Breakfast with Heroes

I once attended a breakfast with the local American Legion post of Marianna, AR. I was invited by a gentleman in my church who seemed to be surprised that I showed at 06:45 – I think he thinks everyone my age and younger sleeps too long every day and my guess is, he has gotten up at the same time every morning for the last 50 years.

When I walked in, I was initially introduced to a few men at the end of a long table and before I knew it, every man in that room took the initiative to introduce himself, welcome me, and shake my hand.

Every one of these men is a veteran and has served our country militaristically at some point in their lives. I was among men of different branches of the military and from different eras of time, and all with a certain war attached to their time of service. Many of these guys are gruff. These men are unapologetic for who they are. They are men’s men. I sat with men who drink their coffee black, they eat fatty breakfast food [maybe cooked in lard], and a couple of them lit up their smokes right at the table - unfiltered, I think. I began to hear the sound of Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival playing in the background of my mind.

I am a man that is not normally in such an environment. I am married to a woman who is concerned with good eating habits and healthy living. Though I do drink my coffee black, I also drink skim milk, I don’t smoke [though I do like the smell of a good cigar], I have never been in a battle beyond that of words or being beat half to death by bullies. I don’t cuss. I have no actual war stories. For that matter I don’t even have a firearm other than a shotgun passed down to me from my grandfather - it gets fired once a year to bring in the new year. The only physical scars I have are from surgeries and a hit across the nose with a pipe. And, when I pledge allegiance to the American flag, it is through a freedom I take for granted more than I’d like to admit.

Not so for these guys. They don’t Facebook, Instagram, tweet or blog. They certainly don’t drink skim milk and they don’t care what the surgeon general says. Some have tats that might make you blush and probably some memories they’d like to forget. They have played cards by the light of a Zippo with gunfire in the distance. They have spent many nights not wondering what to do tomorrow, but wondering if they will see tomorrow at all. They have had tours of duty that took them from family and friends while [in some cases] returning to a country ready to spit in their faces. Most of these men have seen more harshness and brutality in a short period of life than many of us will see in a lifetime. They are men who have served and sacrificed for our country and they are American heroes.

I wondered about the different stories they had to tell and unlike my father and grandfather would they even choose to tell them. I pondered the sense of duty they felt for their country and their comrades who fought beside them. Are they still proud of the country they served? Are they proud of our path as a nation? Is America anywhere close the America for which they fought?

As I sat with these men I felt honored. I felt honored to be seated among men with such patriotic pride as the members of the American Legion of Marianna. I felt the concern they had for fallen veterans as they discussed a detail to aid in local funeral services and who would volunteer to set military headstones at forgotten graves. I watched as one man stood and said he was no longer physically able to do the job but would gladly volunteer to teach others for the task. I felt the pride as they discussed the placement of American flags at the local cemeteries for those to be remembered and I appreciated the dedication to continue their American Legion post.

I have never taken the opportunity to serve in military service, but I am incredibly grateful to those who have and still do. I am thankful that there are those who God has called to commit themselves to the wellbeing of our country and pray that His protection is upon them. As we enjoy Memorial Day, we should all stop and consider the sacrifices, especially to the point of death, made by men and women on behalf of our country and give thanks to God for the privilege of being a part of what even my Kuwaiti [and fellow American citizen] friend calls the greatest nation on earth.

My God and My Peeps

A few weeks ago I was enjoying a delicious seasonal treat within seconds of the purchase. I could hardly get out of the store before opening my box of Peeps from the left over Easter stock. I almost ate them right in the store while shopping with plans to purchase the empty container when I checked out [technically, that is shoplifting] but my reason for not doing so was selfishly motivated – I didn’t want to have to distribute all my Peeps to all my peeps with me. Those babies of mine love Peeps as much as I do but unlike me, they are not skilled enough at Peeps eating to do so without a mess.

Anyone who eats Peeps has their own way of consumption and I am no exception. There are five to a pack, they are eaten a pack at a time, and in my humble but accurate opinion, the chicks are the only true Peeps. I’m a Peeps purist - forget the bunnies.

The first one is sudden death for the Peep. It goes in my mouth all the way with maybe a single bite into two pieces and its over. It sets the foundation for all the rest and I always think and say the same thing “man, I really like Peeps”. The second Peep has a different experience. I don’t know what it is about those little eyes on the sides, but I always nibble them off one at a time before going further. There really is no substantial taste or texture to the eyes, but it’s what I do every time. The last three experience any and/or all of the following experiences.

(1) I generally bite the head off one or two.

(2) I start with biting the tail on one.

(3) I usually stretch one out further than the skin of sugar allows and watch the mallow center appear.

(4) I might play with one for a bit and wonder about the process that actually births them into existence [I know - I know. I can Google it, I just never have].

(5) I usually play out some type of peep decapitation scenario.

Regardless of how they are eaten or by what steps or imagination, they all go down the same way – easy. They are sugar, and nothing more…and whatever those little eyes are. They are soft, sweet, gentle, and unless you have a cavity, inoffensive.

So while I was enjoying my peeps and reliving my childhood days and imagination, I began to think “you know… God is kind of like a peep”. Well, not my God! However, a lot of people’s perception of God is.

So many people treat the God of all creation, maker of heaven and earth, as though all there is to him is sugar coated fluff. So many people want to dress up their perception of God to be a 5 pack box of Peeps theology that goes down easy and with little or no effort on their part. They might even explore some elements of him along the way, but in the end, they just want there to be a smooth sweet taste that goes down as it own spoonful of sugar. They aren’t concerned with true nourishment form his word or adjusting lifestyle to his precepts. No, they want the sweet and no sweat. They want milk and honey without the faithful battle. That’s the kind of God so many people desire. They want a God who saves them, but requires no obedience in response. A God whose substance dissolves easily the moment we taste of him. A God whose word is also coated in sugar so that when ours lips are touched by it, the last thing to come to mind is anything close to the likes of a burning coal designed to purify our mouths because we are literally undone in His presence.

No, my God, my portion, my savior, my counselor, my loving father, my good shepherd, and my potter is not to be broken down or devalued by me; I am to be consumed by him. I am to be undone. I am to be shaped and molded. I am to be refined. I am to be melted and not hardened from exposure to him and his glory. My God requires that I chew diligently upon his word and expose myself for the melting mallow that I am in his presence. It is my coating that should be stretched beyond its natural points of comfort.

My prayer is that as God continues to refine me; my heart will forever be soft and pliable to his crafting and that I will seek not the ease of false spirituality, but the substance of being fashioned into a reflection of Him.