Basic Training for the Fight of Your Life, The Final Stand

(Unknown)

Section One

Our fight is not against people on earth but against the rulers and authorities and the powers of this world’s darkness; against the spiritual powers of evil in the heavenly world.

Ephesians 6:12, (New Century Version)

CHAPTER ONE

UNCLE SAM WANTS ME

It was two-thirty in the dark Georgia morning when another set of glaring headlights woke me from my shallow sleep.   I raised my throbbing head from the window of the bus and wiped the saliva off my chin.   The driver of the old bus was slowing down and had the turn signal on, tick-tick, tick-tick, acting as though this was just one more in a series of routine stops.   Oh, but routine it wasn't.   Although I realized that somewhat, it wouldn't be until later, that I would really understand just how significant a stop this was going to be.

As the bus made its final turn off the highway onto the exit, with all the grace of a bulldozer, I knew deep in my young heart this would also be a turn in my life, a milestone the likes of which I hadn't known or experienced before.   With a shadow of sadness I also realized it would be a point to which I could never again return.

It was then my adrenaline surged eyes opened wide and restlessly scanned for a clue or a sign which would finalize my destination. Suddenly, as though it leaped out of nowhere, that big, broad, well-lit sign shattered the darkness.   My eyes beheld the bright lettering which read, Fort Benning Georgia, Home of the United States Army Infantry.   Follow Me.   Just like an intruder in a cave sets a swarm of bats flurrying, that sign set off a butterfly stampede in my stomach.   I just knew that this would be the most rigorous and unyielding test of spirit, mind, and body that this young man, fresh out of high school, had ever faced before.   My steel was to be put to the test.

Strange. Sounds like the first time I consciously made an effort to learn about God. That too was a significant milestone in my life.   A significant experience which drew me from my pre-blissful state of ignorance. A point nevermore to be returned to. I didn’t know the path that my feet were set upon, all I knew was that I was compelled to follow it.

I wondered what Fort Benning would have in store for me.   Would I meet the fate of some who had gone before me?   Would I not be able to measure up, to do what was expected of me?   Would my steel be so impure and my heart so weak that I wouldn't be able to join the proud ranks of those soldiers who had passed before me?   Would I be left behind by those who would follow after me?   Would I fail?   Could I be dealt this blow, only to return to my neighborhood and my father, a veteran of World War Two, with my head hung in shame and embarrassment?   How could I face my future sons with this?   Would I be totally outperformed by everyone?   Would all the rearing I received, all the talks of right and wrong, of try your best and give it all you've got, would all that prove fruitless and fall by the wayside?   Could it be that all my dreams born out of sincere love for my family and country would be laid at the feet of my newfound family in olive drab only to be mercilessly trod into the dirt?

In that very same way I questioned my worth before God.   But I soon remembered what was said, that there is no one that does what is right, not one.   God makes people right with himself through their faith in Jesus.1 And He Loves us all. It’s OK.

Then I wondered, was that upbringing in love sufficient enough to sustain me, to feed and to fuel me to the completion of this test?

The floodgates of pessimism tore themselves wide open and those negative thoughts rushed through like a tidal wave.   In my own mind I was defeated before defeat ever occurred.   I was finished before I even started.   I had always said, If a door gets shut in your face, find another way in, but never shut opportunities door on yourself.   Yet look what I was doing.   I hadn't even allowed myself an honest attempt.   How ridiculous!   How downright silly, isn't it?   Imagine anyone so blatantly cheating themselves out of an opportunity without even trying it first?   How furious I get with others when they shut opportunities door on me.   Surely, surely I wouldn't do that to myself, would I? But that is exactly what I was doing, with my overly self-critical fear-full thoughts.

Just as suddenly as that tidal wave of pessimism hit however, it was swept back by the light of excitement, optimism, and a boundless sense of patriotism.   No, I didn't know what was in store for me and I didn't care.   Whatever it was, let it come my way.   It had its work cut out for it because I was determined once again there was to be no giving up without a fight.

It’s written, we have freedom now, because Christ made us free. So stand strong.2 He is our Author and Source of freedom. He is our security and strength. Everything else is merely incidental."

It was then that a small strategically placed pothole in the road, about the size of a strip mine, shook the bus like a roller coaster which jolted the blue from my jeans and brought me back to the dark of night at Fort Benning.

Having gained control of my mental reins, after that runaway gallop of doubt, a scary and very sad thought occurred to me.   What would it have been like if I were drafted into the Infantry against my will?   I vividly recall that hot summer’s day in July when I voluntarily set out on the train for the Military Entrance Processing Station in Chicago.

In a very similar manner I voluntarily became a Christian.   I knew God loved all of us so much, he gave his only Son to die so that anyone who believes in him will live forever3 and if we believe in our hearts that God raised Jesus from the dead we’ll be saved.4 Jesus informed us that He is the way, and the truth, and the life and the only way to the Father is through Him.5 He, He is the ONLY one I place my trust. Him and Him alone. I’m way good with that."

