Daniel 1:1-8 “Counter-culture Faith”

Real Men Don’t Get Lost: 3- Mick and Mentoring (One of the chapters from the book available under its own tab.)

^“For our gospel did not come to you in word only, but also in power, and in the Holy Spirit and in much assurance, as you know what kind of men we were among you for your sake.  And you became followers of us and of the Lord, having received the word in much affliction, with joy of the Holy Spirit, so that you became examples to all in Macedonia and Achaia who believe.  For from you the word of the Lord has sounded forth, not only in Macedonia and Achaia, but also in every place. Your faith toward God has gone out, so that we do not need to say anything.  For they themselves declare concerning us what manner of entry we had to you, and how you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God,” 1 Thess 1:5-9 (NKJV)

Among handtrollers Mick was a highliner. I fished the same drags for a season and knew about him before I met him. Southeastern Alaska commercial salmon fishing had several major categories: gill netters, purse seiners, and trollers. Gill netters typically used a thirty foot bow picker. Working the inside canals and fjords they would drop their nets in the path of migrating fish and then pull the loaded net over the bow of the boat onto a huge reel. The fisherman would stand in the bow and pick out the salmon as they came aboard with their heads stuck in the gill net. The nets had depth and length restrictions designed to allow spawning escapement. Purse seiners were fifty plus foot vessels. When the skipper located a school of fish he would have the skiff pull out the net into a large circle around the school. Both ends of the net would be run through a hydraulic puller on the top of a boom while the bottom of the net was drawn tight forming a large pouch, or purse. As the purse was pulled alongside the seiner the crew would often have to hand dip enough fish out before the net could be lifted aboard. I have seen seiners covered with fish until they were spilling over the gunwales. There are stories about greedy skippers trying to make it to the processor with their decks awash and finally sinking. Net fisherman had certain days of the week and areas of the region they could fish. It was all designed by the Alaska Department of Fish and Game to ensure a certain number of spawners returning to the streams. Net fishermen targeted silver, sockeye, and pink salmon and were paid for fish in the round, or uncleaned. Their catch ended up in the can.

Trollers targeted silver and king salmon and sold gutted and gilled fish to be sold whole in the fish markets. Originally anyone could commercial fish. As the state grew and more fishermen joined the industry the state enacted the Limited Entry system for power trollers, and for a few years anyone could still enter the handtroll fleet. Power trollers use hydraulics to run four “gurdies,” or reels, mounted on each gunwale. Each gurdy held several hundred feet of stainless steel cable attached to a forty to sixty pound lead ball. As the “cannon” ball lowered the fisherman would clip on “spreads,” 120 pound leaders of varying length, with an assortment of terminal tackle and baits. Traditionally trollers would run twenty fathom spreads. Fishing the 120 feet depth contour line along prominent migratory points a troller would be running six spreads per down line using trolling poles to spread the gear. Trollers used plugs, spoons, herring, and hoochies (rubber skirt squids). Hand trollers used the same gear as the power trollers except we were limited to four lines total and since we used muscle instead of hydraulics our cannon balls weighted no more than forty pounds. Hand cranking a thirty pounder all day long developed the arms.

Over the years traditions developed among trollers. To the casual eye the shoreline on the back side of Admiralty Island all looked the same. Yet, trollers would fish False Point Retreat and south of Funter’s Bay bypassing miles of other shoreline. The traditional drag was fished starboard to the shore and entered on the outside of the daisy chain of boats if there were several boats in the drag. If the number of boats required you would troll the outside of the circuit catching nothing instead of doing a tight circle staying on the fish. The old timers had a way of enforcing troller etiquette; they would shot a few rounds into the violator’s hull!

Mick should have qualified for a power troll permit when the state passed limited entry. Technicalities, as often happen with bureaucracies and regulations, placed him in the handtroll group. Mick knew how to fish. A top money maker each year many trollers would watch him with binoculars or follow him from drag to drag. I knew little about trolling. I had a 23 foot Oregon dory with a small cabin, no heater, no head, and no comfort. The openings were usually a week long and I would fish for three or four days at a time. I tried to make up for my lack of skill by putting in more time than the other fishermen. Funter’s Bay had a floating dock where handtrollers often would tie up at night and socialize. Most mornings around 4:00 I would untie and troll out the bay and fish south. Summer time darkness came around 11:00 at night and I would get back to the dock shortly after. Each morning Mick was pulling out at the same time and we returned within minutes of each other. I think that is why on one cool night Mick invited me to “mug up.” After a day of working alone, or with just a crewmember, fishermen enjoyed getting together. You would see several boats rafting up in a cove for the night and everyone would be on one of the boats drinking coffee or hot chocolate while listening to the marine operator channel or playing cards.

Over the next few years we became friends. Mick taught me how to fish and what it means to be Alaskan. Mick had a 42 footer with a twelve foot beam. We would sit in his galley as he showed me the correct way to rig the different baits, talked about the timeline and locations for intercepting the salmon, and anything else related to commercial fishing.

