The True Nature of God, Holiness, and Punishment Part 4 (Conclusion)

  When we consider the problem of the reality of heaven, hell, the nature of sin, and the reality of God we must consider justice. We face the urge to somehow mitigate or ameliorate hell. Over the centuries, far too many preachers leaned into, or emphasized, hell, using fear as a motivator. They seek to goad their audience into a commitment to God as an alternative to an existence of endless punishment. At best, action from fear is transient in nature. Once fear fades, a person loses their devotion. God never sought to reach His people through fear, not the patriarchs of old, the Jews of the wanderings, or the modern Christians of today. He seeks a relationship based on love and an understanding of His true nature. Not only is God holy, unable to tolerate sin, but He is also just, enacting justice for all His children. 

A stringent holiness and wise justice evade human capabilities. Often, we quote, “vengeance is mine says the Lord,” Deuteronomy 32:35. God is not one to embrace chaos and disorder. His acts of creation brought about order and harmony. Our sin brought about disorder and anarchy. His love of good order and discipline led Him to pass the sword of vengeance to human government, Romans 13:3-5. None of us truly want justice, unless directed at someone else. We want others to get their just deserts, but we want grace or mercy for ourselves. We struggle when trying to understand how a loving God would send someone to hell. Perhaps, we construct the sentence incorrectly. God does not send, He allows. He loves us enough to let us choose our fate and He is wise enough to administer justice. The reality is that God extends to all His grace and mercy through Jesus Christ and at the end of all things, He allows those who have chosen to reject Him to reap the fruits of their choice. Those of us blessed to enter into His presence do so only because of His gracious work through Jesus. It has always been this way.

God has not changed over the years. He is not bi-polar. He did not take a chill-pill sometime around AD 33. He has always loved His creation and sought to be in harmony with it. At the first crunch of the apple in the garden, His heart broke. But, even with the broken heart, He started working out His plan to set things right. His mercies have always poured out on us, new every morning, Lamentations 3:22-23. It is our lack of understanding about the reality of His nature, the nature of love, and the nature of holiness that clouds our understanding of reality. Jesus frequently reminded His followers…and us…that He and the father are the same. Jesus shares the same stringent holiness, the same commitment to justice, and the same love of His children with His father. They are truly one. A stream of God’s mercy flows through scripture mitigating the deleterious effects of justice on His children. Sadly for those who turn away, His justice remains, just as they remain outside His presence, truly in a hell of their own creation. 

The Nature of God, Holiness, and Punishment Part 3

  The young Specialist stood in front of me awaiting my decision. He’d stood there before, and unless he changed, he would stand there again. He constantly lied, about small things and large. In the Army, we depend upon truth, more so than in any other profession that I’ve pursued. All of the minor punishments, extra duty, forfeiture of pay, and loss of privileges had not got his attention. So, I administered a loss of rank, reducing him to PFC. As a young married man with a child, this mattered as a PFC did not make nearly as much money as a SPC. He slunk out of my office lighter of rank and heavier of heart. A couple of weeks later, my First Sergeant came in with a stack of paperwork. 

“Hey sir, did you realize that when you busted SPC Franklin you pushed him past his RCP (retention control point)?”

“I had not, not that it would have changed my decision.” At this time if a soldier passed his RCP without promotion, they were forced out of the Army.

“Well, he’s on orders for Germany. What will you do,” my First Sergeant wondered?

At this time the Army still largely functioned on manually entered paperwork. So, the part of the Army that moved soldiers around had not communicated with the part of the Army that controlled promotions and demotions. In other words, the movement folks did not realize that now, PFC Franklin was not eligible to move overseas. I sat there a while considering as a plan slowly formed in my mind. “First Sergeant, please find PFC Franklin and send him to me.”

“Sure Sir.”

Soon PFC Franklin was standing in front of my desk. After he rendered the appropriate greeting of the day, I share with him his options. First, I explained that he was past his RCP, a concept he well understood. Next, I showed him his orders for Germany. Crestfallen, he bemoaned his fate. I gave him an option. He could take the orders and hustle to get off post. I would put his RCP paperwork at the bottom of my stack. If he could get off post and to Germany before I got to the bottom, with good performance, he could quite possibly regain his rank and avoid discharge. You’ve never seen a soldier clear post so quickly. PFC Franklin and his family moved to Germany and out of my life. Years later when I was a Lieutenant Colonel, I got a phone call from Chief Warrant Officer 2 Franklin. He’d learned his lesson. His act cleaned up; promotions soon followed. Eventually, he applied for and was admitted to the Warrant Officer Training course. What had seemed an act of retribution turned out to be an act of love.

We often misunderstand love. A component of love involves letting people choose. Every parent should intuitively understand this concept. We let our children make choices and then they deal with the consequences. We hope and pray that they learn from little mistakes. But, to deny them the right of choosing would not be an act of love. 

In Deuteronomy chapters 29 and 30, the Lord, through Moses, tells the children of Israel that He has set before them life and good, death and evil and that they should choose wisely. Part of love involves allowing choice. Christy, for reasons unknown, choose to love me. That decision set in motion a series of actions and consequences. Had she chosen differently; things would have turned out quite differently. In a similar fashion, God extends to you and me choice and the responsibility of living with those choices. It is the act of a loving father. 

