jesus

Darwin, Marx and Walmart at Christmas

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Two men we have heard of, and perhaps even read their writing. Secular and worldly writers both of them. Superman religion is an opiate of the people and illusion, no future. Also evolution that man has worked himself up from the brutes against terrific odds. You can justify your voracious ways. It’s easy to understand these viewpoints which totally ignore the necessity of us to answer the questions which we all have within. Why am I here? What or who made the universe? How can something come from nothing? What is the meaning of life?

Everyone has these questions, everyone. It is easy to deny them though because spiritual things are not seen in this world unless we look for them. We are blind and deaf to the truth. What is Christmas all about anyway and what is black Friday?

I remember Christmas in downtown Minneapolis from my early days while I walked around the biggest department store in the Twin Cities. Daytons. Every large window from the sidewalk had everything anyone desired, Model trains and such for myself and my youthful friends. Beautiful stuff. Exotic clothes, hats and shoes. Appliances unknown along with the latest TV sets and phonographs. Dazzling. We would walk around the store which is a city block square.

The best food. There it was, on the top floor, a restaurant serving food that was totally unadvertised and you had to know it was there to go. Exquisite, tasty and classy linen and crystal water glass’

In a very stretchy analogy, I liken this dichotomy to the secular vs spiritual in our society. After all, like the windows in this story, the world is always right before our eyes. Everything you think you would want is on show. Even other people we lust for because of their shape or the clothing they wear. Wallets full of other peoples money, car lots filled with shiny new vehicles. The latest models that are styled right from Holly wood movies to you. A car that appears to be a knockoff of a Formula 1 racer.

Fast food shouted from the freeways on huge, tall billboards. Exit now! get twenty Grey Bastille French burgers! They’re neatly sliced, and the pastry on the buns is exquisite. Everywhere the world beckons us to experience fulfillment and joy from horse racing to the Indianapolis 500. Advertising has reached another new level. not only at Christmas.

It doesn’t work. There is always someone richer or seemingly famous and beautiful that has a much nicer spouse and life than us. Look at the National Perspire at the grocery check out. Envy on our face as we gaze at the latest scandal with the beautiful wife of the revealed grassy knoll shooter. That doesn’t work either. Pick up a “My home and garden are better than yours” magazine or Readers Disgust and laugh at yourself and your pitiful life. There is hope though! Akin to the hidden treasure atop the department store, there is treasure in our world. Affordable treasure for your life. It seems like a steep price tag but the warranty goes forever. And it can be given away and still held!

The real world is indeed filled with fulfillment, joy and adoration. Our King and possessor of all things seen, felt and seen will give us this treasure and it is yours to experience and hold, forever. It is the treasure we all yearn for and once we have it, we can’t wait to give it to others.

Christmas is rightly focused on giving. The celebrations with bells and choirs and candles light the way to the best gift given. Wrapped in cloth and as delicate and astonishing as the perfect gift.

Sign up with an oath to share and enjoy with others that deserve this treasure as much as you do. You will hear our Creator tell you things and again and again; tell you that you are His treasure and gift from Him and His Son. We must give up on the old, lustful world inside of us and open our hearts to truth and reality, forever. This gift never goes out of stock, it becomes more beautiful the more you give it to others. It cannot be ordered from Amazon or found on eBay. There is a catalogue that has all the details and is available in stores throughout the land. It is also found in bedside drawers in hotels!

It is handed to you as your heart beats strongly and joy and tears overflows. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving. It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Rome, Are We any Different from Them?

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

My first thoughts on the very beginning was what a powerful nation Rome was. And yet, from poor leadership and inflated senses of self, she fell.

The philosophic, the scientific and the religious thoughts of today seem to be universal and timeless. My favorite is a slight variation from Descartes: “I think, therefore I am an intellectual” Or perhaps a young student who knows no history and runs on temporary feelings and some fools advice.

The mindset, the world outlook all colored by experiences is obvious, but still profound.

Since I have read Francis Schaeffer’s book ‘How should we then live? several times, the concept of compromise and personal satisfaction runs through the whole book. Or; “how ya doin’? Fine, thanks! How’re you doin? Fine, thanks for asking” ad infinitum.

The god’s we are now embracing instead of Jesus, seem to be somewhat familiar to Romes. Universal reset to the golden calf that ‘just appeared’ out of the fire of, the struggles of life. My generations gods: Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll. A little commune life spiced up with all those things. Communist Hippies. Precursors to the Woke generation. I am special (true!) You are not (false) All truth is false and that’s the truth! “Eat the rich”, People power, Rent Strike! Make enough money for a pitcher of beer across Cedar Avenue, West bank of Minneapolis which now is totally Somali immigrants feeding money back home from fooling the dole que. I lived there after discharge and it was headquarters of world class musicians and hippies. They don’t speak English there now and they hate America except for our money. I don’t judge them for their race, just their ties to people who hate Israel and us. Thanks president Biden for flying them in on Walz’ sanctuary city scam.