Alaskans are special people and Mick is an Alaskan. Mick taught me what it means to be Alaskan. My sons are Alaskan by birth; I am by the grace of God and the teaching of Mick. He and his brother, Swede, used airboats to prospect and hunt the Berners Bay area and were the first people I contacted after sinking my airboat. Swede walked with a funny gait. He had played Goldilocks with three brown bears and won. He and Mick with two friends had killed two moose about a hundred yards apart up the Lace River. The day of the kills they had packed out all the meat while leaving the racks and gut piles. Alaska has strict game laws concerning wanton waste so meat must be salvage before trophies. Neither moose had very large racks but the next day the friends insisted on recovering the antlers. Against their better judgment Mick and Swede agreed. They reached the first kill site without any problems. However, while walking the narrow trial through the alder thicket to the second kill a large sow ambushed Swede. Mick rushed to the yells and growls to find Swede on his back trying to keep the sow from ripping open his abdomen. She managed to chew Swedes knees and thighs so he looked like chopped liver before Mick was able to kill her. As the sow fell off of Swede he was able to grab his rifle and stop the two charging 300 pound cubs. Mick carried Swede down river to the bay but had to evacuate him by plane due to the rough seas. Swede rode in the back of a pickup to the hospital and refused to sit in a wheel chair while being admitted. The next day Mick arrived at Swede’s hospital room in time to see a Fish and Wildlife Protection Officer scurrying out. Mick entered to find Swede out of the bed trying to rip out the IVs so he could attack the “Fish Cop.” When a hunter claims self defense for killing a bear, especially a sow with cubs, the Fish Cops complete the equivalent of a murder investigation. It seems that Swede did not appreciate the officer’s contention that he unnecessarily killed the cubs.

My last experience with Mick came during the fall brown bear season. I agreed to take a visiting speaker on a hunt in late October. I had a licensed hunting guide in the church so we were all set. The services had been a real blessing and after a busy season I was looking forward to four or five days out of town. The first night we set up camp in a prime area up the Berners. Huge tracks covered the sandbars due to the large late silver salmon run as the bears packed on the last fat before winter. The next day a winter front moved in with plummeting temperatures. The river began to ice while the snow fell. Going home was not an option until the gale force winds abated. To make matters worse it appeared the brownies had headed to the dens with the arrival of the weather. When it seemed that things were going sour rather quickly Mick showed up and invited us to his cabin. We followed him down river sliding over the ice into clear water. For the next several days we sat in Mick’s cabin enjoying the warmth of his oil stove and his endless accounts of Alaskan life.

At that point of my life I was not aware of the term “mentoring.” I just knew that Mick took a life time of outdoor skills and experiences and shared them with me. His wisdom and practical skills saved me from serious harm in a country that is as deadly as it is beautiful. Mick not only told me what to do, he showed me. Jesus told the disciples that he would make them fishers of men. He then spent the next three years showing them how to do it. He discipled them. Christianity is a life changing faith and that change comes through not only the acquisition of knowledge but the impartation of skills. It is caught more than taught. Remember the Great Commission tells us to make disciples.

Paul reminded the Thessalonians not only of his teaching, but how he had lived with them. Paul did not tell them to “do what I say, not what I do.” Paul poured his life into them and every other Christian God allowed him to meet. Paul knew the power of example. It will make a difference in someone’s life and your own.

Real Men Don’t Get Lost -2

“Real Men Don’t Get Lost”

^“Through Your precepts I get understanding; Therefore I hate every false way.
Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” Psalms 119:104-105 (NKJV)

“All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work.”  2 Tim 3:16-17 (NKJV)

 

Christian’s often use words that only have meaning within the “club.” Take “lost” for example. Every time I hear someone use the expression, I want to say, “Real men don’t get lost.” I have never been lost. I may not know my exact position, but I am not lost. That a man should never admit if he were lost was first demonstrated to me in flight school. The Army Aviation School’s Primary Phase was located in Mineral Wells, Texas, thirty miles or so west of Dallas-Fort Worth. Each day half of the students rode out to the staging areas on buses. The other half flew the helicopters to the outlaying fields and switched out the aircraft with the other students following the morning training session. Texas might not have subzero weather, but when the winds cross the Canadian border the only thing slowing it down is barb wire. The spring winds are horrendous.

The training helicopter at that time was a Hughes 300, loving referred to as the Mattel Messerschmitt, because it looked like a toy. It would cruise around sixty knots. The day of my lesson on lostness started with seasonally strong winds. Those of us on the buses noticed that the helicopters were stacking up on take off. Dempsey heliport had around ten take off pads. The students would hover out of their tie down spots and enter the line of aircraft waiting for departure. As each aircraft hovered to the departure pad the pilot would call the tower identifying his location and request departure clearance. After the tower gave the wind conditions and clearance and the pilot would pull pitch for climb out. Three hundred trainers leaving in rapid succession always reminded me of the bees around one of our family’s beehives.

Probably thirty minutes later we arrived to the outlying field and entered the shack to find that one of the guys was calling Dempsey tower. He was lost. Naturally we stayed glued to the radio. The conversation came across loud and clear, we didn’t miss a word:

Tower: “Three Zero Seven, say altitude.”

307: “307, altitude 5,000.”

Tower: “307, say heading.”

307: “307, heading 360.”

Tower: “What terrain features can you identify?” (We had always been told that if we became disoriented that we needed to climb so that we would be able to determine our position from the bearings to major landmarks.)

307: “I can see Dallas-Fort Worth to my east; Possum Kingdom Lake is to my northwest. I can also see the Baker Hotel (in Mineral Wells) to my southeast.”

LONG PAUSE

Tower: “307, look between your foot pedals. What do you see?”

LONGER PAUSE: “307, Dempsey.”

That poor guy had pulled pitch and climbed almost straight up. He was showing fifty-five knots airspeed and going nowhere. For two weeks he had to wear a huge compass around his neck. No one else in our class ever called in asking for directions.

A few years later I decided that I would fly my new bride to the Bahamas for our honeymoon.  I had several thousand hours of flight time in military aircraft and a commercial rotary wing, single engine, instrument ticket so all I had to do was show proficiency in another type of aircraft to have an equivalent rating. So, after seven hours of instruction and a check ride I walked the aisle with a fixed wing ticket. I still carry a picture of my wife standing beside the Cherokee 180 as we prepared to leave her hometown airport. One advantage of flying is people can’t tie cans to your rudder.

