It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt.” ~Fyodor Dostoyevski
It is indeed, Doubt that is essential to the path of faith in Christianity. At first, it seems that doubt is gone, once faith is embraced. But is it? I must confess that I doubt at times in the seemingly impossible promises of eternal life and all that precedes it.
Protection, provision, guidance and comfort. At times it seems my life is not protected nor provided for and the comfort I desire seems as though it is the carot out of my grasp. The guidance is forgotten for a bit and I lapse into some sort of swampy thoughts. It takes the silence to look back on my life when I have been blessed by all the excellent things that I have not even asked for.
Simple things that have been the foundation of the questioning expression on my face. You know that move of your own face. A slight tilt of your head, a slight frown and the wrinkle of the forehead. Looking down a bit and your eyes pulled in along with the frown. Sort of a sad look combined with the look of puzzlement. Trying to understand a missing thing. A lost tool or something said that you didn’t quite hear. Doubt of your ability to understand or grasp reality. Doubt and confusion coupled. That can’t be right. I just saw that object. What did she say? Things akin to doubting your own understanding and not quite trusting your memory of touch, sound, sight and proprioceptive sense of balance. Off kilter in puzzlement.
Perhaps tripping over your own feet and falling to the ground or falling to the depth of your being. Doubt.
In isolation it can be devastating. With the help of someone who loves you, there is a helping hand. Reaching in to pull you up out of your fear. Love abounding to once again, reassure and rescue us from our own self doubt. A rescue that can give faith. “You’ve got this, your OK and I am here beside you, always.
Faith in another one’s words and showing you your own worth. Faith in the words of your rescuer.
This is the path to remove the doubt, the doubt that diminishes and eliminates faith. This path is well known and written about in scripture. Everyone has doubts. I look back when I feel the doubt sleeting into me. I look back on the miracles and to others, impossible communications I have been blessed with. Indeed, the helping hand of our rescuer. Jesus. He has been with me when I did not know who He was. He has whispered words to warn and guide my life to love rather than follow my indifference or even hatred of other people and really, myself.
The only way for me is to silence my mind and listen. A very old desert father in the third century put it perfectly. “Where is your savior? Why don’t you ask Him yourself? He said listen” He doesn’t lie to me and if I really am quiet and listen, He will talk to me and tell me truth about the path of Holiness. That narrow path that anyone can walk. Neither looking left nor right but walking true. Listen and walk true to the spirit of God.
Working the railroad section and riding the crew car to the work site. You’ve seen them, short and yellow metal with the crew riding in the open. Putt putting down the track. An amazing thing about them is how they go in reverse. Shut the ignition off and as the slow, single cylinder engine puts it’s last putt before coming to a stop turn the ignition back on at just the right time, and it begins to run in the opposite direction!
Handy, no gear box needed. This is a akin to my life at times. When I feel that I am going in the wrong direction, I have to quiet my self and listen to someone else to discover the path that leads to peace and even back the way I came and finding the place I began. Just shut off as His spirit begins to quiet my chattering mind.
As I like to say, “A suddenly occurs” and a sunrise begins to warm my face and reminds me, once again, there is light that shows that path upon the narrow road. A path that I am guaranteed not to go astray upon.
I am reminded at times about navigation with a compass and sextant when lost at sea, going in the wrong direction. The reliable clock in my possession tells me where the sun and compass should be. I ‘shoot’ the sun and drop it to the horizon to tell me where I am with the compass and chart and make a correction of direction. Harder to do in an area with strong magnetic fields but through a learned skill, I can now make what is called ‘dead reckoning’ a good decision to continue.
I know I am off course at times and the quietness gives me time to realize I am dead again and I need to hear that still, small voice that tells me the course to take. I reckon and quietly hear the true course laid out. The chart book always is right and after reading it, the course is set once again.
