God bless our troops

Three-thousand miles was a long distance to navigate through raging seas especially during this time of year. The Speedwell had already developed a leak on their first attempt and they had to put her to port for refit. However, the second vessel stood ready and waiting for the signal from the captain to weigh anchor and set sail.

She was a sound ship indeed; her shear line ran over a hundred feet. Six sails graced her three masts and she would need all of them to brave the cold and vicious Atlantic Ocean to make port in a timely fashion.

It was an early September morning, the sixth day of the month, and all one-hundred and two passengers, twenty-five crewmembers, and the captain were on board and anxious to sail. The hold supplied only enough room for the two-months of rations, gear, and belongings to accommodate the long journey. With the cargo and passengers loaded and the hatches battened, Captain Christopher Jones walked too amidships and hollered to his boatswain and conner, “Weigh anch'r an' cas' off. 'Ere's a lot o' sea a 'ead o' us mates.”

The windless cranked into action as the anchor slowly ascended to its place of rest. God willing, it wouldn’t drop again for at least another two months - or better.

“Aye aye captain,” the bosun shouted. He turned to his crew and yelled “Ye ‘eard 'e captain mates. Look lively. . .cast off 'e lines, an' unclew 'e sheets. . ." He paused and shouted, "Fill em up!”

The morning air came alive with chattering and commotion as the canvas began to unfurl and loud snapping sounds evidenced the opening of the sheets as they flapped, struggling to catch the right side of the wind. The masts creaked and strained under the stress of the sails as they bellowed in the wind. The ship lurched to the right but finally acquiesced to the wind’s power.

The conner screamed down instructions to the helmsman who was below deck manning the whipstaff, “We ‘ave canvas. . .easy as yer go. . .two points to starboard.”

As the sails tightened to fullness, the ship began to ease away from the dock. After all these months of preparation, they were finally moving! ‘Tween decks was full of indiscernible, but joyful, conversation as the passengers shook hands and hugged one another. “Praise Almighty God, for He has delivered us from the hands of our oppressors.” Smiles and tears of joy filled their faces and the shouts of praise continued to reach toward heaven.

The Mayflower left Plymouth, England on a rainy and chilly day September 6, 1620 and sailed west into the horizon. For sixty-six days, all the crew could see was water. . .and more water, until they safely dropped anchor at New Plymouth, Massachusetts on November 11, 1620.

Cooped up ‘tween decks for 66 days with no chair, no bed, and no accommodations whatsoever with nothing but a chamber pot for a toilet, the one-hundred and one remaining religious separatists looked forward to dropping anchor and going ashore. The fact that they hadn’t had a shower in over two months didn’t stop them from hugging each other as the smiles and joy returned to their faces.

In the excitement of success they forgot momentarily about their seasickness and about the injuries sustained when the wind-tossed vessel had thrown them against the insides of the hull. They forgot that the crew had rescued John Howland who went overboard when getting some air. They forgot about the storms, the mast cracking, and when things were ok, the boredom. For a moment, they even forgot the agony of losing two friends in route and the joy of bringing a baby into the world. Although they were now only one-hundred and one strong, they were indeed, ready to go ashore.

Fate, however, had not dealt them their last ordeal. Because of the winter weather and with no place as yet to dwell on land, they all had to stay aboard the Mayflower. Tragically, 48 more people died from a contagious disease, thought to be a mixture of scurvy, pneumonia, and tuberculosis. To their grief, only fifty-three Pilgrims and half of the crew survived.

However, history was about to be made.

I am in awe at the courageous undertaking of a handful of people trying to escape English tyranny and religious persecution; putting their courage where their mouth was and sailing across the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, eventually to found this great nation of ours.

The caliber of people that made that crossing typifies the selfless courage of the average American spirit. This country was built on the backs of fifty-three courageous men and women.

It was a shame that the journey that had brought all but two of them safely to the New World, had ended so terribly. They had no idea what they were about to start, but they didn’t care - THEY WERE FREE. They all knew too well that there is a cost for freedom.

For the next one-hundred and fifty-six years, Plymouth, Massachusetts would grow to 13 colonies and in 1776, July 4th; the Continental Congress authored, established, and ratified the Declaration of Independence. They signed it on August 2nd of that same year and America was born.