The flight from Cheraw, South Carolina to West Palm was a “no brainer,” just head south until you hit the coastline and follow it until you have to take a left. There was just one problem. The Cherokee’s airspeed indicator registered in miles per hour. I thought in knots per hour. One hundred twenty knots is 132 miles per hour. Unfortunately, when the aircraft instrument read 120, it meant 120 not 132. I can usually figure ETAs, estimated time of arrival, within minutes without a navigational computer. So, I did not think twice when an airfield came into sight as I expected West Palm to appear. I tuned in the appropriate frequency and heard considerable traffic which did not fit with the approaching airfield.

No new groom should ever face the questions and looks I received from Kathy. A reluctant flier in the first place, she immediately started accusing me of being lost. How could I be lost in Florida? The Atlantic was on my left, therefore the Gulf was on my right. We had not over flown Miami. There is no way we could have missed that. We still had land appearing off our nose. I was not lost. So retreating from the mysterious airfield we circled until I figured our position. Once I realized the gauges were in miles per hour it all fell into place and we resumed our trip. I now know that there are numerous airfields on the Florida coast left over from WWII. You learn something everyday.

I wish I could say that was the end of our marital adjustments but I can’t. During our first year in Alaska we became close friends to an older couple, Bob and Dee. Bob owned a logging road construction business and flew a Hughes 500 to travel between construction sights. They were a wonderful couple who loved each other and the Lord. Bob often picked my brain about flying helicopters and I enjoyed going with him to his camps. In the spring of 1975 Bob and Dee crashed in a snow storm. Pulling pitch to climb above some low clouds he was low and slow when the engine flamed out. Scout pilots in Viet Nam loved the Hughes 500. I know men, including my brother, who walked away from multiple crashes in 500s. A major down side to the Hughes was its light weight blades. If you are pulling pitch and experience engine failure the blades rapidly loose speed resulting in loss of control.

Highly respected in Alaska logging Bob and Dee’s funeral drew people from throughout Alaska. There was not a single seat available on any flight to Petersburg the day of the funeral. I was flying for one of the bush outfits at that time and the owner knew I wanted to attend the funeral. We had an aircraft in Petersburg due for maintenance so my boss suggested that I fly up the replacement aircraft and bring the other one down to the shop. He said that I could take Kathy along. Dreary and overcast with low ceilings the day of the funeral fit our mood. Just outside of Petersburg we flew over the crash site. More of a celebration than a funeral we left town a few hours later glad we had been able to make it.

Weather conditions had not improved during the funeral and we had to fly in and out of snow showers, only a few hundred feet off the water. Crossing the side bays on Clarence Strait we often lost sight of everything but the water below which was white capping due to the high winds. At those times we had no sense of the correct heading except for the whitecaps. All the charts of the area have warnings about magnetic variations due to mineral levels which made the compass worthless. There were times when it seemed that the helicopter was going sideways only to do almost a 180 and be facing the opposite direction. We were never lost, but I sure wondered where we were. With the strong head winds we had to stop to refuel from a company cache in a nondescript muskeg bog. When we finally landed back in Ketchikan Kathy looked at me and said in a slow measured voice, “I will never fly with you again!” And she has kept her word.

Truth is, men are more likely to get lost than their wives. Men don’t like to stop for directions or bother with maps. Sometimes we can’t read the gauges or something is throwing our compass off. Whatever the case, the most we know is that we are in Florida or Alaska. Being “locationally challenged” can have disastrous consequences especially for our eternity. A man who lives each day with the word of God as his guidebook will never be lost again and he will be fit to lead his family safely past the pitfalls that await them.

 

Real Men Don’t Get Lost: 1 -The Journey

My earliest memories of the outdoors occurred at my Grandmom Brown’s in Chesterfield, South Carolina. Grandmom scratched a living out of the ground. She used mules instead of a tractor. Grandmom and Dad had hand sawed all the planks for the barn from lumber Dad had dragged out of the swamp by oxen. Dad had grown up dirt poor with a breakdown single shot shotgun. He believed that if you shot more than once you were wasting money. One day Dad decided to take us, my three brothers and me, rabbit hunting. As we walked through the woods Dad would occasionally tell us to stop. He would then point out the cottontail before it would flush. I must admit we had trouble seeing the rabbit even with Dad’s directions. Another time we were in the woods when Dad told us all to freeze because of a large rattler. He eased off a few yards and cut a stick and killed the snake. We asked Dad how he could have seen the snake in the thick brush. He said he did not see it, he had smelled it. We were skeptical but he explained the odor rattlers had on the farm. I did not smell a thing.

A career army officer Dad, and Mom, moved every couple of years. He had a trophy red stag he had shot in Germany while serving in Criminal Investigation during the occupation following WWII. His unit investigated the black market and was assigned the task of searching for Hitler’s gold. Hunting and fishing was their recreation in Europe. I was born while he was the post game warden for Ft. Stewart, Georgia. I remember him coming home from his last turkey hunt in Maryland. Dad could not stand careless hunters with poor etiquette and refused to share the woods with them.