It’s relatively easy to get off course, we all do it. We have to shut our engine down and often reverse course to get to where we started and find the track we should have gone down. Love and forgiveness of offense, forgiveness to our self image for taking the wrong course too. It happens to everyone. Listen the the true navigator of our lives and look to the Son and bring his light close to our horizon. Not easy, I have to learn how to use that sextant of my spirit and read the chart. The Bible. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
There is, in all of us, a wish to be known as a good man. A man of morals to always be a good neighbor. But we know we are not good. Selfish, angry and full of …ourselves. My boot laces can’t lift me to be all I think I can be. They aren’t even tied when I try.
There are moments of frustration, and anger, that seem to supplant our good and replace it with self-justification. Driving is a good example for me. Reacting to a driver that I feel is a threat or foolishness. Whatever or where did that anger or at least, that judgment become paramount in my mind at the time? If I promptly examine the emotions it becomes clear that I am not ‘totally good” but quickly justify myself by comparing my good with someone lack of it. Of course, if I act like an idiot does not make me one. There is great hope for me. At the very outset, of foolishness, it begins to be exposed and there is faith that change can occur.
Christianity promises me that I will be cleansed of these things but I don’t like the process at all. As C.S. Lewis so eloquently puts it, then I am like a rabbit and the pulling out of my fur and flesh painfully makes me recognize my real state of ‘goodness’ I don’t even treat myself very good if I am honest. At the point just stated, I become morose about my ungracious thoughts and promise to try and do better. I need help to change.
The only real solution to these problems of trying to be good is the embrace and surrender to Christ. To open the door or window to the gentle and persistent voice telling me that I need more than good intentions and self image of my mind. The story by George MacDonald, ‘on the back of the North Wind’ Comes to mind when young Diamond blocks that breath in his loft and he hears a gentle voice say: “why do you block my window?” There is no window in this loft! ” I did not say A window, I said My window”
I need to listen to that gentle voice and die to my good intentions and my self images . Frustration can overwhelm me with the task of realizing my need to become more and more Christ like.
The death of myself can be stated in a simple parable. Trapped in a rushing stream, soon to drown and be smashed in the upcoming cascading waterfall, already heard ahead as the rocks are funneling the water. Suddenly a hand appears from the riverbank stretching out to rescue me. What must I do? Do I say, “Easy for you, there is a rock under you and you are standing on the riverbank!” Or do I clasp the hand of loving rescue that will save me from my inevitable doom. Always a choice. Life or death, choose now.
Those of us who are tired of life are actually tired of death and we desperately need the life of living waters. I want to be like a tree, planted by a stream of living waters. With my roots that go down deep.
I was blessed by a vision of swimming with Jesus, I was in pain and had my eyes closed, meditating on live worship music in the room and suddenly, I was swimming with Jesus! He said He knew I loved to swim. We swam together doing the side stroke, facing one another. He asked me if I wanted to go underneath the water? “You can breathe down there!”Then I answered, how deep is it? He said, “how deep do you want to go?” Startled, I opened my eyes and was healed of a leg injury that was plaguing me. I instantly went to pray for someone that was praying for me.
We had a good time of prayer that day. Never forgot it,
That was the beginning of my wish to pray for others that want to go deeper still into the loving arms of Jesus. Our Lord and rescuer from the world of ourselves. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
Drinking my morning coffee and I sit in warmth and I see the wood, dry and split and stacked in the shed that I see as I gaze from the kitchen windows. It’s close by, that firewood. Wheel barrow close.
Cut and split by my son’s strength As he provides for the old home, living with his old folks that live there.
The aging and leaking radiator was replaced with a beauty as now the kitchen and rooms put forth heat accompanying the parlor stove glowing with the dry wood creating fires warmth.
I see the winter’s cold from the north wind. And now the shops are warm too, as he labored with skill to make the furnaces there bow to his strength and will.
He loves us and works on the homestead that our family grew in, Someday it will belong to our son. Now he cares for us and we will pass it on to him. The old farm with barn and fences and a chicken coop too. Solid shops full of tools.
The country ways, well and good, as it always has been through time, with neighbors close by Who know us and love us as they visit with the good excuses, “have you any eggs to buy?”
