There they sit until the next auction. Plates, cups, bowls and saucers. Mahogany furniture and kitchen utensils. Machinery and huge steam powered…things..Barn ventilator caps and do dads and gimcracks and folderall. Gewgaws, and the best one of all, Tchoktchke. The last one comes from Yiddish Tshatshke (or an absolete Polish word, Czaczko.)
You can find them in really nice corner cabinets with glass doors, on top of upright pianos or just scattered about the house, seemingly at random. Placed with a discerning eye or propriety and in need of occasional dusting. Dust the Hummel’s at your own risk
Everyone has their faves and lists for the spouse to browse local second or third hand stores. Why do we do this? Perhaps we are hanging onto an older time, perceived as more a genteel one.
Excepting the black buggies of the Amish, stagecoaches are in that category but cannot be displayed, unless you own a herd of horses and a nice driveway or fence line to park it so it is visible. Old ‘collectible’ vehicles are a bit bulky but store on the property..somewhere.
“That’s an old Edsel! It’s worth a lot of money!” Does it run? “Well.., no but I’m workin’ on it.” The Montana vehicle parking lot sort of thing.
We collect stuff, we built a 20 foot shed and lean to just to store some of it. It was full less than a few months later. Big stuff and shelves for parts for the big stuff. You know the list. That old lawn tractor that just needs a new engine and few tires. The old walk behind snow thrower that needs a carburetor and a little paint. Nostalgic and useful stuff. Sort of.
What else that is old and worth saving? My favorite one that is still used, is the long wrap around bookshelves you can see from the living room, up on the balcony walk around. 3D wallpaper. Books from many centuries ago and great illustrated children’s books. Dr. Suess’ Birthday Bird type of stuff. The best antiques of them all as it is OK and right to handle them. Flip through an old Aristotle or a McDonald and find a page that randomly jumps out at you and then it goes downstairs to be added to the random stack by the big rocking chair.
Lately, the stack has been centered around middle ages literature. Most recently one about St. Ignatious of Loyola (early 16th century). The somewhat forgotten wisdom sears truth into me and Julie about this founder of the Jesuits. Lectio Divina, Interacting with God, Oratio, talk to Him, and my favorite, Contemplato, sit in His presence. Timeless and recently, perfectly timed for these times. With our ceaseless scurry to satisfy the emptiness in us with all the stuff we gather, or, think we must gather, to help us be satisfied and joyful. I need to be reminded that essential wisdom is found in another old book that helps me to contemplato our Creator and His plans to love me and never let me go. Ever. I seem to be the collectible for Him. Made by Him before I was even conceived, before the written history of the universe He knew me and helped form me into the man I am. Created to glorify Him and tell other people about Him and His Love. It’s pretty good. (The other old book is the Bible, its good to have several versions.) Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
It seems like a great idea, perhaps it is. The information age has confused, obfuscated and presented knowledge in compartments of illusion. How do we know which is a conspiracy theory and a conspiracy? How can we be certain of anything that relates to our lives? I usually go up to my communication central and ask for truth. It’s not too hard to find and I have written a column on it. I call it ‘The Cathedral’
A bench, facing a long row of 40 foot tall pine trees. A path goes straight ahead of the bench with other paths parallel to it. High up on a ridge so the pines sway in a gentle breeze and the wind is the backdrop to silence.
This day I was, as usual, shouting a bit and waiting for answers from the owner of this place. He has always been around and helped me plant those trees. He made my son that built the wood bench too. He has many names, my favorite one is a secret to you, not to Him.
As per usual, the reason I came to the sacred place was to get directions, answers and to just complain about things I do not understand. It’s a good place to do that. Aso as usual, the answer I got was a parable of sorts. An answer to a study some friends and I are enjoying about a blind man that was healed of a lifetime of blindness. The story in the Bible is pretty basic in ways and simply states he was blind and now he can see.
Of course the blind man had heard stories too. Words telling him of the wonders of colors. Reds and Blues and Yellows if he could only see their beauty. The words meant nothing but longing to know what they meant. Given sight, most likely 20-20, he saw color and movement and shadows and light. The story tells us nothing about the blind man’s knowledge or study. It just tells us he was blind and now he could see. Everything.
I asked the owner and creator of all things where I was sitting; what does this mean to me?