Currently, we focus on the soft easy side of love, but love comes with some difficulty. Love endures all things, even the pain of watching a loved one choose poorly. There is a component of love that requires strength and resolve. God’s love led Him to offer His only son as a sacrifice for my sins. He also disciplines those whom He loves, Hebrews 12. True love requires strength and resolve. Paul reminds husbands to love their lives by laying down their lives for their spouses, Ephesians 5. When we reduce love to something soft, warm, and fuzzy, we degrade love. There are times when love is comforting when love does not have hard edges; however, there are also times when love does not give way and must say things difficult to hear. And sadly, there are times when love stands and watches a loved one walk down the path of their choosing. To say that allowing people to choose hell violates love does not take the strength and courage of love into account. Love is not about torture and coercion. But it does allow for choice, even choices with tragic consequences. 

The Nature of God, Holiness, and Punishment Part 2

  My First Sergeant and I watched PVT Rudd drive away, with a feeling of failure. SPC Rudd had arrived in our unit a little over a year ago. Early on he’d impressed with his field skills. Though a PLL Clerk (supply clerk), he displayed tactical abilities beyond his rank. In short, he was a natural soldier. But he had one significant shortcoming. While in garrison, SPC Rudd drank to excess and behaved badly. Soon, he was in front of me for fighting in the barracks. What followed was sad indeed. Rudd would drink and do something reprehensible. He spent time in rehab, took antabuse, and was involved in serious counseling. He lost his rank and privileges. We counseled him, informing him that should he continue in this behavior we would be forced to discharge him. He pleaded with me, asking me to find a way to keep him in the field. While in the field, denied easy access to drink, he performed very well. Once he impressed the entire chain of command. Wanting to give him some sense of success and perhaps divert him from drinking, I prepared an impact award. Sadly, we returned to garrison on Friday and that night he assaulted the Staff-Duty NCO. Disappointed, I tore up his award paperwork. The downward trend continued until with no other options left me, I put him out of the Army. The one thing that I did in his favor was I gave him a Reenlistment Code that would allow him to reenlist should he get his drinking under control. He drove away from Fort Hood and out of my life. I often think of PVT Rudd and his inability to choose wisely, a victim of free-will.

When Yahweh conceived the universe as we understand it, He included the concept of free-will. He endowed humanity with the ability to choose, setting us apart from the animal kingdom. Genesis chapters two and three include the details of choice. Here is the place that I’ve prepared for you. Eat what you want, except for the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. You know the rest of the story. We chose poorly…to quote a popular movie. While we might argue about the nature of free will given that God sees the end from the beginning, as humans, trapped within the flow of time, we enjoy the ability to choose, with all its blessings and perils.

Free will comes with both blessings and perils. Free will enables true love. At the risk of alienating all pet lovers, animals, driven by herd instinct, do not display true love. They do not choose. They understand the pack they belong to and respond appropriately. That is why we see dogs so desperately loyal to a malodorous malevolent owner. Despite their mistreatment, they hang on. For good or for ill, that owner is the alpha and leader of their dysfunctional pack. Humans enjoy the ability to choose and modify their behavior. That is what makes human love such a potent component of creation. We choose to love. We choose to comply. And that makes all the difference. Despite my problems and failures, Christy, my wife, chooses to love me. That makes our relationship quite special. But free will comes with a downside, consequences.

Poor choices bring poor results. In our current cultural milieu, we like to downplay consequences, minimize or eliminate them if at all possible. As a teacher, I see this all the time when dealing with students and their failure to complete an assignment on time. There’s always a reason why, and that reason is rarely, “I just failed to do it.” Oh, I have the occasional student that owns their own failure; however, the majority of them come to class ready with some sort of excuse, much like Adam’s mealy-mouthed, “…The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit of the tree, and I ate.” Genesis 3:12 As much as we’d like to avoid them, our choices bear fruit.

When we choose wisely, we normally enjoy positive results. When we choose poorly, in rebellion, we reap the painful crop of failure. And it’s not just us who suffer the results of our poor decision-making. Those around us, especially those close to us also suffer the consequences of our ill choices.

I deployed for a year-long tour to Iraq with a family friend. We worked and attended chapel together. His children and mine were close, having spent multiple nights in each other’s homes. We enjoyed dinners together. While in Iraq, I noticed that he was spending an excessive amount of time with a female soldier. When confronted, he claimed that he and his wife had an “arrangement.” I remarked that I would find that hard to believe. He insisted and continued pursuing the relationship. Upon our return, his wife quickly figured out what had happened. She and the children rapidly departed for home, leaving him alone. Soon divorce paperwork arrived and their marriage ended. Then I got to explain to my young children why their friends were gone. Though they did not understand divorce and the associated turmoil, they clearly understood the pain associated with the departure of their good friends and the isolation that ensued. Our poor choices produce effects that echo into other lives and across generations. I profit from decisions that my grandparents made. On both sides of my family, grandparents endured a variety of pains and setbacks in their lives. And, in both cases, they made a series of wise decisions that still shape my life, long after they have gone on. Their Godly choices improved my life.

God gave us free will. Free will includes the ability to make decisions that wreck our current and future lives. And God allows us to make choices that echo into eternity. We choose to reject Him in this life, He allows us to reject Him in the next. We may be tempted to blame Him, holding Him accountable for those who endure hell, but they made the choice. He allows them to shuffle off into an existence of their own devising and construction. The sad truth is, God continually holds out the hand of restoration and redemption and we continually choose to reject it. 

