‘Markings’ This was the title of a book of notes. It was written by a very noted man from Sweden. Diplomat, ambassador, acquaintance of Presidents, kings and prime ministers. At his unfortunate early demise, he was Secretary General of the United Nations.
Dag Hammarskjöld from Stockholm Sweden. He was an avid mountain climber, very good at it and he would leave trail markers at certain ascent areas to remind him and other climbers. Usually a pile of rocks. Alike the rocks piled by the Jordan by Joshua. A mark and memory.
The rocks that Dag left not only guided him on descent, but also guided and reassured climbers on their way. ‘This way is doable, this is the right way, I remember for you, the correct route.
He was a man of deep faith and in this book was excellent advice for all of us. For us to unite in one life (via activa via comtemplativa)Calling and Vocation. He was bridging the chasm between the world of devotion and the world of work.
That book has astonishing knowledge to me. Recently I wrote a column titled Vocation. It’s in the archives, I used the Latin word Vocare to denote our job that results from the calling the Lord whispers over and over to us. When I listened to Him, I realized He was calling me to use words of devotion wherever I found my work.
For instance, someone that is called to protect and serve having a vocation of a policeman. His contemplative life joined with his ‘job’ I have never met an officer that did not have the base of him based on anything else. We have met some that didn’t and one can see the difference and the frustration. Same for us, all of us. “Why did I leave that repair job that paid well and find my self playing worship music for half the pay?” Things like that.
Yet, it was relaxing, being with a worship team and the presence of the Lord massaging my spirit. It was hard to rehearse and be in the ‘practice room’. The manual labor helped my changing strings and lugging that case around (or cases)
The obedience to our calling is the most important decision we make. The vocation falls in place. You will know where you are being led, it’s watching and listening to Him who knows all things about you and has made you just for the place you are being led to.
“The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day; What one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination. 1.
Wisdom from beloved writers and men of faith. It’s always pretty good. Jack Gator
1. C. S. Lewis They Stand Together. The letters of C.S. Lewis to to Arthur Greeves
There is one word we use more than any other in our speech. It is related to everything we do as well. The Latin word is Tempus. Time
Think about it if you have the time. What time is it anyway? Did you set the timer?
No time like the present. Time is money. It was just his time. Time’s a wasting. About time!
Try it some time and see how long you last before using the word. I was lap swimming the other day and usually start by counting the laps and then at the far end of the pool, there is a big clock on the wall. I can see how much time I have left before I have to get out. There is another clock in the locker room to make certain I leave before ‘times up’ and the lifeguard ducks her head in the entry door asking if there is anyone there. I got out on time today. She has a rigid time schedule too.
Driving home it seemed I was not at the right speed for the cars and trucks behind me. The biggest dial in front of me points out how much time would elapse with the formula for velocity coupled with time (MPH). I am always being passed at all times, it seems that most drivers are out of time and concerned they will not get to where they need to be at the correct time. Deer collisions, accidents while not passing at the right time, or driving by a squad at one of those times are secondary concerns.
I volunteer as an assistant director at a big church and over my comm I announce the next shots that need to be taken for the video to be dynamic and follow the time signature. It helps the director to put the shots in the video mix. It takes more time to explain than when it occurs. Seconds to the next take. It’s critical to the timing to tell the operators where they should be and giving them about two measures or so before the shot is ‘taken’ by the the director. Like a video ballet, and if the timing is right, seamless and pleasing to people in the audience. Setting up the shots along with who is playing at the right time. I particularly like the shots of the keyboard and hands just when that slower part happens. Excellent music is, of course, timeless. While the band is playing, there are very large screens that show the ‘ballet’on each side of the ballet. It really helps ‘tell the story’ No one sees us and they shouldn’t even be aware of us. (see men in black productions)
Speaking of music, there is a song on an album done by Pink Floyd that is still one of the top songs searched on the internet. The Album is ‘Dark side of the Moon’ and the title of the famous song is, of course, Time. It’s in F#minor. I myself like the rototoms in the rhythm with the clock sounds
In medieval times, the town clock would ring often at 8am, noon and 6pm to remind the townsfolk it was time to pray. Good idea to pray, I did while I was doing my swim today and realized how locked in I was by my time, the time, all time and began to relax and not worry about what the clock said. It’s hard to do but it seemed to start making a difference in me. I was talking to our Lord just before I sat on the edge of the pool and He said these things to me. Read all about Him from the first words of scripture: ‘In the beginning’ that’s when He invented time. There is eternity, and time is just for us to measure the seasons and our heartbeats. How old are you? Isn’t it time to eat? Stop watching your watches and perhaps you will see what I am saying to you. ” Can we talk?” I’ll make the time. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
A very old story from the Desert Fathers describes a priest from Armenia , Ethymius the Great who lived to be 95 and died in 373 A.D. He was known to make baskets and supported the poor.