That old farm, where the family has lived as a half century passed by. It will be passed on to our son and some day we will pass on to the lover of our souls that knows us all
We worship our Lord together who indwells our hearts as we truly love one another. A song about the one full of grace and truth, someday he will come for you. “Oh the beauty of the Man.” (Tim Reimherr) Jack Gator
A hectic day with the usual errands and heavy work. A friends mother needed some work on her vehicle and it turned out rather complicated. Shredded wiring, trouble codes and the usual inaccessible places.
One more detail on that, a new dipstick which was only available about 25 miles away. The rest of the family was processing firewood with the usual plethora of chain saws, trailers, wedges, ice water and good gloves.
Dry and dead trees were wedged and fell with that mixture of snapping and rustling turning louder and with a rending tear of the notch, a thumping crash felt and heard. The chain saws began their work slicing and dicing the branches and measuring with the bars, a nice 16 inches long. Dry stuff on the hoof that gave off bowling pins mixing music together. Good for this winters burns in the parlor stove.
I went to town to get some fuel and had time to run after that dipstick down off the big highway that connects our two states. The part was correct and when I turned from my parking spot, I felt a bump and truck began to lean a bit and in 50 feet, the truck was parked with a destroyed front tire. No spare. Well, there was one under the frame that has been there since the late nineties. Flat and rusted in place. That was OK because there wasn’t any Jack or lug wrench. B prepared was turned into a B flat tire. It looked rather the worse for wear. All floppy and the treads were hardly there anyway. Probably ran over a nail or a beer cap I t thought. Sidewall failure.
It would have been a disaster on the road at speed. No accident happened in front of an auto parts store. I tried calling on my cell but the signal was terrible, always is up on the big St.Croix hill. I went outside to my leaning Ford Ranger and logged into the nearby grocery store that has good WiFi. It was about 3 o’clock. Second time the old truck had failed at a very slow speed.
The last time it failed, a tie rod end fell off in our parking lot. That is one of two parts that are connected to the steering mechanism. Providence, and once again, my life was saved by the Lord. “Coincidence” some folks say. A double negative was my response.” Yeah, right” He is always good. Obviously it wasn’t my time to leave the planet.
So I called home to the firewood team and there wasn’t much to be done. Then I called triple A and they said “due to a high level of requests there would be a delay in response time.” Sounded like I had just called the power company after a bad storm. It was OK but I regretted not bringing a book along.
People started stopping and rolling down windows asking if I needed help. One of them was a man I know pretty well that goes to the same Bible study every week. “Just waiting for the tow truck, thanks!” He asked if he could do something and I answered I could use lunch. He smiled and they drove off to the north. The grocery store was about 200 feet the other way. He might have thought I was making light of my situation. I wasn’t
A man in his middle thirties or so walked up to my open window and asked the same question. At that point I got out of the truck, shook his hand and thanked him for his concern. Quickly it seemed, we began really talking. Who are you, where do you live things. The conversation engendered by my curiosity, started towards dealing with disappointments. I noticed no wedding ring and he said he was divorced. I said something commiserating and then asked if he had children.
It began the revelation between two men, strangers that friendship was being offered. Delighted we pressed on with two boys for each of us and his had cowboy names. I asked if it was a well known country singer’s name and he affirmed it and I remarked that the singer was a man of God. He smiled and agreed. We were off way past the pulpit and the pews and started getting deep. He told me of his childhood church history and I replied that I had met many preachers of that denomination that illuminated grace and the love of Christ.
“An Episcopal Priest saved my life when I was freezing outside of his home, I was then living in my truck” I know he loved Jesus and I loved him. Not the usual of ‘not our denomination’ judgment. He lit up and told me he wasn’t much on church attendance. I then spoke truth to him that that does not have much to do with intimacy with the living Spirit of Jesus, really. I read C.S. Lewis and his mentor, George MacDonald a lot. They taught me those things.
We spoke of our lives. He works with machines that package candy bars, 100 a minute. He fixes them when they misbehave. I talked about my half century of owning an automotive repair shop and of being completely foolish in being unprepared completely for a simple flat tire on the old company truck. Things that people speak about when getting to know one another. It went on quickly enough and we began to delight in our ‘chance’ meeting.
