Find Out

Recently I have been given the opportunity to work for a company. Not just any company, but quite possibly my favorite private enterprise of all time. Well, close to it anyways. Recreational Equipment, Incorporated, also known more commonly as REI. I really only cashier and do some customer service and stocking jobs right now but I positively love what I do. I love being able to hear the stories of people who are headed off on adventures, purchasing some of their first hiking and camping gear from us. I listen intently as people come in and buy carbohydrate rich recovery food and repair kits in bulk, speaking of the intense journeys from which they have come. Australia, Africa, Philmont New Mexico, Alaska, the Colorado Rockies, Eastern European backpacking. I love hearing about all of it. And the recent logo change for our company is highly appropriate. "Find Out" (Copyright REI). Any number of sub-slogans can be put in front of such a phrase, really. Curiosity can be sparked by the two words in and of themselves in that order. No limitations can really be placed on what can be inferred from what that could mean. But what does this mean for us? Generally speaking, to go find out means to explore. Find out what the next valley holds, or what lies beyond the next bend in the trail. I've always had an inherent drive to travel and discover and explore. When it came to mostly anything physical and especially outdoors, I always wanted to continue exploring. Time and time again I have discovered breathtakingly beautiful scenes in both my wilderness and urban explorations that could be prefaced with this phrase.

And yet.

I feel a much deeper connection to this phrase, as I stand on the other side of many gauntlets of this life... and on the threshold of yet many more. High school, the endurance of Thailand and my time breaking into the work force via Dairy Queen are all over. Now, NROTC, an engineering degree track, and the development of the habits and rituals and beliefs that will shape my life, lie on the horizon. And I am afraid. Why? Because I don't know what awaits me. Not in the slightest. If I were with many a colleague whom I envy in a way, I'd be at Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, California, probably crying in pain or screaming with motivation at the hands of legendary USMC Drill Instructors. And that scares me so so much less than the previously stated challenges. Because that is predictable. I know I can anticipate the quick shearing of my hair into a high-and-tight, the mind games, the sleeplessness, the desert heat, the obstacle courses, the rifle drills, I can anticipate them all and execute them better than many. Yet this is not the path God has directed me down. I have gone down the path of ambiguity now, at least in my world. Now, I have the rights to free speech, to feel how I choose about the United States, to decide for myself what crosses the boundary of right and wrong, and where that boundary even lies in my own mind. I am free to develop the personal habits that will make or break the success of my future endeavors. I have the opportunity to choose such endeavors int he first place without first seeking approval from the company commander. And above all this I have someone here, in this country, who longs to be in my arms and looks to me as her protector and caretaker in ways that I never could have imagined. I can see the horizon, it is cloudy and I know I could choose to be afraid. But I don't want to be. I know the degree to which things can still very much go wrong at this point. Maybe they won't even go wrong so much as simply go an unexpected route and this requires huge levels of adjustments on everybody's side of things.

So many questions loom about the future. Will I be allowed into my major on my first application? Will I have to change my major for interest reasons or lack of the qualifying talents? How will I learn to manage my time with a brain not yet developed enough to call their parents on their birthdays? What happens when you enter college while in a serious relationship? What on earth does college life even entail? What kind of workload are these classes going to have? Will I screw up the few chances at socializing that I may get? Is there enough money to fund me having an actual college experience next year? What will I do if that money runs out and my meal plan is done for a week? Will I make my parents proud? Am I going to be getting enough sleep? What are the Marine NROTC instructors going to put my body through? Am I going to turn out ok? Who's all watching me? How am I going to manage a full time work week with the social pressures of irresponsibility at college? Will I fail? Will I succeed? Will I end up somewhere in the middle, just another face lost in the crowd of mediocrity?

So many questions. And I spent a lot of time this last year being afraid of the answers to the ones on hand at that time.

But not anymore.

I want to find out.