The Roman Empire. Similar to ours in many ways. Conqueror of the known world. Roads everywhere. Most powerful country, best military, Controlled civilization with Caesar in absolute control to keep the roaming gangs in line.

The battle of Christian believers in the first 300 years were pretty bad and then just after Constantine made the state religion Baptist, the whole thing went sour with apathy and slouchy living. Violence, weird and badly done artwork, fascination with sex and of course, the games and government stimulus checks. Followed by inflation. Sound familiar?

Just like us. Then the whole thing fell apart and Rome was not the big guy in the world. Their freeways and secondary roads are somewhat still in use! Just a little narrow and bumpy and the bridges are iffy.

It seems that Greek civilization was not the main model we have used today for government and structure of society. It’s Rome. Not too long ago, our nation rejected our Creator and his Son for no god at all, Hegel, Darwin, Marx and Brilliant Steven Hawking. The god of our own power and science. Pretty flimsy religion.

Oh the Methodists, Baptists, Lutherans and Catholics putter along in competition with one another for the ‘Truth’ and the most perfect worship and doctrine. Good musicianship helps the popularity chart as well. Apathy again. We care about the state of our country and talk about it a lot! As long as we have our goodies, lake homes and boats, recliners and bigger TV screens than our friends, we are on top. Until we get older and weird looking and forget who we are and who we are in God. As if we knew about God in our “used tea bag minds“.1.

We must be very careful to not be as sarcastic as I usually am. There is something wrong with our country, our world and Francis says it well. ‘How should we then live?’ Jesus Jesus Jesus, nothing else will do. Then It’s pretty good. Jack Gator scribe

1.Frederic Capon

First things First

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There is a strong tendency among men to jump into action. An immediate thought of doing, something, anything that will show the way we feel. An action defined by using our strength or resources to accomplish the task that seems to fit the bill. Demonstrating commitment or love to the world at large or a small piece of it.

I felt he I was really getting through to my family, especially my wife, when I would do something on her behalf. Fixing something, maybe even a meal or a surprise action or gift. It wasn’t enough. That is my love language. I would wonder what I did wrong and why if it felt so good. Why it didn’t last or feel the same to someone else. There was something missing. I don’t listen to her, I listen to myself.

There is a short piece in the Bible (have patience now, this is important) that the most important thing we can do is love our Lord with all our strength, spirit and mind. That’s the first part of two. The second part is a lot like it.

Love your neighbor as yourself. It’s like an instruction manual with only two things to do to find fulfillment, peace and romance. The simple part of any instructions, you have to do them in order. You cannot build a house without first laying a foundation. You cannot lay a foundation without preparing the place. Before that is perhaps the architect’s plan and so forth. There is always a sequence to building and it starts with a vision.

Where does that vision come from? And why does it fit in with your life? Do we do the first things first?

There is a very old piece of wisdom which I may have mentioned before. It’s from the Jewish Talmud and it is a conversation between a Rabbi and Elijah the Prophet:

He asks Elijah when Messiah is coming. Why don’t you ask Him yourself? He is out by the city gate. The Rabbi complains that the Messiah has deceived him for not showing up that day when He said He would. Elijah laughs and says, “ He didn’t say He was coming, He said to listen”

And so, we make the same mistake, over and over again. Be still and listen.

We jump right into the second part of Jesus’ explanation of all of scripture, of all the prophets to love our neighbor. But again, we gloss over the first command which is Love Him. All of us. All of who we are.

There is no shortcut to loving by going to work. I have experienced this in several ways. I was a part of a ministry in Lino Lakes called, ‘God’s grease Monkeys’ This must be a calling for me!

I was sort of on board with this Loving God command but I wasn’t waiting for that still, small voice of the Lord. I thought I was on the right track, seemed logical. I grabbed tools and showed up, even recruited a some good friends. The ministry was not where I needed to be on my own reckoning. I was Not listening for His quiet voice. After all, I saw the newspaper column that wrote about those grease monkeys, a Sunday edition of all things which I hardly ever buy. Who needs that much fire starting paper just because the funny section is a good memory?