Raised by Christian parents I came to realize that I had a sin problem. Obviously, as a nine year old I didn’t have a life of crime and debauchery behind me, but I knew I did not measure up to a holy God. I trusted that Christ had done everything for my salvation in a church start outside Ft. Meade, Maryland. When my dad retired all us boys voted to move to Alaska. We ended up in South Carolina, where I spent my time squirrel and rabbit hunting, fishing, reading Field & Stream, and day dreaming of Labrador retrievers and the West. As an army family we watched the evening news and kept an eye on Viet Nam. I had no interest in going straight to college after high school and my brother, Mike, had already dropped out of college to fly in the army. Flying sounded more exciting than attending college, so I celebrated my eighteenth birthday by entering the Army’s Warrant Officer Rotary Wing Aviation Course.

At eighteen I knew more about being a “real helicopter pilot” than I did being a growing Christian. I did not know the importance of daily Bible study and prayer. Mike had extended his tour in Viet Nam and was in-country when I arrived. Don, a signal officer, arrived the following month.

Early in 1971 the Pentagon determined the ARVNs (South Vietnamese Army) capable of severing the Ho Chi Minh trail which supplied the communists in the south. Air assault companies were sent to I Corps in support of LAM SON 719, the ARVN invasion of Laos. The North Vietnamese Army (NVA) allowed the ARVNs to become extended over a number of landing zones (LZ) before they counter attacked with tanks, heavy artillery, and 25,000 troops. LAM SON 719 quickly became a shooting gallery with the ARVN troops serving as the bait and army helicopters becoming the sitting ducks. The NVA shot down or grounded from battle damage 444 of the 600 helicopters involved in the operation and 10,000 ARVN soldiers were wounded, killed, or missing. One of the aviation companies from III Corps lost their complete gun platoon on one LZ. The Charlie model gunships could not handle the mountainous terrain and the heavy machine gun and light antiaircraft weapon fire.

The units flying LAM SON 719 needed replacement aircraft and pilots. I volunteered and arrived at A Company, 158^th Aviation Battalion, the “Ghost Riders,” in early March. On March 19^th we were assigned to the extraction of ARVN troops from several of the LZs along Highway 9 toward Tchepone. It was a typical day for the operation. We started with eleven aircraft and by afternoon had two or three still flyable. On the first mission of the morning point blank fire riddled six of the aircraft. A .51 caliber round hit “Itty Bitty” while in the LZ. Blowing through the armor seat the round paralyzed him. The next attempt resulted in “Wop” taking an antiaircraft round through the bottom of his seat. By late afternoon I was in one of three flyable aircraft. The ARVN unit needed ammo and water so headquarters decided that one aircraft would resupply them. We were selected to fly over at 6,000 feet and throw out the supplies. (I always wondered how it would feel to have an ammo crate land on your head from 6,000 feet.) Headquarters hoped the altitude would minimize our risk. We would also be escorted by several Cobra gun teams.

Over the LZ at 6,000 feet it looked like the Fourth of July as tracer rounds the size of basketballs flashed through our blades. For every tracer round there were three or four regular rounds. Though out of small arms range, the .51 calibers and antiaircraft weapons had no trouble reaching us. A classmate had recently been vaporized at 6,000 feet with a first round hit by a radar controlled antiaircraft gun. With absolute certainty I knew I was going to die. You can not bargain with God, but I believe He puts you in situations to bring you around to His viewpoint. I remember praying, “God, I know I am yours, that I am going to heaven, but if you choose to let me live I  will do whatever you want.” His answer wasn’t audible but I had such a sense of His presence it was if I had heard Him say, “Nothing is going to happen to you.” I finished the rest of my tour as the only Ghost Rider aircraft commander (that I know of) that never took at hit to his aircraft. I had men killed immediately after getting off the aircraft, but I never took a hit. Almost one third of my flight school class died in Viet Nam. I should be among them, but God had other plans. I came home before my twentieth birthday and met a friend from high school who had been the class drunk. His life was radically changed. Through him I discovered you get out of Christianity in geometric proportions to what you put into the relationship.

I wish I could say that I consistently lived for Christ from March 1971, on, but I can’t. I can say that God has always been faithful. He has given me a wonderful family. Kathy and I moved to Alaska in 1974 where our boys were born and reared. Everyday in Alaska God’s creation declares His reality. Its spectacular mountains and endless vistas remind me how great He is and insignificant I am. As a public school teacher, minister, bush pilot, National Guard pilot, commercial fisherman, fishing guide, outfitter, charter operator, ski patrolman, and tourism business owner I was blessed by years of outdoor experiences. Many times God used an experience to teach me a spiritual truth. When I read of the disciples in the storm I visualize Clarence Strait with whitecapping seas higher than the boat’s cabin breaking on the bow and know the peace of being in the Creator’s care. After seminary we returned to Alaska and had the joy of spending two years hunting, fishing, shrimping, and woodworking with my dad in Ketchikan. Six months after our moving to Soldotna he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. My mother lives her faith. Rearing four boys, having three of them serve in combat for over two years straight, and losing her partner of fifty years my mom has always had a quiet peace about her. She loved fishing with Dad and still laughs about their hunting adventures in Europe.

Most of the names in these stories have been changed to protect my friends from further embarrassment. I wrote with the standard that I changed the name if you laugh at anyone other than me. I especially want to acknowledge my friend Howard White. He lived and died for Christ and he is worthy of honor. I do want to thank my hunting partners, Dave Sterley, Dean Nichols, and my three sons, Ashley, Adam, and Andrew. Others have seen first hand my amazing woodsmanship, but these did not give up on me, which I deeply appreciate. I have tried to be as accurate as possible, but the exact locations and details might be wrong. Of course, that’s what make these hunting stories.

Several of the chapters involve, or are written by my oldest son, Ashley. Serving in a parachute infantry regiment on 911 he represents many young men and women who are seeing the power of God in a different outdoor setting. It is our desire that God will use this book to help men come to know Him and decide to begin the greatest adventure of their lives, being a follower of Christ. I can promise it will never be boring.

