26 posts tagged “military”
It really irritated me this morning when I turned to the news and found that the incredible Navy Seal rescue on the Indian Ocean got less attention than the story of a new dog in the White House. Who gives a flying rip about Obama's new dog? The United States Navy pulled off a seamless rescue operation by simultaneously taking out three armed pirates and our media wants to focus its attention on "Bo" the wonder dog. I don't get it.
Not only that, after I did find the story of the rescue, one newspaper actually reported that we probably did more harm than good. We are told that the pirates are mad now and will be seeking revenge. By rescuing a US citizen, killing three pirates in the process, we have placed others in imminent danger, especially those who are still held prisoner.
What?!? So, instead of taking action we were supposed to pay the ransom and let the kidnappers go on their merry way? We should have given in to terrorists to keep from making things worse? I don't think so. That kind of thinking will encourage more terrorism. That kind of inaction would only turn the United States of America into a mandy pandy, mama's boy, no back bone nation. And I pray to God that never happens.
No. We did the right thing and I don't care if every Somalian pirate in the world is mad at us.
The previous post was was sent to me by someone else. I appreciate that others are thinking of our military members at this time of year. Having been in the AIr Force for eleven years, I know what it is like to be away from home during the holidays (although the conditions I was in does not compare to the ones mentioned in the post).
If you haven't done so already, take a moment out of your busy schedule to stop and say a silent prayer for our military members who are serving away from their homes this year. We have service members all over the world and a lot of them are on remote tours (time spent without the family). Whether they are in South Korea, Iceland, the Middle East or somewhere else they deserve our thoughts and prayers.
And if you haven't read my previous post, please do so.
One evening when I was stationed at Osan Air Base in Korea, a group from my shop went to a small restaurant on base. As we were sitting there, one of the guys at the table named John went into a story about attending Catholic high school. He was in the middle of his story when he said, “One of my teachers was a young nun…”
As soon as he said that, our Korean waitress, who happened to be walking behind him at the time, stopped and said, “Yes?”
John stopped what he was saying and looked over his shoulder. The waitress was standing there questioningly and asked, “Do you need something?”
He answered, “No I’m good” and then went back to his story. “Anyway, one of my teachers was a young nun…”
Again, from behind his back we heard, “Yes?”
John looked over his shoulder again and said, “We don’t need anything, thank you”. Then, he tried to finish his story, “Anyway, one of my teachers was a young nun…”
For the third time, he was interrupted by the waitress, “Yes?”
Now aggravated, John turned around quickly and said, “Listen, I told you that we didn’t need anything. Why do you keep interrupting me?”
With a look of confusion on her face, she answered back, “You keep calling me.”
John answered, “What do you mean? I haven’t called you!”
It was about this time that we all noticed her name tag. I don't know why we didn't notice before, but written in big letters across the tag was the name YUNG NUN.
This past Tuesday at the Veterans Day dinner I felt something that I haven't felt since I got out of the Air Force ten years ago. It was that prideful feeling that I used to have when I wore the uniform. I was always proud of serving my country, but there is one time in particular when I remember the feeling totally overtaking me.
I was at Davis Monthan AIr Force Base in Tucson, Arizona when it happened. My job was working on a laser designator system called Pave Penny that's used on the A-10 aircraft. My crew was on the flight line working on one of the Pave Penny pods when a B1 Bomber got ready to take off. It wasn't something that we got to see every day so we all stopped what we were doing to watch. The aircraft sped down the runway, rumbling so loudly I could feel the vibrations all the way to my bones. Then, when the pilot got it airborn he immediately kicked in the afterburners and we watched as all four engines lit up the Arizona sky. There's nothing like feeling and seeing the raw power of a multi-million dollar piece of the United States arsenal in action.
This past Tuesday, sitting in the Welcome Center at work I had that that same familiar feeling. It was almost as if I could feel the power and hear the roar of those engines all over again, only this time the noise wasn't from an aircraft. This time, it was because I could see and hear 200 men and women who, at one time or another, made aircraft fly, kept ships afloat, pushed forward to the front lines and sought to make this country a safer place. It was then that I realized that all the multi-million dollar equipment in the world could never make up for the dedication and determination of one true American soldier. God bless our military.
I work at a firetruck manufacturing plant in Ocala, Florida called E-ONE. I have worked there for ten years, but I didn't realize until today just how much I appreciate what the company does for Veterans Day. Every year, they furnish a meal for every veteran who works there and the president of the company personally thanks us for our service to the country.