He told me that there was no great mystery behind the story. The blind man is me and I have studied and analyzed and taken tests on my knowledge of the words I have read about the Man who wrote all the words of life. My Lord wrote them so I could seek His face and touch eternity.
The words promised this but I did not know why I was still seeking His light. Stumbling around, tripping over the worlds roots under my feet. I read more and more and suddenly I was given a gift. The words were guides but they were not what I sought. I listened into the wind up there among the trees. I opened my innermost self and waited for a long time.
He came and told me that this was what I needed to open my eyes and see him in His glory. Everywhere, as much as I could do so. The words said beauty, until my eyes were open I did not know what that word meant. All those words kept me looking for Him. Song of Solomon puts it well. “Tell me if you see Him, I am lovesick”
A deaf man can read music but it again is just words and notes. The sudden sound of a miracle of healing and he hears; “I love you and will never leave you” A whisper that shakes the world.
The blind man has never been the same and you will not be the same either. Thunders and lightnings and a storm all around the Man with eyes of fire will show you what the words say. Intimacy. Embrace Him, whisper back to Him and your secrets will become a pathway and a song sung to you.
Words, they fail me right now. How can I describe the touch from the lover of my soul. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
They were always the best gigs. Weddings. Playing for a wedding was indeed, icing on the cake. The music our band played was very polished and incredible. I was the guitar player and we had a mandolin, stand up bass and our leader was the fiddler. Square dance music from the old days and we also had a caller for the dances. Several of them. We were well known and royalties were coming in a little from the sale of our CD. On our way to small fame and fortune. Years rolled by and the gigs kept coming. We had a reputation and were in demand within a few states drive. It was fun and the energy was very high paced. We loved one another, often rode together. I was known as the rhythm monster as I changed up things from easy swing to double time back up, back and forth and it was fun and it worked.
After a few years, the CD’s sales began to drop off and the royalties faded. Every musician knows these things. If we had done vinyl recordings, we would have made the racks of records that are found in many quality music stores. Also in second hand thrift shops.
Our children were young and the constant travel every weekend took me away from my family. None of the other musicians had children. At my last last gig at the Duluth band shell it was known by the band that it was my last one. Poignant and emotionally charged for us all. We had been together for years and it was time. I was needed at home and that was good and right.
During this time together, at one of our band rehearsals I put forth at our upcoming dance camp that we have a church service on the Sunday. Our leader, the fiddler and his wife quickly refused. I acquiesced. The mandolin player did not stand up for the Sunday morning idea. I was young in the faith and my enthusiasm for our faith was not shared. I knew then, it was an important pivot point for me and my family.
I did let it slide but I think that it was important to make it known It was important to me. The lead fiddlers wife is Jewish and I lightened things up and lightly said, “Well, how about on Saturdays?” Nonetheless, she was not a Messianic Jew and did not consider Jesus as her Messiah. She did not attend Temple either. After the light laughter it was over. No worship service at our Sunday gigs. I would have conducted it myself but our leader did not even consider that. It was offensive to him as his father was a pastor and there was resentment. It happens with some children that get put into believing when they do not.
A short time ago, a similar disappointment occurred to me when a paper I was columnist in told me that I had to stop writing references to Jesus. After over three years with the paper, the new owner decided it was offensive to the readers in NW Wisconsin. His choice and now, my choice. I decided I not comply and was politely fired. Two other columnists who quoted Scripture were let go and I was next on the list. There was disappointment among a lot of readers for these decisions. “What happened to pastor Seth and Sally?” was commonly said. After a while it was accepted by the populace. The paper continues to get thinner. Just a coincidence?
The editor, a good friend, gave me the news of the impending cancellation and approved my way of bowing out of my column but said to me, “I envy your faith” I miss writing every week with them and in my last column just told a false hood that it was too demanding to write a column every week. It felt good and right to quit gently rather than make a fuss that is not constructive to the way I am supposed to live.
Actually, I write a lot, sometimes every day. It was a graceful way to leave. My readers were puzzled and once in a while someone will tell me they miss my column in that local paper. I do too.
At my last concert in Duluth, we were going to play my favorite waltz, ‘ Ashoken Farewell’ by Darrell Angar. The fiddler did not like it when I played along with him, I was not his equal but it was a good duet for me. I went to hook up my fiddle and he instantly began playing, not waiting for me. It was hard for me to know, once again, I was indeed, second fiddle. I did not make any mistakes but in retrospect, I should have accompanied him on guitar. It is easier to play a tender song like that with keys or a guitar in the background.