The Nature of God, Holiness, and Punishment

  I watched the former Sergeant First Class shuffle off in an orange jumpsuit and manacles, feeling relief, sadness, and regret. Relief that a long dark experience was almost over. Sadness at the suffering, pain, and loss I’d witnessed. And regret that such an ugly experience had not been prevented. At the time, I commanded a recruiting company in the United States Army. One of my NCOs (Noncommissioned Officers) had committed a string of assaults on teenaged girls. He’d figured out a way to game the system and avoid punishment for quite some time. I’d managed to build a strong case and convicted him of several counts of rape of a minor. Now stripped of rank, he faced a long incarceration. In an odd twist, I learned much about God, holiness, and justice from that experience. Things that inform my spiritual walk today.

I often read articles and postings on social media platforms that eschew the concept of a literal hell as being inconsistent with a God of love. Somewhere in the text one normally finds a sentence like this, “How can a God of love send someone to a place of everlasting torment and punishment?” It is a valid question. Another line of thought normally laid out in such documents or discussion strings struggles to equate the God of the Old Testament with Jesus in the New Testament. Another valid consideration. Some go so far as to say that we should discard the Old Testament as invalidated by the advent of the Christ; however, such action violates the idea of, “Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever,” Hebrews 13:8. If we accept the scriptures in which Jesus says he and the father are one, we cannot easily discard the Old Testament revelation of God as somehow incongruent with the New Testament revelation of God. I believe the problem lies elsewhere.

Our urge to discard or diminish the God of the Old Testament stems largely from our misunderstanding of holiness, love, free-will, and the nature of existence. Like all humans, we want to remake God closer to our own failed image. Yet, the holy and powerful God, who conceived and breathed out the universe as we know it, does not easily compress. Part of what Jesus did here on earth was to show us what God is truly like, “I and the Father are one,” John 10:30. God injected Himself into our reality through the incarnation, which has confounded easy definition for millennia. Holiness, the defining characteristic of divinity, often eludes our grasp.

We often equate holiness with being kind. We think of a gracious, kind neighbor. You know the type. A casual wave, some friendly conversation over a hedge, a willingness to lend a hand with a difficult task, or the loan of a needed tool or truck, and certainly music or TV that never intrudes; these are the hallmarks of a good neighbor. We may think of our favorite Aunt Edna, always kind and long-suffering, always ready with a bit of chocolate or toffee, who never hurt a fly or raised her voice or hand in anger. Surely, she must be holy. Or even better, your Grandparents, surely they must be holy. They always have time for you. They enjoyed listening to you prattle endlessly about your most recent adventure. Their laps were the best and they understood moving and living at a slower pace. Retired, they always had time for you. Yes, they must be holy. Maybe you think of some great religious or spiritual person. An ascetic, giving their entire life in service of something greater. These “holy” men and women move among us mere mortals like shining torches, always calling us to a higher plane of existence. Perhaps they are holy. Sadly, none of these examples are holy. We exist in a fallen world with no true examples of human holiness walking around today; consequently, we often do not understand what holiness really is.

True holiness is set apart, unlike common things. That much is fairly easy to grasp. But true holiness cannot abide with sin. The fallen state of the world inures us to sin. We see and suffer its effects all the time, and all too often, we adopt a rather casual attitude toward it. We assume that God’s grace and forgiveness indicate a casual attitude on His part. Yet, nothing could be further from the truth. A holy God cannot put up with sin, a lesson we should take from the Old Testament account. God bursts out against sin. The story of Uzzah, found in I Chronicles 13, reminds us that a holy God is not to be trifled with, or taken lightly. Lest we think that somehow God changed His attitude about sin, keep in mind the passage in Hebrews 12:28-29 in which the writer reminds us that God is a consuming fire and should be approached with reverence and awe. When we read the Old Testament accounts that seem so hard in contrast to the New Testament account of Jesus, we must remember that God wants us to understand that He cannot tolerate sin in His holy presence. Jesus echoes this when says in the Sermon on the Mount that if our right eye causes us to sin, we should gouge it out or if our right-hand causes us to sin, we should cut it off, Matthew 5:27-30. Jesus is not some sadist who desires a half-blind and crippled humanity. No, He just wants you and I to understand how He and the Father view sin and its deadly nature. Sin separates, as surely as any crevasse or canyon, Ephesians 2:12. When you and I take a casual view of sin, we fall into the same trap the Uzza and David did with just as lethal results. We must always keep in mind that God takes sin seriously enough to offer His Son as the only appropriate perfect sacrifice. Our sin erected a barrier that we cannot breach. And like my NCO, we shuffled off into oblivion.

You see, I did not enjoy or want to see my sergeant stripped of his rank, humiliated, and incarcerated. I felt a sense of justice being served, but no joy. I knew that those wounded by his transgressions would feel some sense of relief at the end result, but no joy. He’d committed such heinous acts that he could no longer enjoy the company of free society. And that is what our sins do to our relationship with God. So, when we attempt to divest the reality of hell, we may very well be trivializing the grievous nature of sin and the holy nature of God. The same God of the Old Testament still rules today, and He still cannot abide sin. Fortunately for you and me, He poured His wrath out on His son, Isaiah 53:10. But that does not mean He is no longer angered by sin. Sin still angers Him, Romans 2:5. We should not let His application of grace and mercy in our lives lull us into complacency regarding sin. He allows us free will. We enjoy the ability to choose with all its attendant consequences. That is part of the equation we get free will in order to love; but, free will comes with a variety of perils. We will examine free will in the next essay in this series. 

Civility and Kindness

  “There’s only one piece of pie left for you two to split. So, one of you gets to cut and the other gets to pick. Which one wants to cut,” said my mother proffering a butter knife?

This was Mom’s usual way of handling parsing leftovers. She avoided any complaints from her young rabble…brood. And she taught us an important lesson; in life, you have to develop the ability to cooperate and compromise in order to enjoy some of the better things life has to offer. It’s a lesson that we need to relearn in our hyper-partisan winner take all political climate.

