Paul Washer on Marriage

Ok, I had planned on doing another Veterans post, but nothing was really jumping out at me.

Instead, I was listening to a message from Paul Washer this morning regarding marriage, and I thought it was excellent and wanted to share. I think he does a great job of showing that marriage isn't: what can I get out of this, but rather: Here, I have a chance to show love - I can give of myself and be Christ-like. You can click below to download the .mp3 file and listen to it yourself. It is about 41 minutes, I believe.

Please, ignore his mistake of using the wrong translation...

Paul Washer - Destroying Pop Views of Marriage

Just "his" thoughts...

No More Veterans

No, my title is not a suggestion to disband the military!

A veteran is someone that used to fight in the military. It is someone that used to stand fast in his post. it is someone that used to be at a place where they would give up their lives for their country.

In the Spiritual battle, we have WAY TOO MANY veterans! We have way too many people that used to fight in the battle against Satan and his wiles. We have way too many people that used to stand fast in his post defending against the attacks, protecting their families, protecting their churches. We have way too many people that used to be at a place where they would give up their lives for their place of citizenship: the heavenly kingdom.

We need to have no more veterans! At least not in the spiritual war.

Ecclesiastes 8:8 says, "...there is no discharge in that war..." If there is no discharge in the spiritual war, if God doesn't come down and say to the person, 'You've done your fighting, you can go home now and relax,' then the only other option I can think of is that the person that used to be fighting is now AWOL. He is absent, without leave. God didn't discharge him from the battle, but he's home now, doing what he wants - without God's permission.

Pastor Grace last night preached on old people... Sorry, but he did. He preached on staying in the battle. Joshua was old and stricken in years, and the Lord said unto Him, thou art old and stricken in years (Joshua 13:1)! But He goes on to say to him, and there are yet many battles to fight.

Regardless of your age, stay in the fight. Let's not have any more "veterans" in this war - or should I say - let's not have any more "deserters!?"

Just a thought...

Huckabee

Ok, this post is specifically for two of my favorite bloggers (I mean, they are 2 out of the top like 10).

Alex Sluk has posted that we ought to support Mike Huckabee for President in 2008.

Shannon Young on the other hand has sent me jokes via email in the past (I thought he had posted them, but I don't seem to be able to find them) about Chuck Norris. Things like:

• 60 or not Chuck Norris is a killing machine....he doesn't do push ups, he pushes the world down!
• Chuck Norris is the only man to ever defeat a brick wall in a gameof tennis.
• Chuck Norris is the reason why Waldo is hiding
• Chuck Norris’ tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried

But, anyway, Chuck Norris is a veteran of the United States Air Force (keeping this post viable for Veteran's week). And now, to tie Shannon & Alex's interests together:

Chuck Norris is now campaigning for Mike Huckabee... I would say that according to Shannon, it must be that he will win, right!?

Just a thought

Gary Beikirch - For His Honor

Keeping in the theme of Veterans Day for the week, I made a statement in yesterday's post that I "thought" my father-in-law may have had some military action as well... Ends up that I was right, and that, in fact, he did serve in Vietnam :)

Ok, if any of you don't know, I married the daughter of Gary Beikirch, a recipient of the Medal of Honor - the highest award for valor in action against an enemy force. This medal is usually presented by the President of the United States himself. Anyway, a while back Gary wrote a personal testimony of parts of his life. I decided that I would post it here today... and even though it's long, (just trying to keep up with Aaron Putney), I suspect it will get more readers than most of my regular, shorter posts!

For His Honor
By
Gary Beikirch

April 1, 1970… over thirty years ago but I can still hear the screams, the explosions, the gunfire. I can still see the faces. April Fools Day… if only it all could have been a joke… but it was not. It was painfully real.

I was a member of a Green Beret Special Forces “A” team in Vietnam. Almost a year had passed since my arrival in Vietnam, and I believed it was the most meaningful year I had ever spent. During the past 22 years I had grown into a pretty independent, self-sufficient, “always looking for a challenge,” kind of guy. Loving in the jungles of Vietnam gave me plenty of challenges, and now on this day I would face the greatest challenge of my life.