“Then He got into one of the boats, which was Simon’s, and asked him to put out a little from the land. And He sat down and taught the multitudes from the boat. When He had stopped speaking, He said to Simon, ‘Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.’ But Simon answered and said to Him, ‘Master, we have toiled all night and caught nothing; nevertheless at Your word I will let down the net.’ And when they had done this, they caught a great number of fish, and their net was breaking. So they signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats, so that they began to sink. When Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, ‘Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!’ For he and all who were with him were astonished at the catch of fish which they had taken; and so also were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. And Jesus said to Simon, ‘Do not be afraid. From now on you will catch men.’ So when they had brought their boats to land, they forsook all and followed Him.” Luke 5:3-11 (NKJV)

 

The Blessing of Godly Ancestors

This Thanksgiving, Kat and I are in Chesterfield eating dinner at my brother-in-laws new place. We started talking about family and Kip mentioned my grandmother’s church was nearby. He asked me if I thought I could find the place. My first memories were visiting when my dad was on leave. Grandma had a holly Christmas tree with popcorn strings. We would take Saturday night baths for church in the tin washtub in front of her wood stove. I haven’t been to the farm since Grandma moved 40 years ago to live with an aunt. I told Kip if I saw the church, I could find the farm. When we turned onto the side road I had no trouble locating the old place. The house had burned down years ago, the barn had collapsed, the cotton fields were replaced by a commercial pine operation and everything had changed. As I said, I had no problem finding the place, because I saw a little boy walking with his grandmother to and from church. Grandma Brown was 5 ft tall (maybe, and about 5 ft round). The family never had a car. So for years she would walk two miles to and from church. She taught Sunday school and never missed. I can remember walking with her, checking the ditches for tadpoles and thinking it was a long walk. In my less spiritual moments I thought why would anyone walk that far to go to church. On a summer day the walk was hot and dusty. Then we would sit in the service trying to cool off using the hand fans with a picture of Jesus on one side and an ad for the funeral home on the other. Grandma Brown was Chesterfield County Sandhills poor (and that is poor) by she was rich in faith.

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the godly lineage I have been blessed to inherit. May I pass it on to the ones who follow.

My grandparents’ tombstone at Oakland Baptist Church

 

Veteran’s Day 2017

For the week leading up to Veteran’s Day I wanted to post a few pictures from the old days, and pictures of old men. I was a lot younger then. On the left bottom is Gary “Fert” Grow, Ghost Rider 58, my flight school roommate (passed on). I wish I had a digital picture of my brother Mike, he was a Soc Trang T-Bird, gunship pilot, and my brother, Don. He was on Group Staff for 23rd Arty. Three of the four “Brown boys” were in country at the same time. The pictures of the Wall are from our unit reunions, and when we gathered to lay a Ghost Rider to rest among our brothers at Arlington. The Rock Pile was a bad area along the DMZ and east of Khe Sanh. I have placed one skid on the top while grunts unloaded. The picture from Life Magazine was taken during Lam Son 719. THe Army Times picture was south of the Rock Pile after Lam Son 719. The picture of the hooch includes, Toad Rivet, Slim Pickens (classmate/passed on), my favorite “Peter Pilot” Blackbird, Jim Starling , and Gov Wallace. It wasn’t much (and I watched it get blown away on TV when the NVA rolled down Hwy 1), but it was home. Out of the five flight school classmates in the Ghost Riders only two of us are left; John “Cowboy” Lucas and me. All of us survived our tours, but Stover died as a bush pilot in Alaska. His crash site was not found for about 20 years.  David P. Soyland was a classmate and in our sister company. He was Phoenix 22. I believe every pilot who had the call sign did not complete their tour. David was shot down near the Rock Pile on a CCN (special ops) mission extracting a team under heavy fire. He spent several days evading the NVA and then was probably killed after capture. They did not like helicopter pilots. The picture of the man standing in front of his wheelchair, I saw one time, well before the current NFL fiasco. There is unspeakable worth to all our flag represents. We have never been a perfect nation, but we have been willing to pay the price to strive to be “perfect”. Veterans understand the cost and respect the symbol of our freedoms. To my fellow Vets and Ghost  Riders, have a blessed week.

I am proud to wear this patch, not because of my “accomplishments”, but because of the honor of calling these men my brothers.

804 the strongest ship in the unit. I was her first aircraft commander.

Crewchief Donato– his guns never jammed, until one day in one bad LZ. Not much he could do.

My crewchief, Jim Grinder. He was dropped from flight school for a minor surgery. He was a Navy vet and I would put him in the right seat to fly us home at the end of a day. He was the best.

The Rock Pile. Saying it was bad was an understatement. You knew you were good when you could hover with one skid on the top ridge while guys with all their gear climbed in or out of the helicopter. It was just wide enough for them to stand on the top.

 

Four Lessons I Learned From the Army, Outdoors, and My Faith. Pt.1

Recently a friend asked me, “What did you learn from your time in the Army and the outdoors and how does it apply to your Christian life?”  So, after thinking about it, I have come up with four lessons.