The climate is not the only thing that has become more heated in this era of “global-warming.” As a body politic, we seem to have lost the ability to work together and compromise. Kindness and civility, once the hallmarks of a mature intelligent person, now rank behind snarkiness and inflexibility. We hold up those with a quick wit and acid tongue. Instead of consuming news broadcast in civil and measured tones, we flock to “argumentaries,” shows which traffic in innuendo and rumor, displaying a casual disregard for the truth. We avidly consume our “news” from web-based sources that give precious little, if any, thought to fact-checking or the effect their words may have. We reward those politicians that take intransigent positions, refusing to budge an inch. Adherence to perceived party orthodoxy is more important than making progress on those pernicious problems we face as a society. We worship at the altar of power, forgetting that government exists to alleviate suffering, solve problems, protect the weak, secure resources, and enhance opportunity for all. 

When we put party above policy, we stymie progress. Our embrace of this caustic style of public discourse encourages politicians to abandon solving problems as the measure of success. They may not make progress towards finding solutions to nettlesome issues; however, if they maintain party loyalty, refusing to work with others, and denouncing anything that does not come from the party as evil, then they can claim success. We forget the counsel of George Washington:

"However [political parties] may now and then answer popular ends, they are likely in the course of time and things, to become potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people and to usurp for themselves the reins of government, destroying afterwards the very engines which have lifted them to unjust dominion."

FAREWELL ADDRESS | SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 17, 1796

Washington well understood the danger slavish devotion to political parties posed. Now, nearly two hundred and fifty years later, we must deal with a political landscape in which parties make decisions in order to appeal to their base and remain in power. Often, they use the levers of government, not to find solutions to problems, but instead to stymie progress toward a solution. We need to stop accepting this as appropriate behavior and demand that instead of dragging their feet and pointing at the other guy, they should figure out some sort of compromise and move forward.

Compromise requires an electorate that holds problem-solving above party-purity. Sadly, our willingness to go along with slash and burn politics supports the continuation of this behavior. We seem to enjoy the theater more than progress. We must develop enough political savvy to reject those who pedal such a narrow view of how we should operate. This means that I must accept the prospect of not always getting my way. Returning to my mother’s practice, when we accept the idea that others get a participatory role in determining national policy, we accept the fact that we will not always get our way. Sometimes progress requires that I sacrifice in order to secure a better outcome for someone else. We easily forget that scriptural principal of “Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand the more,” Luke 12:48b. This reminds me that since I enjoy such a privileged status in our society, I must use that blessing to secure good things for those who have less. Understanding this difficult principal helps me display kindness and civility when things do not go my way in the political realm. Kindness and civility flow from a place of strength, courage, and understanding.

A strong person does not feel the need to tear down or ridicule, or at least controls the urge. Those who are weak lash out at every perceived threat. When I am secure in who I am, I treat others with civility and am freed to actively listen to their point of view. I have the courage to be kind and consider others as important and worthy. I just may find their ideas compelling and summon the courage to put their needs first. We may find the way to progress if we listen, actively listen to others. But as long as we embrace a caustic or defensive approach to engaging in political discussion, we will not make true progress on those things that constantly vex us.

If we embrace civility and kindness, eschewing acrimony and attack, we may find that we want many of the same things. Differences that seemed so monumental shrink into minor easily overcome obstacles. The active listening required for civility leads to true communication and treating others with kindness opens doors for the cooperation we so desperately need. Of course, it is much easier to embrace the status quo. After all, if the standard for success is belittling your opponent, why adopt behaviors that require work and sacrifice? Because the only real way to make progress is to embrace civility and kindness. It’s hard, but it must be done for us to move forward as a nation. 

And There I was # 15

 And There I Was #15

Yet Another Convoy Story

I stared at the seemingly endless stream of traffic coming across the Jadriya bridge. It was early June 2003, and I was leading a convoy to a meeting with the President of Baghdad University. I’d missed the left turn into the University and now we were stopped with traffic building up behind us. I did not want to cross the Tigress and have to rejoin the Qadisiya Expressway retracing my route. That would take too much time and expose my small convoy to more hazard than I wanted. Yet, I needed to complete my mission.

As a major, I had not expected to lead convoys. Lieutenants and Captains led convoys. Majors planned them and occasionally led serials. As both a lieutenant and captain, I’d briefed numerous majors about my convoy plan, enduring the fifty-million questions. As a major, I’d asked those same questions, seeking to ascertain the preparedness of a junior officer. But in all my years, I had never thought that I would be leading small (two to five vehicle) convoys into downtown Baghdad. That was something others would do. Yet, there I was, trying to figure out how to turn around the chaotic traffic.

Once I realized that my mission required making numerous trips into Baghdad, I procured a good satellite image of Baghdad from our terrain team. I’d made good friends with their Warrant and NCOIC when we’d sorted through the issues of C2PC for the command. He’d provided me with a very high-quality photomap, which I kept in a double-sided map case. Since my section had no organic vehicles I was always having to beg, borrow, or steal HMMWVs, drivers, and gunners. Each time I planned a convoy, I marked my route in indelible marker, using the map to brief the convoy. Upon returning to BIAP, I would erase the marked route. The indelible marker left a faint mark on the map-case, which helped me avoid taking the same route. At this time, all convoys had to have at least one heavy weapon. We still cruised around Baghdad in soft top HMMWVs with our boots hanging in the breeze. Normally, I’d plan the route and turn convoy construction over to my deputy, CPT Marvin Bradshaw. Marvin would scare up the appropriate vehicles and soldiers to man them. It amazed me that my boss, the division chief of staff, did not require a convoy brief. All he really cared about was my plan for actions on the objective, in this case, a meeting with the university president to sort out what they needed that we might provide. Each week my duties as an Information Operations officer for the division took me out into Baghdad a couple of times. Not a door-kicker, but in 2003 we were out and about doing “cowboy” things before we really knew what we were doing. 

