I HOPE YOU’LL TAKE A FEW MINUTES AND READ THIS STORY. IT’S ABOUT AN EVENT THAT HAPPENED TO ME RECENTLY. IT MAY HELP YOU TO “LIFT UP YOUR EYES AND SEE THAT THE HARVEST IS PLENTIFUL - BUT THE WORKERS ARE FEW…. “MY PLAN WAS TO GO FOR A BIKE RIDE - GOD’S PLAN WAS DIFFERENT...” From time to time I like to get on my bicycle and “head out.” I especially like to ride down to the train depot, board the train (bicycle included) and head toward downtown Dallas or Ft Worth. It’s a blast riding in the busyness of downtown. Today I chose Ft. Worth… Before I left my house, I adjusted my iPhone so I could listen to music. When riding a bike on a beautiful, unseasonably cool July day, it is absolutely necessary to draw strength from Elvis, Three Dog Night, or Sonny and Cher, as well as others from the “good ole days…” As I fiddled with my phone, I hit the wrong button and almost called someone named “Robert.” Geeze, I mumbled to myself, How did I do that?” I didn’t even know who the “Robert” was or how his number had gotten in my contacts. I knew I had put him there, but had no memory of doing so... When I arrived at the train station, I saw a young man asking directions from a couple whose kids stood nearby. I could overhear their conversation. He was trying to figure out how to get to the Dallas VA Hospital (Veterans Affairs). The couple seemed a bit intimidated by the man, so I interrupted… “Sir, are you a veteran?” He was a bit taken back by my straightforwardness, but nevertheless answered. “Yeah…I am.” His reply was somewhat defensive, as if I had questioned his service. He wasn’t prepared for my next move. I extended my hand toward him, and as we shook hands, I told him: “Thank you for your service, sir. Now, where are you trying to get to? Let me help you.” He seemed to soften after I expressed my appreciation, and with the added handshake, he was ready to talk. I’m a big believer in the Power of Touch. I learned this from reading about the life of Jesus a hundred times… I could smell a slight odor of booze on his breath, but he was by no means drunk. He appeared to be troubled about something, kind of confused. He was a sharp-looking kid: 31 years old, bald, with the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen - a husky young man with big arms. I couldn’t help but think that he had witnessed some gruesome scenes on the other side of the world... He was trying to figure out if he could catch the train to the Dallas VA. “Let’s find out,” I said. We sat down on the bench and I went to work with my iPhone. “By the way, my name is Jimmy.” “I’m Robert,” he replied. That’s odd, I thought to myself, having almost accidentally called someone named Robert just minutes earlier... I checked the schedule and noticed that the next train to Dallas wouldn’t be here for 2 hours. I then called the VA and asked how to get there from downtown Dallas. She explained that a bus drove right up to the entrance. “Why don’t you just bring him?” - she added. “I would, ma’am, but I’m on a bicycle…” I finally figured out a route for him. He could be in Dallas by 3:00 and then catch the Dart bus to the VA at 3:18 or the next one at 3:36. He thanked me and I assumed that our short friendship was over… At about that time my train pulled up. “Well, here comes my train Robert. So long. I wish you the very best. “So long Jimmy.” I had to force myself to board. I just KNEW I was suppose to stay with Robert. But, as I so often do, I ignored the “whisper and did my own thing. After all, I had plans. I needed one day this week “for me.” I got on the train, though I must admit, I no longer had that excitement I felt 30 minutes earlier… I put my bike in place and searched for a seat. As we roared away, I looked out the window and saw Robert. He seemed so sad. The train was packed out. Everyone seemed to be on this particular train. I climbed the stairs and finally found a seat. About 15 feet behind me I could hear the over-bearing voice of an old man. I turned and looked and the first thing I noticed was his black cap and the emboldened words on the front: “VETERAN.” Sign Number Three…. He was a jolly guy, laughing and talking. I listened as he spoke of how he had recently been told that he would be getting $15.00 a month in food stamps for the rest of his life. The train rolled on down the line. It was obvious I was being told to get back to Robert. All the signs had fallen into place: My almost calling a stranger named “Robert”: the lady at the VA telling me to “just bring him: the ole veteran on the train. It was all coming together. As we neared the next stop, I went downstairs and stood by my bike. I got teary-eyed. It was as if a shout was coming from heaven: DO WHAT I TELL YOU TO DO… I AM THE BOSS, YOU ARE THE SERVANT… QUIT MISSING THESE OPPORTUNITIES…” “Yes sir,” I mumbled through my tears. I gazed over at the passengers, wondering if they saw me crying (or having a conversation with my Imaginary Friend!). The train came to a halt and I quickly rode off. There would be no train for 2 hours that could take me back to Robert. I’d have to bike as fast as I could to get back. At 56 years old I can’t ride like I used to, but I love riding, so off I went. I knew my father-in-law lived about a mile from were I was. I called and told him I’d be there in 5 minutes, and asked if I could store my bike in his garage and then hitch a ride back to my house. “Of course,” he said… I assumed that Robert was suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). On the way to my house I called the office of Lt. Colonel Dave Grossman. I am privileged to work with him several times a year at our Sheepdog Seminars. He has written on the subject of PTSD. Some of his books were in my garage, but I couldn’t remember which one addressed PTSD and I needed to know which one to give Robert. “Give him the one called On Combat,’ I was told. When I got home I grabbed the book, jumped in my truck and headed to the train station… When I first drove into the station parking lot, I couldn’t find him. Then, I saw a man with his back toward me, leaning against a bench near the tracks. His shoes and