Once at the Processing Station, the feeling of pride swelled within me.   As I stood tall, my right hand held high, my lips repeated with heartfelt sincerity the oath by which I swore to defend the Constitution of these United States of America from enemies both foreign and domestic. Oh, what excitement!   What pride!   What honor!   Now I was all ready for the challenges and responsibilities that this newfound freedom from the nest would bring.   Or so I thought, at the time.

But what if I were TOLD to report to the processing station, involuntarily separated from my family, friends, and neighbors.   I tried to imagine the helplessness, loneliness, confusion, fear. Then, the resentment, anger and hate.   The frustration and aggravation some felt must have been almost, if not totally, devastating.   I did know of people who, being drafted had to deal with exactly that.

I know that feeling because I fought being drawn to God.   I even resented God.   But the prayers of the righteous yield much.6 That I know because my family drafted me into Gods’ Army through their endless prayers.   I was accepted into that Army because the Lord is compassionate and gracious. He won’t always be the accuser or nurse His anger.   He hasn’t treated us as our sins deserve because as far as east is from west, He has put our sins away from us.   As a father has compassion on his children, so does the Lord for everyone who fears Him.7

I know some guys who not only dealt with being drafted but went on further then even their own expectations.   They made a career of the Army, electing to become professional soldiers and believe me, professional they were.   Their integrity was unquestionable.   Even the threat of death couldn't turn their eyes from their new love.   And love it had to be.   The Army, the military for that matter, as a career whether volunteer or draftee must be a love if someone is to be a good soldier.   You have to love it because it's a way of life.   It is a total commitment-twenty-five hours a day, eight days a week, fifty-three weeks a year.   It is a high point in selflessness and servitude.   It's sacrifice.   It is truly selfless service putting the welfare of the nation, the Army, and your subordinates before your own. It's doing without material things.   At times it can be long periods without food or sleep.   At times blistering heat, driving rain and bone chilling cold must often be endured, as well as prolonged absence from family. At one time in recent memory it meant hisses, jeers and disrespect by many.   To the valiant few, it meant mental and bodily harm.   To the precious fallen it meant, as the song echoes so well, The last full measure of devotion.   To endure all that is truly love.

"So much sacrifice for a military career just like a Christian career, but the true children of God are those who let God’s Spirit lead them. The Spirit doesn’t make us slaves to fear, rather it joins with our spirits to say we are God’s Children.8 In God’s Army the teachings are easy and the load is light.   Jesus tells everyone that’s tired and has a heavy load to come to Him, because he will give you rest.9   God knows when sparrows fall and He knows how many hairs are on our head, so don’t be afraid, YOU are worth much more than many sparrows.10"

Uncle Sam wanted me, but not nearly as much as God wants YOU!

ENDNOTES

01   Romans 3: 10 & 24

02   Galatians   5: 1

03   John 3: 16

04   Romans 10: 9

05   John 14: 6

06   James 5: 16

07   Psalms 103: 8-10 & 29-31

08   Romans 8: 16

09   Matthew 11: 28&29

10   Matthew 10: 29-31

CHAPTER TWO

FROM BUS TO BARBER

So this is Fort Benning Georgia, much too early in the morning.   Everything was so still, such an eerily quiet dark Georgia night. I thought how nice it would be to have just a few more minutes of sleep.   Just to steal away a few more minutes. All my friends back home were sound asleep at this time of the morning.   Suddenly, gazing out the bus window, I saw something happen.

The tree line was abruptly broken by buildings that were dimly lit from scattered streetlights.   Neatly in a line, the world war two era buildings all faced the same direction.   Dozens upon dozens of them.   Long white wooden two story buildings.   In the sparse light I could tell they had paintings on each of the long sides.   Faint as they were I could see they were paintings of different patches from various Army units.   I recognized some patches from soldiers I saw at airports, train stations, the news and some I recognized from movies. But this time, I wasn’t watching it, I was living it. Being a spectator isn’t nearly as exciting as being the participant. This is much gooder.

Orderly, bringing light to darkness. Sounds like real Christianity to me. And it’s always better to be doing than to be sitting back and observing.   The way I figure, I’m not just going to   read about history, I’m going to help make it!