At any rate, I knew that I did not want to have to take my little convoy across the Tigress and into Qadisiya. But how to turn around on this busy street before the bridge. At this time, driving around Baghdad was a rather chaotic experience. Not only were we subject to a variety of harassing fires and IEDs, but we also faced a populace that took a kamikaze approach to driving. The oncoming drivers knew that we wanted to turn around and head back into the city; however, they did not care. As I looked into the oncoming horde of exhaust belching vehicles streaming across the bridge, I noticed a large, heavily laden truck coming our way. Unable to keep up, the overloaded truck had traffic stacked up behind it and a growing empty spot in front of it. An idea formed in my mind.

The HMMWV I was in carried a .50 cal on a ring mount. At this time, all convoys were required to depart BIAP with a heavy weapon…a SAW counted as a heavy weapon. I yanked on the leg of the gunner and shouted up at him, “When the empty spot in front of that truck hits the bridge, I want you to put a burst into the pavement in front of it.”

“Sir,” the incredulous soldier yelled back?!

“I said, I want you to put a burst into the pavement in front of that truck. Don’t shoot it, just hit the pavement. Make sure he sees tracers. That’ll make him stop.”

“Okay, if you say so,” he calmly replied with a growing smile.

“I say so.” And, when the empty spot in traffic in front of the truck hit the bridge, he opened up with a good long burst. Chips of pavement and tracers flew as links and empty casings rained down around us. The truck slammed to a stop more quickly than I could have imagined, a few bundles rolling off onto the pavement. The traffic around us braked to a halt. Slowly, carefully, we made the “U” turning around and heading into Baghdad University where I met with the people I was supposed to. 

Later that day after returning to BIAP, the gunner came up to me, “Sir, that was the most fun I’ve had since we got here.”

Lessons From Backyard Gardening

 Lessons from Backyard Gardening

12 There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death. Proverbs 14:12

I enjoy dabbling at gardening, and when I say dabble, I mean dabble. There are those who truly love gardening. They can grub up a handful of soil, smell it, roll it between their palms, taste some, and then tell you what will grow in your yard. Me, I troll the nurseries, reading those little tags and hope for the best. Occasionally when a worker approaches and asks if I need help, I reply, “I need tough plants. Plants that can deal with Lubbock weather and ham-fisted care. I need the Green-Berets of the plant world. I need leafy Rangers, ready to take the hill.” 

That said, I do enjoy gardening. I like the process. I thrill at the results when you get a group of flowering plants that signal God’s creative might with plashes of color scattered across the yard. I enjoy seeing the various pollinators buzz and flop around the yard, doing their bit to make things nice. I enjoy eating al-fresco with Christy or the rest of the family in an environ pleasing to the eye. But most of all, I enjoy the learning experience.

When I garden, it is as if the Lord takes time out to teach me about myself, to reveal areas in my life that need more attention, pruning as it were. As I poke, prod, and prune, God reveals His heart. He, the ultimate gardener, shares Himself with me. In some small ways, my little spot of green shares similar traits with His gardening of my human heart. He lavishes great effort on me, finding me an often-unruly plant, much like my Butterfly Bush.

One of the first things I planted in our backyard was a Butterfly Bush. I enjoy their colorful profuse lavender blooms and subtle scents. I also like their hardy nature which allows them to flourish here in Lubbock. Drive around our town during the summer and you will see Butterfly Bushes all over, peeking past fences or gracing business along major thoroughfares. Often you see them trained into small quirky trees.

I decided that is what I wanted in a nice sunny corner of our backyard. I envisioned a small flowering tree with a couple of Adirondack Chairs in the mottled shade. But how to get there? How do you turn a bush into a tree? Slowly is the answer. Once the bush establishes itself, you choose three or so branches to turn into trunks. Then, you relentlessly trim back any growth on those limbs. By cutting off the smaller branches, you force the bush to grow up. Eventually, the chosen branches thicken into trunks, and the bush grows taller. I planted my Butterfly Bush the first summer here, 2011. Now, ten years later, we enjoy a small tree close to twenty feet in height…tall enough so as to prohibit me from trimming from the ground, and I’m not planning on climbing any ladders to trim. Late each spring, I go through the same procedure.

I grab my clippers and get to work lopping off any new growth on the trunks and clearing out dead growth. It does not take long, but the result pleases me. The bush is now a small tree with space for two or three Adirondack Chairs to sit in the evening shade. Every year my tree wants to fill in the empty space in the middle. I know that it is a forlorn and useless effort. The sun does not shine enough in the middle of the tree. The canopy blocks the sun. The new limbs will grow well for a year, but they do not survive. The lack of sun stunts them and the next spring they do not put out leaves. What starts off with great promise and profuse growth ends up stunted, withered, and dead. I know this. The plant does not. Each year I trim, and the plant responds by pushing higher and growing bushier limbs. The plant and I share characteristics.