Now, the same thing happens when I try with works of sacrifice to show Julie my love. I do not listen to her as she needs me to listen and not rush into talking or doing. Just listen. That’s how the house is built. Not buying 2 by 4’s when we think that’s all that is needed. Listen and hear well. All of our heart, soul and mind. Love the Lord first by listening to him. He will show us how to listen to others and understand their voices . It’s hard some of the time, but it’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Tis the Season to be Jolly

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Photo taken at Gone Green Recycling

It seemed like an incredible opportunity. Snow cones with jam and maple syrup. Enough snow for sure. At twenty cents apiece it would be thousands. Road side stand. That’s the ticket!

Perusing auctions about the state, I came across a really practical item. Something that could replace my old walk-behind machine and make the long driveway and parking lot be usable. Above photo.

A record breaking season of foot after foot of snow can get tedious as you well know up here in the North Country Fair. There is more than usual grumpiness and complaining in town. Strangers at the post office, smokers outside the bar. It gets to be humorous with everyone. After all, sometimes feet of snow slow things down and tailgating to avoid first in line deer collisions is over for the season.

A lot of folks with the big F250’s and western plows make a decent amount of seasonal money. The problem with that approach was the tall mounds of snow next to the driveways and roads. You know how it was. Cautiously, creeping out to make certain there was no traffic coming. And the mess and eventually, no place to further put the snow! Dump trucks of it after small town America finishes clearing main street.

Snow blowers, good ones, can throw the snow a ways and solve the pile problems. Not everyone had a machine that could effectively throw it that far. Especially the wet and often slushy snow or the ice that the slush turned into at night. In town, of course, shoveling is the only option. Snow blower haze on the next door neighbors windows is frowned upon.

We now have a utility tractor with a bucket, forks and so forth. If the skids on the bucket are set just right, our youngest son (who bought the tractor) can remove the snow without removing gravel from the driveway. The snowblower attachment we had for the Simplicity Lawn tractor needs auger bearings, transmission oil seals too and they are very labor intensive to replace. We have an old walk behind blower that is very tedious as the driveway is approximately 2 furlongs long and quite a big wider. It would take me 6 trips or so just to do the driveway. The parking lot is big and is then done afterwards. We shovel the side walks and various paths to the wood shed and storage buildings. No cattle or chickens this year so the long walk to the barn is not used.

How much to charge and how to contract townships for the tough roads through many lake owners- properties? Fuel, time, repairs would be factors. They used to do it 40 years ago. I would wait out by the door, listening for that diesel engine, snorting away nearby and watch that road grader with a huge V plow punch a path up the long driveway. A few runs if there was drifting. When he got up to turn around, I would walk out to him with a hot cup of coffee laced with Kalua. He knew it was coming. Well received, well given. He came sooner after that ritual was established.

As many of us ‘old timers’ speak of these things, the past including weather, seem more exciting and real. Examples throughout history are that way. It was better than before. The clothes, the people, the schools, etc. Was it? The storms seem to be tolerable now without free flights inside the house with waltzing tornados accompanying you on wood winds.

Would I be happier with a coonskin cap and a flintlock cradled in my arm this week during deer season? I wouldn’t know if I lived then. I would be the same person. It’s always ‘progress’ and under suspicion as we yearn for things but do not really want them.

Life in the garden was good until we got eager for more. More gold, more power, more success. Pretty old story eh? Why are we like this? We have been given everything that we need, and that is the reason we yearn. I am learning to find satisfaction and joy not around the corner. Right here, right now.

Simple rules from long ago, there are only three of them as I have read: “Be kind, be kind, and the third rule is like those, be kind.” To yourself and in turn, to everyone else. I always come back to the Ardennes forest in WW I as the soldiers began singing Silent night in German, French and English after yet another trench warfare battle. Crossing no-mans-land and sharing precious cigarettes and brandy to celebrate the only true God and lover of all and His birthday. Be kind. It’s pretty good.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Clearing a Pathway to Shelter and Life

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It’s one of the farm chores in the winter. Looking towards the east of this photo is the barn. When we had horses and a few cows, a pathway would have be made from the driveway east about 150 feet or so. If the walk behind snowblower started. We always had a laugh about our snowblower that did not like to start when it was cold. The big snowblower for the driveway was not used for the path. Too many stumps and debris that were hard to see from the tractor seat. The walk behind would not be damaged bumping into such things. Nice and slow and closer to the ground.

The hose for filling the water trough would be laid out next to the path. When the trough was full, the hose which was set up on hooks that were screwed into the garden end posts. Then the hose would be blown out with the air hose from the shop which has a manifold to the water supply. Tedious work and the hose ran right across the parking lot and had a few damaged sections seen in the spring and had to be repaired. It was easier to see the leaks in winter and make note of them.

