While walking on the
decks of the USS Midway, which is now nestled in San Diego’s harbor as a museum of maritime memories,
my grandson Josiah, who accompanied me during a recent tour, remarked to
another young tourist that his grandpa had been stationed on this ship. Clearly impressed, the curious youth asked,
“Is he still alive?”
Yes, I’m still
alive, as are the precious memories aboard the USS Midway that changed my
life forever.
I certainly had no idea
how profound that change would be when, on September 11, 1973, the Midway left Alameda for her new home
port in Yokosuka, Japan, arriving on October 5, 1973 along with
Carrier Air Wing Five, becoming the first forward-deployment of a carrier task
group in a Japanese port.
In order to grasp
the eternal depth of the change that took place, it will help to revisit my
boot camp experience at Recruit Training Center (RTC)
San Diego.
In the summer of
1972 during my training at RTC San
Diego, a Christian recruit in my unit, Joe Lieggi, asked me if I would be
interested in talking about spiritual things.
He didn’t know that I had been pondering the uncomfortable inevitability
of eternity for quite awhile, wondering if there was a credible answer to the
question about what happens beyond the grave.
I accepted his offer, unloading years of my frustrated silence,
challenging him to PROVE that his Christian view was right, to the exclusion of
every other competing point of view. He could not answer me, either to
his satisfaction or mine, as he had only been a Christian a short while, and
was frankly not prepared to objectively defend his faith. I was a
discouragement to him. He was a disappointment to me. But that would
not be the last that I would hear from Joe Lieggi. My first duty station
was in Naval Air Station (NAS) Lemoore,
California, where Joe Lieggi
caught up with me again. He said that he was prepared to give me the
answers that he had been unable to articulate in our last meeting. At the time I was with another guitar-playing
buddy who was definitely not interested in his presentation, so I put him off
politely, and never found the time to get together with him while at NAS
Lemoore. Next stop: USS Midway.
Junior enlisted life on the
USS Midway had its share of lonely midnight to 0400 watches
on the flight deck. That is where I began to really regret my
missed opportunity to speak with Joe Lieggi at NAS Lemoore. This was especially true after a catastrophic
incident in my aircraft squadron (VA-56) just 17 days after our arrival in Yokosuka, Japan. On October 22, 1973, one of our A-7A Corsair II pilots, LTJG
Goodrow, was fatally involved in a mid-air collision with an EA-6A Intruder
aircraft (VMCJ-1). The SH-3G helicopter
which was assigned to go to the collision site crashed off of Midway’s bow upon
take-off for the SAR mission. All three
of the helicopter crew members perished.
That incident began to speak to me forcefully during those long mid-watches
of gnawing emptiness. Eternity. Like it or not (I didn't),
that ultimate reality was undeniably there, and I was right on LTJG Goodrow's
heels, whether it was 10 minutes, 10 years, or more. In a virtual blink of an eye (compared to
eternity), I would be there. Was there no way to know the truth? I
began to share my honest concerns with some of my closest shipmates; it only
served to alienate them. How bitterly alone I felt in an insanely
apathetic world! Who could I turn to? That was when I began to
formulate my crude "God, if You're there" prayers during those late night
watches, complaining that if He WAS there, I was still looking for credible
proof. I was interested in hearing from
Him if He was inclined to make Himself known to me. What an awkward
prayer! Who would bother to give it any attention? Answer:
The living God! He looked right
past the audacity of that prayer, and in pity saw my anguish. It seemed that,
without an audible voice answering me, I began to perceive the clear logic that
God had neither been silent nor absent on the stage of earth, but had so
uniquely identified Himself by the impact of Jesus Christ that our calendar is
universally marked by His arrival into this world (B.C./A.D.). I began to
be stirred with a sense that God was breaking the silence— and that I had
better pay attention! Shortly after that, a Christian shipmate, Tony
Tamble, asked me if I would like to go with him to the Christian Servicemen's Center
in Yokosuka, Japan. I accepted his
invitation, intending to launch the same challenging questions there that I had
raised with Joe Lieggi in boot camp.
It was December 28, 1973. The Christmas
season seemed to reinforce in my mind that God had historically left His impact
on this world. I arrived with Tony Tamble at the Christian Servicemen's Center
and was seated in a room with others who were listening to a visiting missionary,
Dick Patty, who was presenting a testimony about his personal experience with
Christ. I listened, but was still preoccupied with my own unanswered questions,
wondering if I could get honest answers, or if I would just be dismissed.
Was there actually concrete evidence that allowed people to logically accept
the claims that God had unmistakably made Himself known?
Was there a way, apart from the confusion of
conflicting religious traditions, to really know God? Without spending
too much time on the details of the conversation that followed, I was so relieved
to find that my questions were not regarded as defiant threats, but were
patiently answered in a way which convinced me that there was ample evidence to
confidently trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. The bottom line was plain:
I was a sinner (Romans 3:23).
I needed a Savior (Isaiah 45:21,22).
The Lord Jesus Christ was alone qualified
to save sinners (John 14:6, 1 Timothy 1:15).
So now what was I going to do about it?
Dick Patty said that my condition was like being in a burning building.
There was an open window, the singular way out, and the One standing at
the window was well able to rescue me, if only I would let Him. The
building floor was heated with the rising flames, and at any moment my
hesitation could seal my doom... forever. Mr. Patty asked me if I wanted
to pray to receive Christ as my Savior, in view of the promise that He would
enter if I sincerely invited Him (John 1:12,13, Revelation
3:20). I prayed one of the clumsiest prayers I have
ever prayed, and was saved by the grace of God. I went back to the ship
that night with a thrill that seemed to increase with every step back to the
Midway. I knelt down again on the green tile floor of my berthing
compartment and thanked the Lord for saving me, repeating my prayer to receive
Him in order to be sure that it was a settled personal matter between me and
the Lord.
I was born again! The
Midway became my mission field with every meal conversation and every long line
in which I stood (haircuts, chow, payday, etc.) to share my evidence-based
faith with anyone who would listen. Yes, I learned that speaking to people
about Christ who weren’t interested in the truth was ineffective, yet I also
learned that there were many who were genuinely searching for answers just as I
was, anxious to hear a clear explanation of the Gospel in view of fulfilled
prophecy, the historical reality of the Lord Jesus Christ, and His
victorious resurrection.
Not long after this, I was transferred
to the USS Kitty Hawk and stationed in San
Diego, where I visited the Servicemen's Christian Home directed by Byron and Pearl Berry.
They sacrificially mentored me (and others like me) to grow in practical
Christ-centered discipleship, Bible study, evangelism, and most of all, in the
sincere worship of the One Who had first loved us. Among the many blessings
that God bestowed upon me through their ministry, they gave me their daughter
Cindy in marriage (40 years ago in August 2017). Byron is now with the
Lord, and Pearl continues to be an inspiration to Cindy and me, as well as to
our daughter Amber and her husband Marc with their growing family (now
with eight children, all being trained to know and love the Lord). What a blessing!
I retired after 24 years in
the Navy as an Aviation Storekeeper Chief at NAS Alameda. Can you guess
who showed up in my final command? Chief Joe Lieggi! What a happy
reunion, twenty years after he had spoken to me in boot camp! Our God is
awesome!