Community

As I sit and wait in the airport for the arrival of two very good friends of mine, I've begun to ponder what the last nine months have done to me. For me. With me. As I wait to see off a good friend of mine headed to live on the island of Okinawa, a proud Private First Class in the United States Marine Corps, I feel a sense of closure and a real sense of gratitude and appreciation for what this time has done for me. I see how much stronger I've become, how much more apt I am to deal with what the world has in store for me as a Marine and beyond. How much more quickly I can process things and draw out the needed and relevant information and ignore or entirely shred the rest. The way in which I can look at so many new situations with a sheerly unbreakable, can-do attitude. And then I think of the other friend I am waiting for. I think of the youthful, hyperactive, honorable, loving and life-of-the-party style young woman that is his girlfriend. And that causes a whole different train of thought. I think of how these last nine months have bit my head off, chewed me up and spit me out. I think about the sleepless nights and out-of-focus days where it felt like all I'd fought for had been in vain. The feeling of hitting rock bottom swells within me and I remember how many tears this has cost and the emotional brands this period has etched into my heart. And above all I know that I'll walk away from what I am about to experience with a nostalgic mix anticipation, grief, joy, love, peace, concern, determination, and the sweaty palmed feeling of being about to face the unknown. One thing is known though. Everything happens with a purpose. I will do what I can to further my God's purpose in this upcoming 2 year experience, just as so many have willingly done for me over these last 9 months.

Absorb

He was pinned. No, he wasn't pinned, he was through. Every sensation that was still functioning in his body was nothing but pain, shock and destruction. He should have listened to his platoon leader, he should have just gone the way back that he was being led down. But he though he could do it. He thought he knew the way back and his training and his experience and his streetsmarts were enough to get him back alive. As bullets streaked over him he realized, again, what a dire mistake he had made in thinking that. Shells detonated all around him, close enough to cover his face in hot dirt if he unshielded it at any time. The shells brought the air pressure up to incredible volumes for tiny increments, making his ears pop over and over again. He could feel his organs begin to hemorrhage from the raw strain of the barometric changes. Hands gripped tightly to the sand and rocks around him just to fight the sensation he was about to fall off the earth. His hearing was all but gone, the din of gunfire hardly a vibration that caused him to keep his head down. Kevlar cracked, boots worn to bits, his gloves shredded, the armor plate on his back like a broken piece of overworked concrete. "This is it" he though. This is where it all ends, because I knew the right way back, I knew it and I thought I knew better. There's no way out of this. His vision was blurred and things seemed to be in slow motion. So slow, in fact, he couldn't recognize the silhouette through the smoke at first. Or maybe his cognition was just entirely removed by now, who knows what sort of brain damage he must have incurred by now. The dark figure moved about in what looked like jerky movements, rifle sweeping the horizon. The head swiveled around and around and he couldn't tell if he was looking for someone or simply as confused as he was. Then the head stopped in his direction, and the rifle went down as his arms began to pump. A dead sprint brought the figure into full view, and the kevlar and tan USMC uniform became clear just as he was beginning to draw his sidearm. But no, this couldn't be, could it? It was his platoon leader! His mouth moved again and again but no words seemed to be coming out. All of a sudden he raised his rifle and emptied the rest of his magazine into targets behind him. He turned to the man on the ground once more. Now, now he could read his lips. Can you walk? No, he shook his head and screamed, but still, nothing seemed to come out. The officer didn't ask twice. He turned the man over and in a split second, hoisted him into a fireman's carry on his shoulders. His left hand held his forearm, while his thigh was cradled in that elbow. The man's rifle was in his right hand and he carefully changed magazines as his feet started to carry them forward. Almost in a crouch to avoid the projectiles overhead and all around, he broke into a run, moving faster and faster. He could only imagine what his rescuers legs must feel like, how they must burn. He lost track of what was going on, maybe blacked out for a second. The next thing he knew he was back on the ground, vaguely aware that an explosion had put him there. He looked around and saw his fellow Marine already pulling himself to his feet and raising his rifle. Quickly he was knocked down by some unknown number of bullets, but not before he sent out a burst of his own. Once more, he was up in a second, left shoulder bleeding. "Come on!" he mouthed, still no noise coming out. Invisible projectiles whizzed overhead, tearing through the sound barrier and blurring the sky into a bucket of water with ripples all around. "I'm not leaving you" he yelled, and this time there was sound. Instantly he was on his savior's shoulders again, only now he could feel the broken sidewalk that was his own armor plating. His hand felt the warm blood running down onto his waist. Occasionally his body would rock from a burst of bullets he would send out indiscriminately, always moving, always pushing forward. Somewhere along the line he lost his kevlar and looking inverted to his left he could see the blood coming from a head wound. Sometime after that he felt the spatter when a bullet broke through the man's left wrist and his his center of mass, sending him staggering backward. He cradled his empty rifle and fired off some number of pistol rounds as he rebounded, moving forward again. Running, running, running until finally, he was on the ground again. And he wasn't alone. They weren't alone. They were in a ditch and as his hearing and sense of which way was up slowly returned, he heard the steady, methodical bursts of a machine gun overhead. Brass casings pooled and scattered next to his face as his comrade sent a storm of lead back into the hellhole from which he had just been rescued. A darker skinned man with a slight build and the symbol of a corpsman glinting in the sunlight appeared next to him.

