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!
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 GatorFor continuation of this story line see ‘Motorcycle Pilgrimage 1-5
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 actually climbed that drain pipe twice. A week before we left, we just went down to our apartment in downtown Naples and asked our landlord, Tonino, to sell everything we had and get two train tickets to Palermo. A few days later we left on the drainpipe and were down in Sicily before reveille. We travelled all over Italy. Over a thousand miles all toll. I was able to walk into the Vatican in Rome and see the Sistine chapel. We stayed with Street Urchins below ground next to Trevi Fountain. Onward to Florence.
We were captured, taken to Pisa in handcuffs and just before we were handed over to another brig, saw the leaning tower as we leaned over in the backseat, still handcuffed. ” It really leans a lot! About 20 degrees or more”. We were 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 in Washington. 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 middle of the sixties. 2 years sea duty on three different fleet oilers.
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. Years later when I visited him in hospice, 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.
Weeks later, 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, Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
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‘
A recall of my life is now being revealed to me, bit by bit. Indeed all the mistakes, roads taken that had no outlet or were literally dead ends, were there to take me to a place I did not know I was going. This is the reason I was given the opportunity to write this book. I thought it was my idea!
The Author whose books anchor a sagging bookshelf in our library, has given me hope and excitement as he has done for so many. C.S. Lewis. The first name Jessie Seline and I decided on for my Fiddling Gator identity was Jack. {It was Clive Staples Lewis’ nickname.}
So many authors have that first name in fiction writing and Jessie and I decided it was perfect. Punchy like Jack Dempsey. Masculine and only four letters long. It stuck after being known as ‘Mr Gator’ for years. That story comes to light in this book. A simple newspaper article about my role as a judge in a fiddle contest with a cartoon of an alligator, rocking back on his tail. playing the fiddle.
I know, without any doubt, that our Lord Jesus has me on speed dial to my spirit. I did not even know I had a phone like that before others before that have those, taught me how to listen. I listened when I was a big fool and now I am a tool. Those two letters are close on keyboards and are pushed with the left forefinger. Pointing the way to Him.
My counselor, Mr. Beeves, told me he had never met a man with more trauma than I. He also told me it would always be in my mind and would have six tenths of a second to turn off the reaction of fight or flight to perceived new trauma. Recently, I have asked Jesus to have a USB port put into my head and a jump drive with a program to dive deep and encase those memories where they belong. The past. He has recently acquiesced to that request! Very recently. I did not know He could do that or that I could ask. Look for the port if we meet and I will split hairs with you and show it to you.
Go, Set and get ready. Go to Him set your heart before Him and with Him, and you are ready. Stay on that Highway to Holiness, for “the road to hell is an easy slope, soft underfoot with no warning signs” a. I have asked many friends that were near death to meet me as I ‘cross the bar’ to eternity. I saw one of them leave with five words as he disappeared: “It’s better than you said!” It is.
A synopsis of the four Gospels account of the Resurrection. There are issues with formatting this document I wrote. The numbers one through four indicate the Gospels themselves. The large font and bold names are the book authors after the quotes. Confused? I was too as the accounts differ in the descriptions of events. It is one of the pivotal events in the history of our Universe and so it’s easy to forget details when you are there when it happened. Astonishment seems to be a common thread. Enjoy, I did when I wrote these things down.
Mary Magdalene went out to the tomb early, dark. She saw the stone had been rolled away and ran back to Peter and John and they both ran to the tomb. John outran him and looked in the tomb and saw the linen cloths but did not go in. Peter then came in puffing and, and went into the tomb and saw the cloths and a handkerchief that had been around the Lords head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded together in place by itself. Then John came in and saw (he did not know the scripture that Jesus must rise from the dead.) They went back home. Mary stuck around and looked into the tomb and saw two angels in white, sitting at either end and they asked her why she was weeping…she told them she wanted to know where they laid Him. She turned and saw Jesus and thought he was the gardener. He said “Mary” She knew it was Jesus. “Do not cling to me for I have not yet ascended to my Father” She then went to the disciples and told them He had spoken to her.
JOHN 20.