Our peaceful, Montagnard jungle camp was surrounded by 3 North Vietnamese regiments. Inside the camp of Dak Seang were 12 Americans and 2300 Montagnard villagers (mostly women and children). It is their screams and the images of their lifeless bodies I cannot get rid of.

Artillery and rockets began pounding the camp in the early morning and continued for hours. Then the “human wave” assault of ground troops began. Our jungle home had become a scene of horror, terror and death.

Running across an open area I saw a wounded Montagnard (we affectionately called them “Yards”) lying on the ground. As I was trying to bandage his wounds I heard “IT” coming… like a diesel train… more artillery… maybe a 122 mm rocket.

As I threw my body over the wounded man to shield him from the explosions I felt like I had been kicked in the back by a horse. Shrapnel from the blasts had slammed into my back and abdomen. The concussion from the blast had thrown me about 25 feet into a wall of sandbags by our mortar pit. I tried to get up but could not move my legs. I remember thinking, “Well, at least I’m alive…” and, “Hey!!! There’s a Purple Heart.” I looked back to see what had happened to the “Yard” I was helping and all I saw were pieces… the explosion had torn him apart. How? Why? I was lying on top of him. Why am I still alive? These questions would later plague me for years, but right then there was too much to do.

Two other “Yards” came by and picked me up. They wanted to take me to the medical bunker but I yelled, “NO!! We’ve got things to do up here.” For hours they carried me as we treated the wounded, dragged bodies, distributed ammo, directed fire, and fought for our lives. As I continued to lose blood I was getting weaker. Also by this time I was wounded two more times. Finally I lost consciousness.

When I awoke I realized they had taken me to the underground medical bunker. Dan, a new medic who had been in camp less than a week said, “Man, you’re hurt bad. We got to get you out of here.” I thought to myself, “Leave the people and ‘home’ I had grown to love? No way!!!” I screamed to my “Yards”… “Get me out of here. If I am going to die, I am not going to die down here.”

A year of living with these “Yards” had developed a strong bond of love and trust between us. It was this bond that made them pick me up and carry me back out into the battle.

As the battle raged on my two “Yard” friends carried me for hours, taking me where I directed them, helping me care for the wounded, shielding me, protecting me, holding me up as we continued to fight.

Later, I would again be plagued by questions of: “Why did they carry me all that time?” “Why did they stay with me?” They never left my side. “What made their love for me so strong that they were willing to risk their lives for me?”

A loud explosion brought me back to the battle as we were thrown to the ground. We heard another rocket coming in and my two friends covered me with their bodies. The explosion shook the earth, engulfed us in a cloud of smoke, and sent shrapnel and other debris raining down on us. “Let’s go!” I yelled, but only one “Yard” moved. I rolled the still, lifeless body of my friend off of me and began to check for wounds. His back had been ripped open from the shards of exploding metal. “Bac Si…” the other “Yard” said, “He’s dead.” In a battle there is little time for grief. It becomes anger and hate, and you use it for strength. From somewhere another “Yard” came, picked me up, and we continued to fight.

From this point on my memories are a swirling stream of sporadic events… unending, deafening explosions, firing an M-60 machine-gun into clouds of smoke and shadows, looking at bodies crumpled in the barbed wire perimeter, lying in a ditch watching a helicopter exploding… another one trying to come in for a med evac… strong arms reaching down and pulling me into the “warm belly” of a chopper, the face of a young medic shocked at seeing me still alive, but telling me I was going to be OK… being thrown onto a cold table… being rushed into an operating room… IV’s in my arms and neck… being turned in every direction for x-rays… catheters into every opening in my body, lights, shouting, and then… darkness.