socks were off, and he was conversing with a woman. Standing outside my truck, I shouted at this figure: “Robert…?” He turned toward me with a puzzled look on his face. “Hey, come on,” I hollered. “Don’t you need a ride to the VA?” Robert didn’t quite know how to respond. “If you need a ride, let’s go,” I insisted, smiling as I said so. With the excitement of a kid whose dad had left him, but returned to get him, Robert grabbed what few belongings he had and jumped in the truck. I didn’t waste any time in getting to “the point.” “Robert, I don’t do things like this very often. And I don’t know if you believe in God. But He made it clear to me that I was to come back and get you and give you a lift to the VA. Do you believe in God, Robert?” “I’m starting to, he said with a smile. In the last two weeks, things like this just keep happening; and now you come along.” “It seems obvious to me, Robert, that Jesus is pursuing you. I know it doesn’t come natural for a soldier, but I highly suggest that you ‘surrender.’” I would learn a lot about Robert in the next hour. I was glad to hear that he and his father, who lived a thousand miles to the north, were on good terms. “We speak almost everyday,” he said. The relationship with his mother was not as good. He had not spoken to her in years, nor his little brother, whom she had taken with her when she left Robert and his dad. Robert had joined the Marines in 2001. One day at the shooting range - September 11, 2001 - the drill sergeant summoned all the troops together. “Men,” he said, “were going to war. Terrorists have just attacked us and all of you will soon be fighting…” We stopped at a Waffle House. I love the Waffle House. There’s not one single item at the Waffle House that a human being should be permitted to eat - but it sure is good. Robert wasn’t hungry, but chewed on ice and sipped coffee while we conversed. I kept asking questions. Contrary to what we’ve heard, killing may be necessary – but it’s not fun. Robert was bothered by a fact that is often overlooked, even when killing a terrorist. “The terrorists we killed, Jimmy, they had mothers and fathers, too…” “I guess it’s not like Hollywood, huh?” My response was intended to mock the so-called “glory” associated with war. “I was just a kid when I joined the Marines,” he said. He went on to explain that when he enlisted, it had nothing to do with a desire to serve or protect the country. At that age, many of the young men and women just want to see the world, and the military provides that - free of charge. “It’s not until you’ve been in for a while, and have to fight, that you realize WHY you’re in,” he added. That statement certainly peaked my curiosity. “What is THE REASON?” I enquired. “You fight for your brothers, Jimmy. You realize after a while that’s the real reason you’re there. You are fighting to keep them alive. They’re all you’ve got…” I stopped eating. His words were stuck in my throat. “You mean, like a Band of Brothers?” I asked. “Yeah,” he responded. “You’re a Band of Brothers. And you fight to keep each other alive… I paid the bill and off we went. I was hungry, dude,” I said to Robert, as we walked out the door. “Yeah,” he replied. “Once when I was in Iraq we went 12 days without food. I sure lost a lot of weight.” “TWELVE DAYS? “Yeah..” “Wow, if I don’t eat every 4 hours I lose it! What had happened? What forced you to go 12 days without food?” “Well, we got cut off from the food supply. A bunch of terrorists stood between us and a hot meal.” “How did that story end?” I asked … “We saw a goat walking along, shot him dead, and had goat meat for the night.” He laughed. “Goat meat is good,” I said. “Had some one time. We made our way to the VA in Dallas. A lot of good conversation along the way. I learned that Robert was a defensive tactics instructor while in the Marines. “I learned how to cut an artery and bleed-out a man in 14 seconds,” he told me. I immediately thought, “I sure hope Robert is more sane than crazy and that he knows I’m not the enemy! I drove around the VA trying to figure out where to drop him off. A building on the south side was named after President Obama. The sign out front read, “Welcome Jesse Jackson.” “Maybe Jesse Jackson could spend some time with you Robert.” We both laughed. Finally, I just decided to pull into the main entrance and Robert could go from there. When I drove up to the front door, an elderly gentlemen - an obvious employee of the VA and veteran of some past war - walked up to my truck, opened the door, stared and smiled at Robert and said: “WELCOME, YOUNG MAN…EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE ALL RIGHT…” The old man’s words and compassion overwhelmed Robert. He dropped his head into his hands and began to weep. I reached over and placed my hand on his head and gently massaged him. His tears flowed freely. I had told him earlier that as a soldier it would not come easy for him to “Surrender” - but that surrender was absolutely essential for the well-being of his soul. “Surrender to Christ, Robert,” I pleaded. “Surrender…” “In the right time,” he replied. With my hands on his head, I began to cry out to God on behalf of Robert. I don’t recall my choice of words as I prayed: I just cried out. Paul the Apostle had it right - “We do not know what to pray for as we ought…” We exited my truck, and Robert grabbed his tote bag. We embraced one another as if we were father and son. He walked off with the old man… I headed back to my father-in-law’s to retrieve my bicycle. The 45-minute drive gave me plenty of time to think. I stopped to get some gas. As I pumped the fuel into my tank, a homeless woman, whose clothes looked like they hadnt been washed in weeks, asked me for some money. I showed her my empty wallet and apologized. When I arrived at my father-in-laws, I saw that I had a text from Robert: Already started your book On Combat.’ “ I smiled. I think there’s a good chance this ole war-torn solider is gonna make it… DEAR READER - QUIT MISSING YOUR OPPORTUNITIES….
Posted on: Mon, 21 Jul 2014 17:42:29 +0000
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