The chicken coop was next to the barn and of course, needed water as well. We sold the horses and ate the cows and the chicken coop is built on running gear. When a place is cleared nearer to the house it will be much easier to gather eggs and give them food and water. Meanwhile the water had to be taken in a wheelbarrow in summer when the hose and horses were gone. A declaration over breakfast “who’s going to water the chickens?” A brief summery which chickens were sharing a nest and how many eggs should be in it.

Farm life without a stand pipe in the barn. Labor or a lot of money to bury the water line. Which choice to make after cursory glances at the bank balance?

There are other paths that do not require snow blower attachments, or shovels and cups of coffee to accomplish. These are paths much more important than watering troughs or gardens in the spring. Paths for us every hour of our days till transformation to what we really are. We are created as eternal beings. All of us.

A place, a time and a decision can put a path in front of us. I made a decision on an address that had the first three numbers of my old Gibson mandolin as I walked by. 777. It seemed right and stunning. I kept walking into a church because of that sign. A guidepost for only myself that I trusted immediately. I Still go there.

I was walking out to the barn in the middle of a snowstorm and when I reached the barn, there was a white out of snow. The only way back home was to follow that water hose , or be lost. Trust in the creator of all things and He shows us how to walk out of the wilderness. I was lost and now am found.

The shelter He calls us to when we have a bale in each hand when the wind blows bitter and the shadows are dark A.

The architects of large buildings of every kind do not know how pathways are supposed to be built. They watch and look for wear and footprints of the people drawn or working there. Those paths tell them where to put sidewalks. They are called meander lines. No one gets lost in a blizzard there but it can be tedious to find doors if there are no direct walkways.

Be steady on your walk through life and look for that lifeline that is given by the spirit of the living God within you. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

A. Frederick Buechner

Open Windows

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment





It’s momentary. A brief, but time stopping moment in your daily flow through life. An opportunity given without our knowing how it happened, a glimpse of what we all long for. Something more real than our lives seem to be.


Perhaps, reader you are a particular type of artist that is focused on your art. All of us are ‘artists’ in some way because art is a longing for the real reason we are here! The big longing. Why am I here and how am I here?

One of the authors that I know of, has had that reality vision is George MacDonald. A book he wrote, ‘At the the back of the North Wind’ has a sentence that explains the path of connection to the author of all beauty. All Art. The reaching out to us by this artist of all that was, all that is and all that will be, MacDonald’s story says: “Why are you closing My window? There is no window here! I did not say, a window. I said My window” 1.


A reach, a willingness to reveal ourselves. That is the the hardest and most rewarding decision we ever make in our lives. The Lord’s window can only be opened from the inside because that is where the latch is.
You may certainly ask at this point; how is this done? It sounds pretty swell but is it really? How hard is ‘the hardest thing?’ That is another hard thing for me to explain because of not being understood.


There are groups of people that we find ourselves in now and then, sometimes our decision is to be there with them. It immediately makes me a bit wary because I have a tendency to open my window to my heart as a way to show it can be done. Awkward and fulfilling at times. That is the reason this column is written for you to read.

An unexpected shout of judgment from one of the hidden Sanhedrin can be unpleasant when truth is spoken. I was shouted out of a room when I revealed stalking a rapist decades ago with a nine millimeter hidden at my back. “Murderer!” was shouted several times and could not be quelled or explained as this was an open window to my heart. A teaching and revealing moment was not heard. I did not get the chance to explain why this was happening and how I was told to put the pistol under a bush and walk home. I was surprised, I know everyone has wanted to hit someone in the face with a rock. We just don’t like to think about it, let alone discuss it. We are all murderers and worse for those thoughts. The Lord tells us if we even think about those things, we have done them.

When Jack is speaking to Julie,, the windows to her heart are always open. I have to work quickly on my window latch to be of use to her. I’m learning. A bit of anointing oil applied earlier to the latch helps a lot. That oil is hard good work to obtain and the pun is: ‘ It is always Three in One oil.

You can always tell when someone has an open heart. Believe it or not, it’s your choice to look and see. Once you have been with Jesus, the master carpenter that has made those windows in there. The ability to touch that heart is yours. It’s a great gift and is offered to one and all, even me, the broken story teller.