This year there were close to 200 men and women in attendance and we had a guest speaker that just blew me away. He was a former instructor at West Point and he spoke to us for about thirty minutes. He showed three different videos and all three of them were just great.
The first video was a short speech that General Norman Schwarzkopf gave at West Point shortly after returning from the Gulf War in 1991. He spoke on leadership and made the point that a good leader has to have both competence and character. It was a very powerful speech.
The second video was from a soldier in Iraq who put some of his every day activities with his buddies to the music of the old Styx song "Renegade". It was quite comical and goes to show that soldiers are still human.
Finally, he showed a video of the U.S. Olympic basketball team and a visit they received from a soldier who had lost both eyes in the Iraq War. The coach wanted the team to learn about being selfless and I believe he got his point across. It was very moving.
As I sat there with the other veterans, I was reminded just how many have sacrificed for this great country of ours. I don't think I have ever fully tried to wrap my mind around it before, but today I did. Today, my chest is ablaze with pride over every man and woman who ever put on the the uniform and served in the United States military. I am so thankful for them and I will always be grateful for the job they do.
The results have been released for the short story contest that I entered a few months back and my name wasn't on the winner list. Oh well, I'll just keep trying.
I'm going to post the story that I entered. I got the idea for the story from a short autobiography that was written by my great, great grandfather Henry Shaw. In the autobiography, he briefly mentions that he was in The Battle of Olustee. I researched the battle and found out that it was the largest Civil War battle fought on Florida soil and that it was also one of the first battles that colored troops fought in. In addition, Henry's batallion actually lined up right across from the colored troops in the battle. After researching the colored troops I found out that at a lot of them died because they weren't properly trained.
Loaded with all that information, I put a story together about a white Confederate soldier and a black Union soldier meeting on the battlefield face to face. I hope you can find the time to read it.
The Battle of Olustee
PART 1
Henry Shaw scraped a small layer of frost from a fallen pine tree and sat down, his gray, wool trousers quickly soaking up the left over ice particles. He took a deep breath of morning air and surveyed his surroundings. The terrain was similar to his home along the banks of the Withlacoochee River. The forest was mostly filled with tall, gangly pine trees, but every once in a while a great oak could be seen spreading its giant branches. Palmetto bushes littered the forest floor, their large, green fronds adding a splash of color to the carpet of brown pine needles. The distinct smell of swamp water filled his nostrils, stirring pleasant memories of hunting trips with his father. For just a moment he was back home, listening to the dogs as they tracked down a white tailed deer.
The woods around him were filled with thousands of Confederate soldiers. All along the tree line men were preparing for the battle that was soon to come. The Union troops were only a few miles away, slowly making their way along the Florida Atlantic Gulf Railroad. Their objective was to capture Lake City and then continue on to Columbus Bridge. They had no idea the Southern troops were setting up a defensive position in the trees near Olustee Station, thirteen miles east of Lake City, Florida.
Henry was six foot tall and skinny, weighing all of one hundred fifty pounds. Despite his size, years of hard work had left his muscles hard and strong. With dark brown hair, deep set hazel eyes and farm tanned skin, he looked much older than his eighteen years. Born and raised in Florida, he joined the Confederate Army two years earlier, ready and willing to die in defense of his homeland. But the last year had been rough and the war was starting to take its toll. He worried about his mother at home by herself and wondered if his father and brother were still alive. He was deeply concerned about his family, but he was also troubled about the upcoming battle. He had been in a few skirmishes, but this was shaping up to be the largest one so far. Things looked somewhat better three days earlier, when General Colquitt and his brigade of Georgia regulars arrived. This brought the Confederate numbers up from fifteen hundred to well over four thousand. At least the numbers were pretty even now, but as the Yankees drew closer, Henry was scared for is life.
PART 2
Like most of the other men in his company, James Lyons had never been in a battle. A former slave, he had joined the 8th United States Colored Troops in Philadelphia only four months earlier. He was proud to call himself free, but claiming freedom didn’t come without problems. There weren't a lot of jobs available and he learned rather quickly that any work that could be found was never given to a black man. The army proved to be the best place to go because it offered food, clothing and something he had never seen in his life - a paycheck.
Army life was rigorous but James enjoyed it. He was a quick learner and fit into military life quickly, becoming one of the top, new recruits. However, he wasn’t the only one who noticed that most of their time was spent learning how to march instead of learning how to fight. In fact, most of the men hardly even knew how to carry their rifles much less shoot them. James worried that they were missing out on some valuable training and it made him feel very uneasy.