Often, I think things look great and push forward without consideration or prayer. The Lord knows what is best for me and works to train me to His vision. He sees a spot for a small tree in His garden. I see a fine place for a bush. I try my best to grow into a bush. That’s my natural inclination. He wants a tree to enjoy, one that reflects His work. My vision is really too small. So I put effort into fruitless pursuits, ones that He knows will not lead me to the shape He envisions. He knows that there is no future in that direction, no sunlight reaches that place. I do not know if my Butterfly Bush feels pain during the pruning process.

I can say with certainty, that I do not enjoy spiritual pruning. For a variety of reasons, I find the process painful or constraining. But I know that if I trust Him, I will enjoy the result. Like my Butterfly Bush, I have limited ability to see the future. I can envision, but the Lord can see. I recently was afforded an opportunity to take part in a ministry as a member of the leadership team; but, I felt no peace with the decision. As an officer in the Army, I trained to never turn down an opportunity to be in a leadership position. My natural inclination tends toward taking action, moving forward, and doing something. Sometimes, God would have us wait because He knows that proceeding in that direction is not what He sees. With great reluctance, I demurred, declining the opportunity and accepting God’s gentle pruning. 

It is hard to accept God’s will sometimes. Isaiah 55:8-9 reminds me that God’s ways are not my ways. He sees with clear vision; consequently, He sees that the path that seems so good will only lead to disappointment and ruin. I have to learn to trust Him. In chapter 55, Isaiah reminds the children of Israel that God has a plan, a plan for our good, a plan that will result in something we cannot envision. So like Israel, I must learn to accept His pruning. After all, in John 15, Jesus calls upon the image of a gardener carefully tending his vineyard. Interestingly, Jesus likens himself to a plant, ceding the role of gardener to the father. If Jesus can submit to the father accepting ministrations, so can I…with practice. And if I let Him have His way, perhaps I will grow into something pleasing, something that gives Him joy and pleasure. 

And There I Was # 14

 And There I Was # 14

What Became of the M-60 Toting Cook

“You want me to do what,” I replied incredulously?

“I want you to send SPC Milmoe to PLDC,” said SFC Borlongo calmly.

“But, you remember what he did in Tularosa during Exercise Roving Sands.”

“Yes, I do. He made sure that our soldiers sent up to the north end of White Sands ate two hot meals a day. He signed for and returned an MKT with no issues. And from what I’ve heard, the food he served was quite good. He made sure that he and SPC Jenkins did the right thing at the right time, with no supervision from you or me,” SFC Borlongo paused, “Isn’t that what we expect our NCOs to do?

“Well, yes,” I grudgingly admitted, “But he’s not on the OML. None of his uniforms or TA-50 have been inspected. And, he’s not had anyone refresh him on land-nav and that’s the biggest reason why soldiers fail out of PLDC.”

“I will make sure his uniforms are ready. And sir, he’s a much better soldier than you realize.”

I thought about her last statement. SPC Milmoe was a decent troop. As a young soldier, he was given to a certain level of goofiness. He never did anything particularly wrong. He just never did anything that particularly stood out as good. Recently married, he and his young wife often zoomed through the company area in their cool bright yellow Carmen-Ghia convertible, belching clouds of blue smoke that would have made any Smoke Platoon LDR happy. He possessed enough military bearing to keep him out of trouble, but PLDC! PLDC slots were few and far between, parceled out like gold by CSMs across Fort Hood.

Getting SPC Milmoe into PLDC would require that I prostrate myself in front of CSM Terry. CSM Terry and I had a certain amount of history. I’d first met him when assigned as the BN S-4 for the Signal Battalion that supported the 2nd Armored Division. This was before we reflagged 2nd to 4th ID (Somewhere amongst all my old Army stuff is a BDU top with the 2AD scar.). Through some rather painful moments that included a rather dented-up wall-locker, CSM Terry had made me into a better officer. Then an opportunity for company command had taken me away from CSM Terry and his stringent ministrations. Then he showed up to replace our retiring CSM. When LTC McKowen was introducing him to all of the company commanders and 1SGs, CSM Terry dropped this pearl in front of everyone.

“I know CPT Robinson. We were in 4ID together. In fact, I had to follow him over here in order to finish my project. I wasn’t through training him into a decent officer when he left.”

Don’t get me wrong. I liked CSM Terry. He was a fine soldier and as good a CSM as you can imagine. He just had this unvarnished way of calling a spade a spade. But, you could not find a CSM who would fight harder for his soldiers…including the officers in his unit. So after SFC Borlongo pestered the frog out of me, I found myself in CSM Terry’s office begging for a PLDC slot for SPC Milmoe. But after extracting promises of SPC Milmoe’s preparedness and ultimate success from SFC Borlongo and myself, he and the appropriate PLDC CSM exchanged the secret handshake and Milmoe was in. We sweated out receiving the results of Milmoe’s initial PT and Land-Nav test; however, he passed both with no problems. Then, SFC Borlongo made another visit to my office.

“Sir, I have another request,” she said fixing me with a stare, “The points have dropped for cooks, and I want to pin Sergeant Stripes on Milmoe as he walks across the stage at graduation.”

“SFC Borlongo, you’ve got to be kidding,” I said, desperation rising in my throat.

“No, I’m not, he doesn’t know that I’m doing this. It would mean a great deal to him. His family will be here for graduation. He’s a good soldier with a good future in the Army. You need to do this.”

“But, I’ll have to get CSM Terry to make the arrangements at the PSB, a place he doesn’t like, and he will extract demands from me.”

“Like what,” she replied, staring me down.

“I don’t know,” I mused, “But it will be painful.” So after much prodding by SFC Borlongo, CSM Terry and I made the trip to the CSM of the PSB. I was privileged to witness the CSM pow-wow and ju-ju. I cannot reveal any of the details as I was sworn to life-long secrecy; but, at the end, we walked out with orders promoting SPC Milmoe to SGT. 

