Phil’s Journey

It was in 1957 that I had just hitch-hiked to Inglewood, California, from Rochester, N.Y. Some 3000 miles, and seven days later, walking and hitch-hiking my way across the country. My trip began with 26 dollars and a small carrying case.

I found myself in California without money, family, or friends. Jobs were scarce in the area, so I joined the Marines. After I put my signature on the dotted line at the recruiting office, they told me I would have to wait three days before going to boot camp at Camp Pendelton.

Without money and no place to go, the recruiting officer arranged an empty cell for me at the local jail; the door remained unlocked. And so, for a few days, I lived on the county’s charity for the next three days.
On the bus to Camp Pendleton were some 30 or 40 other young men like me. We were all puffed up and already calling ourselves Marines. How little did I understand what truly made a Marine! As we drove into the base, you could see companies of men marching up and down the parade fields. A few of those marching had three stripes on their arms and appeared to be yelling something continually at the various companies of marching men.

Soon, the bus stopped, then told to get off. As we stood alongside the bus, we heard, loud and clear, “Hup two, three four; Hup two three four;” this is the cadence count for marching soldiers. Some of those marching were carrying rifles; others were not. Then there was us; we were still in our civilian clothes, beards, mustaches, long hair, mismatched clothing, and whatever. Without any fanfare, three sergeants walked up to us, told us to get in ranks, and then began to call us every name in the book.

I was sure this one sergeant was going to shoot some of us with the 45 he had holstered at his side; anyway, I thought at least one or two of us. What puzzled me was that he had no particular reason but to make himself and the other two sergeants have a good laugh.
They marched us to a particular staging area, and as we approached, other Marines, most having one stripe, were laughing and shouting at us, “You’ll be sorry!”
I remember thinking, “Sorry for what?” Well, that question was answered shortly. Two hours later, I asked myself, “What the heck am I doing here?” As the days passed, my worst fears began to surface; “Can I cut it.” I began to doubt myself, asking myself, “Do I have enough in me to stay the course?” The Marines will make you dig deep into your physical and mental self. They have a way of letting you let go of who you were, then begin rebuilding each from the ground up, rebuilding us into a unique fighting force.

After three months, less than half of the original group graduated boot camp; the others had dropped out or were given something less than honorable discharges. Those who graduated would not be recognized if we compared them to those who stepped off the bus that first day. They were proud, loyal, and courageous men, every last one of them looking forward to tomorrow. I did not doubt that they would have given themselves for the others.

The one thing drummed into every Marine is loyalty, obedience, and unity; loyalty to your fellow Marines, the Corp, and the United States of America; obedience to those given the authority over you; and a total oneness of body and spirit. When discharged, I was proud to have been honored to serve with other Marines, men I still call my friends, and for the privilege to serve my country.

So here I am some 62 years later, marching to the new cadence of the Lord Jesus Christ. Of course, being a Christian has a certain marching cadence. If not, one would be out of step with most others of the faith. The head of this army sent us His best instructor. He has no proper name, so we call him the Holy Spirit. He will meet each recruit when they arrive, not with threats and profane words, but with love and understanding.

The love He teaches is that of our Lord Jesus and the Father in heaven. His patience reminds us that He understands who we are: people of the flesh, recruits, and those without knowledge and lacking spiritual perception. All recruits must be brought to a staging area, issued particular instructions, given specific material, the Bible, then introduced to our fellow brothers and sisters and finally taught the hard lessons of loyalty, obedience, and unity. We must learn to let go of who we are to be reborn, a new person in Christ Jesus.

I’m sorry to say many will drop out, and that’s so very sad. But those who remain will be proud to call themselves Christian, having pledged themselves to serve and unashamed of the gospel. Those who finish can be trusted in any battle that may ensue because they have vowed to give all they have, each following in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, who, with all honor and faithfulness, gave Himself wholly for all of us. And because of this, I have grown to trust His every word.

There are no diplomas, uniforms, or external marks to show that we are Christians. But there will be a way about us, an air of pride, a show of kindness, a glow from within, the final proof being heard in our speech and seen in our work. Our rewards lie before us. All that’s required is faith, moved by love. When this life is over, I will be proud to say, “I am a Christian,” and I am humbled to have been allowed to serve our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Phillip LaSpino www.seekfirstwisdom.com