A Sacred Uniform

Well, it looks like there is more snow on the way for the north Oregon Coast. If you read yesterday's post, you know that I now have new all-weather tires on my SUV, so I say, "Bring it on, baby!" I really do love the snow.

Today I spread wild birdseed all over the snow-covered back porch at my house. I'm pretty sure the snow caught all of those little guys off guard. In places more accustomed to snow, it's not as common to see finches, blue jays and robins in the middle of December. I think these birds were banking on the Seaside area being a good place to chill for the winter (no pun intended). I can just see them debating whether to keep flying south to California or to rest their wings and take their chances in Oregon. Evidently the lazy ones won the argument. There's a lot of birds hanging around my house. So, I figure the least I can do is to help keep them from starving while there is snow on the ground. Maybe I'm enabling their laziness, maybe I've made the responsible ones who wanted to continue south look like party-poopers...whatever. They're really cute and I like having them around. So, I'll probably have to buy more birdseed.

If I were to be totally honest, I would have to admit that having my own little flock of feathered beggars serenade me every morning is not exactly the only reason that I am feeding them. There's another reason, and deep down inside I know that this reason is probably even more compelling than my soft spot for birdie charity. You see, having a couple of dozen birds right in front of our kitchen sliding-glass window absolutely drives my cat insane. There it is. I get a sick pleasure from torturing my cat in this manner. Believe me, the feeling's mutual. I have scars to prove it. It really is funny, though. I think he almost knocked himself out slamming into the window about a half dozen times today. Then there's the part where he runs into the living room and up onto one of those window-ledges, as if by approaching from a different angle he will somehow magically transport himself through the glass out onto the patio. Inevitably, he ends up back at the sliding-glass door, realizing a split second too late that it is still solid glass.

The funniest part is that the birds totally have him figured-out. At first, they would all scatter when he would spring at the glass door. After a while, a couple of the bigger blue jays would just take a cautious step back, but keep eating. Now even the little finches will take a seed, walk right up the the glass and taunt him as they munch on their meal. The cat is the only one who hasn't figured out that he's not getting through the glass door. I think I may have to get him a therapist.

None of this has anything to do with the point of my blog today. I just thought I'd give you a glimpse into my somewhat bizarre world. Actually, the part about having new tires is relevant. Let's go back to the Les Schwab tire center from yesterday. I think I eluded to to fact that Les Schwab employees are basically the nicest people on the planet. I know...they get profit-sharing incentives and it is in their best interests to treat people like royalty. Whatever the case, their congeniality always seems genuine and they always put me in a good mood. Heck, every time I even drive past a Les Schwab I'm tempted to stop and go inside even if I don't need any automotive services whatsoever. They are just so...nice. I think they may actually be elves on loan from Santa, but that's a topic for another blog.

So anyway, I'm sitting in the waiting room at Les Schwab while they are finishing up balancing my new tires. I think I mentioned yesterday how busy they were. Still, not a person in the store was upset about the wait. Those Les Schwab elves had put everyone in a good mood! In walks this guy in a full U.S. Army BDU uniform. He must have just gotten off duty at Camp Rilea. I was reading a book and not paying much attention as he started talking to the head elf behind the counter (actually, it was the store manager and his name is Sam - super guy). After a while, I noticed that the soldier's voice was getting a bit louder and that Sam, still giving him an award-winning smile, was trying to explain something technical to him. I looked up from my book just long enough to deduce that the soldier had an all-wheel-drive Suzuki and wanted to have Sam install just two studded snow tires. Evidently he couldn't afford all four. Sam was trying to explain that not only is that not allowed by Les Schwab company policy (not to mention legal liability), but that installing only two traction tires on an all-wheel-drive vehicle would wreck the transmission and just be plain dangerous. It for the customer's protection. Maybe they could find four tires the soldier could afford.

At this point it looked as if the soldier was beginning to grasp the concept, and I went back to my book. Suddenly, about a minute later, a mini-explosion took place. OK, not one with a fireball and shrapnel and stuff (although that would have been cool). In a booming voice that would have impressed a full-grown African elephant, the soldier screamed some expletives that I won't repeat here at...well, at everyone...stomped to the front door, tried his darnedest to break the door by slamming it open against the wall, and stormed away. Everyone in the place looked up at poor Sam, who to his credit, was still smiling like a game-show host. "I guess he didn't like my answer!" was all Sam had to say. The rest of us were shocked that anyone could show that kind of contempt to one of Santa's elves. And right before Christmas! Lump of coal, dude...

As I sat there and listened to people try to break the tension with jokes and support for Sam, a very sobering thought occured to me. So sobering, in fact, that I almost got up and followed that soldier outside to talk to him. I was also a soldier. For almost a decade of my life. I don't know what they are teaching soldiers in basic training today, but in my time, a uniform was a sacred thing. When you were in uniform, you were representing your country. You were a walking reminder to civilians that there is someone out there watching their backs. You were an ambassador of something much bigger than yourself. Thousands have died wearing that uniform, sacrificed so that their countrymen and women could be free. You did not ever disgrace that uniform...not ever. That soldier's actions had just disgraced his uniform as well as himself. And it made me hurt inside.

As I pondered the utter sadness of that little outburst, another thought, just as sobering, began to form. I am a Christian. A soldier, if you will, of Christ. I wear a uniform that I can never take off. Once people know that I am a Christian, I am forever in uniform in their eyes. And they are watching me. And they watch you too, if you are in Christ's army. Some watch because they see how happy this uniform makes me and they are curious to know how to get their own. Some watch for different reasons, possibly waiting to catch a glimpse of me disgracing my uniform. Some would love to see this soldier of Christ embarrass my commander-in-chief. Whatever the case, the fact remains that this uniform of mine represents the Answer that everyone is searching for. If it is sobering knowing that my military uniform represented my fellow Americans, then it is downright crippling to realize that my Christian uniform represents my Creator and the Key to His Kingdom. When I go out into the world, how do I 'represent'? Am I pointing the way to Christ and acting like I fit this uniform, or am I disgracing it? Hopefully more of the former and less of the latter. How about you? People are watching. Let's make our uniforms bring glory to Him.