It was a good day when SGT Milmoe graduated from PLDC. His family was ecstatic. His wife jumped up and down, squealing with joy. SGT Milmoe stood tall, proudly checking out the new stripes on his collar. SFC Borlongo, the creator of it all beamed in pleasure. 

“Milmoe,” growled CSM Terry, “You owe this to SFC Borlongo and CPT Robinson. They fought hard for this. Don’t let them down!”

And he didn’t. He turned out to be a great NCO. He went from marginally meeting the standard to excelling and exceeding the standard. He led his troops well, always looking sharp, and more importantly, being sharp. He and his wife still laid smoke when ripping through the BN area, but he did not let SFC Borlongo down. She saw in him something the rest of us missed, the potential to be a great leader.

Years later, when walking across a FOB in Iraq, I heard someone call out, “LTC Robinson!”

I turned around, and it was MSG Milmoe! He’d stayed in and climbed the ranks. This was his last tour in Iraq. He’d dropped his retirement paperwork and would hang up the uniforms upon his return. He and I sat and reminisced about SFC Borlongo, CSM Terry, and Roving Sands. He’d enjoyed his time in the Army, as had I. We laughed together as we remembered the lessons we’d learned back at “the Hood.” 

And There I Was #13 A Lighter Convoy

 And There I Was # 13

A Lighter Convoy

“Excuse me, Captain, may I speak with you please?”

I turned around to see an Otero County Sheriff, complete with mirrored shades standing there looking concerned. “Yes, Sheriff. What do you need,” I replied concern growing? 

“Well, Captain. I was wondering if you could come with me.” My signal company was supporting Operation Roving Sands, a multi-national Air Defense Artillery exercise in central New Mexico. I had pestered my BN CDR, LTC Wendell McKowen, for the off-post deployment. I had wanted a chance to move my company by rail and convoy from Fort Hood to Fort Bliss. Supporting such a large exercise would stress my company quite a bit. Even though we’d spent quite a bit of time in the field at Fort Hood, we all knew the post quite well, and operating in a different environment would be good for us. Also, getting my company to and from Fort Bliss would make us learn new skills in rail-loading and integration with foreign forces. Eventually, he’d acquiesced and assigned us the mission. My 1SG and I went to Fort Bliss to meet with the other units to hash out the support relationships. 

During the meetings, we both developed concerns for certain aspects of the support arrangements. The field feeding plans seemed a bit weak, especially since my company would be spread out from Fort Bliss in Texas to the northern end of White Sands Missel Range all the way up in New Mexico. All the associated units wanted to do the right thing. We just felt that they had not done their homework. When we presented the maintenance unit with our list of vehicles, they were quite surprised. At any rate, upon our return to Fort Hood, I button-holed LTC McKowen for permission to add a field feeding and maintenance section to my deployment package. Mildly amused, he agreed but required that I make arrangements to sign for an MKT from a Fort Bliss unit. A series of phone-calls later and the arrangements were made. Once on the ground, the small mess section would sign for an MKT and I would take them up to the north end of the missile range where they would provide hot chow for the Signal Team there. So far, the plan had unfolded as I hoped.

We’d railed a Mess-Section duce to Fort Bliss, linked up with a sister Signal unit, and signed for a complete MKT. Signing for the MKT took quite some time…there are a lot of bits and pieces to an MKT. Drawing rations was a bit of an adventure (See #6); however, we managed to get the rations, the cooks, and the equipment all together in the same place. Early in the morning, my small two-vehicle convoy pulled out from Fort Bliss headed for Stallion Army Airfield at the north end of the White Sands Missile Range, a drive of about one-hundred-fifty miles or so. After an hour and a half or so, we trundled into Tularosa, a small dusty town about halfway there. I placed SPC Milmoe and SPC Jenkins and their duce in a parking lot across from the elementary school and told them to wait right there. Having been to this area of New Mexico before, I knew of a good place to get breakfast burritos and coffee. And that is where I was when the Sheriff found me.

Concerned, I returned to my HMMWV and instructed SPC Lilly to follow the Sheriff. Tularosa is not very large, so the trip did not take too long. In fact, thankfully, we returned to the place where I’d left the two Specialists, the duce, and the MKT, all of which were where I’d left them. The sheriff parked across the street out of sight and motioned for me to come over to his cruiser. I complied and without a word, he pointed across the street. 

There was SPC Milmoe. He’d shed his BDU top, donned some mirrored aviator shades, was wearing his flack-vest, had draped two belts of 7.62 blank ammunition across his chest, and was parading around with the M-60, doing his best imitation of Rambo. Meanwhile, SPC Jenkins had dug out some foil and cardboard from the back of the duce and constructed a tanning aid. She’d also shed her BDU top and was reclining on the hood of the duce, catching some rays. The Sheriff then pointed across the street to the elementary school, where all the kids were lined up at the fence ogling my two soldiers.

“Now Captain, far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, but I kinda don’t think that’s the best use of their time,” he drawled. Then smiling, he climbed back into his cruiser and drove off, leaving me to deal with my two soldiers. After SPC Lilly and I laughed and rolled our eyes. I went and squared away my troops…at least for a few minutes…passed out coffee and breakfast burritos and headed off to finish our convoy. The exercise turned out very well. We all learned a lot, and no one died. This was not the end of SPC Milmoe’s story.