At Julie’s and my wedding we had four fiddlers stand around her on the alter and we all played a Scandinavian waltz, Helsa Dem Dar Hemma. Kevin McMullin, Bill Hinkley, Mary Dushane and I.
After the Duluth last gig, Kevin asked me “How does it feel to be finished with us?” I answered, “relieved” Not the answer he was expecting as I looked at his face. Now I stay at home more and helped raise our two sons. Home schooling and all the neat books by Dr. Suess and lots of Veggie Tales. It worked, Julie did most of the education work as she has a Masters degree in those sorts of things. At this writing I was working with my oldest son, Bjorn, as his assistant media director at Eagle Brook Church in Minnesota I started out on the prayer team and moved to production as a camera operator. Tripod only, the hand helds are ‘somewhat’ heavy for me! My youngest son, Soren. is the drummer in a worship band for the Riders for the Son motorcycle group. Julie is now a Bible study leader with members throughout the world on the internet.
It can be hard to stand for our faith. When I remember that time again with the Ducks, I pray for them. Often. I was replaced with another guitarist, but he was not a rhythm monster. They went on for a while and quietly disbanded. It was not the same for them either and I do miss it. There was a lot of love among us.
I went on to play with a few worship bands and led worship at several church gatherings. My family began a house of worship in a local town and we had wonderful times singing, playing and writing songs. It lasted for almost 4 years.
These days, at 81, I have not been playing out anymore. I miss it but am now writing about our Lord; a lot. Almost 400 columns now and also write for my web site. Another newspaper near Lake Superior, The Bottom Line News and Views welcomes my writing. It feels good and right and continues to grow my prayer life. This is what I have been set to. Write about real things and always praise the Lord within the stories. After all, He did save my life by speaking to me and how many things have happened afterwards I cannot list them all. He likes to have fun with me and I like it too.
I still play music at home now and then, not ensemble, even learning on the keyboard. That feels good and right too. It’s pretty good, Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
It was a white van, one of those tall ones that have a contractor’s business painted on the sides. Sometimes on the front hood as well, but reversed so you can read it in your rear view. That is an oddity of mirrors we get used to. I never even think I am really shaving the right side of my face when it looks like the left.
So the van was parked at a loading dock at the local church building. Right away I want to make that clear. The building houses the church. Usually it is called the church of…something. Named after one of the gift’s of the Spirit. A rarely seen one is the First church of Self Control.
The white van had the sides (and the hood) painted with the name of the group: Easy Yoke of Deliverance. Obviously transporting something that was needed for the people at the church building. e)narevileb fo ekoy ysae seen walking up to the front of the van. That way you can see it in your mirrors!
I stopped to chat with the driver and he had a name badge on and was very friendly. It wasn’t long after that he asked me if he can pray for me. Seemed appropriate with the cross over the loading dock and all. I asked him why he would do so for me, a stranger. He told me that compassion is the fruit of solitude and the basis of all ministry. A pretty old saying from St. Anthony from the fourth century. Wisdom, given to me from two thousand years ago that was timeless. The more I mulled it over, the more sense it made. I called myself a Christian, but had never experienced nor heard these things. Intrigued and stunned, I wanted to hear more.
His prayer was short and unusual. There was no ‘Christianese’ and flowery language. He prayed right into me and told me simple things that I struggle with and that there was great hope in Christ who lives in my heart. Stunned and pleased with that directness, I began to follow the people that hopped out of the van. They waved a plastic pass card and entered into the building.
They knew the driver had prayed for me and waved me in with them.
It was fairly early in the day and the lobby had only a dozen people moving about. It was obvious that ‘services’ were being anticipated and the waft of fresh brewed coffee was in the air. It was pleasant and there was a genuine welcome in the air too.
The driver came alongside of me and showed me about this large and pleasant atrium and the second floor area as well. Everyone we met had a name badge and they were moving about cleaning, preparing snacks in a room for them and popping popcorn! My escort prayed with a handful of them and I saw from the balcony other groups of two and three doing the same for one another. My escort (Bryan) prayed for the popcorn man and we walked about with a fresh bag and greeted and prayed for more staff and volunteers we encountered.
