I am writing to all of you who dreamed of being the one coming to the rescue, or against all odds, jumping into the fray when no one else would. In 1977, hundreds of thousands of 11-year-olds instantly became Luke Skywalker flying their X-wing down the Death Star’s trench and firing a proton torpedo into the vent shaft, blowing it up, and saving the Republic. Or maybe it was just me. A year later, those same kids (yes, that means me) and a hundred-fold more became Superman flying so fast that they spun the earth in its opposite direction, reversing time, and bringing Lois Lane back to life. Or perhaps you were Jaime Sommers or Steve Austin, both rebuilt after catastrophic injuries, to become the bionic woman and bionic man, and worth, you already know it…six million dollars each. That was a lot of money in 1973…today, Steve and Jaime would each be worth nearly 43 million dollars. Inflation…got to love it. Well, maybe you never dreamed of being one of these, but I can guarantee that when you were young, you created a scenario where you were the hero of the story…the dragon slayer…the conquering warrior…the adventurous explorer. The desire to be these, resides in every one of us.
As a history major, I find it fascinating to visit battlefields, and in the United States, there is no better location than Virginia, especially if you are like me, and study the American Civil War. Now, what you need to understand is, I eat, drink, breathe history. Pretty much always have. And most others do not. That can be problematic if your family is in that camp. Fortunately for me, my bride humors my addiction and plays along. When we lived in Virginia, I set a goal of visiting as many civil war battlefields as I could. And just to make it more fun, I dragged my family along with me. We drove all over the region, visiting some of the most obscure places where battles took place. I remember one was basically commemorated with just a small metal sign, right in the middle of Richmond…but we spent time there, nonetheless. Others were quite extensive with reenactors and fantastic museums. At nearly all of them, our daughter, who was 6-10 years old at the time, felt her experience needed to be centered around finding the best rocks for her collection. As she aged, she became more interested in what occurred at these places. On one of our trips to Gettysburg, she even asked me to be the professional tour guide. Still, ten years later, those rocks remain in her possession.
Alright, enough of chasing that rabbit. It’s 1865 and the Civil War is winding down. General Grant has been pursuing General Lee and the Confederate Army across Virginia for a year, engaging in combat no less than 10 times. The Union Army has now laid siege to the city of Petersburg, where Lee and the Confederates are entrenched. The siege would last nearly 10 months with neither side gaining much ground, at the cost of thousands of lives. Grant is not worried; he has experience in this strategy. Two years earlier, he laid siege to Vicksburg, Mississippi. It took three months before the city fell to the Union general. This time it would take a considerably longer period. In the 292 days of the Petersburg siege, the Union Army would attack multiple times, each time being repelled without gaining much ground. Then came April 2, 1865. This day, Captain Charles Gould, a captain in the 5th Vermont Infantry, led part of the attacking Union force. Confusion is usually the enemy of surprise, and this time would be no different. Regimental communication became mixed up, and Gould, accompanied by about 50 men, were separated from the main attacking body. The young captain was the first to reach the precipice of the defensive works and instantly jumped down into the defenders. His first injury happened when a rebel thrust a bayonet through his cheek. Gould responded by putting his sword through him. Another Confederate officer hit Gould over the head, while a third bayonetted the captain in the shoulder. Then Gould was surrounded by the enemy who began beating him, and would most certainly have killed him, if it weren’t for the Union men who showed up and dragged Gould from the front. Back behind the attacking force, he rested, walked a mile back to the Union lines, asked for reinforcements, and then finally sought medical attention for his wounds. A week later, the war was over, with Lee surrendering to Grant at Appomattox Court House. Twenty-five years later, Captain Charles Gould would be awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions on that day at Petersburg.
I wonder if while sitting around after that attack on April 2, recuperating and getting treated for his wounds, Captain Gould looked around and picked up a couple of rocks, like our daughter, and stuck them in his pockets for memory’s sake. I doubt it, but one never knows. I do know this, picking up rocks on battlefields isn’t something dreamt up by our daughter. A long time ago, but in our galaxy (not one far, far away – and the Star Wars analogies keep coming…hang tight, there are more to come), another young warrior walked onto a battlefield…this one with giants…and carefully chose a few rocks. These did not go into his pocket for a future collection. They were not mementos. They were not going to end up in the bottom of a box, packed by professional movers, and moved halfway across the country, only to be rediscovered five years later after said box was finally opened. Yep, that happened.
David’s rocks were meant for immediate use. There was a giant to take down. There was a battle to be won. There was a Death Star to be destroyed. Ok, I made that part up. There really weren’t X-Wings and Imperial T.I.E. fighters engaged in combat, above a poorly designed instrument of destruction. (I mean, who designs such a thing with an incomprehensible weakness?) Here, there was only David, and this substantially bigger guy named Goliath. And a sling. And five rocks. The young boy approached the behemoth, and, just as Luke was guided by Obi-Wan and the force to make that 1 in a million shot into the vent shaft, David was led by God to make his own 1 in a million shot into the enemy’s forehead, killing him instantly. And then Chewbacca roared his Wookie celebration. Ok, I made that part up too. But be honest, you just imagined his growl in your head. (It’s here that I should apologize for all the Star Wars references. I won’t, but I should. I just can’t stop myself.)
All throughout history there have been men and women who have stepped up and jumped in. They turned the tide. They inspired others. They stopped evil. They saved the day. Every generation needs them…this one is no different. So, get out there. Get after it. Jump in. Live life. And while you are doing all that…look for rocks. There’s a battle ahead, with giants that need to be knocked down. It may require your own 1 in a million shot. But, with God’s help, you can do it.
Faith, Leadership, and History 