I awoke not knowing how long I had been out. I did a quick self exam… unable to move from my waist down (I would learn later that it was only a temporary shock to my spine from the shrapnel). What is that on my stomach? My large intestine… with a plastic bag (shrapnel had burst through my large intestine and an ileostomy had been done). More tubes were in my body… one through my nose and into my stomach… my stomach! Why did it hurt so? I looked and it had been ripped open and sutured back together. Then darkness… I was once again unconscious.

These periods of being “in and out” continued… each time bringing a new awareness of life and death. Once, I came to and watched as an Australian advisor fought for his last breath and lost. As they draped the sheet over his head I began drifting into unconsciousness and wondered if this was MY death. Is this what death is like?

I awoke once more but this time my waking moments were spent battling with the deaths of so many of my frinds: the “Yard” I covered with my body, the one who carried me for hours… Why am I still alive and they are not? God, I feel so guilty, so helpless, so angry.

Days passed as I continued to come and go. Then one day I awoke and there was a chaplain standing by the next bed praying with a dying young soldier. He turned and saw my open eyes. “Glad to see you’re awake. I’ve been praying for you for a couple of days. Would you like to pray?” My answer to his question was a pleading, “I don’t know how.”

He gave me a cross and simply replied, “Doesn’t matter. God knows how to listen.” My prayer was a simple one: “God I don’t know if you’re real. I don’t know if you’re here, but I’m scared and I need you.”

Right then something happened… no flashes of light, no miraculous physical healings, no visions on the wall or by my bed, but a peace, a comfort, a “knowing” that there was Someone outside of my self that was very real, and very aware of my hurt… and my need… Someone who heard my prayer and wanted me to know that I was loved as I had never been loved before.

The next two years were spent searching to find out more about this Presence, this God that had touched my life. I traveled around the United States, through Canada, studied different philosophies, religions, searching for ways that might lead me once again to that Peace.

My search led me to a small town on the ocean just south of Boston. I was visiting a friend and told him about Vietnam, the lessons it had taught me, the questions it had left with me, and my efforts to find God. He listened and then told me that there is no mystery to finding God. Handing me a package he asked me to do him a favor and read a book. It was a New Testament.

As I read through this book the words became Life to me: “Peace I leave with you… Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” Jn 14:27. “These things have I spoken unto you that my joy might remain in you…” Jn 15:11. “Come unto me all ye that labor… and I will give you rest…” Mt 11:28.

“I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor things present nor things to come will separate us from the love of God…” Rom. 8:38-39. I knew that I had found the God who I had met in the hospital bed in Vietnam. He had seen my pain… my fear… and had given me His Peace and Comfort. As I read more of His words I learned that He wanted to become a greater part of my life. He didn’t want me to just know ABOUT Him… He wanted me to KNOW Him… to WALK with Him… to LOVE Him. He had called me his “Friend.” Jn 15:15.

After my discharge from the Army I had planned on going to medical school. However, my last year in the Army was a difficult one and my first few months as a college student were even worse. Even with my new “Friend” memories became nightmares and I believed no one, except God, could understand what I was going through. Discouraged with college and my ability to relate with others who did not understand me, I left college, packed up my bags, and headed for the beaches of Florida. There, with a Bible and backpack I stayed for a couple of months praying and asking God what He wanted me to do. I felt like His answer to me was to go into the ministry.

I couldn’t believe it! “God I can’t even talk to people. If they knew some of the things that happened in Vietnam they would hate me! I know You have forgiven me, God, but I know no one else ever could.” In spite of my arguments, my doubts, my fears His answer was still very clear… “I want you to serve Me.”

So, in September of 1973 I entered a small seminary in northern New Hampshire dedicating my life to serving the God who had given me life.

Days were spent studying but because I was still having a problem feeling comfortable around others, after classes I would escape to where I felt safe… the peace and solitude of the White Mountains. Eventually a cave on the side of Mt. Adams became “home” for the next two years.

