life

Tribute to CJ (yes, another one)

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Context: Here we are in yet another week with no paycheck. I’m a soldier, an officer in the U.S. Army, sworn to defend the Constitution against all enemies . . . those foreign and domestic. We have both. In abundance.

Slice of Life: I drove home after work. I like few things quite as much as coming home, having CJ come out of the downstairs door, barefoot, greeting me. I wrap my arms around her waist, she turns her head, I smell her skin and kiss her, ask her how her day was, and I reach down to pet our dog, Lady(bug), a Cavalier King Charles, the other ‘lady’ in my life. (CJ somehow puts up with my love affair with dogs; I cannot imagine life without at least one [dog] at all times.)

Upon Entering: We walk upstairs. CJ has baked fresh homemade bread. The kitchen’s aromas fill the middle floor. I watch her. She’s labored all day–in the kitchen, with Lady (she groomed her), with laundry, with my schedule, with our son, with bill-paying, with all things . . . for us. She’s incessant.

Once again, she gave up her time outside in the sun. She loves to sit in the sun for a few moments each day. And I love her doing it. (She inherited the SGA pigmentation of the Creeks; she turns bronze or brown in just a few hours.) We chuckle. (I’m about as tanned as Macbeth after Duncan’s slaying.)

But Here’s the Deal: After she’d labored all day, she fed me fresh-baked bread, told me, “Go walk Lady; that’ll be good for you,” and then said, “Go read; that’s what you need.” And I did all of the above. I read my favorite writer; I walked Lady, I ‘piddled’ in the yard, etc.

Where would I be without her? She’s a better person. She labors, often thanklessly and invisibly. I wear a uniform, go to work with fellow soldiers, play a role, etc. But yet here she is–pressing on in with fidelity but without publicity. I just want to say to you, if you’re like my CJ, I thank God for you. You’re the better people. You matter. You make it all work. And I’m grateful for you.

Sometimes, Only a Song Will Do

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Context: I was packing for Pennsylvania, headed out to minister to fellow soldiers. I am near my best here. I’m (forgive the poor grammar) studied up; I’m prepped; I’ve been ‘hunkered down’ in order to know my lane, my topics, and my vocation. I love it, I truly do.

It’s all connected–my times of study, where I have to close my door and read, study, memorize, recite, and pray. But when I emerge, I’m full: I’m ready to minister, to love, to speak in ways fellow soldiers track with.

My goal? Fruit. That’s biblical metaphorical language for evidence. To hear my brothers say, “Yes. That’s actionable, Chaplain; thanks!” But to then manifest their professions, to make their theology visible.

That’s the joy. One of them, anyway. One of the joys. I concede that I do love the study; it’s my favorite place. Give me the Book, the study, a thermos of coffee, proper light, and I’m good to go.

Question: But to go where? That’s the question? It’s not for me. It’s for others. Not for me only. And I remain beyond grateful for the opportunities I’ve been granted to minister.

To whom? Soldiers and civilians, both.

And now … a song: It’s “Ventura Highway” (1972) from America.

If you’re in love with words, this one’s a gem. Here you go:

Chewin’ on a piece of grass, walkin’ down the road
Tell me, how long you gonna stay here, Joe?
Some people say this town don’t look good in snow
You don’t care, I know

Ventura Highway in the sunshine
Where the days are longer
The nights are stronger than moonshine
You’re gonna go, I know

‘Cause the free wind is blowin’ through your hair
And the days surround your daylight there
Seasons crying no despair
Alligator lizards in the air, in the air

Wishin’ on a falling star, waitin’ for the early train
Sorry boy, but I’ve been hit by a purple rain
Aw, come on Joe, you can always change your name
Thanks a lot son, just the same

Ventura Highway in the sunshine
Where the days are longer
The nights are stronger than moonshine
You’re gonna go, I know

‘Cause the free wind is blowin’ through your hair
And the days surround your daylight there
Seasons crying no despair
Alligator lizards in the air, in the air

Why such a sentimental post? Well, I reconnected with a couple of super soldiers this evening, men who do and did things physically I could never do. But they’re not braggadocious. They’re being gripped by God and His Gospel. And I’ve been a tiny part of all that God is doing in their lives. And that’s better than any Ventura Highway, no matter how spectacular the temptation.

The Wad of Cash

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My favorite time of day is the 30-45 minutes before the sun rises and the first moments afterwards. Especially on clear mornings. That was the case again recently on a flight. I’d gone out to Texas and then Arkansas to minister to some fellow soldiers. On the flight back into Dallas, Texas we were still over Arkansas below. The sky was clear, the sun was emerging, and all seemed irenic. Though the flight was full, folks were getting along and mostly patient with one another. (If you fly often, you will discover such characteristics are not always prevalent.)

Anyway, we landed in Texas safely and I had about an hour before my connecting flight to Atlanta. I patronized a bagel shop for a bottle of water and a breakfast bagel, walked to my gate, and sought a chair to sit down in and eat while waiting for my flight. From the looks of it, this flight to Atlanta was going to be full, too. It is July, after all, and I suppose many folks are vacationing.

When I wathced the people, it was clear who’d been to the beaches or other sunny destinations. The girls and women had on their loose-fitting clothes and their skin was brown with summer. And the boys and men often wore t-shirts and shorts, often with a cap of some sort, with place names like Cancun, Miami, or Cabo Wabo embroidered thereupon.

My eyes perused the terminal for a seat, and I finally spotted two empty ones. I pulled off my backpack and put my backpack down in one seat and I sat in the one next to it. I unwrapped the foil and began to munch on the breakfast bagel and drink the bottle of water. As I finished the breakfast sandwich, I rose from my seat and walked over to the trash bin to discard the foil wrapper and put the now-empty water bottle in the recycle bin for plastics. But as I returned to my seat, something caught my eye. Sticking out from under my backpack was a wad of cash. I simply had not seen it when I took my pack off and placed it in the seat. When I spotted the wad of cash now, I picked it up and asked the people around me, “Excuse me, do you know who this belongs to?” but each person denied knowing who it belonged to.

I put the wad of cash back on the seat, but kept looking around the terminal. Surely, someone will come back looking for this, I thought. Plus, there are cameras everywhere in airports. Surely, it should be discoverable how someone dropped this, forgot it, or exactly what had happened.

But I kept looking around. As people came and went, several times I saw their eyes fall upon the wad of cash, but I just left it there, hoping the rightful owner would return.

Another 40 minutes passed, and still no one appeared for the wad of cash. Finally, the girl’s voice came on the intercom, announcing it was time for my group to board the flight to Atlanta. I picked up my backpack and slung it over my shoulders and boarded.

As I flew back, and the sun rose, I read my book. But my thoughts kept returning to that wad of cash. I wish I knew that righteousness would prevail, that the rightful owner returned, that the good would come out on top. But I just don’t know.