I took a leap of faith and stated that our meeting was not chance but the whole reason I was there having a dead Ford Ranger and he was there to extend a hand to a stranger. It was our Lord putting us together to encourage him in his now renewed interest in these things. I almost felt like a pastor again . It was just what I needed as well. I had been feeling rather down that morning and my wife was trying to tell me I was very useful around the farm. After all, I speak like an idiot at times but that does not make me one.
I am often weak and don’t feel adequate enough to for my ego and past sole support of our place. Our strong son is now the strength we need and of course, that is why I bought the used chain saw from a second hand store the day before. It needed sharpening and carburetor adjustment. My son sharpened it well and I set the idle and off I went. I was working my son and all the family were loading and sawing too.
Soren, my son, dropped some huge dead trees. It was sweaty and noisy. It was good. I was reminded of my life and health and the beauty of our family life once again. (Now back to that flat tire.)
I got back in the our truck to wait, maybe write a note for the tow truck and looked up and he had arrived. Good timing, again. He was looking for me. He knew the area but there are hundreds of cars and trucks there.
The tow truck operator told me he would meet me at the grocery store parking lot while I bought lunch and we were off. I got extras in case he needed lunch too. He did not want any hot fried chicken, so I ate it all. A pleasant 30 mile flat bed drive home and it became easy work to push the truck onto the hoist and take off the tire. We obtained a spare and tools. Never had a flat since.
Now it became evident that this conversation with that young man down south was fulfilling work and it was very good. Another inconvenient pause in life to meet someone and have each of us encouraged. Most likely the whole reason for the perfectly safe place to have the flat
The B flat became Be sharp and I began to see. As a musician and punster it seems to fit this story perfectly.
It was in the spring when Jemimah, the family Brittany spaniel began to show some odd behavior. She had been with the family for over 10 years and Julie had trained this extraordinary dog with many commands. H, speak,crawl, roll over, and a few others. She was really good at begging for food too. Many a meal around the oval oak table would have family plates the focus. The pooch would be on the floor gazing with a fixed stare at those plates. Jemimah loved chewing on ice cubes and when Norm would clink one or two in his favorite glass, she would rush in to the kitchen. Just in case one cube would fall. Norm made sure that would occur.
Jemimah’s odd behavior was physical and worsened rapidly. The DVM was puzzled but saw on an XRay a strange thing with her heart. There was an antibiotic already being used and it seemed to help but one morning the dog could not get up, could not eat nor drink. She would wag her tail lying down whenever told her favorite words: “good dog, good girl” that was all she do now. She convulsed several times and it was decided to have her “put to sleep” When Julie and Toby came back from that event, the whole family lost it. Crying, sobbing and praying for release of the anguish of loss. Surprising emotional collapse really, Jemimah was loved by many friends as well. She had a way of staring into your eyes and then shutting them halfway when scratched just so: under the collar or in her ears. She was buried that evening up on the hill overlooking the home and a small lake on the other side of the ridge. Impossible. Sweet pain,with her favorite rope toy in the blanket as the small handfuls began gently dropping down into the grave. The next day, Norm took a big load of rocks to build a cairn and put grandfathers rock in the middle with some astounding blue and white wildflowers just picked nearby. More tears as they sat on the hill below the grave.No one really slept well. Most of us know this experience. It comes to us all.
The family wondered why there was such a strong, palpable grief with all of them. It seemed it was the first time that the loss was a loss of total love and surrender. More than all the loss’ earlier of people. Stunning and healing beginning of broken hearts among them all. Realization of what total devotion and love really looks like. Decisions to close off their hearts in the past and then being delighted that they had indeed opened their hearts and it was once again, possible. A parting gift from a devoted companion. Loving and loved.