"Where's the pain Marine?" he asked, not really waiting for an answer as he began inspecting his body.

"Everywhere" he weakly replied, coughing and then regretting it.

"Mostly superficial" mouthed the corpsman. "You sit tight, we've got medevac on the way." He was about to protest and the corpsmen simply turned to his right and sighed. Wondering why, the aching warrior turned on his side and felt a whole different type of pain wash over him. His platoon leader, commanding officer, savior, was lying next to him, and while brass pooled on his right side, blood was pooling under him, staining his uniform and the sand all the same shade of crimson. Despite his body's and the corpsmen's protests, he rolled over on his side and inched over to the man he owed his life.

"Sir you can't die you just can't, stay with me now" he started to blurt out but the coughing of his leader as he tried to say something silenced him. He coughed and coughed and blood and spittle came out mixed just as body fluid and blood poured from the wound he now saw just above his pelvis.

"Take it easy Marine" he hoarsely groaned. "It was worth it. Now don't you tell-" and he starts coughing again. "Don't you tell" he continued, "that I died a war hero. War did this to me. But tell them I did it for you." He paused a moment to breathe before he could continue. "I know it'll sound selfish. But I did it for all of us too. I did it because you were worth dying for. Got it?"

"Yes sir" the Marine croaked out, tears coming to his eyes. And just like that, with a satisfied nod, the officer lay back and breathed gently one last time before becoming still. The helicopter came, swooping up dust, and eventually the automatic fire ceased as they slowly loaded his savior onto a stretcher and took him to the chopper. And then it was over. Did that really just happen? Did my superior, that I disobeyed, really just give that for me? His everything?

In America we see stories like this many times. We hear about our servicemen giving their lives for their friends on the field of battle, we hear tragedies of police officers who took a bullet to save their partner, firefighters who went in one last time only to not come out. These stories are an inspiration to us in so many ways. But yet they are so gut wrenching. Why do we gravitate to them? I would argue it is because this is Jesus. Jesus took on the burdens of every human that has ever existed and will exist. He absorbed violence, as a talented pastor and worship leader put it tonight. For the woman caught in adultery, for the prostitute that wished to pay him tribute, for Zacheus the tax collector, and for each and every one of us on the cross. We all yearn for a hero. We all yearn for someone who will take that bullet for us. And yet we are mystified as to why. Jesus is the greatest example of love we will ever find, in giving up His holy life for us. This is how I think of Jesus saving me in a literal sense. Saving me from what I thought I was strong enough to handle on my own, from an enemy that wishes to destroy all that I am. We cannot do this on our own, nor can we save anyone else, truly. But how can we choose to live in a way that honors this sacrifice? To the highest degree, as John 15:13 states, to lay down our very life for another. Soldier, policemen, firefighter or anyone else. We can choose to do it every day by simply stepping in when someone is being disrespected, treated unlovingly, not given the space to live in peace. What will you do to lessen the violence in our world today, in the name of our Prince of Peace, Jesus?