And There I Was # 12

 And There I was # 12

Not All Lives are Lost in Combat

Dirt and gravel sprayed up in a perfect arc as the five-ton bridge hauler (M-945) plowed into the bar-ditch. The passenger side front wheel collapsed, the bumper dug in, and the entire truck and bridge component it was carrying slow-rolled grinding the canvass toped cab into the dirt as BII and other debris scattered across the central Texas landscape. Horrified, I braked, downshifted, and scrunched to a halt enveloped in a cloud of dust. A couple of other convoy vehicles, unable to slow down quickly enough, rushed past and pulled over. We all pelted to the hulking wreck hoping for the best as a lime green Ford Escort exited the Interstate and disappeared down the access road.

Convoy operations consumed much of the training schedule in the early and mid-eighties. Of course as a SPC, I did not give it much thought. By now, I’d figured out that if I showed up at the right place, at the right time, in the right uniform, and did what I was told, life was good. It seemed as if our commander had a special love of convoys. Every post FTX involved driving around the impact area of Fort Hood, and we were always moving equipment from one place to another. I often wondered how much heavy engineer equipment the Army actually had. Sometimes it was a short trip up to a MATES facility to borrow or store some odd piece of equipment.

I always enjoyed trips to the MATES facility. In the early eighties, all of the men who worked there were ancient crusty NCOs or Warrants; many of which I was convinced had ridden with General “Blackjack” Pershing. They were not above yanking your chain or sending you on a wild-goose chase (I still haven’t found frequency grease). But, if you were patient, they eventually finished their war story and provided one with excellent information…sometimes it was even about military equipment still in the inventory. Periodically we trekked out to a Texas Army National Guard Armory to deliver some bit of heavy equipment. I found the number of Armories Texas had tucked away in small towns amazing. 

So there we were, running up to an Armory in Abilene, northwest central Texas for those who care. A new lieutenant led this convoy. A recent arrival to the battalion, he worked in the S-3 (operations section) while waiting for a platoon leader slot to open up. As an officer, he occupied a position far removed from my day-to-day existence or realm of care. He was there in the motor pool before duty call, calmly oversaw the lineup of the small convoy, quickly inspected the vehicles, and gave an appropriate safety briefing. He then turned the speaking over to SFC Williams, the Convoy NCOIC. We all knew SFC Williams as one of the more capable NCOs in the battalion. He was a grizzled old hand and gave us a thorough briefing on the convoy route and procedures, handing out strip maps. As a junior soldier, I was assigned an aging duce and a half carrying an assortment of rations and spare parts the motor warrant thought we might need. I should have paid attention to the strip map; but knew that I was to follow the five-ton, which was even slower than my old duce. I figured as long as I kept up with the five-ton all would be well. After he finished, SFC Williams turned to the lieutenant and asked if he had anything else to say. I noted that SFC Williams nodded appreciatively when the LT replied, “Not really, just be safe out there and let’s mount up and get on the road.”

We all knew that the SFC was training the LT. He had carefully walked him through all what would take place the day before, made sure he knew what to say, and would report back to the CSM concerning his LTs performance. Our battalion was a good one. The old soldiers brought the new ones…me included…along with very little fanfare. The CDR and CSM were in charge without being overbearing about it. We worked hard, played hard, and took our lumps when required. It was an excellent place to be a young troop.

Several droning hours later, we were somewhere north and west of Fort Hood. The convoy had proceeded with nothing unusual. We took the occasional smoke break, during which the LT and the SFC walked up and down the line, checking on vehicles and drivers. We stopped for lunch, ate C-Rations, and griped. I’d been introduced to MREs in basic at Fort Leonard-Wood, but we were still working the C-Rats out of the inventory at the 111th. After policing up our trash, we moved out again. The OD vehicles slowly ate up the miles. 

One hazard we all understood was civilian drivers. Big heavy military trucks do not stop quickly, something about the laws of physics. Civilians often wove in and out of convoys trying to make an exit, ignoring the big yellow and black “convoy ahead” or “convoy follows” signs. Everyone had convoy stories to tell about some bone-headed civilian hitting the breaks. So, it did not surprise me when the bright green Ford Escort appeared in my mirror, weaving in and out of the convoy. I understood their frustration and impatience trying to get past the slow-moving line of military vehicles. But I also knew that they did not appreciate how long it takes to slow something that big and heavy down.

Eventually, they worked their way up to the space between me and the five-ton. I backed off a bit, giving myself a bit of space. Sure enough, when they thought they were clear, they darted out and headed around the lumbering bridge truck. They must not have realized how close to their exit they were. Suddenly they swerved back in front of the bridge truck, slammed on their brakes, and aimed for the fast-approaching exit. At this point, the laws of physics took over.

Smoke roiled as the five-ton driver stood on his brakes, but there was no way to avoid crushing the little car. Then he turned toward the bar-ditch, hoping to avoid the Ford. He managed to not hit the small car, at the cost of the five-ton, his life, as well as that of his TC’s. We ran up to the pinging wreck and around to the front. The crushed blood-smeared cab spoke eloquently of two lives lost. There was nothing to be done. All the weight of the truck and bridge and ground out two lives as surely as I ground out cigarette buts on the roadside. 

Later I felt badly for the LT and SFC. They’d done everything right. This was not their fault and no one blamed them…but they blamed themselves. Oh, they got past it of course. But those sorts of things leave a mark. They went on with their careers. I have no idea what happened to them. SFC Williams surely became an MSG, probably a CSM. The LT probably made CPT; however, this was a day none of us would forget. The Army is a tough place and at times a very dangerous place, even when you do the right thing.