‘No body knows the trouble I’ve seen, no body knows my sorrow’ Old blues song by Louis Armstrong.
He knew the deal. No one of us knows the trouble you’ve seen, nobody. There is a man, alive today that knows and is willing to listen to your trouble. He will tell you things about that trouble. Things made just for you to do. Often, for me, things I don’t want to do. However, that open window blows in and those things Jesus tells me to do or say become refreshing and right. It’s a decision for us all. Open His window which He alone has built into your heart. Always our choice from the very beginning of the world. Choose love, really, it is the only choice we have to make, have always had to make.
It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator


1. George MacDonald ‘At the back of the North Wind’ 1871 isbn 0 85421 753 3

Origins of Thanksgiving

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

The story always starts the same way. A ship, the Mayflower leaves Europe and sails for religious freedom (not to be confused with freedom from religion which came almost 400 years later)

The ship carried 102 passengers and it took over two months to make the crossing. Bad weather and the usual oceanic thrills and danger. They missed their destination at Plymouth (Not Belvedere as has been put forth) They had to sail across Massachusetts bay from Cape Cod a month later.

Those pilgrims consisted of Catholics, Lutherans, Anglicans, Quakers, Presbyterians, Protestants and a few Jews.

There was a genuine deliverance, providential and we are sure, astonishing. Many of the ‘Pilgrims’ as they began to known, died in that first year and in 1621 the first feast began with about 90 of the Wampanoag natives with fish, venison (Five deer) Eels, shellfish, stews, veggies and beer. They fired guns, and drank liquor to seal the treaty of peace.

The treaty lasted till King Phillips war (1675 -1676) when a lot of colonists and natives lost their lives. About 54 years of peace. It was a war between the colonists and indigenous peoples.America’s bloodiest war as 30% of the colonists were killed (2500) and a dozen towns destroyed. About 5000 Wampanoag’s were killed. The head of the natives was Metacong known as Prince Phillip!

The colonists, of course, continued to pray and thank God for provision.

When the American Constitution was enacted in 1798, (221 years ago) Congress left celebrating to the states. Finally on October 3, 1863 President Lincoln proclaimed Thursday November 26th. In 1942 president Roosevelt declared the 3rd Thursday in November to give an extra boost to the merchants for another week of Christmas shopping!

The Thanksgiving holiday 130 years ago had feasts coupled with the Yale vs Princeton football game (1876) In 1920 costumed revelers and Gimbals department store had a parade with Santa Claus. In 1924 the Macy’s parade, also in NYC had huge balloons.

Now the celebration is focused on Intercultural peace, immigrants and home and family.

Canada has their Thanksgiving on the 2nd Monday in October. I began in 1578 for the thankfullness of Milton Frobisher’s surviving. It was on November 6th from 1879 and changed in 1957 to the 2nd Monday in October. 442 years ago. AMAZING.

The turkey is odd, the first presidential ‘pardon’ of a turkey destined for the table was made by President Bush in 1989. It was remanded to a farm to live out it’s life there. Ostensibly uncooked. Who knows how it turns out for a turkey that has a presidential pardon? Which would taste better? A republican or Democratic turkey?

Let us pray for the tradition of thankfulness to engulf our nation and become what it was before we got in the way of a religiously thankful people for deliverance and provision!

It’s Pretty good! Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Discarded

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was in my twenties when I found an apartment that fitted my mood. Recently discharged from the military and I was going to art school! The apartment fit the inherited car from his Grandfather, an old, square shaped Buick sedan. It wasn’t like my first car, the British Racing Green MGA with the real knock-off spoke wheels and Pirelli Cinturados and a Derrington wood rim steering wheel. No, It was the car of my discarded Grandfather, now passed down to me. Discarded because the once strong fireman was not capable of driving or putting out fires anymore. It felt good to me to get that old Buick.

Grandpa had killed my cat when I was young, because it had to be as Grandpa could not have my cat in his home when Mom and her new husband went on their honeymoon to Sweden. I had no say as I was in grade school and felt discarded, set aside and not worthy of dialogue or even gentleness. Mom and her immigrant husband never went on that honeymoon either. One of those memories of the life of a person now dead but living within me. a.

It felt sort of similar too that my family sold my precious MGA when the draft came in with a whirlwind of death harvest for Vietnam. I signed up first before I could have gone west to the jungles. I went east to the Mediterranean sea instead.

So I sold Grandpas Buick right away, traded it for an Austin Healy Sprite. It felt good to be in a roadster again. Made up a bit for the Green MGA and the cat.

My apartment was a dump. Second floor above a Sherman Williams paint store on the wrong side of the tracks. Corner store, separate entrance. I had a neighbor who was down and out and bummed smokes from me. When I would ask him how things were going, the neighbor always said: “just take me to the dump” That memory reminds me of Marvin the paranoid android in Hitchhikers guide. “I’m not getting you down am I?”