Mentoring/Discipleship/Shared Life

I celebrated my 18^th birthday at the US Army Rotary Wing Aviation Course and my 20^th birthday after returning from Viet Nam with over 1,000 hours of combat flying. I served as an Army helicopter pilot in the 101^st Airborne. Our company call sign was Ghost Riders. I was/am Ghost Rider 54. Our company was a highly decorated unit. We flew in I Corps, which was in the mountains along the Demilitarized Zone and Laos. During its time in Viet Nam the company earned two Presidential Unit Citations (for Ripcord and Lam Son 719). At last year’s reunion in D.C. a Pentagon representative said there were only 14 given during the war. Off hand, I can think of four or five men who earned or were recommended for Silver Stars. Most of the pilots earned Distinguished Flying Crosses. The  unit flew in support of troops at Hamburger Hill, the A Shau Valley, Ripcord, and Lam Son 719. All of the major combat events in I Corps during the units time in country.  Through all of these actions we had a low casualty rate. This was not by accident. Helicopter pilots arrived in Viet Nam with about 200 hours. We could fly the aircraft but we were a long way from being real pilots.  The first 350-500 hours of flying in-country were spent as a Peter Pilot. Sitting in the right seat we had to learn the skills to hover with one skid on a ridge line while heavily loaded troops would climb on or off the aircraft. We were expected to hover down 150 feet into jungle landing zones with just a few feet clearance on each side. The pilot would focus on the trees a few feet from the rotor blades while moving the tailboom a foot or two left or right depending on the directions of the crewchief and doorgunner.  We were expected to be able to operate in the mountains with maximum loads under all sorts of conditions. All of this was to be done while taking enemy fire.  An aircraft commander could drop through an opening in the clouds and know where he was by looking at a river valley or hillside.  That did not happen by accident. Aircraft commanders were expected to pass on all of their skills and knowledge to the new guys. Some pilots never made AC because of lack of skills or mental toughness. We all knew that one day we would go home and we would turn our aircraft and crew over to one of the new guys. I wanted my crewchief and gunner to come home safe. That meant I needed to make sure my replacement was well trained. We understood the difference between a guy with wings and a real combat pilot required mentoring. Pilots would enter the company and spend months flying with the experienced AC’s. When the old guys DEROSed (went home) the new “old guys” would pass on the unit traditions, knowledge, and skills to the new “new guys”.  I knew the names of the aircraft commanders who had taught my aircraft commanders. It was an unbroken chain of mentoring. It was more than a transference of information. Ghost Riders believed in a shared live. We did everything together. That is why we are still a part of each others’ lives forty plus years later.

I also learned the importance of this when I was commercial fishing in SE Alaska. I was a good sport fisherman, but then I began long-lining for halibut and trolling for salmon. I had an Oregon dory with a small cabin and I would go out for three to five days at a time. I was OK, but knew I did not know all I needed. One of the top handtrollers in Southeast Alaska was a guy named Mick. I don’t know why Mick took pity on me. I think it was because I was a hard worker. I was usually right in front or behind him pulling out of the anchorage each morning and was one of the last boats to come in to anchor at night. I usually put in 20 hour days. One night Mick invited me over to his boat to mug up. (You grab your coffee, or hot chocolate, mug and sit around the galley stove.) From that night on, I would anchor up, clean my gear, and then sit with Mick as he taught me to rig gear, how to fish, when to fish, everything I needed to know as a fisherman. This was unusual because commercial fishermen are secretive. Mentoring was not a commonly used word at that time, but that was what Mick did.

Jesus’ ministry was one of mentoring. The Bible calls this discipleship. Everyday Peter, James, John, and the others watched Jesus minister and teach. They asked him questions. They watched him serve people. So many of the passages in the Gospels could be described as  serendipitous. A great example was when Jesus was walking through the wheat field on a Sabbath (Matthew 12). He “harvested” and milled the wheat causing the Pharisees to accuse Jesus and the disciples of breaking the Sabbath. Jesus then taught about the purpose of the Sabbath. When you share life, the teacher does not present a canned lesson, he answers the student’s questions as they arise from day to day life.  After Jesus ascended into heaven his enemies commented that it was clear His disciples were just like Jesus. I have been blessed over the years since Viet Nam to be discipled/mentored by older Christians. I learned about being a father, husband, and man through them. In turn I like to think my three sons are better Christian men, husbands and fathers because of their time with me.

I have long said after Viet Nam I knew more about how to be a “real helicopter pilot” than living the Christian life. On one hand I was mentored; on the other I was not. In truth, both settings are war zones. Survival and victory depend on each generation passing on the knowledge and skills to the next.

Dr. Paige Patterson on 2016 Election

http://theologicalmatters.com/2016/09/27/april-30-1945-and-november-8-2016/

 

I would highly recommend reading the article at this link. Dr. Patterson has always had a gift for using examples from history to shed light on present situations.

CW4 Duane “Muddy” Watters

“In great deeds, something abides. On great fields, something stays. Forms change and pass; bodies disappear; but spirits linger, to consecrate ground for the vision-place of souls…” General Joshua Chamberlain, Congressional Medal of Honor. He held the Union left flank at Little Round Top, Gettysburg.

Last night I

I am proud to wear this patch, not because of my “accomplishments”, but because of the honor of calling these men my brothers.

was called and informed that Duane “Muddy” Watters had recently died from complications related to lung cancer. Two of the most important days of my flying career (March 19 & 20) were spent flying right seat for Muddy. Muddy was one of the old guys (24). He was an excellent pilot, calm under fire, and committed to his fellow Ghost Riders. He would not leave a man behind, no matter what. He retired a CW4. Muddy said he wanted to be remembered by the words: “Duty, honor and country.” He lived it. Muddy, Itty Bitty, and others “consecrated” the air and landing zones in the action known as Lam Son 719. I was hoping to see him at the October reunion. He is survived by his wife, Candice and family in Fairbanks, AK. He is missed. He is remembered. And, we are growing old.

The Intellectual And Spiritual Wanderings Of American, Conservative, Evangelical Christians: Or, Why I Do Not Listen To Glenn Beck.