On the first day, very early they and certain other women and they were perplexed and two men stood my them in shining garments. They bowed their heads to the ground. Those men told them, “why do you seek the living among the dead?”They remembered Jesus’ words about this. They went back and told the 11. Mary Magdalene, Johanna and Mary the mother of Jesus told these things to the Apostles. They did not believe them. THEN Peter ran to the tomb and saw the linen cloths lying by themselves and departed, marveling to himself… Two of ‘them’ were at Emmaus, seven miles away. They talked about things and Jesus drew near, but their eyes were restrained. They told Jesus about the women. They chatted over supper, Jesus broke bread and blessed it and gave it to them and then their eyes were opened, knew Him and He vanished. They went back to Jerusalem and told rest of them about seeing Jesus when He broke bread with them. Then Jesus appeared to them “peace be with you” He showed them His hands and feet and then asked for food. They gave him some broiled fish and honey comb. LUKE 24
When the Sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Salome brought some spices. “who will roll away the stone?” Then they saw a young man clothed in a long white robe sitting on the right side and they were alarmed. He calmed them and said to them to tell His disciples and Peter that He is going before you into Galilee and there you will see Him as He said to you. They fled from the tomb and said nothing to anyone for they were afraid. BUT..on the first day of the week, He appeared to Mary Magdalene and she went and told those that had been with Him, mourning and weeping, they did not believe her. The two at Emmaus followed that story line and then then He appeared to the eleven and told them to go out into the world and preach the Gospel. Baptized (or else) cast out demons, speak with new tongues, take up serpents, lay hands on the sick and be immune to poison they drink. Then He ascended and sat at next to God. MARK 16.
After the Sabbath, the two Mary’s came to see the tomb and there was a great earthquake and an angel of the Lord descended from Heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His countenance was like lightening and his clothing was white as snow. The guards shook with fear and became as dead men. But the angel answered to the women, “do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay, and go quickly and tell His disciples that He is risen from the dead, and indeed He is going before you into Galilee; there you shall see Him. Behold, I have told you” So they went out quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to bring the disciples word. As they went to tell His disciples, behold, Jesus met them saying, “Rejoice!” so they came and held Him by the feet and worshiped Him. Then Jesus said to them, “do not be afraid. Go and tell My brethren to go to Galilee, and there they will see Me.” (As an afterthought), the soldiers reported to the elders and were given a Large sum of money to tell people that the disciples came and stole him away while we slept. If this comes to the governor’s ears we will appease him and make you secure…this saying is commonly reported among the Jews until this day. Then the 11 disciples went into Galilee to the mountain that He had appointed to them. When they saw Him, they worshiped Him, but some doubted. Jesus told them that all authority had been given to Him from heaven and on earth. “Go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all things that I have commanded you, and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age” Amen MATTHEW 28
As usual, I have a good amount of time to drive to my study or to rendezvous with my Son
and ride to where we work on Sunday mornings. It is a 25 mile drive for me Sunday morning and I leave around 5:15, leaving plenty of time. I drive under the state limit, 45 miles per hour. There are animals crossing, especially deer, and the stopping distance is adequate IF I pay attention. From our driveway exit to the main highway I see 2 to 6 deer lounging at the shoulder or prancing across. There is very little time to brake when one of those fall harvest animals are going full bore.
It works for safety and on a Sunday, there is very little traffic behind me. I can see headlights behind on Highway 87 and it is a game to see if they are getting closer by estimating distance and velocity. Sunday is casual but often, a vehicle comes up quickly and follows me at a close distance, after all, I am going under the speed limit. The dash gauges show me I am getting over 30 miles per gallon or more and I am on time.
At the next dotted center line, the following vehicle passes and often, leaves unburned hydrocarbons in it’s wake. Bad exhaust converter, and and faster then the double oxygen sensors can compensate and report it. You know the smell, and it isn’t a flat skunk ahead. Passing velocity in excess of 65 or so. Quickly to avoid the double yellow ahead. Or ignore it.
I shake my head and laugh when at the lower limit ahead, I am behind them and count the seconds behind. Fifteen or thirty perhaps. I see brake lights ahead, and they are still in sight. Why the rush? I remember velocities from research. If we drive at 60mph, 24 hours a day, every day, it would take 165 years to get to our sun. Probably, a few years less at 45 mph. Just in time to have a flamed out truck or car.