As he went to the market to sell some small articles (perhaps baskets he wove) he met a crippled man on the roadside. He was asked a favor by this man to carry him to town and he proceeded to sell his baskets after he set the man down. He sold everything and each time he returned to the crippled man, the man asked him how much money he had acquired and then asked him to buy him a cake and other things each time. He then asked this priest for another favor, “carry me back to where you found me” He did so and then the man told him “You are filled with Divine blessings, in Heaven and Earth” Lifting his eyes, Ethyminus did not see the man but an Angel of the Lord.
This story stuns me with the truth of carrying one another’s burdens. Instead of just saying “gosh, that’s too bad” and ending a conversation, there is much more to this carrying. How many times I have ignored what immediately fills my spirit and mind and moved on. Once in a while, I am reminded by that still, small voice we all know to stay or return and listen. Listening is the key to it all. After all, if a man in his late 80’s can carry a man to market, I can at the very least listen!
I must overcome my eagerness to get to the next assignment I have in my mind. Get those hose clamps and then stop to purchase orange juice, a small pie and some English cucumbers for supper along with other ingredients. “Gosh, that sounds bad for you, I gotta run, I’ll see you later” Or usually never again if that person is a stranger to you. Sound familiar?
Think carefully on the book of Galatians where it says “carry one another’s burdens” How is this done? Just like crossing a set of railroad tracks! Stop, look and listen. Stop and look at them, Listen to their stories. See what immediately comes to mind to help carry their burden, even if it isn’t convenient to your time, thought or wallet. They are just as valuable as you are. Precious created people just as you are. They are right were they are supposed to be as are you. The train rushes by and you are stopped. It’s as though the train suddenly stopped and the conductor stepped down and waved you over to park your car and climb aboard.
“There is someone on board you need to meet” the conductor says to you.
Maybe the suddenness would prompt you to do so. Maybe. I have been asked three times sometimes by that conductor to come and see and often reluctantly did so.
It’s not immediate to me but it’s good and I’m learning to listen more often and pause for that quiet voice to say something back. Whatever it is. The key is bearing with the life’s troubles that you are faced with every day an whether it is your troubles or anthers, to listen to our creator and follow Him. He knows these things and He knows you, personally. Listen and the decision you make is the freedom you are given to choose the path before you. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
And there I was, with a dual citizenship of a prayer volunteer and a media volunteer. I thought I was going to do something else and moved my ‘vocation’ or calling to another location so I could pray for musicians that pray with their music. Vocation comes from the the word Vocare which means To Call. It’s not a career. A doctor who has a career has first been called.
If we have found the peace that passes all understanding and can wait patiently, we will indeed be called. In the waiting room in hospitals, we wait to be called. That is somewhat similar, although we do not sit and wait for 30 years or so in that room, reading magazines that are not to our liking. I have been ‘called’ many times in my life and often it was after waiting a while. More than 30 years actually. I moved about a bit however and did do a lot of reading. I was waiting for Vocare and I did not know that.
Student, laborer, Naval radioman, movie projectionist, musician, auto mechanic and other ‘random’ occupations, traipsing through life and falling into various professions. Random it seemed and some of those jobs are better left unwritten about. Why this drifting about with a precious life to enjoy? Dependent on a breeze to detach me from the branch of my life and float down to yet another location, a wandering sign. It seemed so random but here I am, my odometer has spun around and my body is rusty and noisy but it still works.
One night, I was called and that Vocare has led me places that have utilized skills that I acquired along the snow drifts traveled. Lately, that calling has led me to a place that I would not have guessed but the life and training has equipped me to do so. Ears trained to hear beauty and eyes to see it. There is more to come, always is for us all. Singing prayer with others for years, often just us facing a room filled with empty chairs. This led to a Vocare to pray for other people as I knew prayer was a connection to eternity and it’s creator.
A good friend introduced me to a large church to help him pray. I was immediately struck by the hunger I felt there because it was the same hunger I feel. Now those chairs were filled with people that felt the way I do. I knew what to tell them. He is with them and He is for them. It was the connection with my calling to feel the presence of our Lord.
I was gently reminded by the team leader not to reveal details or struggles of my life, just to listen to people and reassure them and pray with them for their fears and sometimes with tears between us. It was good and right and I felt fulfilled and called to this. Compassion.
It often takes a wounded one to extend healing to another. 1
An opportunity to join my son at another campus came up. He is the director of the media team there and I could ride with him as well. (it’s quite a commute of 60 miles)
I immediately requested a transfer to the prayer team to that campus. It was hard as I had made friends of volunteers and with team leaders. The transfer came through and I began at the new location. When I arrived, the prayer team leader informed me that his team was adequately staffed and I would be put in reserve. I began praying for staff and volunteers as the opportunity arose. It was my main desire at the first location actually. My son and I get to the new location early and it is easy to connect with staff and volunteers.
