Ooh Rah. . .

Friday morning of last week I drove the two and a half hours southeast to Parris Island, South Carolina to watch my good friend Walton Satcher go from recruit to marine as he graduated from boot camp. The ceremony was stark and absent much of the pomp and circumstance that I expected. That doesn't mean it was forgettable. One sight etched in my memory came in the minutes leading up to the service. I arrived over an hour early and found Walton's family and took my seat with them. The grandstands that flanked the large reviewing deck were full of men in slacks and collared shirts and women in sundresses. It was a beautiful sun-splashed affair and the occasional sea breeze off the nearby Atlantic was a welcome refreshment. All around there were light hearts and loose tongues as strangers shared the histories of their marines with one another. Digital cameras were click-clapping away, water bottles passed around with snacks, and everyone fidgeting. What will never escape my memory was the ominous sight we all could see some two hundred yards off to the right of the deck. During this entire time the whole of company D including six platoons of marines in full dress uniforms stood at perfect attention along a stand of crape myrtle trees quaking gently in the breeze. I'm not sure I've ever been so near anything so fierce in appearance my whole life. I haven't been able to shake the thought of those men that day nor has my heart cooled from the fervor of the gratitude I felt for their commitment and sacrifice. I pray they be instruments of God's wrath alone and know the blessedness of peacemaking in all their endeavors. God bless you Walton.