The 8th was near the front of the line as they slowly marched beside the railroad tracks toward Olustee Station. It was a good indicator that they would be among the first to see action. Spirits were high and the others were confident they could win, but as joyful cries of certain victory were sounded, James looked around wearily, sensing that something bad was about to happen.
Just then, he looked ahead and saw two Confederate soldiers turn their horses and start running in the opposite direction. Caught off guard, the troop movement stopped and the soldiers stood silently, dumbly watching the horsemen as they disappeared down the railroad tracks. Without warning, a shot rang out and James heard the bullet whiz past his head and sink into the body of someone behind him.
After the first shot was fired there were a few moments of chaos, but the Union officers finally got it together and called out defensive maneuvers. With bullets flying all around them, the 8th was ordered to advance toward the heaviest gunfire. At first, the men were stunned and bewildered. Having never been in battle before some of them fell to the ground in fear and curled up like babies, but as bodies fell all around them and the fighting grew more intense, they gradually recovered their senses. Unfortunately, the lack of training proved to be their downfall and man after man succumbed to death or injury.
Standing six foot four and weighing over two hundred forty pounds, James made a big target, but he managed to scramble into position behind a large pine tree less than three hundred yards from where the enemy was set up. As bullets and musket balls crashed into the tree above his head, he stayed close to the ground and frantically tried to remember how to load his rifle. Finally, praying that he had it loaded correctly, he pointed it toward the Rebel line and pulled the trigger.
PART 3
A February chill rushed through the air as Henry watched two regiments of men mount their horses and ride off. If the plan worked, they would make contact with the Union army and draw them back to the fortified battle line where the remaining Confederate soldiers waited. With Ocean Pond to the north, heavy swampland to the south and thousands of troops scattered throughout the tree line, victory was almost certain. The plan made perfect sense, but after contact was made the enemy failed to advance toward the trap that had been so carefully set. When word came that heavy fighting was taking place less than two miles away, more troops were sent as reinforcements. Henry stood firm at his post in the trees, but grew more anxious as he watched the other men leave. Finally, the order was given to move forward and the Sixth Florida Battalion moved out to join the others. Henry’s heart pounded heavily as Company G marched double time toward the front lines.
Cannon fire rumbled in the distance as the Sixth Florida Battalion made their way to the battlefield. It wasn’t long before shouting and heavy gunfire could be heard all around. They came up on a place where the doctor was busy treating some of the wounded men. The moans of the suffering soldiers only added to Henry’s anxiety. He closed his eyes as they rushed by and the bloody image of a badly wounded soldier etched itself in his memory.
By the time Henry got to the battlefield the fighting had been going on for over two hours. They were quickly moved up to the front lines and told to scatter along a large embankment. Henry crawled to the top of the large hill on his belly, passing two or three dead soldiers on the way. He pushed himself along numbly, trying hard not to look into their faces. The smell of gunpowder filled the air while gun fire, cannon blasts and the shouts of fighting and dying men rang out everywhere. There was no escaping the sounds of war.
When Henry reached the top of the hill and looked out on the battlefield he couldn’t believe what he saw. Bodies were scattered everywhere and the Union troops seemed to be in disarray. One particular body that lay grossly disfigured on the ground caught his attention. Staring at the dead man’s face, it took a few moments before Henry realized he was a black man. He squinted, trying to see the other fallen soldiers and noticed that almost all of them were black. His mind was still trying to take it in when the desperate troops tried to rally around a cannon. It was clear they wanted to make a final stand, but man after man was shot down. At last, when it was clear they didn’t have a chance, someone grabbed the colors and they all made a hasty retreat, leaving the cannon behind. Shots rang out after them and more men fell to the ground as they tried to get away from the relentless Confederate gunfire.
A sound to charge was given and the Rebels took chase. Hundreds of men rushed after the retreating Union troops and Henry jumped to his feet. With adrenaline pumping he took off down the hill, but when he was almost to the bottom he stepped on a large pine branch and it rolled out from underneath his foot. In the split second that he was falling he saw a large pile of rocks and knew instinctively that he was going to hit them head on. He closed his eyes to brace for the impact and then felt something slam into his side. He missed the rocks by two feet, but his head crashed onto the hard ground causing him to pass out.