Escorted into the huge empty sanctuary I promptly began to feel tears welling up and asked if it was hunger going on with me or an anticipation of the people soon to fill the empty seats. The answer was yes. This was definitely not church as usual. I was in love and knew beyond doubt, I was in love with the builder of this building, the town, the city and the planet. The builder and giver of life to me and everyone that I saw. Never had this happen before and I have never been the same since. That answer “yes” just came into my thoughts with clarity and authority. Still does.
I stuck around and I was captured by this love. Eventually, I joined this team I met and the joy at praying for people was so refreshing, I had to do this. Not only in the building, but everywhere I went. I began to be bolder and found baristas and store owners along with commercial drivers that deliver packages to me, welcoming the prayers. I now ‘see’ the hunger for that romance of Christ’s love. What a gift! I never seem to run out of that gift I can give now. There was a lot of preparation for me before I saw that white van. It became very clear that my life had been formed and fashioned to cradle the love of Christ. It took a long time for me, but there are similar stories. I thought I was through and tired of life. I was actually tired of death.
A new ‘job’ or calling as the van driver told me. One of the best jobs and the benefits are all written down in the company brochure, the Bible. It’s pretty good. See you there. Jack Gator scribe
It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt.” ~Fyodor Dostoyevski
It is indeed, Doubt that is essential to the path of faith in Christianity. At first, it seems that doubt is gone, once faith is embraced. But is it? I must confess that I doubt at times in the seemingly impossible promises of eternal life and all that precedes it.
Protection, provision, guidance and comfort. At times it seems my life is not protected nor provided for and the comfort I desire seems as though it is the carot out of my grasp. The guidance is forgotten for a bit and I lapse into some sort of swampy thoughts. It takes the silence to look back on my life when I have been blessed by all the excellent things that I have not even asked for.
Simple things that have been the foundation of the questioning expression on my face. You know that move of your own face. A slight tilt of your head, a slight frown and the wrinkle of the forehead. Looking down a bit and your eyes pulled in along with the frown. Sort of a sad look combined with the look of puzzlement. Trying to understand a missing thing. A lost tool or something said that you didn’t quite hear. Doubt of your ability to understand or grasp reality. Doubt and confusion coupled. That can’t be right. I just saw that object. What did she say? Things akin to doubting your own understanding and not quite trusting your memory of touch, sound, sight and proprioceptive sense of balance. Off kilter in puzzlement.
Perhaps tripping over your own feet and falling to the ground or falling to the depth of your being. Doubt.
In isolation it can be devastating. With the help of someone who loves you, there is a helping hand. Reaching in to pull you up out of your fear. Love abounding to once again, reassure and rescue us from our own self doubt. A rescue that can give faith. “You’ve got this, your OK and I am here beside you, always.
Faith in another one’s words and showing you your own worth. Faith in the words of your rescuer.
This is the path to remove the doubt, the doubt that diminishes and eliminates faith. This path is well known and written about in scripture. Everyone has doubts. I look back when I feel the doubt sleeting into me. I look back on the miracles and to others, impossible communications I have been blessed with. Indeed, the helping hand of our rescuer. Jesus. He has been with me when I did not know who He was. He has whispered words to warn and guide my life to love rather than follow my indifference or even hatred of other people and really, myself.
The only way for me is to silence my mind and listen. A very old desert father in the third century put it perfectly. “Where is your savior? Why don’t you ask Him yourself? He said listen” He doesn’t lie to me and if I really am quiet and listen, He will talk to me and tell me truth about the path of Holiness. That narrow path that anyone can walk. Neither looking left nor right but walking true. Listen and walk true to the spirit of God.
A hectic day with the usual errands and heavy work. A friends mother needed some work on her vehicle and it turned out rather complicated. Shredded wiring, trouble codes and the usual inaccessible places.
One more detail on that, a new dipstick which was only available about 25 miles away. The rest of the family was processing firewood with the usual plethora of chain saws, trailers, wedges, ice water and good gloves.
Dry and dead trees were wedged and fell with that mixture of snapping and rustling turning louder and with a rending tear of the notch, a thumping crash felt and heard. The chain saws began their work slicing and dicing the branches and measuring with the bars, a nice 16 inches long. Dry stuff on the hoof that gave off bowling pins mixing music together. Good for this winters burns in the parlor stove.
