"Just Got to Texas" - 'Country' Music to My Ears

These four words, "Just got to Texas," were four of the best words a father could hear yesterday. But before you can understand why those words really were music to my ears - you need to know more of the story. Only hearing the words from the heart of a father can you understand. So, to hardly anyone's surprise, I'd like to tell you a story.

You see, this story goes back to around 2009 or so, when my son was somewhere between six and seven years old, and Rebecca and I took our son to see the USS Yorktown - and it seemed like a dream was born, as Jay walked around from exhibit to exhibit with me, soaking up information and voice-over narrations of epic military careers and victories like a sponge; the Yorktown was rife with military history, and Jay seemed enthralled from the moment we set foot on the museum-aircraft carrier. I find it almost ironic, but maybe not so much, that he also showed particular interest in the Vietnam Army helicopter display in the greenery and marshland located back on shore.

Nevertheless, it was the look in my boy's eyes that sparked an idea that I plugged in the back of my mind for a while. But when we got back home to the upstate, I told my wife my idea about taking my boy on father-son military trips, if that was the kind of career my son wanted to do. I wasn't about to tell Jay he had to grow up and join the military, because his old man sure didn't. But if there was a way I could help him reach his dreams, as his father? What dad won't do their best to encourage, and maybe even enable their son to follow those dreams? So Rebecca agreed that annual trips for just me and Jay were a good idea. We began a tradition after that, where every spring break, Jay and I would pick a central military focus of destination, and I would plan a short four-day trip or so around that. To this day, these trips are some of the best memories I will ever have.

Fast forward a little over a year, and my son's dream and talk of military was only reinforced when I met an air force recruiter who worked out with me at the gym. He heard me talk all about my son, and he gave me this cool blue and silver US Air Force backpack, full of brochures of jets and weaponry used by the air force. I was on the fence about a possible career change from fitness at the time, and when my son's eyes lit up at the air force stuff, I had an epiphany. I thought to myself, "What if, I actually try a career as a police officer like I thought about when I was in second grade? What if, Jay sees his dad in uniform every day? Will that at least keep the seed of his dream growing?"

I couldn't help but wonder, will this be a way I can serve my community, inspire my son, and serve the Lord - all at the same time? And so before I knew it, I was graduating from the SC Criminal Justice Academy, and meanwhile, my son grew, joined the Civil Air Patrol, and eventually high school ROTC for four years. So you see - part of this story is all about a young man, making his dad so proud, because he followed his dreams, and our family got to see the dream in motion along the way.

But this is only a small part of the story.

See, when the day came for Jay to finally deploy, wearing a US Army uniform, it might have hit his old man even harder than it hit his mother. Suddenly, pride in my boy who was now a man, took a back seat to an almost surreal reality, as potential of an enemy taking pot shots at my son took a foothold in my mind for the first time. Now please don't misunderstand me. Jay hadn't set out to be some Navy SEAL, or Delta Force member. But I knew from experience now, that once you don a uniform, you become a prime target for those that consider themselves enemies of that uniform. And for the first time in Jay's young career, he was going to serve, in a "whole other country." That's right - our son was being deployed to an as-yet-undisclosed foreign country, and I was more worried and nervous than rationality could explain. I hid it well for a little while. But the worry made itself known to friends and family.

In the meantime, shortly before this part of Jay's adventure had started, I had already started seminary. And just two weeks after my son departed for that foreign country, I became an ordained minister through our church, to serve as a community chaplain. I was starting to answer a call I'd heard myself, in a dream if you will, and I needed to answer that call. And I am convinced, that once our son left for a foreign land, and my wife lent her full support to my new service to the Lord - that is when Satan attacked.

Just to give a brief example, Jay had his own problems shortly after he left. Meanwhile, our dog Gracie died. I had to have hip surgery, which was a blessing a long-time coming, but the complications definitely interfered with normal life. Then my wife battled her own difficulty processing Jay being deployed, and then suffered from some exotic virus and ended up in the hospital. It wasn't too long after she got over that, that school let out for her job, and while she was visiting a friend down in Florida, she fell through an attic floor, to concrete 12 feet below! So to sum up, since Jay had left, both of his parents had become temporarily crippled, one of his dogs died, and there was trouble in paradise at home, because my wife's stubborn husband had become one ornery temperamental fellow when attempting to switch roles in the house due to her severe injuries.

