A public service announcement

This is a friendly reminder that while I am out of pocket, there very well may be something in my wife's pocket.  My children are well protected.  And, she shoots with her eyes closed, so I cannot guarantee a clean kill.  That is all.  As you were.



Then again, in all seriousness, the unsung heroes of any war are those who stay behind.  Our military spouses deserve far more respect than they will ever receive.  It is the staying behind, in the mundane, continuing the routine, alone, without the grand adventure... that is the greater sacrifice.  God has blessed me with a hero for a wife.  She believes in what we are doing, which is why when I board this plane in a few minutes I can hold my head high.  My kids will be just fine - better than fine - they have a hero for a mom!  Now, that... is all.

War Stories (pt. 2)

We were drilling one hot summer day in late August of 1949 on our drill field in front of our barracks.  We were in small columns, going through all the commands.  We were doing just fine until 3 young Caucasian ladies dressed in tight t-shirts and short shorts riding bicycles right past us.  Those giving the commands were watching the girls, forgetting their columns.  So we just kept marching; of course were looking at the girls too.  There were columns all over the field – colliding into one another, rifles dropping, helmets falling off, men banging into one another; complete chaos!  It wasn’t just a few columns, it was all of them.  It was so funny, that even our officers were bending over laughing.  It looked like the Keystone Cops in the old silent movies.  Real togetherness!

This is part of our history.  I wish it never happened, but it did.  Five of us would eat out nearly every night.  We would go about five towns in the opposite direction of Tokyo, because all the other GI’s went there.  It would be nice and quiet and gave us a chance to sit back and talk.  We always left camp around 4:30.  This particular day I didn’t go because I was on prison chaser at our camp stockade and didn’t get off duty until 6:00 that evening.  The next morning I got a terrible shock.  The four men, Frank Camper, Jessie Mereman, Clarence Peters, and Sgt. Taylor had just walked through the gate into our camp.  They were in the curve of the road and being foggy, an MP jeep plowed into them.  The jeep was going too fast for conditions and was on the wrong side of the road.  It killed Frank Camper and killed Jessie Mereman.  Sgt. Taylor and Clarence Peters both got knocked down and bruised.  The army court marshaled the MP and he was sent away.  The next 2 weeks were terrible.  No matter where our Co. marched; every time we saw an MP jeep, we broke ranks and ran to the side of the road yelling, look out it’s the MP’s.  They’ll run you down!  No matter how many we saw in a day, we did the same dumb thing.  After about 2 weeks of this Col. Clainos came to our mess hall and took off his silver leaf from his collar and said he wanted to talk man to man.  He told us he had real good MP’s, but they were putting transfers to other outfits and he didn’t want to loose them because of one man’s mistake.  We all stood up and applauded him, and never again did we do it!  It did show our Co. was willing to stick together even when we were wrong.

On maneuvers at Mount Fuji, we were called out for formation.  Our Co. CO. chewed us out for not having haircuts.  He gave us 2 hrs. to get it done and have another formation to be checked out.  Back in our 9 men tents we got busy clipping hair.  Someone came up with the idea of a mohawk, so we did, all of us.  Our Captain had us uncover at the next formation.  Boy, was he made.  We had to wear steel helmets the rest of the time we were there.

We were pre-warned that by no means can anyone leave camp while on maneuvers.  If we got caught it would be 6 months at the Big Eight Stockade.  Eight weeks was the most we could handle – we still had 2 weeks to go, so we all snuck out of camp... – 5 miles to town.  The MP’s brought us back into camp by the truckload.  The next day we got chewed out for not taking the Co. flag.  Again it was 100% participation!

There was no doubt in my mind that B troop would fulfill all the duties that would be expected of them in Korea.

to be continued...

