‘Markings’ This was the title of a book of notes. It was written by a very noted man from Sweden. Diplomat, ambassador, acquaintance of Presidents, kings and prime ministers. At his unfortunate early demise, he was Secretary General of the United Nations.
Dag Hammarskjöld from Stockholm Sweden. He was an avid mountain climber, very good at it and he would leave trail markers at certain ascent areas to remind him and other climbers. Usually a pile of rocks. Alike the rocks piled by the Jordan by Joshua. A mark and memory.
The rocks that Dag left not only guided him on descent, but also guided and reassured climbers on their way. ‘This way is doable, this is the right way, I remember for you, the correct route.
He was a man of deep faith and in this book was excellent advice for all of us. For us to unite in one life (via activa via comtemplativa)Calling and Vocation. He was bridging the chasm between the world of devotion and the world of work.
That book has astonishing knowledge to me. Recently I wrote a column titled Vocation. It’s in the archives, I used the Latin word Vocare to denote our job that results from the calling the Lord whispers over and over to us. When I listened to Him, I realized He was calling me to use words of devotion wherever I found my work.
For instance, someone that is called to protect and serve having a vocation of a policeman. His contemplative life joined with his ‘job’ I have never met an officer that did not have the base of him based on anything else. We have met some that didn’t and one can see the difference and the frustration. Same for us, all of us. “Why did I leave that repair job that paid well and find my self playing worship music for half the pay?” Things like that.
Yet, it was relaxing, being with a worship team and the presence of the Lord massaging my spirit. It was hard to rehearse and be in the ‘practice room’. The manual labor helped my changing strings and lugging that case around (or cases)
The obedience to our calling is the most important decision we make. The vocation falls in place. You will know where you are being led, it’s watching and listening to Him who knows all things about you and has made you just for the place you are being led to.
“The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day; What one calls one’s ‘real life’ is a phantom of one’s own imagination. 1.
Wisdom from beloved writers and men of faith. It’s always pretty good. Jack Gator
1. C. S. Lewis They Stand Together. The letters of C.S. Lewis to to Arthur Greeves
There is one word we use more than any other in our speech. It is related to everything we do as well. The Latin word is Tempus. Time
Think about it if you have the time. What time is it anyway? Did you set the timer?
No time like the present. Time is money. It was just his time. Time’s a wasting. About time!
Try it some time and see how long you last before using the word. I was lap swimming the other day and usually start by counting the laps and then at the far end of the pool, there is a big clock on the wall. I can see how much time I have left before I have to get out. There is another clock in the locker room to make certain I leave before ‘times up’ and the lifeguard ducks her head in the entry door asking if there is anyone there. I got out on time today. She has a rigid time schedule too.
Driving home it seemed I was not at the right speed for the cars and trucks behind me. The biggest dial in front of me points out how much time would elapse with the formula for velocity coupled with time (MPH). I am always being passed at all times, it seems that most drivers are out of time and concerned they will not get to where they need to be at the correct time. Deer collisions, accidents while not passing at the right time, or driving by a squad at one of those times are secondary concerns.
I volunteer as an assistant director at a big church and over my comm I announce the next shots that need to be taken for the video to be dynamic and follow the time signature. It helps the director to put the shots in the video mix. It takes more time to explain than when it occurs. Seconds to the next take. It’s critical to the timing to tell the operators where they should be and giving them about two measures or so before the shot is ‘taken’ by the the director. Like a video ballet, and if the timing is right, seamless and pleasing to people in the audience. Setting up the shots along with who is playing at the right time. I particularly like the shots of the keyboard and hands just when that slower part happens. Excellent music is, of course, timeless. While the band is playing, there are very large screens that show the ‘ballet’on each side of the ballet. It really helps ‘tell the story’ No one sees us and they shouldn’t even be aware of us. (see men in black productions)
Speaking of music, there is a song on an album done by Pink Floyd that is still one of the top songs searched on the internet. The Album is ‘Dark side of the Moon’ and the title of the famous song is, of course, Time. It’s in F#minor. I myself like the rototoms in the rhythm with the clock sounds
In medieval times, the town clock would ring often at 8am, noon and 6pm to remind the townsfolk it was time to pray. Good idea to pray, I did while I was doing my swim today and realized how locked in I was by my time, the time, all time and began to relax and not worry about what the clock said. It’s hard to do but it seemed to start making a difference in me. I was talking to our Lord just before I sat on the edge of the pool and He said these things to me. Read all about Him from the first words of scripture: ‘In the beginning’ that’s when He invented time. There is eternity, and time is just for us to measure the seasons and our heartbeats. How old are you? Isn’t it time to eat? Stop watching your watches and perhaps you will see what I am saying to you. ” Can we talk?” I’ll make the time. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
It starts out simple enough. Mama and Papa. Our first acronyms of our world. Mamma E Papa in Italian (of course if you live in southern Italy you drop the last vowel. Mamm E Pap.