I went to town to get some fuel and had time to run after that dipstick down off the big highway that connects our two states. The part was correct and when I turned from my parking spot, I felt a bump and truck began to lean a bit and in 50 feet, the truck was parked with a destroyed front tire. No spare. Well, there was one under the frame that has been there since the late nineties. Flat and rusted in place. That was OK because there wasn’t any Jack or lug wrench. B prepared was turned into a B flat tire. It looked rather the worse for wear. All floppy and the treads were hardly there anyway. Probably ran over a nail or a beer cap I t thought. Sidewall failure.
It would have been a disaster on the road at speed. No accident happened in front of an auto parts store. I tried calling on my cell but the signal was terrible, always is up on the big St.Croix hill. I went outside to my leaning Ford Ranger and logged into the nearby grocery store that has good WiFi. It was about 3 o’clock. Second time the old truck had failed at a very slow speed.
The last time it failed, a tie rod end fell off in our parking lot. That is one of two parts that are connected to the steering mechanism. Providence, and once again, my life was saved by the Lord. “Coincidence” some folks say. A double negative was my response.” Yeah, right” He is always good. Obviously it wasn’t my time to leave the planet.
So I called home to the firewood team and there wasn’t much to be done. Then I called triple A and they said “due to a high level of requests there would be a delay in response time.” Sounded like I had just called the power company after a bad storm. It was OK but I regretted not bringing a book along.
People started stopping and rolling down windows asking if I needed help. One of them was a man I know pretty well that goes to the same Bible study every week. “Just waiting for the tow truck, thanks!” He asked if he could do something and I answered I could use lunch. He smiled and they drove off to the north. The grocery store was about 200 feet the other way. He might have thought I was making light of my situation. I wasn’t
A man in his middle thirties or so walked up to my open window and asked the same question. At that point I got out of the truck, shook his hand and thanked him for his concern. Quickly it seemed, we began really talking. Who are you, where do you live things. The conversation engendered by my curiosity, started towards dealing with disappointments. I noticed no wedding ring and he said he was divorced. I said something commiserating and then asked if he had children.
It began the revelation between two men, strangers that friendship was being offered. Delighted we pressed on with two boys for each of us and his had cowboy names. I asked if it was a well known country singer’s name and he affirmed it and I remarked that the singer was a man of God. He smiled and agreed. We were off way past the pulpit and the pews and started getting deep. He told me of his childhood church history and I replied that I had met many preachers of that denomination that illuminated grace and the love of Christ.
“An Episcopal Priest saved my life when I was freezing outside of his home, I was then living in my truck” I know he loved Jesus and I loved him. Not the usual of ‘not our denomination’ judgment. He lit up and told me he wasn’t much on church attendance. I then spoke truth to him that that does not have much to do with intimacy with the living Spirit of Jesus, really. I read C.S. Lewis and his mentor, George MacDonald a lot. They taught me those things.
We spoke of our lives. He works with machines that package candy bars, 100 a minute. He fixes them when they misbehave. I talked about my half century of owning an automotive repair shop and of being completely foolish in being unprepared completely for a simple flat tire on the old company truck. Things that people speak about when getting to know one another. It went on quickly enough and we began to delight in our ‘chance’ meeting.
I took a leap of faith and stated that our meeting was not chance but the whole reason I was there having a dead Ford Ranger and he was there to extend a hand to a stranger. It was our Lord putting us together to encourage him in his now renewed interest in these things. I almost felt like a pastor again . It was just what I needed as well. I had been feeling rather down that morning and my wife was trying to tell me I was very useful around the farm. After all, I speak like an idiot at times but that does not make me one.
I am often weak and don’t feel adequate enough to for my ego and past sole support of our place. Our strong son is now the strength we need and of course, that is why I bought the used chain saw from a second hand store the day before. It needed sharpening and carburetor adjustment. My son sharpened it well and I set the idle and off I went. I was working my son and all the family were loading and sawing too.
Soren, my son, dropped some huge dead trees. It was sweaty and noisy. It was good. I was reminded of my life and health and the beauty of our family life once again. (Now back to that flat tire.)
I got back in the our truck to wait, maybe write a note for the tow truck and looked up and he had arrived. Good timing, again. He was looking for me. He knew the area but there are hundreds of cars and trucks there.
The tow truck operator told me he would meet me at the grocery store parking lot while I bought lunch and we were off. I got extras in case he needed lunch too. He did not want any hot fried chicken, so I ate it all. A pleasant 30 mile flat bed drive home and it became easy work to push the truck onto the hoist and take off the tire. We obtained a spare and tools. Never had a flat since.