War Stories (pt. 1)

B Troop - 1949

by Richard Keith Dowell

There had been some talk about our troops in the Korean War were not combat ready.  I believe they were talking about strength, not ability or willingness.  At the outbreak of the war June 25, 1950, the 1st Cav. Div. could muster up only 11,000 men being 1/3 understrength.  Missing our 3rd Battalions in each of our 3 Regiments and 3rd Battalions in our 4 artillery Battalions.  Never-the-less, let me tell you the enthusiasm of B Troop, 1st Battalion, 7th Cav. Regt. Station at Camp Drake, 18 miles from Tokyo, Japan (Occupation troops).  We were what you might call advanced combat training Unit.  We had all the basics, but trained in much greater detail.  We would work out battles on a sand table, then put it into practice on the field, by squads, platoons and Co.  We would have sham battles with other Cos., night fighting and commando raids.  We fired all small arms weapons, learned som judo, and hand to hand combat practice.  We pulled guard duty throughout the camp, gate guard, prison guard and taking prisoners on work details.

Every Thursday we had a 30 mile full field pack forced march.  It was 15 miles up and 15 miles back.  We would be back to camp by 2pm for lunch.  Every morning started with calisthenics and once a week the Btn. got together and did them with our rifles.  We called it the Clainos Boogie, after Battalion Commander.

Twice in one year and a half we went to Mount Fuji on maneuvers which was the best training we could have had.

When I entered B troop we had a first Sgt. that could make a good day bad, and a bad day worse.  He was a frustrated exboxer, built like Lil Abner and wanted to whip anyone and everyone.  It would start the same way every morning.  We would fall out for formation.  Standing at attention, our 1st Sgt. would ask if anyone thought if they could whip him.  If so, step out.  Of course no one would.  That gave me confidence in our Co.  At least we didn't have any dummies in our troop.  We did have a light weight boxer, a little Mexican boy.  He hated the 1st Sgt. even more than the rest of us.

In the summer of 1949, our Battalion went to Mount Fuji.  One day while in the field, the two boxers got into an argument.  The little Mexican got real mad, put his bayonet on his rifle and went after our 1st Sgt.  The Sgt., being much bigger, stronger, and knowing combat tactics  took the rifle away from him, slapped him around a little and let it go at that.  But when he went to climb into his sack, there laid a dud mortar round, which could go off at any moment.  It was reported to the higher ranks.  The next morning both men were shipped out and in different directions.  We never saw either one again.

Our next 1st Sgt. was a real swell guy.  Everyone liked him.  He was just a little fellow and knew the reputation of our previous 1st Sgt.  Every morning at reveille, after the morning report, he would ask if anyone thought they could whip him to step forward, but before anyone had a chance to he'd give us right face, forward march, then laugh.  Of course we were all laughing too.

Coming back to camp from field work we would route step until we were outside of camp, then to attention, full step and sing Cadence   We had a man named Polippovich, who had a deep clear voice.  He would drop back to the center of the Co. and sing every army song their was.  The civilians that worked in the offices would yell out B troop was coming in and they would all run down and line up on the side walks to watch and listen to our songs.  I don't care how tired you would be, singing really picked us up and gave us a feeling of pride.

to be continued...

An Example Worth Following

This is a photo of my grandparents and my oldest son, Joel.  This would be the only time any of my boys will meet him in this life.  That's O.K.  We'll have all of eternity to catch up.  I remember my dad and grandad talking about how much fun I'll have when I meet my great-grandpa Dowell.  I get to pass those anticipations on to my kids about their great-grandpa.  They can hear his stories one day, while sitting in the shade of his fabled "prime rib tree" in heaven.

Grandpa was a colorful character.  The bobcat prominently displayed in the above photo provides as good a story as any to describe him.  On a leisurely drive through the backroads of SW Kansas Grandpa spotted a pair of eyes in the fence row.  Having a handicapped hunting permit he hobbled out of the van packing a .357 magnum.  He was so old and so sick he had to coordinate the shot with the shakiness of his hand.  The bullet went in an eye and came out the ear, leaving a flawless corpse, just begging for a taxidermist.  Seal Team 6 move over, that is how Grandpa did business.  He truly was larger than life.

This isn't Veteran's Day, Memorial Day, Grandpa's birthday, or the anniversary of his death.  I don't need a special day to remember him.  I have his medals displayed in my office next to the flag that was presented at his funeral.  Most importantly, I have a relationship with my Savior because of the legacy he passed down through my dad.