It seems that the latest attitude we all have. “It’s at the end of it’s service life” or “that old thing? Too expensive to fix, toss it” “ You’re what! Pregnant! Git rid of it, You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!” and our favorite: “Heck, he’s over 80. Forget that cornea transplant. I mean really, how many years does he have left anyway?” “Put her in a home, she won’t notice anyway” And so forth. As side note, as I edit this post I just had eye surgery for cataracts and I am 81. Love it! I can drive without glasses now.

Feeling useless because the popular philosophy now is Existential in nature. One man in particular, a philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche, went insane in the most beautiful country in the world, Switzerland. He came to the point of knowing the tension and despair for the loss of meaning in his life because of the loss of a personal God. His words are profound: “ But all pleasure seeks eternity-a deep and profound eternity”. Groucho Marks said: ” I want to live forever and I’ll die trying it” Truth from a great comedian.

Our country has found itself discarding our God of Creation perhaps because He is inconvenient and is sort of a kill joy because of all those rules he has. “I can’t follow all those rules in the Bible!” Of course we can’t, that’s the point of the rules. We need Him.

So we discard what we feel and know is not worthwhile to us. An old car, out of date food and personal relationships that are used up and don’t make us feel the way we want to. Or the way we feel we are entitled to perhaps. We have so much ‘stuff ‘ that it gets in our way when we don’t like it or need it. Broken things, old things past their expiration dates. Things that we don’t even remember acquiring. And so it goes on and on until it becomes easier to discard than repair. “That car, it was getting old and anyway, I was tired of driving it” How much different is it when it comes to this? “He was getting on my nerves. All this talk about going to a church marriage counselor! It was his fault, so I divorced him”

It seems prudent to us to just put it in a blue plastic container and park it down by the end of the driveway every Tuesday. ‘Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water! Throw out the tub too!’ I can do what I want, that’s what the world says. Another philosopher, De Sade put it well: “If there is no standard, no real moral base, then that old woman walking down the road can either be helped or run over. No difference if there are no moral standards” Those standards have been firmly set by an eternal infinite loving God who knows us and desires us to love him with the same passion he loves us.

So, it’s our choices, the small ones that make a great impact on everyone. Should I discard this friend? This inconvenient baby? This old fashioned religious teaching? This God who never did anything I asked Him to do?

Always, always our choice to build, repair, embrace and seek truth in the eyes of the Man who is more alive than any man who ever lived. Jesus, the master repairman of old and stressed lives. It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator For continuation of this story line see ‘Motorcycle Pilgrimage 1-5

a. Mark Batterson “please, thanks and sorry”

The Lost Ring and the Saved Soul

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was a restless night for me. I discovered the morning before that I had lost my wedding ring. I’ve worn it since 1992 and it means a lot to us. It has an inscription inside with the wedding date. There is another one too in italics: “Through headwinds and tailwinds” Julie and I met on bicycles under very strange and beautiful circumstances. Unbelievable ones. That is a story for certain. It involves a Lutheran Pastor, a bartender in Washington state, A camp cook and the bartender’s grandparents. It’s been written and published already, ‘A bicycle built for two’

So, back to the ring. The whole family clan began looking for the ring. Could be it was stripped off my finger when I removed gloves outside? (It’s happened several times) Search the garden, the wood shed, the garden tool shed, the glove box in the house and car. You get the idea. It was perhaps thrown off my hand in the night when I shook off a carpal tunnel numbness! The only way to search the room’s carpet was to move the bed. An awful lot of dust and the usual vacuum cleaner task. Incredible mess. After the bed was moved 90 degrees and the cleaning began in earnest, a dusty journal was discovered. In it were Details of my week long ministering to my old navy best friend Chuck, that was in hospice in Maryland. Cancer. That journal Hadn’t been seen for sixteen years. No ring was found. They left the bed turned ninety degrees and cleaned a lot. Their thorough cleaning was very thorough and they had been thinking about vacuuming there anyway.

Reading the found journal revealed memories that came came like a flood once again. Tears from that long ago relationship came. The trouble and the trauma that had been shared with my best friend. We were together at sea during the war between Israel and Egypt and Syria. Chuck introduced me to what he called a pep pill to keep them awake on long 24 hour watches. Communication duties in the top secret radio room. Wartime status. Those pills worked pretty well, we bought them in port from the pharmacy down the street from our apartment. They were pure meth and Chuck got addicted. I used them as needed. Chuck needed them and used them.

