling around the channel from the catapult, and the power heard of the fighter still climbing to watch over the battle group. Combat Air Patrol, CAP. Just like the eagle, deadly talons and loaded and armed. Looking for anything within range, anything moving where the fighter was, something that an enemies weapons radar would detect and cause terror for them. They are Now a target. A Hornet F16 fighter, armed with a tactical nuke under the wing, just in case it got ugly. A little vaporization reaches everybody.

Later that night, the enemy came near off the starboard and lit up our ship with their carbon arc searchlight and quickly dropped It’s missiles midships, right at me. I was on deck, headed aft for mid-rats. It didn’t look promising. We had 8 million gallons of various fuel in it’s huge belly, a tanker with puny three inch gun turrets on the bow and stern. The strong image of a flaming, roaring death with the sea covered with burning bunker oil. Basic training coming to mind on how to impossibly swim beneath the flames. All hands, battle stations. The 1MC in every compartment giving everyone the news, this NOT a drill.

It wasn’t a movie. Everyone saw the 02 or 03 level on the enemy ship, it’s radar turning around and around and the spotlight from it still steady on our bridge, blinding our helmsman and the combat information bridge, just above. Those missiles dropped from vertical incredibly fast with the sound of a double gauge pump shotgun.

Suddenly, the missiles went back vertical and the cruiser sharply veered off and disappeared into the dark sea at full speed. The F16 was there with the battle group, flying overhead, painting the enemy cruiser with it’s radar. Dropping out of the sky at Mach 1 and It had prepared it’s talons. The sound and sonic boom was heard clearly by everyone. Including the sailors on the Russian Frigate.

I was still alone on the long deck, still poised to go get midnight rations. I lost my appetite for anything available, good or bad. A narrow victory for our big fat slow tanker with friends in high places. The fear felt is still sharply felt after five decades. It was Just a bit more scary than a man with ill intent, coming it at you. Terrifying is the word. Saved by the glint in the eye of our Navy pilot. Ready for command from the carrier, a bit over the horizon, also with eyes on the Russian ship.

There is a bit of prose that Julie remembers while I wrote this memoir: “But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not faint” Old truth, timeless and steady.

It’s very good news to everyone that understands the book of promise and freedom. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator

The Old Ford Wrench and the Faucet

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I took on a home project the other day, replacing the kitchen faucet. It took all day, odd tools and a session with my past habits. It began, like most ‘easy’ home projects without any trouble. Removing that drippy faucet was awkward for an older man on his back, under the sink, and being somewhat careful to not disconnect any pipes of drainage and to avoid set mouse traps. Two fittings did not seem possible to remove. They were up high, constricted and large. Rummaging in the old big toolbox in the standard dimension wrench drawer revealed a very old Ford wrench that amazingly, seemed correct for the job. It was a perfect fit and was offset . A one inch open end, perhaps for my 41 Ford coupe?

I took the old faucet and noticed it was a major brand that sets forth a ‘lifetime warranty’ Sounds good! I took it to the major big-box store where it was purchased some years ago and ran into an instant refusal. The initially friendly young woman behind the counter asked for the paid receipt and it was long gone from years ago. I was expecting ‘no problem, it’s warranted for life! Go get another one and bring it back for exchange” It happened when the original one failed a decade ago. There was no receipt then either. Things had changed at the big-box. Then an an argument ensued from what was supposed to be an easy return.

It got heated, at the final refusal, I spun around towards the door and threw the defective faucet on the sidewalk and it lost a few pieces in the process. I slunk away, one of my digits shaking from the emotion and sat behind the wheel of the Fusion. I knew I was wrong and I prayed for somehow to make it right.

I finally came back in and the counter woman had an expression that was unpleasant to see.I went up to a smiling worker and asked for the store manager. He came and after a short, somewhat snarky conversation, gave in and told me to go get another Delta faucet off the shelf and bring it back. The manager opened the box on the counter and pulled out the faucet and parts and ‘tossed in’ the remains of the old one. I took the awkward double handful and put them in the car. What I had just done worried me.

I went back in (3rd time) and went shopping with the list. I met the manager a ways down in the huge store and called him over by name. I was genuine and mild by now in apologizing for my attitude. The manager understood and they shook hands. For ‘some reason’ I remembered the managers name to call out to him. Astonishing, it Felt good. I tracked down the clerks he had words with and humbled himself as best he knew how and also apologized and asked them shake on it. It felt right.

Later, on the drive home, I realized the freedom I had experienced and broke down while listening to a friends song about someone that was still hurting but was still able to look back on the Lord and ask for forgiveness and strength to do what was good and right. I knew another change had occurred within me. Deep with truth about my brokenness and looking for help from the only one that could help.

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson/ Jack Gator

Faithful lovers of Music

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

What a gift to have met and then be offered friendship with the beautiful ones. Living in the Forty Acres of musicians neighborhood, I found myself with room mates that still astonish decades later.

Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson took me under their wing and taught me well about music and love. The romance of Kismet. Poets with guitars and a mandolin, Coleridge and Tennyson did not anticipate these two.

A gentleness with much laughter and brilliance. Together they astonished people coast to coast. The little coffee houses, the folk music cafe’s. Platforms and postage stamp stages. It was the same show every time. The musical score was different from place to place, but the humor and duet solidity was always the same. They got invited back all the time. It was a dance with romance that never grew old, for all of us and them too.