PART 4
Henry woke up to the smell of dirt and pine needles, his face partially buried in a mixture of both. Slowly, consciousness crept back and he became aware of a sharp, throbbing pain in his head. He suddenly remembered the battle and jumped to his feet. His brain revolted at the sudden movement by releasing a swarm of small, angry lights that attacked his eyeballs and left him both dizzy and nauseated. He tried to take a step, but was unable to find his footing and fell backwards onto the carpet of pine needles. This time he stayed there.
"Are you alright?"
The deep, unfamiliar voice seemed to be traveling down a long tunnel. Henry stirred on the ground, still feeling the effects of the dizziness. Then it came again, "Hey! Are you alright?”
When Henry opened up his eyes he was startled to find a large, black man leaning over him. He noticed a blue, Union Jacket and he could see the man’s left shoulder was covered in blood from a gunshot wound. Everything about him was big, even his face, which was beaded in sweat; large drops of it forming across his forehead and dripping down his cheeks onto his chin. Henry couldn’t move or speak so he sat there motionless, expecting the worst. The dark stranger spoke again, his voice softer this time, “I ain’t going to hurt you.”
Ignoring the statement, Henry looked around for his rifle and spotted it lying on the ground a few feet away. Following his eyes the man said, “You don’t need the gun.”
Though trembling with fear, Henry spoke bravely, “Why don’t you go ahead and kill me?”
The man pulled his big face closer to Henry’s and said, “If I wanted to kill you then I would have let you fall into those rocks.” Then, the man waved his arm at the battlefield and said, “Besides, I seen enough killin’ today.” After that, with much difficulty, he sat down on the ground across from Henry.
Henry propped himself up on one arm and watched the man sit down. His head was still spinning slightly, but he was slowly regaining his senses. Surprised by what he had just heard, he asked, “So… you kept me from hitting the rocks?”
The man answered quietly, “Yes.”
"Why?"
"Because you could have been killed!"
"But we're at war. You want your enemy to die!"
“I told you, I seen enough killin’ today.”
The answer wasn’t what Henry expected, but in a peculiar way he understood. Why were they trying to kill one another anyway? Because they had different skin colors? He thought about the war and tried to remember why it even began. When it first started everything seemed so clear, but now the reasons seemed blurred and unimportant. A big part of him wanted it to be over, to be back home with his family.
From where he was sitting, Henry looked out onto the battlefield. There were hundreds of dead soldiers, many so badly shot up that they were seriously disfigured. Cannon balls had ripped through the trees and large branches were scattered about, some still giving off small wisps of gray smoke. A heavy thump caught his attention and he looked toward the other man. He was lying on his back and there was a large blood soaked stain on his trousers just above his left knee. It was clear that he was badly injured and Henry thought about the gun. He could easily reach it and finish the man off, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he called out to him, "What's your name?"
The man sat up slowly and glanced over at Henry. After painfully readjusting he answered, "James."
A movement caught Henry's eye. Their position in the woods wasn't too far from the railroad tracks and through the trees he saw three men walking down the tracks toward them. From the jubilant sounds of their voices, he knew it was the first of the Confederate troops on their way back from the chase. A decision had to be made quickly. James was badly wounded and it would be easy to jump and run to the other men, but he couldn't escape the fact that the man had tried to save his life. James heard the voices and an uneasy look came over his face. Both men knew that if James was found on the battlefield alive that he would be killed. Henry could think of only one thing to do. He whispered, "You got to hide."
There was a large patch of palmetto bushes nearby and Henry motioned toward them. He went in first and helped James crawl across the rough trunks and through the noisy fronds to the center of the largest bush. It didn't offer a lot of cover, but at least it was on the outer edge of the battlefield. He looked at James; his huge body twisted to fit in the tight area and said, "Stay here. I'll be back soon." Then, he turned and exited the makeshift hideout.
James called out in a whispered voice, “Wait! I don’t know your name.”
Without slowing down to look back he answered, “Henry.”
By now, the men were drawing closer and one of them heard the commotion in the bushes. He pulled his rifle up to his shoulder and yelled, "Who goes there?"
Henry called out, "Don't shoot! I'm on your side." Then, in order to keep them away from James he rubbed his stomach and said, “I wouldn’t go that way if I were you. Breakfast didn’t set well.” The three soldiers laughed, the one lowering the gun, and they walked on.
