Navigating the Christian Life

Author Geoff Davis

​Over forty years ago, on April 1, 1982, I pinned on a US Army Ranger Tab. When I began that program on February 2, 1982, I started with some of the Army’s best soldiers. God used it as one of the most formative lessons in my walk with Him, so that I might know Him better. ​

Back then, the Army averaged about one thousand applicants for every Ranger School class. We began on Day Zero with 180 men. Only 38 of our original 180 were left when we stood on the field at Harmony Church to graduate. Many were called, but few were chosen…

I believed I would graduate, but I had no idea if I would really make it or not. I had to go into that crucible to discover it for myself.  In one of those spiritual paradoxes, I grew in confidence as a Ranger by being repeatedly humbled, learning the limits of who I was, and what it took to keep moving forward. By becoming weak, I became strong in other ways.  

Ranger school was the most mentally demanding thing I had ever done. Constant pressure. There was a flood of information to constantly process. We fought to stay awake and alert with an hour or two of sleep each day for weeks. Each day, we had two C-Rations or Long Range Meals (“Lurps”). We carried 80 to 120 pounds of kit on our backs daily, depending on our role. It was never-ending—wet, dirty, sore, tired. Our minds unraveled. There was kindness and cruelty. Why did I do this? When it was over, I had completed a passage. I was a different person, even though I did not know it yet. 

Great soldiers broke down emotionally under the pressure of training. All of us were sorely tested. Why? Because we rarely knew how we were doing and never had any sense of what was coming next. Even when we knew we were right, the Ranger Instructors (RIs) challenged us to second-guess ourselves. We learned to own our decisions and recognize there was more to accomplish than was physically possible. This forced us to make choices that we later learned would help us cope with complex dilemmas in leadership that could have devastating consequences. It was awful and great at the same time.  

Most of the guys who quit dropped out in the first two weeks. After that, quitters were rare, but injuries took over due to food and sleep deprivation: broken bones, wrenched backs, separated shoulders, twisted knees, cellulitis, and immersion foot. And there were peer ratings. Our platoon or squad mates rated each other for leadership skills and contributions to the team.  Ratings were as serious as the Ranger Instructor’s patrol grades and skill proficiency tests. If a student did not live up to the standards of his peers, he was dismissed. 

We lived in a swirling world of increasing uncertainty where each of us had to make decisions, always with incomplete information. We had to lead soldiers too tired, stressed, and empty to comprehend what we wanted them to do. It seemed Biblical as we walked in the dark on steep mountains and in murky mires. Sometimes we tied ourselves together so nobody would get lost in a swamp at night.  Ranger instructors relentlessly pushed us. They tempted us to quit with promises of hot food and a warm, dry bed. 

We lived in hourly and day/night increments. All we cared about was getting through the next thing. We began to understand that we succeeded or failed together—always hoping to earn that coveted Ranger Tab. 

I hear people talk about what the journey will be like when we awaken to Jesus’ reality and answer His call. It is similar to becoming a soldier. Many new soldiers expect a journey of courage, glory, achievement, certainty, and power. Old soldiers discover that serving is much more complicated, filled with moments of terror, love, self-condemnation, uncertainty, and moral doubt as they face complicated decisions with no clear good outcome. Those who have not seen the darker side of service, the complicated decisions, or shed tears of loss, can develop an arrogant, ignorant pride. The same holds in the Christian walk…

And that brings me to the last few days of March 1982...during the last graded 24 hours of the Army Ranger program. All of us were running on will, adrenaline, and the desire not to let anyone down on their patrols. We dreamt of food during the rare hour or so of sleep each day. The average weight loss was 25 pounds by then, more for the big men. 

As a new Army private and later as a plebe at West Point, I was terrified about map reading and navigating. It was a skill that waylaid many a soldier. It was my greatest weakness as a “New Cadet.” I managed to get lost after less than a hundred meters on a small training course for plebes at West Point. During my second summer at the Academy, I had a mountaintop epiphany. I had wondered about this “God Thing” when a friend asked me to be his compass man on a training exercise. I was a mess. I agreed, but I had previously avoided navigating anything because I couldn’t grasp the skill. So, I decided if God existed, I would ask Him for help. 