It works well and I am also able to visit and pray with the band. My son invited me to join his media team. There were vacancies most of the time and some of the positions were advantageous to good production. I began training in various consoles As I write this, I am in the position of assistant director. Very rewarding. I have access to the rehearsals and just listening to them I visualize where the story is being told with the musicians. This enhances the visual and auditory structure of the story we are responsible for presenting.
Now I enjoy that dual role of prayer and media volunteer! Another combination of vocations. My background in radio production was a great help. Communication headsets and lots of dials and switches were familiar. I was called to communication at the age of 13 after all. Amateur radio and attendant electronics and Morse code skills. The initial contacting of other radio operators begins with the letters CQ or Seek You. It seems to be a similar calling to Seek and connect. Perhaps that was the training I needed to enter into these two worlds of prayer and production of an environment that embraces it.
People on the production teams are successful if they are never noticed. All the lights, sound and video screens enhance the story, the greatest story. We even wear black clothing that does not reflect light so we are not seen by the cameras which need reflected light.
What gifts I have been given by our Lord! A Vocare to listen and to see and then help others hear and feel the presence of the eternal God. Random it is not. You too have been prepared for a vocation to serve the world and reflect the love of Christ. Even if you wear black clothing you reflect that light. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
It seemed to have started back in the fifties, An uneasiness, the knowledge that there was no future, for anyone. There was a war and it wasn’t the usual war for a child in grade school. Suddenly the sirens became active and it sounded like the battle for Britain in the old grade school classroom. Becoming a musician playing piano, I liked the low bass notes as the siren dropped octaves and finished akin to a huge motor coming to a stop. You know the sound, every small town in America has one.
It’s a horn and it rotates just like a Leslie B3 organ. Whooping and penetrating with incredible sound pressure from high on the highest building in town. The tornado warning horn. It means extreme danger and take cover. Right away. ‘Duck and cover’ under your desk, the one with metal and wood and then you will be safe from imploding windows. Waiting for the brilliant flash and having seen the Nevada test sites from WWII, the houses blown to bits by a wave of impossible destruction, obliteration. The desk and you would be vapor and the world, as you know it, would disappear along with your Hopalong Cassidy lunch box with a delicious Skippy peanut butter sandwich inside and a tasteless ‘delicious’ apple included. Maybe a thermos of chocolate milk too.
The bomb did not show up, but my belief in a world of wonder and beauty would disappear into the vapor of a lost reason to live. Many times I have had similar excuses for my behaviors.
Those things made me who I am but now, I can glimpse what I am becoming because of Divine providence. This side of eternity, we do not understand many things. I don’t.
It was so easy to look inward for my purpose and my strength. To believe I was the captain of my life and as I stated in one of my columns, inconvenient, every one and every thing was in the way of my fulfillment. Fatherless and basically homeless while living at home gave me the opportunity to create my own world. The church I was taken to every Sunday, all the special clothing and titles and programs was organized by what seemed to be a circus director. Keeping the show going and making certain everyone knew their place. The stained glass ceilings were pretty high up there. Even a scaffold wouldn’t take you high enough to break through. Corporate.
I went inwards and created a world I could control. All the pitfalls were mine to enjoy and even embrace counter culture that embraced me as one of their own. Timothy Leary’s famous quote, [Smash your brains, crack em] Communes that promised freedom became another church with rules and behaviors. Give us your truck, we need it for the farm project. Living in a house that had 30 people with only one bathroom. There was no such thing as privacy. It became surreal and everyone had a path they couldn’t wait to share.
I was in several communes for awhile, a long while. I grokked the ‘youth no future’ crowd. Again, we were masters of our universe that was a spinning cluster of stars within our bellies. Wisdom abounded and it was rubbish. More circus acts. I got older and eternity knocked so gently on my spirit and bid me come. “Leave that life behind and follow Me” Jesus said, a real life, real moral values not special robes and adoration. Just be who you were meant to be and embrace real life.
When asked what his goal was in life a man responded “ Get to college and get a good degree. Then go on to increasing positions in the work place to gather wealth. Then I will have enough money to send my kids to college.”
There is a song by Blood, Sweat and Tears , spinning wheel and it ends with a verse that says: “ Some one is waiting, just for you” Who is waiting just for me and for you? Special us and all our wheeling around is just on training wheels.
I’m going to hop on that Norton Commando 650 and catch up to Elijah and his flamed out chariot. We can ride, side by side, and park on the sea of glass and shout and sing. Creation and created in awe and wonder with eternity to wonder and see Him turn his face towards us and give us peace. It’s pretty good, Jack Gator, Scribe
With much thanks to Henri Nouwen‘s The Wounded Healer
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.
Jack gators grace notes 