The bus began to slow down.   Beneath a streetlight we were approaching I saw some silhouetted figures.   I felt safe in assuming they weren't theater ushers.   As the bus slowed for the stop I briefly thought-and hoped-that those shadows cast were from cardboard cutouts.   Nope.   One moved.   Then the rest moved.   A cone of darkness projected from beneath the dimly lit World War One campaign hats, obscuring their features.   I couldn't make out any details of who, or even what for that matter, was under those World War One hats.   Their movements however were crisp and deliberate.   They were orderly and moved in concert.   There was no room for doubt; they had done this many times before.   There was some purpose to where they were positioning themselves.   I didn't know, but they sure did.   They were like delivery room personnel taking their pre-designated positions during a delivery.   The mother in this case was the bus, and it too was getting into position.   In a few minutes it would give birth to a whole herd of brand new, know nothing, baby soldiers.   With my stomach tied in knots, heart racing, and sweaty hands balled tightly, I stared in anticipation as the door to the womb was about to shatter open.   My new life would soon begin. Ohhh brother would it begin.

The screeching metal brakes brought the bus to an abrupt halt.   The Drill Sergeants didn't wait for us to depart the bus and come to them.   No, I realized that instant this wasn't to be done either my way or at my leisure.   I quickly learned who was in charge.   They came to us.   Not strolling into the bus.   Not meandering.   Step softly was not their motto.   But they were whistling.   With Olive Drab Army whistles clenched tightly between their gnawing teeth they were whistling.   They bellowed out glass shattering, ear piercing whistles as they stormed into the bus.   Once set in motion they never stopped.   They scurried around us constantly like bees, keeping us off balance.   We were like a bunch of panic stricken passengers on a quickly sinking cruise ship.   It was panic which spread faster than the speed of sound.   Sonic booms shot from the lungs of the Drill Sergeants.   They were thundering out orders, commands, do's and don’ts.   Numbness and disbelief instantly shot through my body.   I couldn't believe they worked like this.   I thought to myself, 'I'm on their side, I'm not the enemy.'   Never have I seen a bus empty so fast.   We became a stampede of scared young men with our stomachs wedged in our throats.   We were all tripping over each other with baggage grabbed onto from every which way.   Confusion ran wild.   There was frantic pushing and shoving, falling and being jerked up by someone just as scared as you.   

Under no circumstance was the Drill Sergeant to be touched as we exited the bus.   Accident or not was absolutely irrelevant.   Dive out the window.   Hurdle over the seats.   Squeeze through a crack in the floor but don't touch the Drill Sergeant.

They had their World War One campaign hats placed squarely on their heads and set with a carpenter’s level.   Their uniforms were heavily starched with razor sharp creases.   Their jump boots were spit shinned from top to bottom, heal to toe, and looked like a pair of black mirrors.   They proudly sported a broad olive drab web belt around their waists with a large ultra polished brass buckle bearing the U.S. Army Drill Sergeant insignia.   I was awe struck by the uniform alone.   The meticulous attention to detail. The time spent just preparing it.   Touch it?   Right.   I didn't fall off the potato truck yesterday.   But I was falling off the bus today.

Once off the bus we were herded into a very crude grouping, standing side by side, about fifteen men wide and four ranks deep. I soon learned this was called a Platoon Formation.   I was very receptive to every form of input.   I knew I had to learn it all and learn it fast.   Once in formation the lessons came fast and furious.   From a barrage of Drill Sergeants roving in and around us I learned from the mistakes of others as well as my own.

With his piercing eyes only inches from mine, the Drill Sergeant exploded a question at me.   I replied with due respect and timidity by saying, Yes Sir.   I had never seen a face so red, heard a yell so loud, nor seen a man stomp about with such unyielding intensity as this Drill Sergeant.

With his thunderous voice he taught me, and quite obviously the rest of the western hemisphere, the correct way for a trainee to address a Drill Sergeant.   With his response also came a long overdue shower.   Sir?!   SIR!?!   I WORK FOR A LIVING TRAINEEEE!!! You call an Officer SIR.   To US, you say YES DRILL SERGEANT or NO DRILL SERGEANT.   DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME TRAINEEEE!!!?

Yes, Drill Sergeant.

Are you a MAN TRAINEEEE?!?

Yes, Drill Sergeant.

THAN SOUND OFF LIKE ONE!!

Yes, Drill Sergeant.

I can't HEAR YOU TRAINEEEE!!!

YES, DRILL SERGEANT!

After what seemed an eternal stare, he peeled off to cordially welcome the man next to me.   I know, as far as time went, that whole encounter was only seconds long, but to my shaky knees it felt like I ran a marathon, uphill.

"You’ve got to admit, Drill Sergeants have a unique way of teaching us, and     so too does our Heavenly Drill Sergeant, the Holy Spirit.   We all have, or can have     a Heavenly Drill Sergeant to provide us our Christian training simply by being      baptized in the name of Jesus for the forgiveness of our sins and we will receive the Holy Spirit.1 But not to worry, our Heavenly Drill Sergeant isn’t in your face, He’s in your heart. We do not need ANY one to lead us to Him. He will give us His Drill Sergeant and that’s all we need. The Drills always told us that they can train anybody, anytime, anywhere, under any circumstance. All we need to bring to the party is desire. The desire to become. And when the student is ready,