It didn’t take long before more men filtered back in, filling the woods with Confederate soldiers. Henry tried not to draw attention to himself or run into anyone from his company. He listened closely to the conversations around him trying to find out what direction the Union troops were headed.
Dusk finally started to settle in and Henry breathed a sigh of relief as the troops started lining up to head back to Olustee Station. He managed to gather some supplies and creep into the woods without being noticed. The air was turning cold when he came back to the palmetto bushes. He called out quietly as he drew near, "James, are you still here?"
A deep voice answered back, "Yes."
Henry made his way through palmetto bushes as quietly as possible. It was almost eight o’clock and the crescent moon barely gave off enough light to see by. He crouched in front of James and handed him a canteen and a few pieces of salt pork. James took the food and water greedily and ate as Henry laid out the plan, “After you finish eating we’re going to crawl out of these bushes. When I’m sure it’s clear, I’m going to help you down to the railroad tracks. From there, we’re going to walk along the tracks at the edge of the trees until we find your camp. I’ll leave you there and come back here. I believe your camp is quite a few miles away.”
James responded with a painful look on his face, “I don’t know if I can make it. I’m hurt pretty bad.”
Henry assured him, “Yes, you can. I’ll help you.”
After a few seconds of silence, James asked solemnly, “Why are you doing this?”
Henry’s answer was hesitant, but sure, “I owe you for saving my life, and I always pay my debts."
James reacted defensively, "You don't owe me anything."
Henry tried to explain, "Listen, soldiers on opposite sides ain't supposed to help one another, but I know this is the right thing to do. Now, will you let me help you?"
The pain in James's leg and shoulder was starting to get worse and he knew he could never make it back to the camp alone. After a moment, he answered with a humble, "Yes".
They sat quietly as James finished his meal. When he was done they crawled out of the palmetto bushes. Henry instructed James, “When you need to, put your weight on my shoulder as we walk.” Then, with the battlefield to their backs, the two men slipped out into the darkness.
Once in a while during basic training a few of us would get sent to the chow hall for KP duty. It was actually a blessing because it got us out of training for the day. We worked hard during KP duty, but for the most part, as long as we did our jobs, the TI in charge left us alone. And on top of all that, we got to have extra ice cream.
One of the times that I did KP duty my job was to keep the tables clean and straight and also make sure the milk dispensers were kept full. It was a job keeping up with the tables. Airmen didn't stay at the tables for very long and there was a constant flow moving in and out.
In the middle of one of the busiest times, I checked on the milk dispenser and both the white and chocolate were empty. I ran to the refrigerator, grabbed a 5 gallon plastic bag of chocolate milk, opened the dispenser, set it in and closed it back to go get the whilte milk. When I came back with the white milk, I opened up the door to set it in. Unfortunately, I had not set the chocolate milk in properly and as soon as I opened it, it started to fall out. Unfortunately, there nothing that I could do to stop it because I had the bag of white milk in my hands. I made a feeble attempt to catch it, but since my hands were full, my attempt was useless.
In slow motion (and it really seemed like it) that bag of chocolate milk fell forward and hit the floor. When it hit, it exploded, sending a wave of chocolate milk toward a table table where four airmen were sitting. They were pretty far in their training because they had on their low quarter shoes instead of their boots. That was most unfortunate for them because the milk covered their feet and soaked down into their socks before they knew what happened. They all came up from the table ready to fight.
I thought I was in big trouble for sure. All of the TIs jumped up from their table at the "snake pit" and came over to see what happened. The TI in charge of KP duty also came over. They all found the four mad airman standing there with chocolate milk in their shoes and me with a scared look on my face, still holding the bag of white milk. It must have been comical, because the TI in charge of KP laughed, shook his head and then told me, "Clean this mess up!" To my surprise, that is all that happened. The TIs went back to the snake pit, the airman left to change shoes and socks, and I headed for the mop. Let me tell you, it's no easy task to mop up five gallons of chocolate milk.
I left for basic training in the USAF on April 13, 1987, only two weeks after getting married (the honeymoon was over rather quickly). At the ripe age of 23, I was one of the oldest ones there. I believe the fact that I was a little more mature than most of the other guys helped me out. For instance, early on I made a decision that I didn't want to stand out. When I boarded the bus for Lackland Air Force Base I was wearing faded blue jeans, a khaki colored shirt, tennis shoes and a regular haircut. Others were not so smart. One guy was wearing his high school letterman jacket, another had a Marine style haircut, another had long hair. I remember these three the most because they were the first ones the TI (technical instructor, not DI, or drill instructor as other military branches use) stopped in front of to yell at. Word of advice to anyone preparing to go to Air Force basic training, do not go with a high and tight Marine style haircut - trust me, it's not a good idea.