It’s easier to communicate in ‘shorthand’ it saves time and everyone knows it anyway.
We all use them and sometimes, it distinguishes us as belonging. For example: ER for emergency room, scrubs for clothes therein. DX or WX for radio lingo which translates to Distance and Weather. If you use those you are either a radio guy or an officer of the law.
Uniforms usually pocket protectors or turn outs and vests.
Lately, I have been accepted into an invisible society that wears all black and uses some neat acronyms. Bogo, Shader, Switcher and ME’s. There are a LOT of them in every subset of our world. I like ‘worlds’ describing command structures. They either confuse and you respond with “Hmm or that sounds interesting” instead of another acronym that shows they are also a member. AD or lyrics would work. At least there is no secret handshake.
I became aware of different societies at an early age when I became an amateur radio operator, or ‘Ham’ we communicated with Q signals showing we belonged and because it made long sentences into an acronym. Police have the same thing going for them. I can always tell if someone has a background in communication when they use A as in Alpha, B as in Bravo and so forth. Q is Quebec by the way.
Hams had uniforms too. Quick draw slide rules and pocket protectors were De Rigueur. Flannel shirts were optional. All the jocks had special words too. Not worth the ink to repeat.
We all do it, we all belong to a segment of society that has special words and language. Deacon, Bishop and repentance along with special clothing at times. Nothing wrong with those things either. All this is how we deal with the world and try to understand it. It’s tribal. If you believe in evolution, the concept of a trousered ape. Authur C. Clarke comes to mind with the movie featuring a thrown bone by a ‘caveman’ turning into a space station.
We use everything to make distinction between us. I belong. We do so wish to belong don’t we? Family is sweet and feels reassuring. There is certainly a family that we can join together and there are no uniforms and very few acronyms involved. The one uniform that seems to be recognized is a light in the eyes and a demeanor that draws you. There is desire to share lives and the excitement of encouraging one another. Jesus and His spirit and belonging to Him. You don’t even have to dress the same. Just draw a fish in the sand and you are bonded. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator
There they sit until the next auction. Plates, cups, bowls and saucers. Mahogany furniture and kitchen utensils. Machinery and huge steam powered…things..Barn ventilator caps and do dads and gimcracks and folderall. Gewgaws, and the best one of all, Tchoktchke. The last one comes from Yiddish Tshatshke (or an absolete Polish word, Czaczko.)
You can find them in really nice corner cabinets with glass doors, on top of upright pianos or just scattered about the house, seemingly at random. Placed with a discerning eye or propriety and in need of occasional dusting. Dust the Hummel’s at your own risk
Everyone has their faves and lists for the spouse to browse local second or third hand stores. Why do we do this? Perhaps we are hanging onto an older time, perceived as more a genteel one.
Excepting the black buggies of the Amish, stagecoaches are in that category but cannot be displayed, unless you own a herd of horses and a nice driveway or fence line to park it so it is visible. Old ‘collectible’ vehicles are a bit bulky but store on the property..somewhere.
“That’s an old Edsel! It’s worth a lot of money!” Does it run? “Well.., no but I’m workin’ on it.” The Montana vehicle parking lot sort of thing.
We collect stuff, we built a 20 foot shed and lean to just to store some of it. It was full less than a few months later. Big stuff and shelves for parts for the big stuff. You know the list. That old lawn tractor that just needs a new engine and few tires. The old walk behind snow thrower that needs a carburetor and a little paint. Nostalgic and useful stuff. Sort of.
What else that is old and worth saving? My favorite one that is still used, is the long wrap around bookshelves you can see from the living room, up on the balcony walk around. 3D wallpaper. Books from many centuries ago and great illustrated children’s books. Dr. Suess’ Birthday Bird type of stuff. The best antiques of them all as it is OK and right to handle them. Flip through an old Aristotle or a McDonald and find a page that randomly jumps out at you and then it goes downstairs to be added to the random stack by the big rocking chair.