Now it became evident that this conversation with that young man down south was fulfilling work and it was very good. Another inconvenient pause in life to meet someone and have each of us encouraged. Most likely the whole reason for the perfectly safe place to have the flat
The B flat became Be sharp and I began to see. As a musician and punster it seems to fit this story perfectly.
It was a hard morning to get ready for a 30+ mile drive south. It was early, my coffee was getting cold and I was getting cold as well. It was still dark and I was getting depressed. It was from fear of the world’s ways and loss I was seated in the impossible heavenly beauty and renewed and encouraged once again. The usual triggers that affect us: Checking account down under a C note, bills creating a breeze magnet on the table and prices getting into the ridiculous range at the grocery stores. Six bucks for a somewhat light loaf of bread? It must be organic, Vegan and sort of good for you if you like that sort of thing.
It is not good for anyone in the family to concentrate on those negative things, let alone the destruction of our state and country. Demented teachers running hard after perversion and seduction of children that, impossibly, seem paramount to the education agenda. No one I talk to has the slightest interest of those ideas, incredulous of how such a thing has happened.
Certainly the striped and incorrect depiction of our flag folks will respond to the above short paragraphs. I have strong memories of being underway on my Navy ship, flying the flag night and day. With a strong light upon it. The real flag, Superman’s flag of “ Truth, Justice and the American way” Not indoctrination, brain washing and the Orwellian ways. No one I meet, casual or acquaintances, has any truck with this nonsense. It’s the rural life of family, neighbors and reality.
It was time for the ritual which my young son enjoys. Laying out his coffee equipment before he awakens. Thermos, sugar and long stirring spoon. Turning on the Keurig and holding the storm door open for him (from the outside to clear his load of lunch, motorcycle helmet and warm jacket.) Then standing on the porch that faces the driveway to wave him off. It is a family tradition. If he is driving his car, he keeps the dome light on briefly so I can see him waving back. I watch till he turns north at the end of the ¼ mile driveway. With colder temps and snow, the bike goes into the storage shop and his pickup comes out of the big shop door. Power door. The exhaust from the truck swirls and a bit of heat is lost until his remote commands the door to close. The luxury of a heated garage with a hoist and many tools from the days of running a repair shop.
The parlor wood stove is now working well with new firebricks and angle/strap supports. All installed by their son. welded, ground brick to fit and cleaned and got filthy in the process. It works so much better. Warmth in later fall is welcome and secure feeling.
And so there I sit, in my chair in the dark living room of early morning. Holding my coffee, looking up at our library walk and above it at the big half round window. This morning, it was perfectly aligned just for me and, showing the families favorite constellation, Orion. His belt and his sword clear and the words came loud and clear . “He made me alive, when I was dead and he raised me up and seated me with Christ. And it’s by His grace that I am saved and it’s through faith, the very gift of God.” a.
Once again, I know my creator is smiling at me and the ‘coincidence’ perfectly arranged to show me I am seen and loved. The message is clear. Jesus is with us and sees all the trepidation and troubles of our lifes. “This time too, it will be OK” Just as the way the Lord has used his power and audible voice to literally save my life several times. This time the Lord of Lords is with me. It is not the book of Job, It is the new Testament books of Jesus healing and loving that are reflected in that window. High above and in the darkness. My family is seen and we are not alone.
There it is. A rainbow, in it’s original glory. Rain reflecting the colors of the spectrum. A symbol that the Lord said He would give us as a sign that He would never flood us again.
Quite a few people have taken the symbol and the miracle of refracted light and have used it to illuminate fractured light of their own designated symbols and message.
There are many people that also have taken the beauty of the rainbow and used it as a symbol of a product. Quite harmless but still, diminishing the astonishment a child sees. Do you remember the first time? I remember the first time my son saw it. He was fascinated with the arc and even went to England to meet Ken Ham that came up with building a 1:1 copy of Noah’s commanded Arc. Rainbows of covenant between us and the Lord.
Another outfit decided that the rainbow would instead be a symbol of freedom for them. The concept does not make sense in some ways. Freedom? from what? The rainbow’s only freedom is freedom from an earth flood.