One night a couple of weeks after I started seminary I received a phone call from Washington, DC asking me to come to Washington and be presented with the Congressional Medal of Honor by President Nixon. Coincidence?? I do not believe in coincidences any more… not when you are walking with God. However, among many other emotions I was also very confused. I knew I was not worthy of such an honor. God knew I wasn’t worthy. But as I looked to Him for the reason for this award, I saw that it was not for me but it was FOR HIS HONOR. Because of this medal, “doors” would be open to allow me to share what God had taught me in the jungles of Vietnam.

In Vietnam we had a saying that became a reality to me while lying in that hospital bed:

“To really live you must almost die. To those who fight for it, life has a meaning the protected will never know.”

I almost died, but instead learned a valuable lesson about life and about God.

You do not have to be in a war to fight for your life. Each of us fights life’s battles each day, but you do not need to face these battles alone.

God knows and sees all that we face… and this is the message He shares with each and every one of us:

No matter who you are…
...battles await you.
No matter where you are…
...in a battle or a Hospital bed...
...He is there also.
No matter what you have done…
...the guilt, The pain, the hate that you feel
...can be replaced by His peace and love.

God does love you and like a father longing for his lost child, He is waiting to hear your voice. He knows how to listen. Trust me, He heard mine. I believe, now, that God does have a plan and purpose for our lives, and although there is no mystery to finding Him… at times it is a mystery to walk with Him.

It wasn’t easy for me at first.

Even now there are times when I fail to trust Him completely, but then I remember my two “Yard” friends who… love me, protected me, and carried me when I couldn’t walk.

If I could trust them with my life shouldn’t I be able to trust Jesus?

So each day I trust and walk humbly with Him… and I wear the Medal for Him…

For His Honor

And my two “Yard” friends.

Man that is in honour and understandeth not, is like the beasts that perish”
Psalm 49:20

Happy Veteran's Day

Some of you may have today off as a holiday, celebrating Veterans Day from yesterday. Originally it was called Armistice Day because it was celebrated on 11/11, the day that the major hostilities of World War I were ended... interestingly enough it was at the 11th hour in the morning that day. But in 1954, President Dwight Eisenhower made the following proclamation:

Now, Therefore, I, Dwight D. Eisenhower, President of the United States of America , do hereby call upon all of our citizens to observe Thursday, November 11, 1954 , as Veterans Day. On that day let us solemnly remember the sacrifices of all those who fought so valiantly, on the seas, in the air, and on foreign shores, to preserve our heritage of freedom, and let us reconsecrate ourselves to the task of promoting an enduring peace so that their efforts shall not have been in vain.

I was thinking about Veterans Day and my family. I know of 2 of my 4 great-grandfathers that actually fought in World War I. My great grandpa Edwin Deming - I remember him some from when I was growing up, but my grandma tells me lots of stories about him - she loved him. And also, my great grandpa Cyrus Welton. I'm not sure about my other two great grandpas.

When we get to my Grandfathers, both of them served in World War II. I know my grandpa Thomas Eugene Taney was stationed in England, and not sure where my grandpa, George Hinds served, but I know he was in the army.

Then there's my uncles. Both my mom and dad come from a family with one girl. All 6 of my uncles and my dad served in the Armed Forces. Most of them fought in Vietnam. My dad's ship (he was a Navy man) was deployed to Vietnam, but it got turned around at the southern tip of Africa, and my uncle Randy was too young at the time for Vietnam - but he's still in the Army today, so he made up for it!

And, my father-in-law, I think I heard that he was in the military too... ?
;)

Maybe this is just my family, and it's not like this with everyone, but I find it interesting that pretty much ALL of my relatives and ancestors fought in the military for this country. Yet, in my generation, I only have one cousin that I know of (out of 18) that was in the R.O.T.C. at least.

Ok, spiritual application... I could try to say how we are in a spiritual war, and it seems that our generation has stopped fighting. I do see some truth in that, but I don't want to talk about that today. I could ask what the Christian's view on war ought to be, but that sounds too controversial for today... I could write lots of things...

Instead, Thank You, to all of you veterans and active military personnel. And to everyone else (since I know of no verterans that read my blog!), let's pray for them. Seriously.

Just a thought.