However, there is a small part to this that I cannot leave out here. For you see, it is an essential part to understand the whole story. While our son was away, and before he even left this great country, prayers were said, by many people. Our church prayed for Jay. He was put on our church's prayer list. My parents said that my old home church also prayed for Jay. I had coworkers, at both my assigned school and the Sheriff's Office, who attend church regularly, tell me that they prayed for Jay and all of our troops to stay safe. My wife and I prayed for Jay; a few times together, but also separately. And before I cranked my patrol car, each and every day, the last person I always prayed for, like clockwork before calling myself 10-41...I prayed for God to bring my son and all of his buddies, safe and sound, back to their home country.

And of course, in that brief but temporary scare they called the '12-Day War' between Israel and Iran, when missiles were launched at US bases, I pulled over in a church parking lot and prayed. And sure enough, every week, every few days, and on occasion several days in a row, we would hear from our son on the communication app determined to work best.

Life kept on, but no real word on when our boy and his fellow soldiers would be back home.

And so it was, Satan attacked again. I finished sharing Scripture with the church while my wife was laid up at home, recovering from her injuries in what will be a much longer recovery to come. And I came home, and started arguing. Before I knew it, we had both said some mean things, and I was kicking myself for being such a horrible husband, yet still fussing while I made our lunches out of her sight, in the kitchen.

Then, there was silence.

I kept making a sandwich, when my wife's voice quivered a little, but sounded happy. She broke the silence.

"I know four words, that will make all of this go away, Honey," she said.

Well, I have decent intuition on occasion, and so my brain immediately registered that the only news that either one of us could get, and the only words that could make everything better for both our lives in that very moment of conflict, was news of Jay's date of return. It turns out, our boy sure can keep a secret. But I asked, "Jay-is-coming-home?" half-hearted and still thinking surely not, for the rascal would have said something to us.

She simply answered with the four-word text message;

"Just got to Texas!"

The words were like a thunderbolt of humility, and the sweetest sound of country music to my ears at the same time. Country music is what came to my mind, because of all the places to represent America, for my patriotic son to come back to his own country - and it was TEXAS! And Country music is my favorite music, and those four words were exactly like my wife said. They made everything that worried both of us, in that moment, go away, kind of like a good old-fashioned George Strait song.

But have you ever had the perfect frequency of sound hit you, vibrate your heart, and bring you to your knees? Because in that moment, I guess because of different mental stress at the time, and my concern that the Devil was dead-set against me and this ministry I have entered, receiving news of the return of my son to American soil, was God's ultimate perfect sound, hitting my heart and ears at the same time. I crashed to my knees holding my chest, and I cried tears of joy. It was a timing thing, surely; it had to be! But I cannot explain it. I cannot fully describe it with the right words. Thunderbolt of humility - that's the best way I can put it. It was like God had to humble me to realize, despite all of the stress from life, and pressure from writing long papers with deadlines, and wondering what the future holds for my wife's health, God spoke through all of that; "Remember what you prayed for every day? Well, I remember." The humility is what shook my heart.

"Just got to Texas" - ha! I would have paid money to hear the cheers of the guys when they touched down on the tarmac.

I did explain it to Rebecca like this. I told her that I couldn't help but wonder, if the parable Christ told about the prodigal son was a real event. And although our son was definitely not prodigal ('wastefully or recklessly extravagant'), I can't help but wonder, was this how the father felt? Did he receive a thunderbolt of humility, because of joy, guilt, wonder, happiness, relief, all hitting his heart at once, when he saw his son coming down the hill?

That is what it was like for this middle-aged father. There - you reached the end of my story. I hope you can at least feel, or understand, some of my joy.

Just got to Texas, indeed.

Well-played, son. Well-played.