Boaz Baptist Chronicles
Boaz Baptist Chronicles
|Posted on 17 July, 2020 at 2:55|
Recently, I muted someone on Facebook for two weeks for saying something to me that was disrespectful. It reminded me of two weeks punishment that I endured forty-six years ago, when serving at a small lifeboat station in Ponce de Leon inlet, Florida, in nineteen seventy-three.
Well, I had gotten saved at Trinity Baptist Church in Jacksonville while stationed at the Navel Air Station, on October 8th, 1972. You couldn't tell me any differently... I thought that the church was almost Heaven. I was saved and all these people, like me, loved God. Going to church was like going to Heaven, each week. Sunday School, the morning worship service, evening study and church, Wednesday service and Thursday visitation. And, there was more, much much more.
To begin my story, "the Guard" thought to send me to Ponce de Leon Inlet after I was saved only a short time. Anyway, even though Trinity was a hundred and twenty miles away (one way), I would trade weekend duty to get there as often as I could. One time, I remember trading two duties for one Sunday, just to go to church. I remember sleeping on the Navy base in the barracks with Chuck Hamilton and Lonnie Dickinson, just so I could go with them to church the next morning. I switched duties with someone that week, and I did two weekdays. All he had to do was my Sunday. Well, this man was a no show. I never learned why, but he didn't do my duty.
I came back to Ponce station in the wee hours of Monday morning just in time to get up for the work day. This time, after breakfast was over, I was summoned into the "CO's office." Warrant Officer Burnett interrogated me and wanted to know why I wasn't on duty that Sunday, like I was supposed to be. Let's face it, the duty sheet had my name on it, but I wasn't there. Well, I told the CO what happened, and that I had traded two duties for my Sunday. But, he didn't believe me. He gave me two weeks of restricted duty. (I wasn't allowed to leave the base for two weeks.) He also had a first class Master at arms (I forget his name) teach me how to clean a toilet—the CO's toilet. After many hours and tries, I finally got it right. Sandpaper does a good job.
Well, that's my story. I was reminded of all this, because I muted someone for two weeks. I wonder if, while he is muted, he is learning how to clean a toilet, like I did so very long ago...? I'll never forget. Time and sandpaper.