To begin, I have several confessions to make. First of all, I listen to talk radio. Not every day, but several times a week. I like Rush Limbaugh. Maybe because I understand his humor. I do not hang on every word, but I appreciate another perspective than network news. I listen to several other radio talk show hosts depending on when I am driving in the truck. That said, I do not listen to Glenn Beck. I use to, but not now.

I think Glenn Beck is an expert on American history, and insightful in American politics. I agree with many things Beck says. I also think he and his radio show crew have a great time. Sometimes they are hilarious. But, except for occasional short segments transitioning to or from other shows, I do not listen. My problem is a problem of Christology and eschatology.

First the Christology; on Glenn Beck’s Facebook page he states:

I am a born again LDS Christian who teaches Gospel Doctrine in my church, speaks about God and Jesus more than any other main stream radio or television host in the last 70 years, who also studies the Torah with rabbis on a regular basis and met today with the Dalai Lama. [smile emoticon.]

Glenn Beck does sound more like a televangelist than a radio talk show host. And, the times I have listened to his program he is constantly calling for prayer, revival, and for Christian unity. In the above quote he is obviously proud of his ecumenical spirit. He often invokes Christ’s name in his pleas. He is quiet passionate about God and Jesus.

The conundrum is his adherence to the “Gospel Doctrine in my church.” The LDS Christ was once a man, just a man, not the 100% God/100% man of the Bible and the historic creeds of the Christian faith. The gospel according to Glenn Beck’s LDS teachings is not the redemptive work of God through Christ and the cross. The LDS gospel teaches salvation through obedience to the teachings of the LDS church. The LDS Jesus was a man as we are; and if we avail ourselves of baptism in a Mormon Temple, marry in a Mormon Temple, spend two years as a self-supporting LDS missionary, earn and maintain a “Temple Recommend”, and in general work your way through life you will experience exaltation. Your eternity will consist of becoming a god, like Jesus is now, and becoming a god, along with your wife (wives) to another world. I am sure some Mormons may say I don’t have it exactly right, but I am correct in the fact the LDS does not use the word “gospel” as the Christian Church does. The Christ of the LDS is not the Christ I worship and serve. Therefore, to hear Glenn Beck evoke Christ and claim a unity on spiritual grounds is unacceptable.

Glenn Beck is well informed concerning Shiite eschatology. This branch of Islam contents the twelfth and final Imam will come for the final reckoning. As Beck has made clear, the danger of a nuclear Iran is the fact that Iran’s leadership believes they can hasten the twelfth Imam’s return by starting a nuclear war. Just as the hijackers did not hesitate to fly planes into buildings on 9/11, Iran’s leadership will not hesitate to start Armageddon. Their eschatology (doctrine of end times) drives their thinking. Securing the return of the twelfth Imam and earning their place in Paradise is worth it all.

In the same way we need to understand LDS eschatology. The LDS church is similar to historical Christianity in regards to the return of Christ. However, Mormons place a greater emphasis on the end times, the cataclysmic events preceding His return, and the need to prepare for those preliminary events. You might say, Christians believe the same. I am basically a Pre-Tribulation supporter. I am not rigid and can even go for a Mid-Tribulation Rapture. However, if I am wrong, that is OK. I do not spend a lot of time preaching about the events of Revelation. I think it is largely written to the people who will experience it. I do not stockpile large supplies of food as LDS encourages.

It might be wise to stockpile food supplies and doing so is not a bad thing. However, that eschatology is apparent in the Glenn Beck Show’s tone. I get depressed when I listen to Beck for any length of time. Beck expects the worse. Every show I have heard is a litany of coming disasters. I do believe America will be judged and receive the consequences as we continue to move farther from our Founder’s moral base. However, I am also a student of revivals and believe God will have another great harvest before He shuts this all down. Therefore, in the midst of all the crazy (and sick) things occurring in our world, God is still in control.

Can I, as a conservative Christian, work with people of like morals and values? Yes. I will be happy to work with people of all faiths to stop abortion, sex trafficking, and other societal sins. I have had, and still have, friends of various beliefs, including LDS. However, there is a line that cannot be crossed. After 9/11 there was a ecumenical “worship” service in New York led by Oprah Winfrey. I would not have participate in that service if invited. Would I attend a community gathering honoring the victims? Yes. Actually, I have less problems with Oprah because she doesn’t present herself as a Christian, and that is the rub. Beck thinks he is.

In the last year Glenn Beck has promoted various events with a spiritual emphasis. He is calling “Christians” to unite. He has spoken from the podiums of various Christian churches. He presents himself as a “Born-again Mormon.” Unfortunately, many Christians now see Glenn Beck as a prophetic voice like a modern day Dwight L. Moody. They are not only trusting him for political advice, but spiritual direction. When I invite anyone to speak in the church I pastor, or attend a spiritually focused event, I best consider who is leading the movement.

Can I accept Glenn Beck, or any other Born-again Mormon as a brother in Christ? Yes, on one condition. To accept Christ as Lord and Savior requires me to reject all other ways of salvation. I pray for the day Glenn Beck denounces the “Gospel Doctrine [ of the LDS] church” as a false gospel and Jesus Christ and His substitutionary, propitiatory sacrifice as the only means of salvation. No one can accept the gospel piecemeal. What it means to be a Christian is not determined by other religious groups or someone desiring to adapt elements of Christian doctrine within his own religious framework.