Why is this memory and grief not felt when a sometimes a family member, a father or a sister not felt the same? There were several deaths in Norm’s family, one fairly recently of his sister. The relationship was broken some time ago with her. She was deeply offended when Norm and Julie last saw her. She felt judged and thought she was less loved. The only memory that Norm has of that decades ago visit was the presenting of the truth to his sister. by Norm and his wife, Julie. They remember that there was a very brief moment of mild flirtation that sis gave to Julie. It was clear that Diana had embraced same sex attractions and relationships. That’s a mild way of expressing it. Politically correct in these times. The rulers of Sodom now our rulers.
Later, when Norm worked hard every week taking care of their mother there was little communication or any support from Diana. The usual winding down of a life; assisted living, nursing homes and funeral. A funeral that resulted in Norm becoming a Christian man. Property given and sold and a splitting of the money. Sis was living far away on the west coast and couldn’t help with these things. There was bitterness conveyed over the phone and eagerness to get ‘her share’ of the sale monies. The loan mom had made to Norm for a needed mound system was not quite paid off and sis dismissed it as “that’s your deal” Payment to a merchant that delivered food to mom was still needed to be paid.” If they didn’t bill you for it, then why pay it?” she also said. Anger came from the phone when sis stated she had been cheated when Julie told her she had been overpayed a few thousand more. Sis demanded Norm “Stay away from my kids!” and she also wanted ½ of Moms’ ashes.
Puzzling, astonishing and anger. Just before these unpleasant rages, Norm had embraced Christianity and it was apparent that sis had rejected it. Years later, unable to locate where his sister had moved to, Norm got a Christmas card from Dianas kids. In one sentence of the card, there was mention of the death of Diana and also of their precious dog as ‘difficulites’ they had gone through recently. It was shocking, and yet, a communication between Norm’s and his nephew’s family. It was a start of truth revealed to Norm’s family. The same way Norm was notified of his father’s death. The postal service bringing news. An extreme feeling of rejection that was apparently a family tradition. Greetings from Diana’s son, to her brother and my uncle. Seasons greetings. You are worth a few words of events of some importance. The death of our precious pet and your sister.
These days there is the decline and immanent death of Julie’s father and all Norm thinks about is the inheritance which would help his family survive their financial decline. The recession and reliance on loving sons and their social security to endure the times. Remembering the truth of life and the giver of all things brings him back from fear of loss and he is realizing the world’s fears of loss and destruction. An unexpected vision which gave him release. The photo of her dad embracing their first son, Bjorn, was the only time that Norm had seen love from her dad. The vision of her dad on death’s door being able to embrace his grandsons and know what was happening would be more precious than gold, more precious than silver. It would be enough for Norm. It would be enough when Julie’s dad passes into eternity.
Something similar happened to Norm in a dream. He was with his father. There was Norm’s dad on a subway. Norm was seated and dad was a strap hanger right in front of him. Norm asked, “have you seen the boys?” With a smile, a big smile that had never seen by Norm, his dad nodded yes and it was beautiful. It made things right.
Norm has been given the ability to forgive along with his family and that is the strong assurance of Christ who lives in them, Julie and their sons. Also in their oldness’s wife. There is now a glow of forgiveness does not come with forgetfulness but it comes with Grace and peace and comes with assurance of an inheritance. The treasure of life eternal with the creator of all things. Norm and Julie are praying and thanking for that Holy embrace from Jesus. That promise has indeed been given to their family. It also was spoken by Norm’s friend Chuck when he died. Thousands of miles away. A treasure to him that endures and that event is told to many who want that testimony. It was indeed, a gift of God. Eternal and beautiful. That assurance is a guidepost that Norm’s family can remember and grounds them on solid ground. Blessed assurance, gifts from God are pure Love.
In the end, it’s pretty good. Norm Peterson, the Gator
First published 2011 when there was deep snow on the ground
There it was, indeed a table set for family and a few friends as well. The exquisite food, paid for by a relative in advance. A wise and generous relative, gone on a Christmas day past. Loved and missed at the table now.