...And then there was one.

Over these last several months, I've seen some pretty crazy things happen in my life. In the lives of people around me. In my own life I've felt elation, dissapointment, fatigue, incredible excitement, curiosity, frustration, animosity and a good old fashioned case of "Why me?" Kind of confusion. In other people's lives I've seen many of the same things in different forms and part of me starts to wonder how on earth anybody manages to get through this big ol thing called "life". Why is that?

CAUSE IT'S HARD.

"Oh really Matthew? You don't say, I could have told you that cause you still have college and boot camp and blablablabla" yeah ok I got it, I got it, thanks. But don't forget for one second that you're always discovering this reality too. Cause there's always another hill to climb. There's always another gauntlet to run. There's always another trial to last through. Always another strain to push through. But the question that matters most, so often, and is overlooked, so often, appears to be very simple. And it's one that the Marine Corps has helped me realize halfway. But only halfway, as far as their role goes. And that is the simple interogative of "How are you going to let this affect you?"

See the Marine Corps mentality ASKS that question all the time but it truly only gives a partial answer. That answer is to keep pushing, keep challenging yourself, keep forging ahead, keep charging forward. And hey guess what? It works! Rather well actually.*

*read "sometimes".

Because the Marine Corps is not omnipotent. It is not all knowing. Though you will indeed be hard pressed to find a moto'd Marine who would admit this and heaven help you if you let this opinion out while in boot camp.  Regardless, this is a true statement. And I let myself believe that the Marine Corps actually is omnipotent. The problem came along when I needed the second half of the answer, and that is that we should never, ever be afraid of the upcoming challenges. Because you see, we have something more powerful than any militant culture that ever has existed or will be in existence, and that is our Warrior King, Jesus Christ. The power of human will is not to be underestimated, surely. But it is doubly wrong to underestimate our God's ability to look after us. Because while the Corps mentality of running towards the gunfire and towards the danger is indeed a moto'd, succesful one at times, it lacks in the presentation of an aspect it requires, and that is the trust that the moment you set foot out of your cover you will not be blown to bits. Landmines. Grenades. Bullets. You don't ever really know what's over that wall or around that corner, no matter how many cameras or spotters your fireteam has. Does this make Marines afraid? Sure. Well kind of. Because there's a difference between feeling safe and unafraid.

Aaaaaaand now I'm back on track for my actual point to this entry. You see I'd forgotten that letting myself feel unsafe is ok, while letting myself be afraid is absolutely not ok. Over these months my girlfriend has been gone, i've been hurt. Severely. Felt rejected at times, felt uncared for. Dug into by words of disrespect and intolerance. Over time, I decided this was justification to curl up behind my bullet sponge (in combat, usually a rock, if you're lucky. In life, negative coping mechanisms). This is a mistake my friends. Because as a book I once read states, the only way to make a Godly relationship work is for the man to forge ahead fearlessly with love. The perfect love Jesus displayed in his sacrifice for us. Whether or not we feel desired, guys, it is our job to ensure our significant other does. Whether or not we are afraid of loss or rejection, because you can't pull the tough guy facade with someone like me, we need to "put out" in showing affection and value in our significant others. That is the only way you can pull off a long term relationship. No matter how you FEEL, you have a choice to make. I choose the way of the cross.

