Thirty-nine years ago

I was writing a postcard earlier this week to a young lady who is enduring boot camp in the United States Navy at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center in the frigid and wind-swept area near Chicago.

I like to send postcards to those who are away from home because I can send off a brief message and they can get a photo of home at the same time. Messages and photos are important for those serving in our nation’s military.

After I completed my comments, I then put the day’s date on the card: 03-03-09. When I saw the date, I paused, reflected, and remembered.

I arrived at the Recruit Training Depot at Parris Island, S.C., on Friday the 13th of February, 1970. Except for a few overnight trips away for high school football games, a couple of karate tournaments, youth outings, and the occasional weekend gun show with my dad, I had never ventured very far from home.

Now, I was hundreds of miles away, uncertain, struggling, and scared. Nothing seemed to going right and I was at a very low ebb. I even made an appointment to talk with a Navy chaplain, who gave me a pocket-size New Testament and a little green booklet called, “The Serviceman’s Guide.”

My father didn’t think I had “what it took to be a Marine,” he said. Looking back on it, I don’t know if he meant it or if he was simply trying to keep me out of the war that was raging in Southeast Asia.

He, a World War II Navy veteran, enlisted at 17 to do his part, and I assumed he would support me in my decision to try to do my part. He didn’t, so that only added to my confusion.

As homesick as I was, as much as I missed my friends, the thing I feared most was failure. I couldn’t bear the thought of having to go home and hear him say, “I told you.”

Finally, one night I prayed — really prayed. I had always believed in God. In my mid-teens, I was baptized at Mountain View Methodist Church, gave voice to my baptismal vows, and publicly confessed Christ as my Savior. I joined the church and became part of the youth group.

My prayers, however, had been confined to the Lord’s Prayer, the “now I lay me down to sleep,” and the occasional prayers of desperation before an algebra test, a tough football game, or a glitch in my high school romantic life.

Now, however, I was beyond desperate — the fear of failure, of shame, of proving my father correct drove me to God late one dark night as I silently said, “God, if you are truly real and if you are in this terrible place and if you care about me at all, please somehow let me know and then you can do what you want with me.”

There was no booming voice from heaven, no lightning, no thunder; just the quiet breathing and snoring of some 65 other young men sharing a common barracks.

I reached for the booklet that the chaplain had given me earlier and, securing myself under a wool blanket, clicked on the flashlight. There on the page were these words: “Fear thou not for I am with thee. Be not dismayed for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee, yea, I will help thee. Yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.” This passage from the King James Version of Isaiah 41:10 swept across me like a powerful and fresh wind.

In that mysterious way that sometimes one “knows what one knows,” I knew that He was with me and would see me through whatever lay ahead. And He did.

That day was March 3, 1970. Thirty-nine years later, to the very day, I sent a postcard to another young adult named Natalie who was engaged in her own boot camp experience.

I used to say that March 3, 1970, was the day I became a Christian, but now I claim it as the day I had a “personal revelation of my covenant relationship with God.”

Whatever it is called, it was a day that I experienced Him in a profoundly personal way. He was in boot camp, and I suspect He is there still for all those desperate young men and women who call out to him and seek His help.

[Father David Epps is the founding pastor of Christ the King Church, 4881 Hwy. 34 E., Sharpsburg, GA 30277, between Peachtree City and Newnan. Services are held Sundays at 8:30 and 10 a.m. He also serves as a bishop to the Mid-South Diocese and is the mission pastor of Christ the King Church in Champaign, IL. He may be contacted at frepps@ctkcec.org.]