The family, gathered in our home, every Christmas Eve to eat well and satisfy the gathering with exotic things. Brie, Lingonberry jam, Home baked bread out of the farm’s wheat. Tasty nuggets of chocolate treats and cookies made once a year. Treats, some pulled from the larder that are saved for this time. Some from Julie’s work at Valley Sweets in St.Croix Falls.
There is a Christmas ham in the crock pot that simmered all day and filled the house with it’s savory smells. Appetites were honed and sharpened as the winter of winters was preparing another snow storm. Already the new sidewalk was drifted half over from the bitter sleething of fine snow. The wind had not abated much from the night and the drive home from a delightful worship service was fraught with drifts on the rural highway. Narrow triangles of show, now created by the dry snow the county plows had just cleared that day.
It is perhaps the only time that snow is seen as beautiful and appropriate. The old images of sleighs to visit. Pulled by a team of Percheron horses. The blankets and even a few hot bricks tucked in to be heated up again for the ride home. Wood cook stoves and wood or coal parlor stoves that worked pretty well at heating a home. No worry about the pipes freezing because there were none. We have a painting of a sleigh heading for a church but the horse looks fake somehow in mid stride. Tough to convey motion in a painting. I think maybe a slight brush stroke of snow behind an upraised hoof would have done the job. Art critic.
Candle light services with luminaries out in the snow to entice and welcome. Classic songs to be sung, you know the ones. Everyone has them memorized. The big round wood stove in the corner (should be in the middle of the aisle thinks the same art critic) We all have these memories of times past before we were born. Stories passed down by past generations that had to walk miles uphill in heavy snow. To school as well as church.
Another image that I have is the short peace in the midst trench warfare in France. Soldiers apprehensive and then hearing the opposing army singing Silent Night in German. Slowly rising up from the trenches and walking towards one another, perhaps with a bit of whiskey or brandy to share. Impossible to contemplate with the guns and cannons silent the enemies meeting on no man’s land. Men’s vision to be truthful. The Man full of grace and truth who someday will come for you. This is the reason the fear was pushed aside. We have all been afraid a long long time, but Papa is here and He will take the fear away.
There is impossible joy in the midst of the world’s battle for many things. Power, possessions, and dominance.
We all know the story, even those of us who think the story of Christmas is only about being rewarded because we have not been naughty. We think we are on the ‘better be good’ part of the perceived equation. It’s not any of those things. The reason that Christmas has the impact year after year is because the story is true and the good news is impossible to explain with only words. It is indeed a feast. It is felt and it is known by all men. It is joy and the present of good news that cannot be earned. It is indeed a Christmas present that must be opened by everyone that sees it and know what it is. The only present that still surprises with astonishment. Every time. It’s pretty good. The feast of life with Jesus Norm Peterson / JackGator
It was subtle and it was a destroyer of families. Work for the men in tall buildings, not within walking distance.
The new city age of commuting, milk men down the alleys and trolley cars. The fifties, when I was single digits old. It was subtle and the beginning of an ending. The most important thing of all disappeared. Intimacy.
The way things used to be, such a common phrase indicating nostalgia for the ‘good old days’. It is much more than that. my father worked as a fireman and Mom eventually worked downtown as a secretary for the public schools. Gone was grandpa’s little farm and both families living close by to one another. A neighbor near the farm complained that Dad was supposed to live in the city to be a fireman. The move to the city was inevitable and plans were made to buy a nice house in the north side of Minneapolis. The country life was comfortable for me. The creek down the hill offered fishing and adventure. Life was the smell of good earth.
“Hey kids, tomorrow we get out the rock boat and get the rocks out of the main field.” Groans from both me and my sister but with memories of Grandma’s supper with the fresh doughnut holes with chicken dumplings and real mashed potatoes. The ‘boat’ moved slowly and Freddie, my friend nearby, joined the ‘party.’ There was always a bit of humor that came forth too. “Hey, that rock looks just like Mr. Mosher!” Grandpa laughing from the old International also saying that’s not the way to speak of him! Guilty as charged, but still snickering when we looked at each other. Working the land together as Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote about in her newspaper columns.