It’s now sunrise and time to get out the sunglasses. Another statistic, there are ten galaxies for each of us in the universe. Lot’s to look at another ‘time’ Myself, I want to ask our Lord to see the interior of a black hole or a super giant sun. Lots of time as there is no time in eternity. As I pray for the truck passing me I wonder when they cross the double yellow they may get to those 10 galaxies soon. Time means nothing to me then, I am on earth going 67,000 MPH and going on a roundabout of the sun that takes a year to get around. Mercury has a shorter time to get around, but the pavement and us would be ash in less than a second. An unpleasant place to be and Venus is further but the same issues arise. It’s a dump and I chuckle at terraforming talks.
We are living in a perfect place and mars is further out and another joke as it has a miniscule atmosphere and it’s a dump too. Check out our moon and see if you can spot the small used car we left there. It took a lot of money to make it and leave it there, but the price is cheap if you can afford AAA to tow it back for you.
I am getting the impression we are living in the only place possible and the only reason we are here is we were placed here by our God who is able to laugh at our talking about eternity as though it’s just a few big numbers and time and distance. Evolution is a child’s concept.
After all, 65 is the new 55 and it means nothing except if we are late for a very important date. “Rushing is not of the Devil, it is the devil”. He hates us and he hates eternity. I can only imagine what it would be like to spent eternity alone without our Lord. There is no roundabout and the atmosphere may be like Mercury, who knows, it might be there.
Anyone can go there and you don’t need a Saturn 5 booster set to do so. All that is needed is to dismiss reality and live for only yourself. I don’t want my neighbors land, I just want the land that is next to mine! Venus, the Greek Goddess of love might be just the ticket!
There was young Norm, I was moving through my life as though it was a normal one. I am a high functioning Asperger’s child and did not trust anyone with my love. No one. There was a secret place in me that is a go to place when my life feels scary and in need of protection. I found that comfort in various ways. I have body moves grounding me in a way with a touch on a silk blanket or just zoning out with movement patterns. A little sniffing on the back of my hand. You have seen the movie The Accountant. The main actor was affirming to me with his portrayal of a a survivor of Autism.
I made up stories and submerged myself in music. Still do. I learned piano early on, then guitar over in Italy. I graduated to mandolin and violin/viola later on with country western and square dance bands. That worked for a while until I was almost 70. By then, the made up stories were real ones and music was my dream world. Listening and playing.
Recently, I began writing about my life and observations of astounding events that only be classed as theologically overwhelming and usually joyful. I recently got some good advice on writing. “Try to be original and you will not succeed. Write your heart as best you can and you will be original” I got that advice in a dream as I sat at the feet on Earnest Hemingway as a boy. I’m sure someone else has been quoted but the dream worked for me.
I began writing day by day and I filled up a journal once a year. There is a stack of them on my desk shelf. I began reading them and saw all the stories and many people began to say to me; “you ought to write a book. I like your stories and the way you tell them” As a known raconteur, I told stories all the time. Writing them down helps me to remember them!
I had the nickname of Mr. Gator from a photo I put into the local paper. They needed one for an article on a fiddle contest I was judging. The picture was a little alligator rocking on his tail, playing a fiddle. It stuck, I even had Mr gator license plates too. Decades later, a close friend, Jessie, drew a picture for me of an alligator resting with a fishing pole and I use that as a header now and then. He said it was something he sketched out the night before. I was stunned with his talent and friendship. He also is a writer of action stories with gold coins and thieves and murder. (I can’t wait for the next chapter!)
After Jessie gave me the drawing we decided that the Gator needed a first name if I was going to write with that name as a byline. Jack Dempsy, Jack Ryan, Jack Clancy and C.S. Lewis’ nickname, Jack. It stuck. Masculine with punch.
I began publishing these stories at a local newspaper once a week as the editor liked them a lot. I give a lot of credit to Jesus in most of them and that was OK for a while but the new manager was uneasy with that. After 4 years of writing one a week I had well over 300 columns stored away on several drives. I resigned with grace and dignity from that paper. They deserved it. I still write for a great newspaper in Ashland, Wisconsin. The bottom Line News and Views.