Shortly after New Year's (2013) I was poking through my parents' storage shed in Missouri and came across a briefcase full of Grandpa's notes from the Korean War.  I've heard all these stories a hundred times each, but never before have I read them sequentially.  It's been about 8 years since I've heard his voice, but I heard it again in those 31 pages of memoirs.   I want to share them with you here.  They won't appeal to everyone, but for those who read them you will meet a man worth emulating, an example worth following.  Stay tuned...

Scribbles on the Heart

Two days ago we celebrated Joel's seventh birthday. Today, we celebrate his new birth! At a little after 7:00 this evening Joel trusted Christ as His Savior! During supper, out on the patio, we were reviewing Ethan's memory verse for Sunday School - "The lord is faithful to all his promises and loving toward all He has made" (Psalm 145:13). So, does this mean we can trust God to give us a new bicycle tomorrow? Our kids apparently have a touch of the prosperity gospel in them because Joel and Ethan both answered in the affirmative. "But did God promise us a new bicycle?" Of course not, so what did He promise? "A new body when we die," Joel answered. Who will get this new body? "People who are saved." Are you one of them? "Ummm... no." And so, the real conversation began. For some time now Joel has been able to articulate saving faith very clearly for his age, and for some time he has known that saving faith is something he does not possess. We have been encouraging him to think about it, pray about it, ask questions about it, and when he is ready we will be thrilled to walk him through expressing this faith to God in repentance. So tonight I simply asked, "What is stopping you?" "Well, I just don't have the time." We all know what a seven-year-old's schedule is like, what, with all the car playing, Veggie-Tale watching and tree climbing. I told him that when he's ready we will make the time, no matter what. He said, "Then I guess we ought to do it tonight." Exactly what I was hoping for!

I encouraged him to talk to God about this while I get his brothers in bed, and then if he still thinks this is the right time we will stay up and talk some more. And so we did. I was walking him through some Scripture and came to Romans 10:9-10. "For with the heart one believes and is justified..." O boy. I forgot "justified" was in there. How do I explain "justified" to a seven-year-old? Only seconds into my explanation he said, "Wait, I know this. When we sin it's like scribbles on our heart. When we confess our sins Jesus' blood is like an eraser and then God doesn't see the scribbles anymore." Martin Luther himself couldn't have said it better!

His prayer was a beautiful seven-year-old prayer, "God, I hope you'll save me because I'm a sinner. Please forgive me, and I hope You'll help me to do what's right."

My son is now my brother, and the scribbles on his heart are forever erased. Thanks be to God!

The Human Side

John 2:1-5

While reading John, like the other Gospels, it is sometimes helpful to read it from the vantage point of the present (the time of the book’s writing) looking back. For example, John 1:11-13 leaps off the page when we consider what happens in Acts. The Gospel, scorned by the Jews, breaks free from national Israel and spreads like fire through the world of the Gentiles.

“He came unto His own, and His own received Him not.” Yes, we figured that out when they killed Him. “But to all who did receive him… were born… not of the will of man, but of God.” Ah, that explains what happened on Pentecost. God is doing this!

This story, however, I want to understand from the past. Only I can’t. What was Jesus like prior to age 30? We know about his miraculous conception. We’ve studied Mary’s “magnificat.” We know that while some said “wow” and walked away, Mary “treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Lk 2:19). We are familiar with the story of Jesus the boy genius who confounded the Rabbis and terrified His parents by hiding out in the Temple. We know that after this Jesus “increased in wisdom and in stature and in favor with God and man” (Lk 2:52) and that after this chapter Joseph is conspicuously absent from the biblical narrative. What is so mysterious to me is that after the second chapter of Luke, 18 years pass before chapter 3. What was Jesus like?

John’s Gospel opens with Jesus as the Word who was God in eternity past and then thrusts Him into the earthly scene on the heels of John the Baptist. Other than calling a small band of disciples the first thing we see of this 30 year old mysterious Deity-in-flesh is Him prematurely (in His own words) revealing His God-ness in obedience to the wishes of His mother. “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with His mom and the Word did what she told Him to do.”