Not long after those halcyon days of laughter and sharing in the good times and difficult or even sad times, it ended. Gone,the best days of my life. The fire department was a good job for Dad. Secure income.
They moved into the city as Dad continued working for the fire department, and to afford the nice city house, Mom had to work and leave us alone at the new home. A lot. The one room school house a mile away was not the way things were done in the city. There weren’t any potato fields or big vegetable gardens either. The biggest loss was the absence of parents when they were needed. Not being available at home when bad things happened. I was lost in the waves of change. Waking up at Bunyan’s Vanity Fair. The cute girl next door was a forbidden friend for Jack. She went to the ‘wrong’ church.
Make your own lunch and wait after school for Mom or Dad. Alone in the house. No more family games and no neighbors or relatives coming by. The big church downtown and bullies at the neighborhood school were incomprehensible. No one seemed to care about children at home or at the next door neighbors. Gone were the sights of a broken piece of equipment on a neighbors field. “I going to go over to Rick’s place and see what we can do” sorts of things. Day cares started up and everything had a price. From workers of the soil to wage earners surviving in toil. Children did not understand this. In a child’s eye it was abandonment and loss.
And so it goes as progress turns into regress for the new price of hearth and home. Our home now had a fireplace in the living room but it was never lit. The big coal furnace in the basement provided the heat but the hearth never provided a family room’s comfort. Now the gathering of family was the flicker of the black and white television set and intimacy was knowing the names of the characters on the screen. Big life became substitute life and families losses were significant. Children became actors in the play of city life. Do well at school and play with the strangers and you make friends if you don’t cry. First grade in the big city.
Gone the instantaneous comfort of a mother’s loving touch, the guiding hand of a Grandfather as the soil turned rich under the plow and disk. Love for neighbors seen and demonstrating love for everyone. Gone was “It’s been a good day, let’s read that book! Who knows where we left off?” Instead, lonely days. Akin to a room of the house suddenly disappearing. But dad and Grandpa were good carpenters and rebuilt some of the loss.
But Dad and Grandpa were not seen during the day and Grandpa and Grandma still lived in Golden Valley. I withdrew into myself and began to embrace short wave radio after a few years in grade school. I got my ham radio license just before going into 7th grade. I then had communications with total strangers around the country that were as lonely as I was. But dad and Grandpa were good carpenters and rebuilt some of the loss with me observing the new wood shop in our basement and Grandpa teaching dad and later, dad teaching me. I still have some of the old tools and a wood tool carrier from them. Now my youngest son has some of those tools on a special shelf in his wood shop here on the farm.
There is another carpenter that will restore all our loss’. He is the best restoration worker in the world. Jesus, He will make all things new. A perfect man with wood in the shop and wood on the cross. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator Scribe
It was one of those soirees, delightful providence of food and people well all yearn for. It went on for the perfect amount of time. Beautiful children, eager pets and faces and voices familiar. Polite words of promise and the search for lives barely understood. Surrounded by a choir, singing a light opera of intimacy, queries and laughter. The author of the notes and stanzas still in the wings waiting for the stage call.
Bits of the score, heard but not completely understood are jealously embraced, acted in a dream that night. The unrecognized but palatable yearning to be written into the opera at various stanza’s almost heard and ended many times with recognizable laughing voices.
Sometimes, you have the impression that the author has saved your savoring for last powerful measures. The ending of stunning beauty, only felt by a few actors still remaining on the stage. Duets mostly but with engagement of song between several singers. Fulfillment and with the dishes put away and the snap of tables folded for the next production in the background. The final notes played like beautiful, loud trumpets and kettle drums building to your then silent departure.
We have all been there. It was an invitation with promise and the invitation given casually. Turn on the voice in the car and follow her instructions. ‘Turn left’ almost going through the stop sign while looking for the road she was telling you about. Blue tooth on the car radio and it works. Sometimes. Upon arrival, it was anticipated that parking would be somewhat complex. It was a breeze this time. A few decades of months in the winter past, the sleigh and the snow complicated parking. A wonder of landscaping came into view. The stage was set.