The result was transcendental. I looked down at the lake and a camp below us, then at my map, and it all gelled. I could visualize the terrain and the map. Once oriented to true north, I needed to follow the azimuth. My friend was a success, and I felt like Hollywood actor John Wayne. The next year, I set a couple of competitive military skills land navigation course records. In my final month at West Point, I finished second in the Corps of Cadets in an open orienteering competition. The weak had become strong. I was blind but could now see with a map and compass!

So when I got to Ranger School, I was competent and confident with a map and compass.  I also learned a fun fact. If I volunteered to be the compass or point man, I rarely had to carry the bulky PRC-77 radio, heavy M-60 machine gun, or the hundreds of rounds of extra machine gun ammunition the patrol distributed. 

In patrolling, three key people up front help the patrol leader and assistant patrol leader. They are the point man, the compass man, and the paceman. The point man is far in front and serves as the initial security for the patrol as it moves forward. The compass man is the navigator, though the patrol leader is supposed to know where he is at all times. The paceman is there to help the compass man and to count steps to measure the distance covered between checkpoints. I was the compass man for about half of the patrols in my platoon throughout the nearly nine weeks of the course. By that last morning of the course, I was spent. Indeed, in the next 24 hours, several young men failed and had to repeat the entire three weeks or walk away empty-handed. 

I was ready for Ranger School to be over. One more day, survive! Do nothing else. I thought about sleeping in a dry bed, eating until I was stuffed, and bathing to wash the stench of the East Bay Swamp forever off of me. My feet were in terrible pain from immersion foot caused by excessive time slogging through the swamps surrounding the Florida Ranger Camp at Eglin Air Force Base. My shoulders and back ached. Every time I stood still, I started to fall asleep.

One of my classmates faced his last chance to earn his Tab. He asked me to be the compass man for our last patrol. That patrol would decide if he would earn the Tab and the title of Ranger. His mission was to lead a 40-man patrol across a miry swamp flat as a pool table and dense with cypress trees, vines, and scrub brush no normal humans passed through. It was called the East Bay Swamp and had been a black water hell for every Ranger Student since 1951. 

Here is where I learned a valuable metaphor about navigating the Christian life. We have to trust the compass. We have to know the map. Normally, the terrain ahead is easy to read. The compass man sets his compass for the correct azimuth to a visible terrain feature in the distance, like a hilltop, a ridgeline, a road, or a stream. But the East Bay Swamp was a giant morass of trees, mud, and water. Everything looked the same, no matter where we stood in it, making it easy to wander in circles. Moreover, if the compass man was off by even a few degrees for a three-kilometer movement and veered right or left a few times while trying to get past the trees, we could end up hundreds of meters away from our destination.

Navigating in a swamp forced us to trust the compass heading and count our steps because we could not see any real terrain features other than occasional rivers and creeks. Incidentally, those rivers and creeks were just deeper flowing waters winding about the mire without trees. 

When my buddy asked me to help him, I was sick to my stomach. I felt terrible and told him no. He pleaded with me. Ashamed that I had said no, I apologized. I would try. His face lit up as he said, “I have faith in you.” Faith in me. What a notion. He didn’t know me. I knew me. How was I going to navigate through a trackless mire, half awake and barely able to walk myself? 

Our objective was a map coordinate about 4,500 meters across the swamp set slightly back from a road. The problem was that the road was fairly straight, so we might make the road but be in the wrong location. Our patrol also had to cross a fast-moving river with a one-rope bridge. We only had a few hours to meet the mission deadline and be in place to conduct our ambush. 

“Lord, please get us to the Objective Rally Point.” In my mind, I thought my friend was doomed, and I would be part of ending his dream of being a Ranger. I felt helpless because I knew I would fail. I would own that loss, but he would pay the price. In keeping with God’s sense of soldier humor, it started raining, and the temperature hovered around 45 degrees. Our platoon of nearly 40 Rangers was exhausted. My buddy did his best to maintain the line of stumbling, staggering men. He constantly took head counts to ensure we didn’t lose any wayward trooper who fell asleep or wandered off our route and away from the patrol.

Up front, I stared at the compass needle and tried to visualize the way ahead. All I saw was an endless sea of trees, vines and mud. Finally, we came to the river crossing. The trees gave way to an open area. We were on a slight bend in the river. The lead ranger, the “swimmer,” entered the frigid waters to ferry the rope to the other side while our patrol leader hurried over to me and whispered, “Where are we?” 

I pulled out the map and compared the river bend to our route and showed him our location. I didn’t tell him we were off course. My heart sank, and I felt queasy. I am left-handed, and I had veered left steadily several hundred meters off course. If we stayed on the current heading, we would miss the objective by about a quarter of a mile. 
Our ranger instructor approached the patrol leader and demanded, “Where are you, Ranger?” My buddy took a damp twig and pointed to our location on the map at the bend in the river bend I had shown him. The RI was satisfied that he knew where he was. I didn’t tell my friend we were way off course. He had enough on his mind. My job was to get us headed back in the right direction.

Once we were all across the river, we moved out on the final leg of the movement. Miserable and exhausted. I set a new azimuth knowing there would be virtually no reference points for the remaining time in our movement. The only thing we could do was start walking. We knew we had to hit the road, so worst case, we might have time to double back along it to the objective if we could even find it.

            As I looked at the compass, gazing ahead into the endless jumble of tree trunks and brush ahead of me, I prayed, “Lord, get us there. Please.” Each time I stepped over a fallen log or bypassed a deeper pool, I feared I would get us lost. The minutes seemed like hours. I kept looking at my watch. We were running out of time. I tried walking faster, but the drained men behind me started separating. I waited. Then we proceeded together into featureless oblivion. I felt hopeless and ashamed, thinking I would let my friend down. I wanted to hide and quit when the ground beneath the water suddenly became a little firmer. Slowly the water receded down our pant legs to below our toes. Dryer land! 

As I peered through the trees over a tiny rise in the land, I saw the road!! I was thrilled but worried. Were we at the right place? Out of time, my friend positioned us for the coming action. Were we at the Objective Rally Point or another random place in this swampy mess? 

Our Ranger Instructor called my friend over to be debriefed. A new patrol leader was appointed.  My buddy looked tense, dog-tired, and empty. He figured he had blown it. He stood next to the RI, receiving a stern critique. Then the RI leaned into his ear and mumbled something. The tension seemed to melt from his shoulders. I assumed he was accepting the inevitable. He slumped and stumbled away to brief the new patrol leader. I guessed he had failed and felt heartsick. The RI saw me and moved toward me. I quickly looked away and faced out toward the road; weapon pointed outward. I felt him hovering over me. I just knew he would tell me I had gotten the patrol lost and caused a good man to fail. 

“Ranger 1-7!” (We were not known by our names, only a roster number).  I was Ranger 17, 17 out of that 180 from Day One.  “Yes, Sergeant,” I answered in a stammered whisper. 
“Ranger 1-7, I want you to know that I have been walking patrols here for over two years, and this is the first time we ever hit the actual objective.” I thought I was going to cry. I navigated to the exact spot we were supposed to hit. I thanked the Lord profusely and was filled with inexpressible joy for the rest of that miserable day. My friend would graduate. We had made it. 

Here’s the more significant lesson. Even after we got to where we were commanded to go, we didn’t know we were in the right place. We were there, but we doubted. We were there but did not have eyes yet, to see it. All we could do was follow that compass and trust our way through that awful morass. Isn’t that how it is with God’s Word and His promises? 

At times we see through a glass darkly, groping along. Dark times are when spiritual leaders are shaped. It is where they become real soldiers of the Cross. No matter our calling or path, God will take us through life’s swamps to make us stronger and teach us that His truth and Word never fail. 
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I thought we had just experienced a miracle but a miracle is simply the working of truth that violates our assumptions about our reality and situation. Every year, I return to those events from long ago to remember this . . . when we walk into one of those dark, featureless places, and we find ourselves feeling helpless, trust the Lord’s Promises. Thank Him for His love and grace, and believe that He will accomplish His more significant purpose. Blessed be the name of the Lord, in all things. Love first. Ask questions later. Keep walking. Don’t quit.
 
“Suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope. A Hope that will not disappoint….” Romans 5:3-5
 
Rangers Lead The Way!

©2023 Geoff Davis ARR.  Reveration is the weekly devotional ministry of First Cause.  If you would like to receive these devotionals go to www.firstcause.org and click on the “Click here to receive weekly devotionals” box.  Unlimited permission to copy this devotional without altering text or profiteering is allowed, subject to the inclusion of this copyright notice.      
 
© 2023 Geoff Davis, Republic Consulting LLC
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