Lately, the stack has been centered around middle ages literature. Most recently one about St. Ignatious of Loyola (early 16th century). The somewhat forgotten wisdom sears truth into me and Julie about this founder of the Jesuits. Lectio Divina, Interacting with God, Oratio, talk to Him, and my favorite, Contemplato, sit in His presence. Timeless and recently, perfectly timed for these times. With our ceaseless scurry to satisfy the emptiness in us with all the stuff we gather, or, think we must gather, to help us be satisfied and joyful. I need to be reminded that essential wisdom is found in another old book that helps me to contemplato our Creator and His plans to love me and never let me go. Ever. I seem to be the collectible for Him. Made by Him before I was even conceived, before the written history of the universe He knew me and helped form me into the man I am. Created to glorify Him and tell other people about Him and His Love. It’s pretty good. (The other old book is the Bible, its good to have several versions.) Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
Another word that means different things but is spelled the same is called a homonym. The rigged jury is familiar to most of us. Money or clever selections can rig a jury.
The other rigged is used also as Jerry Rigged which is an old nautical term. A quick fix with material on hand, usually cheaper and somewhat functional. Actuating controls for engines is common. Why replace a broken choke cable and dash knob with an expensive part when mechanics wire wrapped around a small bolt will do! A few classy variations like a rubber grommet in the dash or some spiral wire wrap helps the illusion of good repair. It works.
There is another, less used speaking of our lives that uses this term of patchwork or worse.
There is a traumatic event recent or past that lingers in our spirit. I have several of those and usually it is me that the event happened to. So, I just Jerry rig the memory with small platitudes that make it more tolerable. Making excuses for those things then push them back to a place not quite so dark. ‘Gramps was always crabby and that’s why he said that or did that’ Very forgiving and a good way to turn the darkness into someone else’s. Still, the sting remains.
Realizing that everything that has happened is why I am the way I am and that is the grace of God operating in my life.
“ As long as we stay resentful about things we wish had not happened, about relationships that we wished had turned out differently, mistakes we wish we had not made, part of our heart remains isolated, incapable of bearing fruit in the new life ahead of us. It is a way we hold part of us apart from God” A.
We jury rig our lives with fantasies, self condemnation and internal rage at our life. Embrace God’s vision and grace for our life and see what has been given to us. We grow when we see the way we have grown and indeed, become wounded healers for those we meet.
How many interruptions occurred today? I just get started on writing some really inspiring column and my phone bleeps. Perhaps Julie stops by my desk in mid word or thought and asks simple question or mentions a task that I forgot or was important to her?
It happens every day to all of us. I have seen drivers behind me get furious when I interrupt the velocity they were driving or even slow down so they can pass me safely. We are a busy people and focused on the tasks of our lives. Driven to accomplish what we have set before us by ourselves. Pushing that shopping cart at warp speed to get to those sale items or just some orange juice. Fuming at a cart parked right in front of the shelf we need to examine.
A very wise older priest said: “ I complained for too long that my work was constantly being interrupted, until I discovered the my interruptions were my work” A.
Resentment that my life was not going the ‘perfect’ way I had planned hours or minutes before. I have learned that instead of the irritation I can turn these things into concentration or even conversation. The shopper or the clerk ‘facing’ a shelf for example. I stop, park my cart out of the way, pretend I am looking elsewhere and glancing at the workers name tag, then address them and ask how things are going. Pretty busy today eh. Or perhaps say: “excuse me, could you direct me to the place where I can find organic beef broth? An interruption for them but not rushed. Quiet and gentle. It works and I learn a little bit about grace and even can ask them as they answer how it’s going today in the store. I learn and once in a while can listen to a slight problem they have, just listen and acknowledge the common lives we lead. Humanity 101.
At home or with friends that stop by (interrupting my precious time at work) I find with listening that what they need done in speaking or asking is an opportunity to give the love and attention I am asked to do. Gently spoken by my best friend and gentle guide, Jesus. He is never interrupted. He teaches me how to live my life and quickly quiets my anxiety with His voice.
The rush and bustle I absorb from the times I live in stops, and helps me realize indeed, this is my work for today. To affirm love and concern to another. To let them know they are important to me and perhaps dismiss apologies from them. “sorry for interrupting you” with a simple “Oh, that’s OK, I was in no rush” something gentle and affirming them that they are more important to me than my agenda. I listen and learn and even affirm. I like it. It’s pretty good. Jack Gator.