Again, “You ought to write a book.” I already have written a book, I just need to jump in the water and get it published. Of course then, I have to mention my book in conversations and carry several of them in my briefcase to sell. Easy sell if someone says they would be interested in reading it. And paying for it.
Meanwhile, I keep writing and publishing on my web site. Gatorsgracenotes.com No ads of any kind was my decision. I don’t like pop ups and no one I know likes them either. That money stream is out of the equation. The grace note thing is a double entendre. It’s a very fast note or notes played that are too rapid to write down on a score. And Grace is what Jesus gives me time and again.
I have faith that it will all work out. Faith, it’s the very gift of God.
It was a perfect Saturday morning, cool after an inch or so of rain and a job that Soren, my son, had agreed to do. Cutting down trees. I love working with my family and so volunteered to assist him and do what I do.
We drove up about 15 miles straight north to a remote home. Two 4wd pickups, one older than the other..a lot older. The bed is starting to rust pretty bad and after cutting into the bed to replace the fuel pump, we found out how rusty. Missing hold downs and such. It’s a fairly good pickup and had a problem with fuel delivery when first started. A real problem. A neighbor that we borrow and service a nice compact JD tractor from and have known for many years, sold it to us. One dollar.
We took several chain saws, clippers, hard hats, chain oil and fuel. Soren even tossed in my old 80 cubic inch Jonsered saw., It will break your wrist to start if you don’t pull with total surrender and strength. It started but still needs a fuel pump. It was my first chain saw when I moved up here in 1976. I was working for Burlington Northern as a track worker and lifting and using it was easy. Fifty years later it got heavier and fussier. Good saw, Just set it with it’s big teeth on a huge round and it walks right through it with a delicious moan and power.
We got three trees down an I began using my Joe Biden electric saw to limb it and cut rounds. 60 amp battery pacs ready to take charge. Light weight and quiet. Soren used the new ‘Farm Boss’ Stihl and we filled the old Ranger’s bed after getting the brush cut and piled.
Dinner was ready and our delightful hose, Jane, had spicy chicken soup, coffee, bread and butter, ice cream and strawberries and rhubarb muffins for us. It was great. Conversations about the great authors of faith were the table talk.
A topic which was very personal and direct is how we expect Jesus to ‘fix’ our problems if we ask nice and are respectful. We plead and wheedle Christ when He is asleep in our boat to calm the raging storms around us. Waking Him up to do His thing. Again.
I drove the loaded pickup, sagging down the 1 ¼ mile driveway, trying to remember what we talked about, taking it to heart. The furious storm at sea, decades ago came to mind. That time my rescuer was the captain of the ship and I had no fear (mostly, just awe) Was this a small way that I trusted someone with my life at sea? After all, it was loud and wet and the ship was tossed to an fro as in a child’s bath as the waves worked their worst. The rigging howled and the bow was covered with water as we plowed through breaking 60 foot waves. Trust.
How would I have felt if our captain was asleep in his cabin and only I was at the helm? What would I have trusted in? I knew little or nothing about trusting the Lord in all ways and at all times. I would have banged on his hatch to waken him just as the disciples did.
Jesus knows there are now storms all around us and it is scary and a lot of us are praying for Him to intervene. He knows everything that was and will be and has answered all these prayers in His own way and we do not have to awaken him with our petitions. Be calm and know that He is with us, not against us and His will be done as it is in Heaven.
It is a new prayer that I offer to Him. I do not understand these times Lord, calm my spirit, once again, turn your face towards me and give me peace. Hallelujah!
In articulo mortis caelitus mihi vires, At the moment of death, my strength is from Heaven.
There is a loss in our communities that seems like a gain! The texting phenomenon has made writing letters obsolete and to many, cheaper and faster. Pen and Ink started to loose ground when the typewriter was introduced. The expense of ink wells, and ink stains was replaced with typewriter ribbons and skill.
