In his classic short story, "The Things They Carried," author Tim O'Brien tells the story of what men, grunts, carried in their packs while humping the boonies of Vietnam. The second paragraph begins:
The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the necessities or near-necessities were P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dog tags, mosquito repellant, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kook-Aid, lighters, matches, sewing kits, Military Payment Certificates, C-rations, and two or three canteens of water. Together, these items weighed between 15 and 20 pounds, depending on a man's habits or rate of metabolism."
That wasn't counting his rifle, K-Bar knife, extra magazines of ammunition, pistol and its ammunition, helmet, flack jacket (if he chose to wear it) and soggy clothes, sodden with sweat and humidity. In short, the GI had a lot to carry on his back, body, and finally, on his feet.
My son left for boot camp yesterday. He has enlisted in the United States Navy. While there is a new movement growing in the home renovation industry towards minimalism and the tiny house, the Navy takes it to all new levels of "less-is-more." Even in boot camp, the list of "can-haves" is practically a footnote in length compared to the laundry list of "can't haves." He can have: three small books, a religious pendant that must be smaller than his dogtags, his own running shoes, a watch, and his personal health items that he purchases when he gets there. For his books, he took a small Bible, a small prayer book, and a small notebook that serves as an address book. His pendant is a small steel circle stamped with Luther's Rose and "LUTHERAN" on the back. We tucked a few bandaids and a couple of stamps inside the cover, hoping they pass muster. His shoes must be plain colored. The watch must be an old-school "stupid" watch. No iWatches are allowed because there is no I in Navy. I kid you not. His civvies will be stored in a small box that he will get back when he graduates. In the meantime, everything he owns - excuse me, "is issued" - including his uniforms, must fit into a very small space. It's preparing him for life on a ship where your storage is the space under your bed and a small wall locker. His curly, thick locks will be shorn off, the barber playing the part of a sheep shearer, cutting so just a shadow of hair remains above the skin. He's no longer Christopher. He's Seaman Recruit Meyer.
In short, part of boot camp is to strip the individual of all individuality and create simply the brotherhood and sisterhood of sailor. I am a United States Sailor...
When I received the Luther's Rose pendant from our LCMS Ministry to the Armed Forces, I tried to find a stainless steel necklace that he could use. I figured stainless steel would be more durable than silver, while being less valuable so that sticky recruit fingers, tempted by the value, would be less likely to S.T.E.A.L - Strategically Transfer Equipment to Alternate Locations - it. The chain had too large of an eye on each end, however, and it didn't fit the small hole in the pendant. I ordered a slightly smaller chain and hung the pendant on it, and then hung the necklace around his neck shortly before we left for San Antonio.
I am now wearing the original, too-large necklace. I found a small pendant that I hung on it, a pendant that someone must have given him. It has Chris' confirmation verse on it from Jeremiah 29:11, "I know the plans I have for you..." I don't know how much it weighs; combined, probably just a couple of ounces. It's funny. Mathematically, I shouldn't notice it at all. It weighs less than my Seiko steel-body watch, my ring of church keys, a steel pen I sometimes carry, and about as much as my small Swiss Army knife. But, I feel the weight around my neck. Perhaps it's just a sort-of placebo effect - I think about it so I feel it. But it feels like there is a heavy chain, not a light necklace, around my neck. I feel it, just as I feel his absence at home.
I feel his absence so I wear the necklace. I wear the necklace and I feel his absence.
In a sense, his being at boot camp makes my fatherly vocation easier. He is not under my roof. I do not have to make sure has food to eat. I don't have to buy another pair of Levis this fall because the old ones are too short. I don't have to fuss at him for leaving his socks in a birds-nest of a pile in front of the couch (and I don't get to practice my bowline tying using said socks). I don't have to worry about his being out late or getting him up early.
But, his being gone makes my fatherly vocation harder because I am having to surrender these responsibilities to someone else - his DIs, the Navy, and, most of all and most importantly, to God Himself.
That's always been true. I full-well know that my son has always been a gift of God, entrusted to me to rear and then set free to be a Godly man in the world. But now, that surrendering has a whole new meaning and faith, that which is hoped for yet unseen, has a new aspect to it. I must trust the Lord's promise, given to my son in Baptism, and that He will care for Junior both now - outside my watchful gaze - and into eternity.
So, I wear the necklace and pendant. I wear it to help me remember my son and pray for him even more dilligently than ever before. I wear it to remind me that the Lord is faithful, and He will watch over my son. I wear it to remind me that faith rests in the unseen promises of God which are, in fact, grounded in the seen promises fulfilled in the cross of Jesus.
That's the same cross I made on Chris' forehead and heart on the morning that I baptized him eighteen years ago. "Receive the sign of the cross on your forehead and heart that you have been redeemed by Christ the crucified."
And, when he kneels at the rail at the chapel in boot camp to receive the sacrament, and his dog tags click against his Luther's Rose pandant, and when I kneel at the rail at Zion in Mission Valley, and I feel the necklace weighing on my neck, in that moment, we will worship together even while separated by the miles.
That's what the cross does. It unites us in Christ.
And the pendant lets me carry just a bit of what my son carries.
Excuse me...I think I have something in my eyes.
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