       I am in agreement, we probably are in “the last days”. Therefore, I need to remember 2 Corinthians 11:13-15, 2 Peter 2:1, and other passages in which I am warned of the danger of false teachers. Do not expect them to identify themselves as anything other than Christians. I also consider the warning of Matthew 7:21-23 (NKJV)
Matthew 7:15-20 (NKJV)
¹⁵  “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves. ¹⁶  You will know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes from thornbushes or figs from thistles? ¹⁷  Even so, every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. ¹⁸  A good tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a bad tree bear good fruit. ¹⁹  Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. ²⁰  Therefore by their fruits you will know them. ²¹  “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven. ²²  Many will say to Me in that day, ‘Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?’ ²³  And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!’

The people of this passage will be stunned when they are cast out. They thought they were Christians. I am sure others also thought the religious workers were Christians.

In closing I might as well kick the dog on my way out. I would have made some comments about the way Christians are jumping on the political bandwagon of people like Donald Trump because they like his bluntness, but I have said enough for now.

 

 

The Cross and Political Correctness

In the last few weeks the national news has been focusing on the legislation in Indiana and Arkansas dealing with protecting religious liberty. We are in the midst of a collision of biblical and non-biblical values. Before dealing with the contemporary events I would like to go back to the Roman Empire and its use of crucifixion.

The Romans were not inventive. They were innovative. They had the practice of using other cultures’ ideas and improving them. Crucifixion was used by the Persians and the Macedonians, but the Romans took the practice to a new level. Crucifixion was not about killing the victim. There were much more efficient means of execution, and the Romans loved efficiency. The main purpose of crucifixion was silencing opposition. If a non-citizen was determined a threat to Roman rule he was crucified. You may have been unhappy under Roman rule, but you kept your thoughts to yourself, because the cross was always looming. Crassus crucified 6,000 slaves after crushing their uprising. That was the last revolt by the slaves. Crucifixion silenced the opposition.

We do not literally crucify people today. We are more civilized in silencing opposition than that. The Indiana Freedom of Religion bill was in line with federal legislation signed by President Bill Clinton. The purpose was to support the First Amendment protections for Indiana residents. The news media “carried the water” for the homosexual community portraying the law as promoting businesses who wish to discriminate against homosexuals. Like numerous other recent events, the facts of the case were never presented. America has become a society that does not desire truth. Our culture does not want an exchange of ideas. Instead of presenting the various positions in the public arena and trusting that the truth and the superior position will win the day, divergent positions are silenced by “crucifixion”, that horrible death.

Crucifixion was designed to humiliate and intimidate. The victim was scourged with lashes tipped with metal and bone. They were disfigured with pieces of flesh hanging from the open wounds exposing bones. They were stripped of their clothes. They were hung along the public roadways. They were made less than human. American “crucifixion” involves a social media blitz bombarding the enemy with hate mail and threats. The guilty party’s livelihood or business is threatened. The person’s integrity, character, and morals are maligned. In some cases the federal government becomes involved with threats of IRS audits or justice department investigations. The message to the observing masses is clear, do not express your views, especially do not take a stand for a biblical worldview, go with the flow. It is not surprising that our politicians run for cover, who wants that kind of attention. But, we are not politicians. We are followers of Christ.

As His followers, we are to love all people while standing on His word. As Americans we have a unique place in history. As an army officer, I took an oath to uphold and protect the Constitution. We have been given a priceless gift of the First Amendment. The freedom of religion is the foundational right. When it falls, all others will follow. As a Christian, I am a bondservant of Christ. I am to be faithful to my Lord even if it conflicts with the government. We have a moral obligation to protect our constitutional rights for future generations. In the recent collisions of values there is a clearly stated constitutional right, the freedom of religion, versus a lifestyle choice. Christianity is not a religion of coercion. You must come to Christ of your own free will. Whether you come or not, you are to be loved as a human being. The sanctity of human life is true for all. I reject all lifestyles that do not conform to God’s word, but respect the person’s right to choose their own life. In turn, I expect others to respect my choice. Do not try to force me affirm yours. The homosexual social agenda is the affirmation of their worldview while stripping all others of theirs, and one of their most powerful tools is “crucifying” anyone brave, or foolish, enough to speak in opposition. Christians and others can hold their private views, but cannot express those views as others do. We are being forced out of the public arena. Christian businesses daily serve people of other faiths and lifestyles, but that is not enough. Now those businesses must participate in practices contrary to Christian beliefs. There is a difference between others practicing their lifestyles (i.e., homosexual marriages) and being required to approve of the practice by catering the event, or providing flowers. You know it is political correctness when a Muslim business does not have to serve me pork barbeque, or the equivalent for businesses of a liberal viewpoint.

The Jewish religious leaders and the Roman government thought they had silenced the teacher from Nazareth. By all appearances they had won. The followers of Jesus were scattered, in hiding, and terrified. That was the usual effect of crucifixion. But, they were wrong. The Resurrection changed everything. The world was “turned right side up” by His followers. (Remember, it was the lost who said the disciples were turning the world upside down.) The Holy Spirit transformed the disciples into men who were more in awe of God than afraid of the cross. Tradition tells us that the disciples died for the faith. Thousands of Christians died under Roman persecution and the Church’s response to the hate was love.

Political correctness is effective as long as people are intimidated. As American Christians we have the right to hold our moral positions and exercise them in the political process. That said, our greatest concern is not the political ramifications of our silence. Our faith is not lived out in isolation.  We cannot be not salt and light in selected arenas. If we are followers of Christ, He is Lord of all the arenas of our lives.  We must speak truth in love and with boldness. Where would we be if the first century disciples were silenced by the political correctness of their time? Where will our grandchildren be if we are not faithful? No one wants to be vilified, but Jesus was not excited about his looming crucifixion.