I learned to touch type in the military and I got fast. Electric typewriters and carbon paper worked well. With top secret letters there were no carbon copies allowed. Now there is a new skill, typing on the screen of a cell phone. I have not embraced typing with both thumbs while holding a phone. I am fascinated and irritated at our civilization that has become hunched over while walking or standing, holding ‘the phone’ and writing and reading letters of sorts. Texting along with fun emojis and video clips. How about a three pound Bakelite model? I remember our bag phone and of course, my hand held Amateur radio. The ham radio did not need a phone number to talk to someone. A call sign worked but many times the beginning message was; CQ anyone there?
What I am getting around to is the act of writing and reading. Sitting down quietly while doing so.
I love to write and these columns are much easier to type with Word Press as it checks my spelling and syntax as I type. I have a short term memory issue, often real short time when I am physically writing a word and leave off a letter and skip on to the next one. Leaving off a vowel for instance. I can see my mistake and the software catches it and shows it to me. But that is a byline for this column, I revere actual writing with pen or pencil and using a stamp and an envelope to have USPS deliver my letter.
The major point is keeping in touch, not speedily but with intent beyond the rush of our current lives. “Rushing in not from the devil, it Is the devil” I believe that impatience is included. C.S. Lewis
I have sent a few letters lately to some friends. Some of which I have not seen nor heard from in decades. Several of them have never been answered although I know they were received because they were not returned with address unknown or such postal information. Phone calls work too but we are usually in a rush and an unexpected phone call from a friend of years past is surprising and hard to respond to if you are driving or setting down to lunch in a cafe. I like re-reading and even have a manila envelope for personal letters. It’s good. Phone numbers are passe. There used to be a book called a phone directory. They were hanging by a chain in phone booths. The is no cell phone directory hanging there.
Is there someone you send letters to and wonder if they will ever answer? There is also a very important type of letter that is spoken in private! These letters are referred to as prayer. It’s just me and the Lord alone and I tell Him how things are going and ask questions and have requests too. If my heart is calm and I am speaking in truth and love, I know my prayer is being heard. Peaceful and knowing and feeling His presence.
Often it seems my prayers have not been answered. The way I wanted them to be. Healing, provision for me or someone else. There is also the conversion to faith of someone that I have known a long time or just met. Evangelism. God hears these requests and stretches out his mighty arm and strong right hand and fulfills that prayer. Instantly in many ways we do not see and is always a perfect response from Him. Prayer is essential for all of us. Letters to the lover of our souls.
Someone obviously prayed for me to reach out to Christ, years ago, decades. It happened just the way it was supposed to happen. Why did it take so long? I have no idea and there is no answer until I read the book about me that no one this side of eternity can read. As C.S. Lewis says: “Every chapter is better than the last one you read”
“What is truth?” An old question that goes back to Mars Hill in Greece. Also the original question in the garden. “Did god really say?” Also the question that Pilate asked Jesus a few thousand years back. Jesus did not answer as the Truth was standing right in front of Pilate.
He knew this question of all philosophers as an educated citizen of Rome. Pilate spoke and wrote in Greek, Latin and Hebrew. He wrote the sign above Jesus on the cross. In those 3 languages.A letter posted for all to see throughout history. ‘Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews’ . Some of the locals disagreed and Pilate said what I have written stands.
The very gift of God will be all we need to keep sending those prayers/letters to him. I know so little of these things but I rely on that gift that gives me peace and confidence that my prayers are heard. Faith.
Do you ever wonder what happens when someone you know or someone you just met, says “I’ll pray about it” Do we follow through? I used to fudge it and forget the promise within a short period of time. Those four words were a dismissive phrase for me. Not anymore. I am growing up and taking responsibility for my life and the things I say and do. There is so little time left for me, and for you.
I was on an official Prayer team at a very large church that seats over 2000 people and we were told to stand in front of them just as the service had ended and with lanyards that said prayer, be available to anyone that came ahead. I loved it. Many times no one came, but the few that did are sharp in memory.
I had to be vetted and interviewed to be on that team and that is very correct to do so. You can surmise the interviews that took place. The teams prayed a lot and I learned how to do so from them.
I am now in production at that church, media, and I also love that. Presenting the songs to the room as messages of praise to the Lord right then and there. The professional musicians know that it is much more than having a good time or playing a good song. We all sing with them and we get to touch eternity.