It wasn’t too long until the CID came knocking at our apartment in Naples, asking about drug usage. I was open and honest and told them about the legality from the pharmacy. They asked about marijuana too and I offered that a cook aboard had some that helped with the shakes from the pep pills. Suddenly we were in handcuffs and taken aboard to point out the cook as he sat in a corridor, also in cuffs.

We all got locked into a Marine brig on shore and the cook came after me in the night with a purloined knife. Chuck ‘set him aside’ the cook survived and was still in general population and we decided to escape. We climbed down from the third floor using a handy drain pipe and ran for our lives. I felt threatened and Chuck just wanted to get high. Maybe he made up the knife fight. Perhaps.

We were captured, tried and sentenced to hard labor in Spain for a half year and stripped of pay and rank. An honorable discharge ensued after a review years later by a friends uncle, a Kennedy. But my Navy career was over. Thanks Chuck for the disappointment and loss. It was not a good time for me to think about not making in to the brown shoe navy ( chief ) And I was doing so well. My division chief cried when he saw me being led away. I was his protege and successor. That was the end of the sixties.

Driving alone to an early prayer meeting, I began haranguing the Lord about the ring. The usual rant we all when things are difficult and not making sense. “Where is my ring! You know where it is Lord!” His answer was, of course, immediate and kind. I was reminded that gold ring would not follow me into eternity. Neither would my 18th century viola nor the 100 year old Gibson Mandolin. However, the story of me gently responding to Chuck’s dying request to visit will go with me to heaven. I answered Chuck’s question “So what’s the good news?” Indeed, there is very good news about forgiveness, redemption and the romance of Heaven. However, I still blamed chuck for the disaster and I held resentment within.

A lot of you know exactly what It is about. I asked Chuck to meet me when it was my time to cross the bar. Chuck cried when their parting embrace ended. They both knew that living at the hospice is not usually a long term situation. When I arrived Chuck did not want to talk about Jesus, just reminisce and watch movies. We talked about Jesus anyway. The tears shared were powerful and knowledge of what was said was understood by both. To meet me meant he had to be there.

A month after the visit, Chucks wife called and said he wanted to talk with me. Right away he said “what are the words?” I answered that there were no words. Lets talk. We talked for an hour and a half. “Let’s just talk to Jesus right now!” So we did. I forgave him for all the trouble he got me into with the drugs and such. We talked more about all the things that matter on the party line to Jesus. After that hour and a half I asked him how he felt about revealing ourselves to one another and with the creator of all things listening in. “I feel pretty good actually” was his answer. ” Is that it?” Pretty much I replied.

A very short time afterwards, Mary Lou called and told me that Chuck was going to be baptized.

A few weeks after Chuck’s, baptism, I saw him entering paradise while I was praying in a local church.! A clear reality, my eyes wide open. He was walking away from me and he turned and pointed his hand over his shoulder and said five words that I will never forget: “It’s better than you said!”

He vanished and there as a bit of excitement on my part. Mary Lou left a phone message at home. She said Chuck had died that morning. I called back and told her; “Thanks Mary Lou! I know he died this morning because I saw him go. I gave her the five words he said. It was and the best good news she could hear! Chuck had ‘crossed the bar’ and was home. I am interested in what I said to him! It will be fun finding out.

All that trauma, the war, the pills and the court marshal led up to salvation for Chuck. Many decades before this happened, I was addicted to heroin and also heard five words as I was going for more heroin in front of me. “Life or death, choose now” Five words, decades apart that were less than one day in the courts of the Lord. Paths to death turned mourning into dancing for joy. Another dying that led to life eternal ,for both of us.

So I surrendered my angst about my wedding ring of gold and realized that the journal with the details of five words were only found when we looked for the ring. It was till missing after five days. Gone for good, impossible to search through leaves and grass around the farm. Sad, but reluctantly surrendering the ring because I now knew I would not take it with to cross the bar.

I went for my usual lap swim at a high school pool about 20 miles away. Early morning, around six am. I began swimming in the lane next to the wall and on the third lap, looked over into the deepest part of the pool and saw a round object that was dark. It looked like an O ring that was black. Could it be! That is where I was doing the backstroke five days earlier.

I asked a young gal that was swimming in the next lane if she dives. She said “sure” and I asked her to please dive down 10 feet and bring up that round object. She did and popped up with my wedding ring! Not so shinny after five days in chlorine and bromine, but it was the ring. The inscription said so.

A wonderful release of the sad loss, I held on tight to the ring and did a short swim and texted a picture home of the ring. It was Impossible that it was still there in plain sight. pool Not vacuumed, not in the drain close by. How deep Lord? How deep do you want to go?