This blog idea came to me as I began to reread "Love & Respect" by Dr. Emerson Eggerichs. Read it. No matter who or where you are, read it. Anyways, in the book it begins with recomending a 6 week test of the techniques applied in this book. And it made me realize exactly how much time I have left to wait for the return of who I love. Months ago, a 6 week test would have been an agonizingly slow process in the midst of up and down conflict with her return only a fantasy. Now 6 weeks is hardly shy of being the actual countdown to her return. And with our likely decision to cease most communication while preparing for her actual return, it really is the countdown of this whole long distance thing. The reason I chose this title is because I look around and see where I am. I see the crashed derelicts of other exchange student relationships. I see the failure of other high school age relationships. And I see my peers, beginning to ask how I feel about her return. Her return? That's so far away and off that... oh.... wait... its coming up over the horizon now. Wow. Wow. Talk about all eyes on me. So enough of all the talking and the flagrant claims of being perfect and always feeling secure about this working out. Cause I didn't. That's a lotta lying that I want to be done with. So here I am in an airport on my way back to school, work and reality. What have I learned? To be the last one standing. And to not tell people I feel safe. But to learn to abide in the fearlessness of Christ's sacrifice for me. Through Him alone, we can stand atop mountains and humbly lead others to Him who leads us all.

Following Orders

Tango Foxtrot Charlie Zulu. Hostile inbound Tango Mike fire mission. Etc etc etc. If you're a civilian, I guarantee you've heard this gibberish in any generic war/military action movie you could pull off the shelf. If you're someone who was in the service, then you'll recognize the basic keywords rather well and know the essential meaning behind each given the right circumstances.

So where does this apply outside of the battlefield?
How about on the battlefield of our lives?

Many people probably do not think of their lives as a battlefield. Some may see it as a giant playground. Others can hardly imagine what it means to be worry free for a day and consider every moment another fight to survive. I would argue most of us fall somewhere in between these two extremes, and can relate to the feeling of the extremes from some point in our lives.

As for me, as an up and coming Midshipman in the Marine Corps NROTC program, I do indeed see life as a battlefield given my inherent mentality. And what do good soldiers do long before they near the battlefield?

Train. Train. Drill. Train. Exercise. And then train some more.

For most people this would seem fairly obvious, especially for Marines, seeing as the stereotype of them is a jacked, stacked, ripped, gun-toting SOB who can kick through walls, spends hours working out and has a submachine gun quick draw like John Wayne.

I would like to take a moment to say this is not entirely untrue. OORAH.

However, it also comes in ways many people would not originally suspect. The training a modern warfighter encounters also includes memorizing the Rules of Engagement. The Uniform Code of Military Justice. Other stacks of boring paperwork. And also, many of the key communication terms mentioned earlier. In the heat of a battle, full, detailed orders are difficult to send or receive. This is why the military has its systems of codes and keywords to indicate certain objectives or orders. And because of the system of cross-training field soldiers adopted from the German Wehrmacht from WW II, all front line troops must know how to translate these cryptic messages, whether they specialize in communications or not. And this is where all Christians can take a page from the military handbook.

We must know how to listen for, and interpret, God's orders to us.

One way this can be worked on is by studying the guidebook. We have a basic "Mission Statement" in the Holy Bible given to us by our Lord. In there we can find many tactics, battle plans, do's and don'ts of battlefield living. But we also must be in constant communication with our Lord and communicating with Him about His purpose for our lives, just as front line soldiers must be in communication with their headquarters or base. And just like this physical communication, it needs to run both ways. Always be assured that God desires to listen, but also remember we must take time to quietly listen for Him. Not all are blessed with visions and dreams and many more overt methods of communication. Often God uses the people we encounter, small circumstances in our lives or other such daily nuances to send His orders our way. Therefore we must ALWAYS be willing and able to listen to Him, ready to act on the orders of our Commander. And when these orders do come, and are clearly defined as His will and His desire for our lives, we must not hesitate to answer this call of duty.