It seems like a great idea, perhaps it is. The information age has confused, obfuscated and presented knowledge in compartments of illusion. How do we know which is a conspiracy theory and a conspiracy? How can we be certain of anything that relates to our lives? I usually go up to my communication central and ask for truth. It’s not too hard to find and I have written a column on it. I call it ‘The Cathedral’
A bench, facing a long row of 40 foot tall pine trees. A path goes straight ahead of the bench with other paths parallel to it. High up on a ridge so the pines sway in a gentle breeze and the wind is the backdrop to silence.
This day I was, as usual, shouting a bit and waiting for answers from the owner of this place. He has always been around and helped me plant those trees. He made my son that built the wood bench too. He has many names, my favorite one is a secret to you, not to Him.
As per usual, the reason I came to the sacred place was to get directions, answers and to just complain about things I do not understand. It’s a good place to do that. Aso as usual, the answer I got was a parable of sorts. An answer to a study some friends and I are enjoying about a blind man that was healed of a lifetime of blindness. The story in the Bible is pretty basic in ways and simply states he was blind and now he can see.
Of course the blind man had heard stories too. Words telling him of the wonders of colors. Reds and Blues and Yellows if he could only see their beauty. The words meant nothing but longing to know what they meant. Given sight, most likely 20-20, he saw color and movement and shadows and light. The story tells us nothing about the blind man’s knowledge or study. It just tells us he was blind and now he could see. Everything.
I asked the owner and creator of all things where I was sitting; what does this mean to me?
He told me that there was no great mystery behind the story. The blind man is me and I have studied and analyzed and taken tests on my knowledge of the words I have read about the Man who wrote all the words of life. My Lord wrote them so I could seek His face and touch eternity.
The words promised this but I did not know why I was still seeking His light. Stumbling around, tripping over the worlds roots under my feet. I read more and more and suddenly I was given a gift. The words were guides but they were not what I sought. I listened into the wind up there among the trees. I opened my innermost self and waited for a long time.
He came and told me that this was what I needed to open my eyes and see him in His glory. Everywhere, as much as I could do so. The words said beauty, until my eyes were open I did not know what that word meant. All those words kept me looking for Him. Song of Solomon puts it well. “Tell me if you see Him, I am lovesick”
A deaf man can read music but it again is just words and notes. The sudden sound of a miracle of healing and he hears; “I love you and will never leave you” A whisper that shakes the world.
The blind man has never been the same and you will not be the same either. Thunders and lightnings and a storm all around the Man with eyes of fire will show you what the words say. Intimacy. Embrace Him, whisper back to Him and your secrets will become a pathway and a song sung to you.
Words, they fail me right now. How can I describe the touch from the lover of my soul. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
They were always the best gigs. Weddings. Playing for a wedding was indeed, icing on the cake. The music our band played was very polished and incredible. I was the guitar player and we had a mandolin, stand up bass and our leader was the fiddler. Square dance music from the old days and we also had a caller for the dances. Several of them. We were well known and royalties were coming in a little from the sale of our CD. On our way to small fame and fortune. Years rolled by and the gigs kept coming. We had a reputation and were in demand within a few states drive. It was fun and the energy was very high paced. We loved one another, often rode together. I was known as the rhythm monster as I changed up things from easy swing to double time back up, back and forth and it was fun and it worked.
After a few years, the CD’s sales began to drop off and the royalties faded. Every musician knows these things. If we had done vinyl recordings, we would have made the racks of records that are found in many quality music stores. Also in second hand thrift shops.
Our children were young and the constant travel every weekend took me away from my family. None of the other musicians had children. At my last last gig at the Duluth band shell it was known by the band that it was my last one. Poignant and emotionally charged for us all. We had been together for years and it was time. I was needed at home and that was good and right.
During this time together, at one of our band rehearsals I put forth at our upcoming dance camp that we have a church service on the Sunday. Our leader, the fiddler and his wife quickly refused. I acquiesced. The mandolin player did not stand up for the Sunday morning idea. I was young in the faith and my enthusiasm for our faith was not shared. I knew then, it was an important pivot point for me and my family.
I did let it slide but I think that it was important to make it known It was important to me. The lead fiddlers wife is Jewish and I lightened things up and lightly said, “Well, how about on Saturdays?” Nonetheless, she was not a Messianic Jew and did not consider Jesus as her Messiah. She did not attend Temple either. After the light laughter it was over. No worship service at our Sunday gigs. I would have conducted it myself but our leader did not even consider that. It was offensive to him as his father was a pastor and there was resentment. It happens with some children that get put into believing when they do not.