The Governor of our state thinks it is appropriate to fly a rainbow flag for a month celebrating endorsing the hijacking of the beautiful rainbow image. For freedom to embrace perversion. How enlightened. It will please 5% of the population that are on board with birth control by having pregnant men.”How many fingers Winston?” (Brave New World)
Remember Judy Garlands song, ‘somewhere, over the rainbow’ ? That symbolized the promise. We of the last century (don’t ask) would never believed that someday our public schools would be teaching the ‘new’ symbol and language. No more does the rainbow offer a promise of protection and commitment. It now offers the symbol of flesh used for pleasure and a prime focus of our awokened sensibilities. Awoken to the real freedom of endorsement of a child being able to be whatever sex they want to be. When our new Supreme Court Justice cannot define what the word ‘woman’ really means, then we are on the way to Ephesus or Pompeii redux.
Maybe the words ‘on the way’ are inappropriate. That train is here, at the station, engine idling. It has already arrived . How about sliding open that boxcar with the really neat rainbow painted on it? Oh look, it’s already open but there’s nothing inside but an unpleasant odor. What’s in the rest of them? Famous authors and ‘experts’ for Newspeak magazine perhaps. Professors and liberal teachers to indoctrinate the children.
That open boxcar in particular had a whole wardrobe for the King! Splendid it is said. A veritable rainbow of color and coordinated accessories. The parade has already started and has startled one young boy…”the King doesn’t have any clothes on!” He is walking around, prideful in his power. Naked and seen as a fool. You and I know the difference between men and Women. Counterfeit money is in the till. Try and spend it. Jack GatorScribe
There was nothing to be done about getting discharged after 2 years at sea. A big disappointment for me and my division Chief. He cried when I was led away in cuffs. After all, the next step for me was the same one he took. Brown shoe navy, separate mess decks. Promotion with perks.
My discharge said ‘Undesirable’ Bad paper it is called and loosing that Top Secret clearance came with it. It was years that I lived with the tag of that paper and it certainly lurked in my spirit as true. I felt I was indeed undesirable. I joined a big commune in Minneapolis when I returned from California. The New Riverside Cafe. (motorcycle diaries 5 )
I worked with old and new hippies and I fit right in. The only veteran, and after a time, I told the story to a co-worker and she told it to her father. He was ‘connected’ and he wrote a letter to the Judge Advocate General in D.C. (His last name was Kennedy.) The revised discharge arrived and it now says Honorable. I would never have the small beautiful rural farm, my unbelievable wife and two great sons if I had not been able to get the GI loan to buy the place in NW Wisconsin. Another ‘coincidence’ In my motorcycle diary series.
Years went by and then there was a phone call from Maryland. It was Chuck’s wife telling me that Chuck was in hospice with cancer and would like a visit. Long way, expensive flights and rental car. There wasn’t any money to do so when a good Navy friend showed up at our home with an envelope with 10 hundred dollar bills.. “Go visit him Norm” and the ex Navy chief turned and walked away.
I flew to D.C., and during the approach to landing I saw all the lights up and down the coast and thought, it says in the Bible that God knows every hair on every head, impossible, that’s a lot of hair! Immediately I heard the Lord say immediately, “That’s no problem, it’s a finite number” Oh, I forgot that detail.
Chuck did not want to talk about my refreshing new faith, just watch movies together and talk old times. I talked about Jesus anyway and when the week was up, it was time to go. Chuck could still walk and we went outside when I was leaving. I said: “When it’s my time to ‘cross the bar’ (seaman’s term) I want to see you there” Big splashes of water were on Chucks jacket and it wasn’t raining. I don’t know those things work, but I believe that he will indeed be there to embrace me and I will see that smile on my saviors face I have been longing for. Face to face.
About a month later, I got a call from Chuck and he asked “What are the words?” There are no ‘words’ Chuck, I answered. Let’s just talk to Jesus about it and ask Him to forgive all of the things we did together and apart. The young men talked a long time and then Chuck asked “is that it?” ‘Pretty much’ was my answer and they closed their talk well. (I also forgave Chuck for all that I had been led into as well.) Cathartic for both men. A month later Chuck’s wife called and said that Chuck wanted to be baptized. That was also very good news.
Less than a month later, I was deep into listening to a sermon at a Baptist church nearby. Eyes closed and quiet as a good Deacon should be in the front row. Suddenly, there was Chuck before him, walking away towards the drum set on the platform, pointing over his shoulder saying, “It’s better than you said!”
