Why the End of War Hurts but Doesn’t Have to

Nearing the end of my army career (at least in my mind), my wife and I found ourselves in an unusual situation. She wanted me to stay in while I was more than ready to hang up my boots after 20 years. Normally, it is the wife who wants the man to retire and the man who is reluctant to walk away from what has defined his life for the better part of it. But not for us. As Ami lamented, “you’ll make a horrible civilian.”

“I love civilians. I married you didn’t I?” was my retort.

The Joe Paterno Syndrome

From 1966 to 2011, Joe Paterno roamed the sidelines as the head football coach of Penn State. Over the course of 46 years, Joe Paterno accumulated 409 wins, an FBS record that will likely stand forever. He defined Penn State football, and it came to define him until, in 2011, amidst the Jerry Sandusky pedophilia scandal, he lost it all. At the age of 84, the singular focus of his life was unceremoniously taken away. He never recovered. A mere 74 days after his firing, he succumbed to death from complications due to cancer treatments, his purpose in life gone.

Six months after his death, the university quietly removed the commemorative statue they’d erected in his honor a decade earlier. Penn State went about the business of forgetting all about Joe Paterno, just as the world does with each of us in death.

I swore I’d never be Joe Paterno.

It’s the Mission

I thought I’d miss the mission.

I loved the mission. I loved serving where I served. I loved preparing for battle. I was privileged to lead men into battle on occasion. Of course, there were parts of the Army I hated. I hated the non-warfighting business, especially rampant in the general-purpose forces. I hated Army PT. Absolutely horrible. What were those little synchronized step things supposed to accomplish? I hated reporting for an event an hour prior because the CSM said. I hated the direction of the Army toward the end of my tenure.

But I loved it.

I loved the mission. I had always wanted to be a soldier, always felt called to it before I even knew who or what might be calling me. I cherish my days serving and, in the mission, I found something worthwhile. I found purpose…until I didn’t.

It’s the Men

It really was the men.

I was privileged to serve for many years in the company of heroes, truly alongside great men of war, fire-breathers, pipe-hitters, warriors, patriots.

I used to fly with a dude in Iraq who would smoke cigarettes while flying, literally smoking cigarettes while doing gun runs, strafing enemy positions, slaying enemy combatants in droves. I remember coolly asking him if he’d like me to take the controls so he could finish.

One of the customers had one entire leg covered with tattoos, none on the other. The contrast was striking. At one point, he got his foot shot off on top of a desolate mountain but rejoiced that it was on the non-tattooed leg.

I watched a man literally nearly land his helicopter on the roof of a fleeing bad guy’s car in a cloud of dust in the early days of figuring out how to actually go about doing this. We’d practiced it for years but in reality, it was a little bit different.

There was the man who held his own throat together in the front seat of a helicopter after taking a round on infil until he could get to treatment. There was the man who took a round to his leg, but continued to fly the mission for several more hours. Another man took a round while in transit and immediately reversed course to engage whoever it was that shot him. “I’m pretty sure I got him,” he assured me a week later.

I love these men. They were my brothers. How could I ever live without them?

A Common Conundrum

As I walked through the door of retirement, I presently am watching several other men contemplate the same, leaving the military.

Many men struggle leaving the force. They lost the mission, their sense of purpose, that which drove them, and even more, they’ve lost their brothers, their comrades-in-arms. Many walk away grieving the loss and never fully recover.

They spend the rest of their days reminiscing, maybe at the local VFW over a beer or maybe on social media. They struggle to let go, to find a new identity. Nothing seems to satisfy, to hold a candle to what had been. How could it? Others succeed at least outwardly, but I suspect their outward success betrays inward turmoil. “Is this even worthy?”

A New Mission

At some point, every man is confronted with the question, “was it all worthwhile? Did I even matter at all?”

At some point, the military cuts everyone loose. Once they’ve gotten their pound of flesh, they send everyone packing. From the highest-ranking general to the lowest-ranking retiree—I’ve seen an E-6 make it to retirement—each must then ask, “what now?”

What if there was a better mission?

As honorable as serving our great nation is, it’s temporal, transient, and will ultimately be taken away. And there is no Fiddler’s Green where you might sit with other warriors of yore and reminisce over battles fought and won or lost. It doesn’t exist.

I found my life’s mission in the Lord Jesus Christ.

In 2005, He saved me. I heard the Gospel message, that God saves sinners through the shed blood of Christ on the cross, I repented of my sin and was redeemed. To be clear, I didn’t go looking for God, He found me, but then He did a work in me. He turned my life upside down, changing everything, but most of all, He changed me. I am a new creation in Christ. (2 Corinthians 5:17)

I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t earn it. It was all grace and mercy, His grace and mercy. I cannot think of a single reason why God would love me, but He did, He does, enough to slay His own Son on my behalf, so that I might live.

In 2005, He saved me and I will forever proclaim the riches of His glorious grace.

Yes, He called me to preach, to the pastorate, but absent that call, I would still have an eternal purpose. “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28:19-20a)

This is my eternal purpose. I bring my sons up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord and it brings me great joy to see them respond. I lead my wife, imperfectly of course, in pursuing Him, in following Him. I follow God in evangelizing the nations, starting right at home and in my own town.

From Him, I have life and in Him, I find life.

Do you know Him? Trust me, He has a better mission for you, an eternal call, an enduring purpose that can never be taken away.

True Brotherhood

And let me tell you about my brothers, my brothers-in-Christ.

Several years ago, I discovered love between men and once I did, I swore I would never live without it. Yes, I miss my comrades from the service, but my brothers, they are my brothers. They are the true firebreathers, the real pipe-hitters.

I have a brother, a man who God freed from alcohol and drug abuse, who now preaches the Gospel message as he raises his three daughters. Hero of the faith.

I have another brother who has renounced a comfortable life in our wealthy nation to minister to dirt-poor Peruvian school children. Fire-breathing minister.

And still another brother loves and has loved his wife as Christ loves the church, even as she stepped out for a period of time, running into the arms of affliction for a season. He never stopped loving her, never left, even when he would’ve been justified in doing so. Warrior for Christ.

These are my brothers. We have the same Father, and I would genuinely have died of despair over the last several years were it not for them and their love.

If you know Christ, who then are your brothers?

I miss exactly two things from my service. I miss the THOR-3 program. This was the insanely great physical conditioning program of my last unit, replete with strength and conditioning coaches and a world-class facility. Second, I miss the fact that if I picked up the phone, within a few minutes a bottle of 800mg Motrin would appear on my desk like magic. Outside of that, you can keep the deployments, the late nights, the early mornings, the aches and pains, I’ve got my sons, my wife, my church, my brothers, but most of all, I’ve got the Lord Jesus. What else could I ever need?