A short time ago, a similar disappointment occurred to me when a paper I was columnist in told me that I had to stop writing references to Jesus. After over three years with the paper, the new owner decided it was offensive to the readers in NW Wisconsin. His choice and now, my choice. I decided I not comply and was politely fired. Two other columnists who quoted Scripture were let go and I was next on the list. There was disappointment among a lot of readers for these decisions. “What happened to pastor Seth and Sally?” was commonly said. After a while it was accepted by the populace. The paper continues to get thinner. Just a coincidence?
The editor, a good friend, gave me the news of the impending cancellation and approved my way of bowing out of my column but said to me, “I envy your faith” I miss writing every week with them and in my last column just told a false hood that it was too demanding to write a column every week. It felt good and right to quit gently rather than make a fuss that is not constructive to the way I am supposed to live.
Actually, I write a lot, sometimes every day. It was a graceful way to leave. My readers were puzzled and once in a while someone will tell me they miss my column in that local paper. I do too.
At my last concert in Duluth, we were going to play my favorite waltz, ‘ Ashoken Farewell’ by Darrell Angar. The fiddler did not like it when I played along with him, I was not his equal but it was a good duet for me. I went to hook up my fiddle and he instantly began playing, not waiting for me. It was hard for me to know, once again, I was indeed, second fiddle. I did not make any mistakes but in retrospect, I should have accompanied him on guitar. It is easier to play a tender song like that with keys or a guitar in the background.
At Julie’s and my wedding we had four fiddlers stand around her on the alter and we all played a Scandinavian waltz, Helsa Dem Dar Hemma. Kevin McMullin, Bill Hinkley, Mary Dushane and I.
After the Duluth last gig, Kevin asked me “How does it feel to be finished with us?” I answered, “relieved” Not the answer he was expecting as I looked at his face. Now I stay at home more and helped raise our two sons. Home schooling and all the neat books by Dr. Suess and lots of Veggie Tales. It worked, Julie did most of the education work as she has a Masters degree in those sorts of things. At this writing I was working with my oldest son, Bjorn, as his assistant media director at Eagle Brook Church in Minnesota I started out on the prayer team and moved to production as a camera operator. Tripod only, the hand helds are ‘somewhat’ heavy for me! My youngest son, Soren. is the drummer in a worship band for the Riders for the Son motorcycle group. Julie is now a Bible study leader with members throughout the world on the internet.
It can be hard to stand for our faith. When I remember that time again with the Ducks, I pray for them. Often. I was replaced with another guitarist, but he was not a rhythm monster. They went on for a while and quietly disbanded. It was not the same for them either and I do miss it. There was a lot of love among us.
I went on to play with a few worship bands and led worship at several church gatherings. My family began a house of worship in a local town and we had wonderful times singing, playing and writing songs. It lasted for almost 4 years.
These days, at 81, I have not been playing out anymore. I miss it but am now writing about our Lord; a lot. Almost 400 columns now and also write for my web site. Another newspaper near Lake Superior, The Bottom Line News and Views welcomes my writing. It feels good and right and continues to grow my prayer life. This is what I have been set to. Write about real things and always praise the Lord within the stories. After all, He did save my life by speaking to me and how many things have happened afterwards I cannot list them all. He likes to have fun with me and I like it too.
I still play music at home now and then, not ensemble, even learning on the keyboard. That feels good and right too. It’s pretty good, Norm Peterson / Jack Gator
How can this be? A quilt of life that is surprisingly delightful and just as easily not comprehended. Everyone has this road of travel and when trying to explain our lives. For me, it seems like I am bragging about adventure and failure, fear and success and a thorough drifting about life as a blown about maple leaf in the street. Just there by some random wind. Wrinkled by the forces that put me there, run over a few times and still seen as it once was. Life that hangs onto creation, fluttering in the blown wind of God’s breath and now, seemingly bound for …somewhere.
To that leaf, it seems an exciting life, watching growth and seeing other maples growing nearby. Weathering snapping lightning and severe winds. Basking in life giving light and warmth and envying the oak leaves that are better at hanging on through the winters.
Being reborn every year and feeling the contribution of energy given in enough amount to give again the impossible sap that nourishes the created tree and the people that know the sap is also to nourish them with sweetness that always delights.