The guest of honor spoke after a delightful lunch. myself and Julie, sitting in the front heard him plainly. The intriguing thing was his demeanor. Engaging. You knew he was not used to speaking and it really helped him. Not smooth but truth easily heard and personal as weakness’ and surprises as well.
After he spoke there were the inevitable requests for clarification and he handled that very well. Professional speakers are a dreadful bore in those circumstances. Thanks be he was again, engaging and the time sped by.
Since we were in the front row, it was natural to approach him and reassure him. We talked and talked well. There was no lecturing. Fascination. Worlds presented from far away. The mission to intrigue and cause a slight tip of the head to look beyond sight. The author delighted in us.
A light opera, conducted just for us it seemed. As indeed the accouterments were put away and no one else was seen or heard around us, we realized it was the curtain call. The car was easily seen as the other ones were gone.
Every one of the guests and hosts had politely exited and we felt very honored as we conveyed the mutual pleasure of the evening to one another. Real conversation. After all, the opera of honor was well written and well sung by all. Silence and delight at what had been given.
The author of the play is still with us. He has a habit of doing that. He rode back with us and is, as usual, still about the ranch. He helps me write, he surprises us with snippets of astonishing beauty that we have never seen before. We long for more, always. We hunger for the meal again as we wait with eager anticipation. At times, He shouts his name over us. Jesus, author and finisher of our faith. it’s pretty good.. Jack GatorScribe
While reading at breakfast, I was astonished and admonished by a simple small book, a gift from a relative really. A great gift that the relative didn’t even know they had given to me. The book started a hiatus in breakfast that actually took my attention away from the table to the bookshelf to look up a word. ‘Awful’ was the common word we all use but is derived from ‘Awe’. It is a transitive verb which means it is describing an object not an action.
The author of the book I was munching on I he munched my toast was attempting to describe the impossible attributes of God. My mind began to tumble and bumble as the short paragraph started to strike deep into breakfast. THE question that atheists and devout worshipers both stumble upon when thinking actually takes place. ‘If all things I see, feel and hear are created things (I.E. the sky, our bodies, water and food) what can an uncreated thing be?’ Of course to stir great confusion, a thing that is eternal and always existed is the unavoidable question. The usual questions that arose during breakfast are a bit easier to answer. ‘what to do with my day? Why did my friend say that hurtful thing to me yesterday?’ The usual undigested flummery we all ruminate upon.
As we have asked since time began, If the universe is eternal, where did it come from? And if there is a God that created this universe, where did He come from? It’s the most basic of all theology and a question that begs an answer that cannot be found in science. Our mind, odd as it is, has not the slightest clue on how to begin this quest either. We comforted by the company of some of the great theologians. They don’t know either although there are many ‘interesting’ speculations. A lot of these books are found on a shelf in the second-hand stores. “Eternity for Dummies” is one of them.
The origin of an eternal God is an oxymoron. There is none because eternal forbids an origin. The vision of eternity begs a different mind that I have. I have always seen life unfold and then turn along a time line. No time line, no time, no sunset or a sunset that never ends. Ever. my choice. It has been speculated that God has eternity to guide us writing and this. Also to you to read it. It really is impossible. Everyone, every nice event or disaster can be seen and experienced forever.
So, what does the result of all this searching generate within us? At first it’s a great ‘time waster’ and then the awe of my vision turns rapidly into ‘awful’. It’s fear generated along with the awe that turns quickly into awful. There are also no words except the ones written about 700 years ago by Julian of Norwich which do pretty well: “For of all things, the beholding and the loving of his maker, makes the soul seem less in our sight. It fills this seeker with reverent dread and true meekness…” Reverent dread is a good description of Awe that does a quick turn to awful.
Seeking the creator of everything that is and was and will be…everything..and then be told by pretty reliable sources that this awesome Person (God ) is very interested in you. He wants to have a nice chat and tell you things. It makes me tremble when a little bit of this truth gets in deep.
How about you? If you have another answer, I would definitely like to hear it or read it. It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator
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