Basic training was not that bad actually, and I knew my plan not to stand out was a success when halfway through, the TI was calling out names and he came to mine. Before I could answer he said, "Who is this guy?" He recognized my face when I raised my hand, but it was clear that I was running under the radar as planned.
I had a friend in basic named Gary McWhorter. He was a big, black guy. Me, I'm a skinny, white guy, so we made quite the pair. It was close to the end of basic training that we got a little free time, so Gary and I went to one of those picture booths and got a couple of pictures made. We split the pictures up and sent them to our families.
When I left for basic training, I had thick hair. I didn't think about my wife having never seen me without it. The picture that I sent her was a small, black and white photo and it had me and Gary sitting together smiling widely. Our faces took up the whole picture and Gary's head was pretty big. Picture a huge, bald, black guy and a skinny, white, bald guy with wide toothy grins. When my wife got the picture she yelled so loudly that it scared everyone in the room. I still hear about that picture to this day. I know we have it in an album somewhere. If I ever find it, I'll scan it and post it.
Anyway, I'm not sure why I was thinking about basic training today, but I was. I'd sure like to know what happened to Gary McWhorter.
I was given some false information about the camel spiders, or sun spiders, that were prevalent in the desert of Jordan when I was there on a temporary duty in 1996. I was told that the male spider would climb on camels, or soldiers, in the middle of the night and use an anesthetic like venom to deaden the skin and then make an incision. After that, the female would crawl up and lay eggs inside of the incision. The wound would heal and the baby spiders would grow under the skin until they were old enough to eat their way out.
ANALOGY OF A CAMEL SPIDER
The Middle Eastern desert regions of the world play host to a very interesting creature commonly referred to as the camel spider. Equipped with an ominous set of pinschers, a camouflage desert brown body, and sometimes growing up to 5 inches across, the camel spider is a frightening predator in the insect world. They commonly feed on grasshoppers and other small insects, but it is a peculiar reproductive practice that makes the camel spider unique. First, the male spider climbs onto an unsuspecting, slumbering victim such as a camel and uses anesthetic type venom to deaden a small portion of the animal’s skin. Then, he makes a small incision with his pinschers. The female then comes along and lays her eggs inside the incision. The cut soon heals over and the eggs are left under the skin to live off of the nutrients that are provided by the host animal’s body tissues. Once the eggs hatch, the baby camel spiders eat their way through the flesh and make their arrival into the world.
So it is with Satan in our lives. He is an ominous sort of creature that any normal person would steer clear of. But rather than walk right up and introduce himself, he likes to sneak around and wait until we’re sleeping. He waits until we are at a weak moment in our lives and then strikes. Perhaps a loved one has just died, or maybe a marriage or long time courtship is on the rocks. He creeps in with his crafty words and worldly lies and tries to anesthetize the hurt before God can use it to help us grow. Then he plants eggs of doubt, hate, or unbelief and they remain there, hidden under the skin, constantly being fed by the entourage of hateful, hurtful thoughts that he so willingly provides. Finally, after weeks, months, and sometimes years of gestation the ugliness that is on the inside eats its way out and we find ourselves in a swirl of mixed emotions wondering how it ever began.Are you eaten up inside by a hurt that happened a long time ago? Do you walk around with an incision on your heart where Satan has planted some pretty ugly eggs that have grown and festered? Speaking of Jesus Christ, the Bible says in Matthew 11:28, "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” On the contrary, 1 Peter 5:8 warns, "Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.” Do you serve a Saviour who loves you and wants you to have rest? Or do you serve the devil who is waiting for the opportunity to devour your soul? Are you willing to accept the fact that you are not perfect and you need the love of Jesus in your life? Or are you content to sit in your cesspool of self pity and sing, “Woe is me?” You don’t have to allow Satan to gain a foothold in your life. Look to the cross of Christ and there you will find the answer to all of your problems. Cast all your cares upon him, for he cares for you. He gave his life on this earth so that you could have an abundant life in heaven. Don’t let Satan, that old camel spider, rob you of God’s richest blessing.
I read a poem on Ezibella's Blog that is a sobering reminder of the sacrifices made by so many of our men and women in uniform. Please make your way over there and check it out.