Two-hundred and thirty-three years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence, many lives were lost defending this great country. In fact, since the ratification, America has defended her existence fifty-three times in wars and conflicts. Only through the undying loyalty, patriotism, and sacrifices of soldiers, and through the grace of Almighty God, has she managed to defeat every enemy that has come against her.

I proudly served my country in the Air Force but I served her in peacetime so I do not know what it’s like to storm a hill or beat the brush looking for an enemy. Thank God I’ve never had to kill a man or be shot at. I can only guess as to what a soldier thinks as he prepares for battle or what he thinks during battle. How does a man prepare himself possibly to die?

What does he think about while lying in the trenches? Does he think about the possibility that he might have to kill a man who is doing nothing more than fighting for his country as well? Is he thinking about the possibility that he may not return in one piece or worse yet. . .not at all. I have to wonder if he has the luxury of thinking about his wife, his children, his friends, or the way of life that he left behind. A split second of misdirected thought can get a soldier killed. However, the one thing that the entire human race has in common is survival.

Every soldier would give his life in the protection of his country and for another comrade in arms. To this, I give my thanks and total respect.

I thought of the many men and women who, for over two-hundred and thirty-three years, have died defending our country. However, I feel all of them turning over in their graves and I can hear all their voices in unison, “Socialism? What. . .are. . .you. . .thinking? This is what I died for? You mean to tell me that I sacrificed my life, my family, my hopes, my dreams, and my desires to offer my services to a country that I love; for a country that I’d die for – and did, so that people could live in a socialistic society? You have spit in my face.”

Nobody knows the actual number of people who have died defending this great nation from her detractors but most statisticians estimate that between 1776 and 2009 one-million ninety-four thousand nine-hundred and seventy-six soldiers have lost their lives in war and conflicts on the battlefield.

That’s one-million ninety-four thousand nine-hundred and seventy-six shattered hopes, dreams, and desires. Each one of those families continued without a father, or a brother, an uncle, or a friend. I am sickened, especially in light of the direction in which our leaders are taking this country. I have to ask, “Whose side are they on?”

After all the death and carnage that we have gone through as a nation, it is unconscionable that we would give up and acquiesce to anybody at all, let alone to socialism. We are, in fact, spitting in the faces of the soldiers, not only of today, but in the faces of those who have died before them. We are also spitting in the faces of the families who have lost loved ones in battle. In effect, we are minimizing their service, sacrifice, and death. As an American it sickens me and brings me to tears. Once freedom is lost, you cannot get it back.

Where are the leaders of today with the courage of that handful of people who would weather the storm of the Atlantic Ocean, the seasickness, the death, and disease, with nothing but a chamber pot for a toilet?

I honor our troops and each one of us owes them our lives. How many of us take our freedoms for granted while they sleep in mud holes with no heat, no running water, or not even a chamber pot. Where are the leaders?

The troops sacrifice themselves so that you and I can watch our TV, worship at the church of our choice, and step into a private voting booth to vote for the person of our choice. Sad as it is, they even lay in the trenches for our freedom of speech so that we can speak our mind on a street corner while protesting the war and ragging on the same troops that are defending their right to do so.

As much as I honor and respect our troops, I do have one question: what will they be thinking when their superiors order them to turn their weapons on us, or worse yet, what will they do?

Lord in heaven, please have mercy on us.

Blessed is the nation whose God is the LORD; and the people whom he hath chosen for his own inheritance. Psalms 33:12 KJV.

God bless our troops who are still fighting for our cause;
God bless those soldiers who have died for us;
God bless the families who have lost loved ones in the service of our country; and
God bless America; may she reign in the hearts of men evermore.
Let freedom ring and may her flag proudly fly forever. I guarantee you that it will on my front porch! AMEN.

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Next week: “What goes around, comes around" Sometimes we are so busy seeking his hands that we do not take the time to seek his face. Like the Ephesians, of Revelation 2:4, our zeal can sometimes out last our love. I feel that this saddens Jesus.


See you next Monday and thanks for stopping by,


Your Host

James Lindquist

http://www.jameslindquist.net