I am not trying to be irreverent; I am merely trying to point out that there are some very human dynamics going on here. Mary knew that Jesus was far more than simply a man. From his conception she knew that Jesus was of God. At least by age 12 she knew that He had a special mission from His Heavenly Father. At His crucifixion it is clear that they were very close, and even into Acts we see her allegiance to her son/Savior (1:4). But, the first thing John tells us of her is that she was very comfortable playing the roll of His mother.

I can’t help but think of my relationship with my own mother, and how the Jesus/Mary relationship must have been very similar, and how it must have been very different. Several years ago when I told my mom I was considering becoming a military chaplain she said, “But those are rough people. Do you really want to be around people that rough?” What she really meant was (I think) “But you are my baby boy. I can’t imagine you hanging around with those roughnecks!” The beautiful irony of the situation was that she was on her way to Nicaragua, land of riots and kidnappings, following the journey Jesus laid out for her. What was it like for Mary when she saw the kind of company her perfect baby boy kept? Tax collectors. Lame. Prostitutes. Leprous. “But those are rough people…” And yet, unknowingly at the time, her journey would take her to the foot of her son’s cross – literally. What a roller coaster of emotions life must be for a mom.

Moms have an amazing knack for giving unsolicited advice to their sons in very inventive ways. One year while I was in Seminary, working full time, and trying to figure out how to be a dad to our first born, I got a very strange birthday present from my parents. A kite. Rebekah and I looked at each other and shrugged, and then it hit me. “I think my mom is telling me to relax,” I said. I was right, and so was she. It worked.

But surely Mary never needed to give Jesus any advice. Or is that what she is doing here? “Jesus, they have no wine (wink/nudge).” I’m not saying that Jesus needed the push. I’m just saying that maybe His mom thought He did. Several years have passed since my mom tried to talk me out of joining the military. She’s nothing but supportive now, and has been since before I made the final decision. Since then I’ve gotten her a tour of the B2 Stealth Bomber, which she loved. She saw me in my service dress for the first time recently and unable to come up with a more fitting adjective said I was “gorgeous.” I guess there was no other word capable of carrying the weight of motherly pride that was gushing out in tears and a huge smile. She’s in my corner, encouraging me, knowing that I can succeed far beyond what I am convinced is my own potential. But isn’t that what mom’s do, once they get over the initial shock of us growing up? How many men have gotten that motherly push to move out, get a job, ask the girl out… “They have no wine (wink/nudge).”

The point of all of this is that whatever conversations took place between Mary and Jesus between Luke 2 and John 2, they must have been very human. Jesus, born of a virgin, confounding the wise as a pre-teen, then shocking the human race by revealing His deity to save the face of an unnamed wedding host, was human. He had a mom just like you. They loved each other just like my mom and I do. And, just like I, at age 30, still listen to my Mom we may never have been able to tell the story of 30-year-old Jesus turning water into wine were it not for his mom saying, “Jesus, they have no wine (wink/nudge).”

Quality time with Dad

So this one time... I was playing with Seth by a river in Colorado, and well... I dropped him in. He cleaned up really nice though. It's amazing that kids survive childhood. What's more amazing is that even though we do things like drop them in the mud, they constantly want to be with us (at least the little ones do). One day when Joel was about two or three I peaked into his room as he woke up from his nap. In one smooth movement he opened his eyes, heaved his still heavy head from his pillow, and slurred with a sleepy tongue, “Daddy, let’s go play in the play room.” It seems that every waking moment these kids want to play, and they want to play with me or their mom. I'm sure that will change one day so I'm taking all I can get right now. How about you? Do you constantly crave time with your Father? We find so many things to do all day - news, work, jogging, vegging. Do you, as you lift your head from your pillow think about spending time in the presence of your Father God? You know that He desires that time with you, and honestly, He'll never drop you in a Colorado river. Cry out for Him. He'll be there.

Romans 8:15 For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, "Abba! Father!"

Daddy > the dragon ninja

I was catching a little Saturday morning TMNT when a dragon wrapped Master Splinter up in his tail and began thrashing him around, slamming him into the ground and surrounding buildings. My two-year old looked at me and said, "that dragon strong like you, Daddy!" Oh ya, that's the way it should be. The paradigm by which my boys evaluate the strength of a medieval, reptilian, martial warrior is me. Ah... fatherhood.