What is my purpose in life? To grow and feel my life unfold with reward and danger. Then be gifted and surprised by hearing it’s OK to be what I am and to move with the wind of the presence of God’s breath and guidance. It wasn’t always obvious I was being prepared to a purpose of serving when it seemed that survival and pleasure was my given life. Subjective or Objective reality. The Tau and the famous Greek philosophy or our own versions of truth which are subject to us and our emotions. Instead of listening to the perfect truth of Christ. ‘The abolition of Man’ by C.S. Lewis explains these things better than I can.
The trauma of violence of childhood, and then wandering throughout the land and being blown about by seemingly random events that formed me. Having my own secretary at 16 years old in a mansion in Minneapolis, working with the Boy Scouts communicating via Ham Radio to a far flung camp without a telephone. Then failing my calculus in engineering at MIT, joining the military and being caught up in a war at sea. More wandering and evading death in California many times, once with the audible voice of God I did not know, eventually I started an impossible auto repair business in rural Wisconsin. It was Successful and then I was blessed with marriage and two children and a beautiful and faithful wife. Hearing again those words that can’t be believed by many people. Gifts of God.
I saw my best friend, speak five words to me and enter heaven from 2000 miles away. Many things that eventually lead to leading worship in a tiny rural church that gave me and my wife documents saying we were now pastors. We put them in a drawer. My whole family built a house of prayer in a small empty main street shop if Frederic, Wisconsin and staffed it for almost 4 years. Singing and playing and praying. We were overcome with God’s beauty and love. We also traveled a little around the country worshiping with other lovers of Jesus. Our sons with us in DC and other places.
Now the maple leaf is indeed withered and quieter, still blessed with sustenance and beauty. And now joined with other people that have similar blessings and and need for sustenance and encouragement.
I tap into that flow of life once again that I am given by my creator, that gift of light and love that was always there. I am beginning to watch and stop and listen for the voice that is the best book and the words given to me. What’s next for the weathered one? Excited and puzzled and weary at times, I keep looking ahead to another chapter and move with that breath of life. Often I still look up at that tree of life and know the very atoms I am made from still spin within me. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson and written by Jack Gator
It is not as a child that I believe and confess Jesus Christ. My hosanna is born of a furnace of doubt.” ~Fyodor Dostoyevski
It is indeed, Doubt that is essential to the path of faith in Christianity. At first, it seems that doubt is gone, once faith is embraced. But is it? I must confess that I doubt at times in the seemingly impossible promises of eternal life and all that precedes it.
Protection, provision, guidance and comfort. At times it seems my life is not protected nor provided for and the comfort I desire seems as though it is the carot out of my grasp. The guidance is forgotten for a bit and I lapse into some sort of swampy thoughts. It takes the silence to look back on my life when I have been blessed by all the excellent things that I have not even asked for.
Simple things that have been the foundation of the questioning expression on my face. You know that move of your own face. A slight tilt of your head, a slight frown and the wrinkle of the forehead. Looking down a bit and your eyes pulled in along with the frown. Sort of a sad look combined with the look of puzzlement. Trying to understand a missing thing. A lost tool or something said that you didn’t quite hear. Doubt of your ability to understand or grasp reality. Doubt and confusion coupled. That can’t be right. I just saw that object. What did she say? Things akin to doubting your own understanding and not quite trusting your memory of touch, sound, sight and proprioceptive sense of balance. Off kilter in puzzlement.
Perhaps tripping over your own feet and falling to the ground or falling to the depth of your being. Doubt.
In isolation it can be devastating. With the help of someone who loves you, there is a helping hand. Reaching in to pull you up out of your fear. Love abounding to once again, reassure and rescue us from our own self doubt. A rescue that can give faith. “You’ve got this, your OK and I am here beside you, always.
Faith in another one’s words and showing you your own worth. Faith in the words of your rescuer.
This is the path to remove the doubt, the doubt that diminishes and eliminates faith. This path is well known and written about in scripture. Everyone has doubts. I look back when I feel the doubt sleeting into me. I look back on the miracles and to others, impossible communications I have been blessed with. Indeed, the helping hand of our rescuer. Jesus. He has been with me when I did not know who He was. He has whispered words to warn and guide my life to love rather than follow my indifference or even hatred of other people and really, myself.
The only way for me is to silence my mind and listen. A very old desert father in the third century put it perfectly. “Where is your savior? Why don’t you ask Him yourself? He said listen” He doesn’t lie to me and if I really am quiet and listen, He will talk to me and tell me truth about the path of Holiness. That narrow path that anyone can walk. Neither looking left nor right but walking true. Listen and walk true to the spirit of God.
Jack gators grace notes 