Commotion in the Pews

Last week, April 29th, to be precise, I was pretty danged mad about the speech/talk given by MCPON (Master Chief Petty Officer Of The Navy) Russell L. Smith.  I’d followed the issues on the George Washington in the news the last few weeks, and realized that this was a ship/crew in trouble. So, when I read his remarks, mind you brief excerpts, I posted the item below on Facebook: 

For one thing, his speech should have been an off-the-record talk with what we called the “Goat Locker.” The Goat Locker is the Chief Petty Officers group on a ship. The senior enlisted guys. You can give a “suck-it-up-buttercup” speech to them and they have the cultural context to put it to use and spread it out to the troops below. But there remain two other issues with the talk.

First, the Captain of the ship should never allow this kind of thing. It undermines his authority. 

Second, you never go to a miserable bunch of people with huge problems and tell them it could be way worse, remind them of how much longer life is going to suck, and then badger them with your problems.

If you listen to this guy, he fields questions from the crew. Some crew members make pretty good suggestions. His response is essentially, “I’d like ice cream and a backrub as well, but I’m not going to get them so you aren’t getting hot water. No money for either one, don’t bother me with that crap unless you know a way to pay for it.”

Gotta tell you, if I was in that crew, even as a miserable, lowly Second Class Petty Officer I’d be a Third Class by the end of the week, because my mouth would have engaged well before my brain. How do I know? Because I don’t filter well, never did.

So, how does this story end? Today, Big Navy (what we call the monster that impersonally ruled our lives) decided to move the sailors off the ship. This means they get hot chow, showers, places to sleep away from the noise and filth of repair work. I also suspect that Big Navy is flooding the area with counselors and chaplains. They’d better. It is inexcusable that they let it get this bad, and they had to fix it. 

Why? Because a ton of us old sailors were all speaking publicly about how much this sucks. Yes, there are some old sailors who still chant, “My life sucked, yours should too!” when this stuff happens. But the majority of us seem to get it. We would want to be treated better, and now the sailors who could be my grandchildren are in need of my support.

And that’s why I write this blog today. The MCPON has lost my faith. Time to retire. Let’s get a Master Chief in there who can fix the damage. I knew a whole lot of them when I was young that I’d follow through the gates of hell. There’s got to be one ready to take that mantle.

I pray that is the case. And I pray for the crew of the U.S.S. George Washington. Father, take good care of my shipmates.

If you or someone you know needs help, the Veterans Crisis Hotline is staffed 24 hours a day, seven days a week, at 800-273-8255, press 1. Services also are available online at www.veteranscrisisline.net or by text, 838255.

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Today’s entry will be short. The Bible says to pray in closets. That’s a paraphrase, but essentially do good things because they are good and not because you want recognition or to be seen as pious.

I have, over the years, disobeyed this to provide examples of the profound impact you, beloved reader, can have with a small investment of prayer, genuine concern, and occasionally a few bucks.

The subject of this story is irrelevant and I wouldn’t want to embarrass the person if they read the blog. So, the story is told without specifics.

I observed a man with whom I have regular interactions struggling with his job. I jokingly asked if the job was kicking his tail that day. He turned to me with a truly sad face and said the whole world was kicking his behind. Tears and a tremble lurked in his face. 

I asked if I could pray for him, and he agreed. I put a hand on his shoulder and reached out to God for some comfort to descend. When I finished he said, “What I could really use is a hug. Could you do that?”

Heck yes. And I did. Mind you, I was at my usual/recent grooming level: sweaty and dirty from working on the orchard I’m growing. It was a good hug and he smiled a bit and went back to his task. 

I grabbed a bottle of cold water for him and some cash I had set aside for such times since his troubles essentially resolved around a cash crunch. Both were delivered, greatly received, and he finished his task. He left much buoyed from where he had been ten minutes before. Good deed for the day was done.

A week later I’m out in the field sculpting water basins out of compacted sugar sand for the new trees. Head to toe dirt and sweat. I’m wearing the same gross clothing two days in a row to avoid wrecking any new togs with the yuck from splitting and planting plantains that morning. I’m ripe. 

He pulls up in the driveway and I walk over to see what’s up. First up, a big smile and a hug. He knew from a look that I was dirty and stinky – no mind, hugs away! He asks me if I have any allergies. Nope. “Good, my daughter wanted to make you something but we didn’t want to kill you if you had an allergy.”

He then tells me how I’d turned things totally around for him with a simple act of kindness the week before. Most tradesmen (and women) are largely invisible to us. They fix our water system, deliver the package, mow the lawn, or provide some other service. It’s not that we don’t love them as our brother or sister, but we’re busy and they’re often on a tight schedule. Having been an invisible person doing landscaping, security work, janitorial work, etc., I go out of my way to recognize them as a person. I know it used to make me very happy when I got that few minutes of contact at the security desk, or when a homeowner brought out a cold can of soda when I was working their garden with the weed whip. I would be less than God wants if I didn’t try to honor those who serve me on a daily basis.

At any rate, I find out that the little bit of cash I gave him didn’t forestall the repossession of his car, but it was enough to repair the other car his wife had that wasn’t running. He can still make it to work, his mood is up because he knows he’s important to God, and he’s back to being the thriving young man I first met months ago.

The point is, that bottle of water, the couple of bills you won’t miss but make a big difference to a young person who’s struggling, or the simple act of praying for a relative stranger can elevate them out of the depths. 

It’s all part of a pattern: be kind to strangers for you never know when angels walk amongst us.

Now, I hope I’m home when the cupcakes show up. I’m betting they’re the best thing I eat in 2022.