I still swim there and I still work it out to swim in that same wall lane. I always look down when I get to the end at the deep part. I saw a necklace a few days ago and told the lifeguard and maintenance man about it. It had beads on it and it looked like leather. Lost and found indeed. I never have seen that young girl that dove for my ring again.

My surrender after the discovery of that Chuck hospice journal was a lesson never forgotten. Surrender. Die to the world and embrace life. He gives and takes away indeed. Grieve and rejoice. The good news, It’s pretty good, Jack Gator / Norm Peterson

with thanks to Henri Nouwen for inspiration

Unrepeatable Beauty

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There it was, so fleeting perhaps and gone quickly. So many moments in our lives that stun us that we cannot reproduce. The fragrance of a smile in the midst of a ferocious storm or a measure of music that was perfect, even in a recording cannot reproduce the moment you heard it. A memory of beauty is not the moment it was seen or heard or even smelled. A farmer working his field with the music of his machines. A hummingbird, dancing in the lilac bush just outside the window that I opened. The sound of It’s wings, the sight of the bird going back and forth, dancing for his mate just inches before him. Exciting, unexpected and so intimate that I had to sit on our bed and thank my creator for that gift.

The beauty of paintings that come close is a slight opening to the painters grasp of a face. The Mona Lisa of Leonardo described by Vesardi :”There was a smile so pleasing that it was more divine than human” As I meandered in the halls of the Vatican almost sixty years ago, I was silent and amazed at the masterful paintings, the priceless paintings that came close. They made me long for the painters mind and visions that he tried to capture. Beauty close but not all of it. The smell of the oils, the touch of the brush on canvas and the gift to see what conveys some of the experience.

Later in my life there are moment’s still strong in my memory of desert sunsets. The sound and motion of lying in my bunk at sea, rocked to sleep with the rush of the warm bunker oil beneath the deck. Describing it can invoke memory but it is not being there. Beauty and comfort in a war.

The sound of laughter and an overwhelming partnership between a couple next to me. We were playing and singing in upstate New York, Cafe Leena near Saratoga . I was with Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson on my left. The song was obscure but the music swirled about them. Judy’s laugh and Bill’s smile created beauty for eternity.

A small storefront in Northwest Wisconsin that my family had transformed into a place of musical worship was beautiful. To the family, remembering years afterward of those moments of unity indescribable. We all played and sang together in the evenings. The small, hand painted sign over the sidewalk, hanging from the awning is gone. (Recently, that prayer room has been turned into a tattoo parlor.)

When we were there, the Pioneer bar that gave free internet to us through the brick walls. It burned badly years after we left and that bar looked like it got the wrong end of a 105 mm. Next to the burned bar building was a closed bakery storefront. No small tables with good breakfasts and glass cases displaying the sugary delights. All memories that cannot be captured with photos, smells or conversation. No more pedestrians walking out with with white bags of donuts. Those memories are stored away within and are precious.

As I edit this, the bar is being rebuilt, with the bakery part of it. A common plaza shared by them offers me a vision of sitting there with a crafted beer and a donut, enjoying the new view and ‘sus’ the ambiance of a rebirth. Worship music on the jukebox perhaps? God does interesting things.

The sighing of the wind through a tree top, the sudden smell of flowers as my son rides by on his opposed transverse 4 cylinder Honda. The sound of the power coupled with that wind. Where does it come from and where does it go? That is an old question asked by Jesus to Nicodemus. No isobars and satellite images that guess at where the breath of God comes and goes. Nicodemus could not answer that question either. Can you? As the song goes, “This is the air I breathe”

A combined beauty of things seen, felt and smelled that cannot be captured to enjoy again. Fleeting and a glimpse of eternity. Our memories are reminders but not the real moments, of stunning beauty

My navy best friend Chuck told me about it in five words. “It’s better than you said!” He said those words appearing to me just as he died several thousand miles away. Another memory, strong, stunning and indescribable. I do wonder what I said when I visited him. We grasp the wind and paint with our camera’s lens, beauty heard and seen.

“At the family burial plot, all the people I have ever known are buried there—the bouncing boy, my mothers pride, the pimply boy and secret sensualist; the reluctant military man; the beholder at dawn through the hospital glass of my first born child. All these selves I was I am no longer, not even the bodies they wore are my body any longer, and although when I try, I can remember scraps and pieces about them, I can no longer remember what it felt like to live inside their skin. Yet they live inside my skin to this day, they are buried in me somewhere, ghosts that certain songs, tastes, smells, sights, tricks of weather can raise, and although I am not the same as they, I am not different either because their having been then is responsible for my being now.” Frederic Buechner: ‘The Alphabet of Grace‘

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator