Life Experienced

Memory Flip

/ Norman Eric Peterson / 2 Comments

There was a time when I felt my whole world was justified to be the sum of trauma and loss. The way I used that world was unknown, to me. I never wanted to be reminded of my failures with Julie or our kids for that matter. An adamant speech repeated over many times when I was in a conversation with family. “Don’t remind me of that!” would come from me and finally, after a particularly intense conversation with Julie and Soren, I said it again.

My denial of my failures to be a good man to Julie because of my past, were the driving force behind my dominating conversations. I did not want to be reminded of failures because I thought I was powerless to prevent them. It was someone else driving the boat. So I would blame Julie for reminding me of my failures, thus pushing against the only thing she could say. Things that hurt her inside. Things an insensitive man would blame on his old world. Not growing but living in limbo thinking nothing would change me. There was a way, a way to freedom from myself. It was desired and it was coming.

It, perhaps is well described in Latin: “Incurvatus et se.” A fancy way of saying a way of living that always curves in on itself. Seeing everything in life as affirming ourselves or not. Usually affirming our poor behavior as a product of our reacting to past ‘unpleasantness” and powerlessness to prevent the unpleasant things. Using that memory behavior to tell someone who cares about us to stop telling us about our behaviors. A convenient scapegoat, really not upfront on the memory radar. Just on top of the charts and navigation aids within.

A weak child making a decision for the rest of his life to not show compassion or weakness to anyone. Alone inside the orphanage of my own making and in charge of it. “If you tell me that my room needs painting in the orphanage, you are wrong!” “Don’t remind me of those times there, you were not there and never will be!”

As though I always have the last word and have an excuse for controlling conversations. Tromping on the feelings of my wife, because I, once again, do not want to be reminded of that long ago decision to be unable to help anyone. Let alone, myself.

Now, the reality of my young son’s courage and truth speaking in that moment, it stunned me. Change was afoot, change as obvious as change rattling around and around in the clothes dryer. Revealed truth, painful truth beyond this writing. Trying to remember every precious, angry word from a son. Desperate to heal his father from yet another curving around to short circuit tenderness and understanding. Anger at me as my fear and anger from so many years ago watching my father beat my mother. She was having an affair with one of dad’s coworker in the local department fire station. Powerless then and now… truth dawning finally within. Not powerless, not leaning on my own limited understanding. I knew out of this confrontation things would never be the same again. The fear, the blaming of others, the violent emotion of facing failure and using it to disconnect from my loved ones.

That wound was leaving, leaving footprints behind, oh yes. The footprints of disguise and confusion were leaving their lives and soon, the thing would be out of sight. Only memory and yet another hidden path to a new bond and yet another strength that we all desperately needed to be cleansed. Wanting that white robe, washed in the blood of the lamb. It’s pretty good.. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Faithful lovers of Music

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

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

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

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

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

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

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

When Bill was dying at the VA (he was fluent in Japanese. Hush hush military stuff) I stood on his right and Jim Tordoff, an excellent banjo player, stood on his left. We prayed and told him, if it works this way, we would like him to meet us when it’s our turn. Meet us with that Lloyd Loar Gibson with gold tuners.

We can then go worship the risen Lord forever together. Kiss the son indeed. We loved Bill and Judy, still do. It’s pretty good.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator,

Gain or Output

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It’s complex but it makes sense if you look at the end result. Everyone has seen those controls where music or vocal amplification is used. In small rooms or huge auditoriums there is a place where a technician operates the sound and sets it so that it can be heard well. It is a learning curve to get it right so everyone can hear well. On stage included. In big rooms there is a booth that is called front of house. Many control panels for the lights and screens and video as well.

Mistakes are made seldom but one of the worst ones is called feedback. You may have heard that screeching sound that in the sound controllers humor is called a sound engineers solo. People in the audience swivel their heads and look back instinctively to the sound booth. Oops. Turn a knob or push down the volume or even mute the microphone that could be causing that. It is technically called a sound loop where the speakers are feeding their output into the mikes.

There are two controls that can be set wrongly to cause this. Gain and output. Makes sense. What is coming in or what is going out. This is what happens when in a conversation between two or more people goes awry. We don’t really notice it except when feedback occurs and two people are talking at the same time. Confusing and a mess to comprehend. This is usually caused by us thinking of something to say about what is being said and just blurting it out. Very rude and mostly not thought of as such by the speakers involved. Mostly, not always.

I have noticed the same mistake when I am alone with my thoughts! I interfere with what I am observing or hearing and put my own spin into the experience. When I ask our Lord a question and He gives me His response, I get impatient and say to myself what I anticipate he will say. Staying silent and listening can be developed but it takes a bit of awareness about my anxiety. I am learning to listen to people who speak to me and listen alone. You know how to do this. The facial expressions, nodding and smiling result from communication. A brief flash of your car lights when a tractor-trailer is passing is sometimes returned with a brief flash of his rear running lights. Thank you for paying attention is the message. Now it’s your turn to travel along the road knowing that others are listening to you and your acknowledgment of them. Gain is good for clarity. It’s output that needs attention.

Watch, listen and pray. Turn down your output and turn up the gain.

The photo is from Wellspring House of Prayer our family built around ten years ago in Frederic, Wisconsin. Toby, Soren, Julie and I worshiping on our usual Thursday night. We got to touch eternity for four years in that glorious prayer room. It’s all gone now and that room is a tattoo parlor. Main street Frederic Wisconsin. The Lord keeps those years in His treasury of joy. Beautiful, precious. Wellspring indeed!

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

With thanks to the professionals at Eagle Brook

Railroad Wreckage

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I lost half of my seniority with the railroad but it was worth it to transfer up to NW Wisconsin. Commuting to my job on the Dinky Town railroad section was getting a little dreary when I moved ‘up north’ to a small house with 30 acres. Driving every morning with my blue 1947 Ford coupe to Minneapolis was the cost of the veteran’s loan approval. Of course, getting the loan in the beginning was harder than the drive to pay it off.

The paperwork alone helped heat my new house in the wood stove that I had little experience to run. The better words would be ‘no experience.’ I bought a chain saw, a bicycle and a splitting maul from my old friends hardware store on the West Bank in Minneapolis. I also had an old GM pickup to haul the firewood from the state forest about 15 miles north of my new digs. I had that pickup out in California and lived in a little house I built on it. I gave the little house to a friend for his child’s playhouse.

Of course, at that early time [1975] there was not much commuter traffic as the concept of commuting had not taken hold. That was a good thing as Led headlights had not taken hold nor been invented either. Being blinded by a new pickup these days with lights that illuminate about twenty miles of road is now somewhat of a hindrance to a long drive.

At those early times the drive was dreary and dangerous too asI had to keep a wing window open for fresh air to keep the CO gas out. Tiring it was to drive a long way with an exhaust leak. It seems white tailed deer had not been invented yet either, at least the ones that commuted across highways. However, back then, cars weighed a lot and had real bumpers. Sometimes you knew when you hit one. my job was on the section at DinkyTown, right across the river from my old neighborhood, The West Bank.

So, pulling into the section yard and perhaps being called to do some ‘back breaking’ jobs outside of the section. Derailments, road crossings and laying ribbon rail were some outside jobs. The section would survive a few days without continuous maintenance. myself and big Leroy were called out to put in the dome spikes on crossings. They were about two feet long and had to be pounded through the crossing planks down into the heavy black ties beneath. Swinging those 16 pound malls was a young man’s task. The spikes would rotate going down and had teeth that would engage the plank at the last swing. The deterioration to L4 and L5 began then. Leroy was well over six foot seven and weighed around 250 or so.

When I transferred up to the ‘farm’ with it’s pump jack well and log barn I was green to the isolated rural life. A few new friends I met at the local watering holes helped me adapt. Wood burning stoves and chimney rebuilding it was made doable with these other young men who grew up working the farms. It was quiet and the only link to the outside world was the black wall phone by the sink and a new princess phone next to the wall in my bedroom. The phone was out of reach unless I was in bed.

I got transferred to a section gang closer by over in Minnesota and gained respect with my strength and accuracy of work. The road master would call for me to put the pin into a switch actuator while he held the pin at the two holes. “Get Norm up here” I never missed with the spike mall, never. That back damage was still lurking but not complaining much yet. It was good work and respected by the locals. They knew strength from farm work. In spite of all the good camaraderie with my new crew, I was transferred to another section, closer to home.

When I showed up, the foreman immediately insulted me about my pony tail and gave me a job in the yard that was hard, demeaning and unpleasant. It involved jumping from a ladder into grain cars to sweep them our of grain dust. Just punishment for being different, an old hippie from those years of the San Francisco days. I found out later that no one ever did that sweeping job.

This was the last straw for my back. At home after work, I suddenly could not get up from a sitting position on the porcelain throne and collapsed in agony on the floor. I could crawl but standing was impossible. It was also impossible to call for help. “The first day and night was the worst. The second day and night was the worst too. After that and no water, I began to go into a bit of a decline”. 1.

The cat water bowl helped a little and eventually I listened to another five words from the Lord for a way out of death.

I pulled all the clothes out of the lowest dresser drawers and the bed sheets and blankets and made a ramp I could roll up into the bed. Grabbing the phone next to the wall up there I then called for help, I do not recall any more than waking at the hospital and being somewhat free of pain. Drugs. I remembered the addiction to heroin I had and was a bit concerned about this but the lack of pain was OK.

( The first five word rescue was audible and I wrote that story in Motorcycle Diary 5)

Hot and cold packs, traction and hospital food (motivator) did it’s work and I could walk again and the railroad days were over for good .The railroad docked me pay for not showing up for work and then granted me a few months to recover. I had to get a lawyer to sue for the jumping order and consequences.

I thank the Lord for saving my life. Again. It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

1.. Douglas Adams Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

Your Incredible Worth

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment
“

There is a value that was known to be true on an old guitar that I own. I figured it was worth at least what I paid for it, perhaps even more due to inflation. I bought it fresh out of the Navy after another one, just like it, was lost in shipping. It was being shipped to my duty station overseas, not too complicated. Most likely very tempting to someone in the Mediterranean post office I thought. As far as anyone knows, it was never found. Well, it was found by someone. Finders keepers.

After discharge, I went to Schmidt music in downtown Minneapolis where I had it shipped from and they offered a replacement! “I’ll take that one there on display” I have had it since 1967 and recently wondered what it was worth. I paid four hundred dollars for it. Now it is worth twenty thousand or more. Not for sale. It sounds quite nice and powerful. It’s a big Martin D-28, made of Brazilian Rosewood which wood is illegal to possess if you come back into customs. Playing it overseas might be a bit dicey.

So, a pleasant surprise for my insurance agent. I do not wish to sell it as it sounds perfect and it has a lot of history for me. Even down to the small ash burn on the face from decades ago. It needed now needed a little work, but the Martin company warranties it for life to the original owner. Nice feature. The bridge was warped and coming up and the pick guard was warping as well. Free fix. Labor and parts. New strings were needed after the repairs. Total bill was little over ten bucks.

Not long ago, another thing was always seen by me as almost worthless and recently I found it was worth more than I could even imagine. I then sold it to my new best friend and incredibly, He told me I may use it as long as I wished! Not only that, but He paid a price to me that was more than I can even bear to think about or understand fully.

My friend had been killed a while back and left this purchase as a memento to me to remind me of it’s worth. It is in writing and clear as the night sky on a moonlit and cloudless evening. Oh yes, my friend is still around. He was dead for three days and came back to life! Amazing, impossible, but true! A miracle. you may know whom I am writing about if you have had the guarantee offered to you. Take Him up on it, it’s never too late.

The ‘object’ discovered by me that suddenly was revealed to me as precious and warrantied forever. It’ s myself. The only stipulation to the warranty is that I am required to give myself to my friend, all of me even my thoughts and actions. All of them. Past and present. A lot of bad ones. Debts to my friends Father. My friend’s Dad has seen all of those things and His son Jesus, offers to pay if I ask Him to.

All of me given freely, and in a similar way my wonderful friend did the same thing before I met him. Impossible, and yet true. Hundreds of people saw that happen. He gave it all away. Just for me and you. My soul is a bit warped too and can be repaired as my builder gives a lifetime warranty It is written in a book that I read over and over to learn more about Jesus that did not have anything to be forgiven of by His Father. A perfect Son that offers His life for ours. Sort of a ransom type of thing.

In that book, the contract, the blood covenant to me is clearly revealed. What a warranty and testament! So I will see My friend again when I die and He brings me to live with Him, forever. It’s an incredible warranty! Perhaps you don’t know who He is. I will introduce you to Him if you wish. If you already know Him, I would really like to chat with you. If you don’t know Him, same offer. Always a choice of ours to make friends and love Him and his perfect ‘repairs’ . Most likely I will get to play and sing with a ‘big band’ of other musicians on a dance floor made of flaming glass! It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

Remodeling

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There was a job that I took on. I had not worked for many years, regularly that is. People would tell me; “Must be pretty good to be re-tired now!” bristling inside as though they were really telling me; How does it feel to be somewhat useful and just hanging about on the couch?

I would then tell a joke about I didn’t need new tires and that I was working harder then ever. I was, somewhat. Not behind the desk and in front of the toolbox with my name on a blue work suit. A business I built up for four decades, it was hard at first, not being in charge but after a botched anesthesia, I began having seizures.

A friend took over for a short time and then left with out much notice or contact. Our automotive Shop is still in great shape, but the work is now on our own stuff Our youngest son, Soren, takes care of all of it. He is a chip off the old man, brilliant. He does not run the old business He takes care of everything in the mechanical build, repair and maintain department for us all and our friends. He works at a local business and makes much more money than fixing vehicles ever paid me!

Soren tore down the original shop which was a garage that was old 50 years ago. I had it built onto decades ago and the front new building has a snazzy German vehicle hoist (Nussbaum) Soren then designed and totally rebuilt that back building from the foundation up. Beautiful work and the mice no longer have a drafty freeway to enter. A shop cat makes sure that is not an issue any more.

I now work at Gardening, firewood, land upkeep, and writing about my very strange and exciting life. Hurricanes at sea, betrayed love, deliverance from heroin by five words from Jesus. Things like that. Bold things, near death experiences. Imprisonment in Spain, torture by jailers, preceded by escapes and living on the street in Rome. Work on the railroad steel gangs and bold section men who could handle the steel tools and rails. A Hemingway life.

Many more things I write about and my editor at the local paper encouraged me and was attempting syndication of my columns. Four years went by, syndication never happened and I got let go for writing too strongly about Jesus and his Father by the new manager of that paper. C’est La Vie.

I am still writing and send my columns to a great paper in Northern Wisconsin, The Bottom Line News and Views. I am Contemplating a collected column book of 365 columns. It wouldn’t sell on the planet Mercury very well. Why even think of sales on nearby planets? They are pretty close to us as interstellar distances go, and the info on life is sketchy. Shipping would be a big issue too. Maybe E books?

A day on Mercury lasts longer than a year there. It’s Pretty hot and the bookstore distribution business has yet to get Amazon on board with those markets. Those thoughts float in with my love for books by Heinlein, Azimov and Lewis’ Sci-Fi. Neuron cross fires. It helps me write but could be distracting to read.

Then along came a job paying good money for traveling around the extended area, interviewing people for a government program. The Census. Ostensibly an every ten years type of job. Perfect, even pays mileage.

I got a plastic badge and lanyard, a clipboard and an iPhone. I drove a lot and found roads not traveled and places that were somewhat unpleasant and threats from people that didn’t want to talk to me. However, the pleasant folks that opened up their homes and front porches made up for it.

I got pretty good at establishing common ground and had some great chats about experiences in the military. Often, some would notice my demeanor and know that I was a man of faith

Working for a little extra cash. Great conversations occurred and made all the scary encounters fade into the background. Connection. The shared lives that were just like everyone’s: Heartache, loss and loved ones gone. There once was an invitation to share sloppy Joe’s at a lakeside cabin. They where pretty good and the buns were firm and not greasy.

A memorable visit introduced me to homemade Kahlua. ‘Grandmas night-night juice’ she named it. She gave me a flask of it and it was pretty good.

The money I made was earmarked for a new sidewalk from the our house to the shop. It was worth all of the tough interviews. The connections with people from the high end, golfers putting near their private aircraft to the very run down houses with wary women peeking out from the edge of slightly opened doors. All of them worthy of the love of God. Equally and, in their own ways, somewhat open to this strange Scandinavian at their front door.

Of course, there was a bit of tension when deadly force was mentioned in retaliation for me daring to show up for the government’s people counting. A slight short peek at a holstered wheel gun for my perusal. People of different ethnic backgrounds, poor and rich, helpful and insulting. It was life in a distilled time of weeks and roads not traveled. Road food and decent pay.

A side benefit was a sign in the back window my car that had a real official government look about it. Tailgaters would get close, get a glimpse of the sign and suddenly drop back a decent amount. I wasn’t driving a Dodge charger like the squads, but it was very subtle and effective.

The sidewalk to the ship then was done with a slight color and texture added in. It is easy to shovel and sanded in season. We should have one from the porch to the driveway too. Why not put one in from there to the garden gate! “It ain’t happening” as the local colloquialism says do those Census activities every ten years and it’s been twenty and I haven’t got a job offer again. Maybe they found out I was enjoying the job and that is not an attribute for government work. Politics is an exception of course.

I would have a good time on the “What’s my line” show. Comforting, ministering and praying as well as writing about those things would be an accurate job description. The pay is heavenly and a good investment too. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

First photo is of the back half of the shop before restoration Second photo back half restoration third photo is of the sign on the front of the shop (sold to a collector that drove the roll off dumpsters)

Read Henri J.M. Nouwen’s ‘The wounded healer’ for clarification.

Lectio Devina

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was reading an introduction to a nice book that was a gift and came across that word, Lectio Devina. [to practice what you read and understand]. Wisdom and truth given by Christ not just for realizing truth, given as life paths to be more like Him.

Just the other day, I was working on putting new handles on a wheel barrow. Quite a few carriage bolts and nuts involved in the process. It was going pretty well, I managed to put them all in order and even get some new ones to replace the rusted ones. I put the handles on after a lengthily process of removing the old ones. Putting needle nose vice grips on the old rusty bolts and keeping them from spinning the rusty carriage bolt tops. The barrow itself is rather rusty and the holes weak. It went pretty good nonetheless.

Finally, putting the new wooden handles in place, I found the holes drilled in them did not correspond with the old handles! The hardware person assured me that all those handles were the same for every application. They weren’t. I had to drill out two of them that were off by 20mm. . Finding the drill bit in my somewhat disorganized tool drawer by size and then carefully marking the place to drill with a center punch, I managed to make the correct holes.

The process started over again the this time, it worked until it became time to mount the wheel. Those holes did not work and the mounting is tricky to start with. The mounts have to swivel a little to accommodate the angles and those holes were off as well. I started to loose patience and pulled up the wheel, dropping the shims and the sliding mounts all at once onto the floor and preceded to start throwing things around. Tools and parts. Julie was there by then and was ‘disappointed’ in my behavior. I Felt justified in my frustration and she observed, I was not acting as I have written about, talked about, even advised on this behavior problem.

We were both upset, to put it mildly, and after lying on the grass outside the shop, I began the process of first beating myself up about my behavior and then had enough sense to go out to my spot in the middle of our garden and speak to our Lord about this pattern of frustration. Gently He reminded me to put into my life the things that I quote from Scripture to others. It was humbling and began a healing in me. The next morning I began reading a recent book that was a gift and found the perfect instructions to follow. Lectio Devina. [Practice what you read and preach].

Old words from Latin that are relevant right here, right now. There are many of us that believe wisdom is for us to speak and write about and be hot shot scholars that know many things about scripture.

Behaviors, attitudes and good things our Lord tells us about every day. Love your neighbors, be generous, be kind and always listen to that still, small voice in our spirit. I have to die to my own excuses, perceived righteous behaviors and judgment of others. The hardest one for me seems to be my judgment of myself that is the wrong way to go about changing my behavior.

Sound familiar? Take this to heart as I have revealed a weakness of my own. Let this truth go deep and stir up our minds and all our behavior. Understanding that all of us need to realize that faith means more than belief. I can understand how to use tools, but the one tool I am still learning to use better is the spirit of our Lord.

There is no condemnation in Christ Jesus. He is the judge of all things, but he does not condemn. After all, the thief on the cross simply said, “remember me when you come into your Kingdom” Jesus knew what the man said. I look ahead to meeting that man as well. He was at his last breath but knew the Lord and forgiveness for his life and sins.

How it applies to me? I have more time before my last breath. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

With thanks to Matt Meher composer, for his singing truth and beauty recordings while I write

Chief Cornerstone Communication

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was early afternoon, it was below zero and I was headed down to the wood shed with the empty wheelbarrow for yet another load of ‘all nighters’ if I could find some among the rank.

Suddenly, I felt His presence again. Unexpected, not a result of praying or listening or reading particularly. I felt just for a moment something was going to happen to me, perhaps unpleasant and God was about ready to soften the event with a bit of a heads up. I thought it was the end. I began silently singing cornerstone where I am firm with no scheme of man could pluck me from His hand. I was shaky but ready Lord. Very clearly Jesus asked: “Who is condemning you?”

He just began talking to me and showing clearly that the anger and fear were totally my own doing. Simply put that I did not have to condemn myself for failures with relationships. With All the family. All of them along with close friends

“Listen, ask questions and above all, don’t retreat into yourself feeling once again everyone, is pointing their finger at you” They love you, I love you, I love how you write about me. Reveal your heart as I am teaching you to do so in your writing. Now it is time to open that door you have been longing to have swing open. Let them in so you can really see them the way I do!” 1.

I am worthy! they are worthy! The only one who can do any condemnation is me! Why do I do that?

An old habit, decision, who knows. My life has been filled with decisions made to myself from the world and in doing so, the glass door that leads into my heart has the sign ‘Closed’ visible from out side. Protection that I thought was needed! Open heart indeed! Many betrayals is the worst feeling of all. “How can I make this right?” this is the way to begin. Ask a good, heartfelt question.

Betrayed or the betrayer. To be dealt with in a similar fashion. Pursuing rectitude in all directions. The really hard stuff we know is our lot in the world. Always lurking around corners for all of us. The sudden intake of breath and the surprise heartbeat increase. Realization of a boatload of bad decisions and coming to a conclusion that there is no end to it and nothing that can be done about it.

Beyond depressing. Your last meal of love already finished and all that needs doing is a little washing up. Stack the cups of anger and defeat so they can be used once more. Open the cupboard of your heart once again that is stacked with these cups of wrath.

“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen” 2. The blues from the one who knew these things.

Upon finishing up the wood stacking on the porch, I came inside and Julie handed me a short post on Valentines day with a beautiful healing message on healing the fear of rejection. It had come into her computer in-box when I was out, doing the wood and being spoken to and comforted by the Lord. I was ready for that. Perhaps the first time in my life. Eager to learn, eager to heal and be healed. It’s pretty good.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

1. Chief Cornerstone 2. Louis Armstrong

A Life with the beauty of Friendship

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It was always there. A loss, not even known for what it was. An emptiness that fell upon every thing that I experienced through my life. Empty of love and lost it when I was a child. I weep now when I realize what I felt that time when the emptiness took hold of me. I always thought it was abandonment. A memory that diffused relationship with everyone.

I tried to cope with that memory, not even aware I was doing that. Clever words spoken and written. There were many times when that empty feeling would diminish and it was always the same thing. Smiles and words that promise embracing mutual friendship. I needed to forgive the people that it seemed I was abandoned by. My family did not know me nor did I know them. Relatives that should have known those things too. Inherited behavior, perhaps cultural.

Music was soothing then and a smile inside at a moments of beauty got me hooked into that beauty. Songs and orchestral creations still work well. I remember some of those songs. that I played. the phrases of praise momentarily fill the emptiness. ”I loved what you did” or sometimes just a few notes spoken of. It always makes the emptiness fade. I still crave approval and contact. Applause was nice but fleeting, Playing Ashokan Farewell on the violin perfectly, without an accompanist on guitar for example. Fulfilling for a moment. List, Chopin and Beethoven are soothing time and again. A perfect den of pleasure, even listening while driving alone.

It was a coldness in my very core that drove me to play well, and now, to write well. A romantic spirit. Those moments are when the emptiness would back off. Approval and love of just me. I did not know why those times of contact and praise satisfy. It seems selfish to enjoy a secret pleasure in being alone.

Isn’t it like that for everyone? Seeking smiles and laughter from people and amazingly, an interest in us that might be a friend! There are few friends that I can contact anytime for their care and seeing me and they for what we are. An empty man, perhaps like they are. Leaning on one another like an unmovable roof truss. Solid wood. With knot holes and defects but Oak. A trust able to withstand bad storms.

I was overcome with this angst, self pity really this afternoon. A Sunday where the message hit home. You know the quote that was sung by the Byrds. There is a time for grieving and time for joy in Ecclesiastes wisdom.

Many of them are Gone now from the inevitable event we all must experience. They died. How inconvenient of them to do so. I still love them dearly and I know they still do. Friendship and love is eternal. I lean on Jesus often when desperate.

Most of those friends were the kind we all need. A phone call or even showing up without calling, just showing up. Not even a hint of inconvenience from the open door. You were in the neighborhood? That’s over a hundred mile trip! Tell me what’s going on! “I felt that you need encouragement and a good hug so I dropped by”

The day of the wall phone is gone. Now we have Facebook and posts telling us what’s right with us. All neat and clean without any tears or embraces of understanding. Isaac Asimov’s robots now have cell phones and good internet. We edit conversations akin to open book exams.

The last two years of isolation and fear have reduced our civilization to rubble. No smiles seen from many. The old game of keep away. The deadly bat flu made it fearful to come near and we were so much poorer, even crippled by it. We all lost, the stats and graphs and zoom meetings were just party favors for the worthless messages of untimely death. It’s always untimely for everyone. covid left but it left damaged people. Masks are now in our favorite aisles when we shop. No one smiles as with masking, smiles are not visible.

I an not alone in my quest now. The world needs good friends and we must learn again how to do it. Smiles. Waving from the mailbox at lake people seen in season. I have noticed that a slight smile and a nod are beginning to make a difference. Laughter rings out as bells from the steeple.

Come. Gather together and be thankful for blessings and deliverance from evil. Look upon the world as a small child’s smile at an adoring adult. It opens our hearts as we look upon our world. Not through rose colored glasses but with clear vision. We take off the disguise of indifference and reveal ourselves and see them.

This is who we were created to be. I’m not afraid of you. It’s civilization 101. I have been hiding for most of my life and I have began to offer myself to my best friend who is nearby. Close as my heart beats in synchrony with His. Asleep while I am dreaming, He tells me stories of romance and adventure.

The creator of us all, different and beautiful. Loved and embraced as we listen and the world becomes pleasant and we enter into the joy of the Lord. Well done good and faithful. Well done.

It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator Photo taken from our east porch

With thanks to Frederic Buechner and Henri Nouwen

Working in the Cold

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Up here in the north, working outside without gloves, can be unpleasant. Not often, but it also can lead to frostbite. A handful of times, I had to work on cars and trucks outside our shop in the winter because the shop was already full of work. Emergency operations. Misfires, leaks and such leading to inability to get to work or school. Not much fun to replace sensors or wiring when it is below zero.

After the work was done, blowing on my cupped hands helped a little while I got back into the warm shop. I began thinking about why I got angry about such things. Why my spirit was feeling low. I was cold in my mind and not very kind in thought, even about myself. I recently have been training my immediate language responses to distressing situations. Using Latin and Greek.

Styx and Hades for example. Chronos. And others. I am making some progress. You know the drill. Easy to resort to old habits that are unpleasant to hear. Get away from me Athena and Eros.

Having something going immediately into me that would calm my mind and spirit. Calm, almost humorous come forth. Pleasing and disabling anger completely. A wind warming my spirit, blowing through. Pleasantly and completely felt. The new song and breath of God, as He cups me in His hands that I welcome with relief and joy. It worked! I did not curse you Lord, I dismissed the anger by just using the useless names of shelf gods that do not care if they are praised or cursed. Just words of humor really.

I am not saying anger is humorous but relief from it quickly is. Memory can be very useful and assisted by the third person of the Holy Trinity, is downright pleasant. I always wondered why Jesus prayed to the Father. Jesus the begotten Son who was with God and is God (at the start of time as John, the one Jesus Loved wrote). Who is God and who do I pray to when I pray? 1.

Good thoughts from an Abbot of Genesee to meditate on. How do I pray and how do they answer me? The holy spirit is the voice and guide in me. Welcome Him in and you get all three of them on an eternal party line. Meditate on that if you and I will and the advice from that wise Monk that tells me if I get confused about this, “just read Newsweek to relax”

It works. Just listen or read the latest news about riots, dissent and violence and then get back to chatting with the Lord (what do I mean when I say ‘Lord’?) and get that breath and wind that calms and warms our heart and spirit. Amazed once again by His gift of joy. “May He turn His face towards you and give you peace”. Shalom Shalom.

Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

  1. Henri Knouwen