My eyes flew open and I began weeping and and saying “It’s Chuck…I just saw him..leave.” Julie began asking what was happening and so forth. Upon returning home, the answering machine had a message and it was from Chuck’s wife. She simply said; “Chuck passed away this morning” We called her back and thanked her for the call and then told her about the brief visit Chuck made before leaving at that same time. It seemed to be very reassuring for her for everyone that knows me and my stories. A gift from our Lord.. Why?
Therefore, another experience for me to use when explaining why I feel the presence of Jesus so strongly. It’s called having a convincing witness, It’s a perfect way to relate to others and it takes a bit of trust to accept that story. It’s OK, its real, I was there. I didn’t believe in Pompeii until I had been there. There is so much detail as there is in real stories. Read the Gospel of John that’s a real story too.
There are many such stories akin to this. Perhaps folks attribute these things to ‘good luck’ or ‘good Karma’, ‘The luck of the draw’ or my favorite “’it was an amazing coincidence!”
That’s OK. Seeds are planted and the sower goes on to do it many, many times. all. Stay alert readers, God is presenting Himself to you more than you can perceive. Listen as He is for you and the path can be hard to understand. Most of the time I am still amazed. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
This column appeared in the Paper around March of 2020. I snipped out the column and did not snip out the date. Often, I will look at a column with a fresh revelation about it’s subject and do a little bit of rewriting. Just a little. This one reflects a thought I had on December 7th as I was playing my viola with my family worship team in a city named after an Indian Chief, an hour south of the our ranch. Osceola. It seemed appropriate to share, after all the first motorcycle I owned was an Indian Chief. It’s pretty good.
FALLING IN LOVE Rewritten on December 8th, 2020, Edited on October 14th 2025
There is an emptiness in everyone that longs to be filled. That longing is in all of us, all. You can choose to ignore it at a fairly young age or put it aside for a season of decades. But, it’s still there and must be satisfied. It isn’t wishful thinking or a romance of sorts. It’s closest description is holding your breath for as long as you live. That emptiness is just as painful and destructive as not breathing. It’s akin to a hole inside of you that never is filled by you.
When in the womb, we have the answer for that longing. The connection with that emptiness is fulfilled by the presence of the lover surrounding you. That is, until you leave that warm swimming pool inside. An immediate cry comes forth. You cried, we all do as soon as we take that first breath. Disconnect, absence of the surrounding oneness, the lover of your soul and the supplier of all you need. Food, air and communication. It was offered with tenderness and awe of your life.
That longing now again needs to be filled. The food and comfort are given now in our vulnerable existence and that works. It’s not as intimate as it was, but now we can cry out if we are lonely or hungry or hurt. The child knows much more than we realize and there is one time in history that two unborn children knew they were near one another and moved as best they could in the womb towards each other. I’ll tell you in a bit if you don’t know who they were.
So a child grows into adulthood, and finds the world their mollusk that is never quite good enough to fill that eternal longing for that security and romance. The one we all long for. There is only one thing that can satisfy. Not money or power. Not sex or children. None of those things can. There is love from people or pets that seems to satisfy but they have an unpleasant habit at times of dying or betraying us. Realizing that the emptiness wasn’t really filled after all, the search begins anew. Spoiler alert: There is one thing that fills without a doubt and it lasts forever. It is the Lord Himself! Yes, I know. Another preacher. But this preacher knows the truth from experience.
We were created for this romance from the beginning of time. “In the beginning..” That’s when time started and throughout mankind’s existence the longing for the Lord has never ceased. When Mary and Elizabeth (her cousin) met in their pregnancy, Jesus in Mary and John in Elizabeth leaped for joy within the womb. John knew it was his Lord and Jesus knew it was His beloved.
As is our basic training for eternity here, we sort of know what love is and you don’t read a book about your future spouse to know them. You talk to them, look upon them and know them throughout the hunger for that longing. It’s almost enough but the real romance requires reading the love letters and talking a lot with the lover of your innermost being. We were created in His image. What does that mean? Making a decision to love someone is the image. We must choose to love anyone, and He chose to love us. We are identical in that way. We must choose. No one, not even God can make us love. He will not cross the threshold of our heart unless we ask Him. Ask Him about everything. He will fill that longing and love you as you decide to love Him. He always loves us, we must choose to love him. Let the romance begin. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson /aka Jack Gator
Jack gators grace notes 