Soldier Up

For my readers from my home town in Tennessee ... remember the Red Bank Army Store on Dayton Boulevard? I sure do. The first time I was in the store was with my dad; if I remember correctly, he was looking for some boots for himself. There were countless more trips to the tiny store that was filled to overflowing with Army supplies and clothing, both with Daddy when I was young and then with my friends when I was a teenager. Those of you who grew up during the time period when I did probably well remember the whole Army clothing craze when we were in high school and college. We all wore Army clothes ... I can't remember why now, but if you were cool, you wore Army clothes. (Now that I think about it, I think maybe the craze had something to do with the popularity of the television show Mash.) I was especially fond of green Army pants, and if they were actually used ones that had come from a real soldier, that was even better. I think I wore green Army pants five out of seven days each week for several years, and I also had a heavy green Army jacket that I wore during the fall and winter ... let me tell you, I was cooler than cool back then for sure. And guess what? If I had a pair of green Army pants today, I'd totally wear them ... I'm beyond sure that I'm no longer cool, but I'd wear them for the nostalgia factor alone.

For the last three weeks or so, I've been leaving my house before dawn to ride my bike. It only took a few days of the pre-dawn, two-wheeled excursions for me to be hooked ... there's a peace and freedom that washes over me when I'm riding alone in the moments just before the sun begins to rise, and the truth is that I don't experience a great deal of peaceful or freedom-filled moments right now. I've been struck each morning by the quiet of the streets as I begin my ride on the pavement ... I'm pretty brave and stubborn, but I'm skiddish about riding on the trail until there's enough light for me to see what's along the path around me. There aren't many cars out on the road at 5 a.m., a few, but not many. As I pedal along, my tires make a rhythmic sound beneath me, and I feel the wind caress my face. I don't listen to my iPod when I ride in the mornings ... I like the silence of my morning rides, the solitude of my morning rides, the seclusion of my morning rides. When I do pass other people, no one tries to stop me to chat or visit; they simply nod and allow me to continue riding ... alone with my thoughts and alone with my God.

It's when I'm almost home each morning that the silence of my ride is broken by a rather unusual sound. The first morning the sing-song chant filled my ears, it took me a few minutes to determine what it was and where it was coming from. But now ... now I look forward each morning to the melodious sound, and I smile when I hear it, knowing that I will soon be upon the group lifting their voices in unison as they jog along the path. They are all dressed in the same attire, black shorts and black t-shirts with an Army logo, and I'm always amazed at how they never seem to miss a step as they run in perfect cadence with one another. What strikes me the most about the group, however, is what they do when I get near them on the trail. They fall in behind one another in small groups of two in order to allow me to safely pass them, and almost as if they were one being, they all nod their heads and say, "Good morning, maam." And every single time, I reply, "Good morning," and hope they don't see the tears that always quickly spring to my eyes. It's a powerful and very moving way to end my morning ride ... powerful and moving indeed.

When I passed the group of soldiers this morning, a thought ... you know, one of those God kind of thoughts ... ripped through my mind. You need to soldier up, child ... soldier up for the battle. And of course I had to question that thought and that direction. What is that supposed to mean, God? Don't tell me to soldier up ... it's almost the weekend ... You know how hard the weekends are ... You know what a hard, hard week this has been ... soldier up? For real? Soldier up? And as quickly as I questioned Him, He answered deep within my soul. Soldier up, child ... soldier up. Stay in step with Me ... and soldier up. 

You know the group of soldiers crossing my path each morning wasn't an accident, right? You know God placed them there at the right moment at the right time so that He could speak to me, right? You know it ... and so do I. Soldier up, friends, soldier up.