I was invited along on a road trip with them, way back in the early 70’s. That’s a bit over 50 years ago in the last century if you like doing math while reading. Small town colleges were a significant place to perform on the trip. From Indiana to Pennsylvania and then way up in northern New York state to finish off. Four of us in the old four door. Myself, Mike Cass and Bill and Judy. The trunk had a few small packs of personal “stage clothing” (no cowboy hats) and a few changes of underwear. The rest of the trunk was instrument cases lined up. Fender to fender with guitars, mandolins, a dobro, several fiddles and a pedal steel.

We ate at Campus’ lunchrooms (Whittenberg in Ohio was the best) and made do with sleeping quarters. Often the sleeping bags were used on the living room floors of the friendly families that arranged the bookings. No extra money for a motel. Air B&B was not even a concept and hotels had good water pressure with room costs to match.

It was a grand time and music poured out like anointed oil upon this rag-tag quartet. Gas was cheap and the car didn’t use any oil either. There were tips from impromptu sidewalk venues and generous amounts of coffee and sandwiches from club owners. We ate well and for the most part, played well. Plenty of obscure folk and country blues songs that resonated with us and the young folks that go to those sorts of places.

There were ‘green rooms’ at some of the clubs which was a luxury. We shared one with Louden Wainwright in upstate New York. Louden kept playing the jukebox when we were tuning up. At least it had a bathroom with a door.

Travel had it’s moments. Stopped by the New York state troopers we needed ID’s. I had lost my wallet in Ohio but did have a student guest pass for the lunchroom. “I’d hate to tell you what to do with that piece of paper sir” I always remember my military number and that did the trick. We were asked if we had any weapons or knives and Cass offered up his military can opener.He said it was a P38. Holsters were unsnapped and pistols from the troopers were at hand when it came out of Mikes pocket. It wasn’t a Walther 9mm pistol much to everyone’s relief. Mike was and still is world class with his music but at that time we had a slightly different opinion of him.

When Bill was dying at the VA (he was a military translator, fluent in Japanese. Hush hush stuff) I stood on his right and Jim Tordoff, an excellent banjo player, stood on his left. We prayed and told him, if it works this way, we would like him to meet us when it’s our turn. Meet us with that Lloyd Lohr Gibson with gold tuners and a Bill Monroe banjo with holy spirit resonator. We can then go worship the risen Lord forever together with the original music Trio. A Father Son with the best comms in the Universe. Holy Spirit.

Kiss the son indeed. We loved Bill and Judy, still do. It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

NECESSARY CHANGE

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

An analogy, inspired by an author that I owe greater debt than anyone for language. Imagine that there is an automobile that is sentient. With it’s own thoughts, desires and purpose. Then you own this automobile and are constantly tinkering with it: Redoing the paint and finish. Taking out critical things and making them better and more powerful. Putting the engine right with better pistons and timing components. Literally ripping out the seat coverings and replacing them with better fabric and even airflow types. Better mirrors to see what is behind and clear glass to see what is ahead. The basic model now being turned into a high performance one that is seen as needing these things. Not things the car wants to be done to it, but things the engineer knows will bring it closer to the ultimate car.

What would that tearing apart and scraping and stripping be like for an automobile that is aware of itself? The first thought would be “I could do all that is needed before! I could get from place to place in a reasonable fashion. Why make me go through all this painful change?”

And so it is with us. Our Lord and builder and designer of us has a way to improve us now that we have the ability to do our own modifications which are not part of His plan. The changes are only powerful and go deep if we connect with Him and then begin the process within us. I read a lot of Lewis, Beuchner, Winship and Batterson along with relevant dives those authors recommend into Scripture.

Still, often it is if I, desiring physical healing, went to a lecture about medicine. I have to look for change and how impossible it seems to do it myself.

All the good intentions we have are just that, thoughts. Our inner core cannot be changed by good intentions. We cannot be changed by a good friend telling us what is wrong. Worse yet, that good friend will usually tell us to ‘just stop doing that!’ As though a leaking faucet can be fixed by giving it good advice to stop dripping. The faucet needs a good plumber and I need my Creator.

He is The one that knows me and would love me to change. The change cannot be done by reading the instructions I am given by loved ones. The change comes by me opening my heart to the only one that can actually change me.

I can change if I finally realize I need to. The creator of all things and us, could fix me in an instant if He wished. He knows these things but I must discover how to contact my Creator and ask Him for help. There is no other way, no other path, no alternative treatment, no two for the price of one. Spiritual duct tape that will not do the job. I must die to my raging, often wounded, basic core and ask for the warranty that is offered for my spirit man, my heart, my soul. Whatever phrase works for you to realize how much you need change and are willing to go to any length to do so. Stop, look and then Listen.

I must answer the gentle knock on my door and accept the life offered. He could blow down my door if He wished, but the change must come from my desire, my surrender, giving up my love for the wrong things I have thought were right and the way I accomplished them. I must unlock that door to my heart.

My Creator knows me and desires me to know Him more. I talk to Him as often as I am able to. The way He showed me how to talk to Jesus, Prayer. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator