Log and Ops

During my last tour of service in the US Army, I was engaged in a very vivid ministry of leadership in the American military community where I was stationed. At some point, that window of opportunity closed as a large number of more liturgical believers replaced an equally large number of evangelicals rotating out. A few months later, I left as well.

And by this time my knees were a serious problem, so I left the service altogether. When I first came home to Central Oklahoma, I was under the impression I should strive to enter denominational service. That went over like a lead balloon, and my frustration drove me to prayer and long consideration of why I felt so forcefully driven to serve, and none of the obvious avenues were open. What I was allowed to do clearly was not a fulfillment of that calling, but it kept me busy. It kept me busy until the calling created too much friction with the incumbent leadership, and I was driven out.

For the last 25 years or so that conviction of calling has burned brightly. I knew that God was calling me to something I was not yet doing. Somewhere early in this period, I came to understand in my convictions that the calling was for a time and situation of great turmoil and tribulation. I knew I was going to serve, but that the conditions had not yet arisen.

It won’t be long now; there are numerous indicators and I’m not the only one who sees them. Yesterday I was out picking up trash and praying aloud because it was early and I was alone outside. Just to my right a vision appeared: It was like a bubble with all kinds of good, bad and indifferent stuff going on, very busy inside that bubble. The bubble was just barely containing it. It was just a quick flash, and then invisible again. I knew what it was immediately; the Lord reminded me that my years of longing were tied to tough circumstances, and I’d have to take upon myself a soldier’s full readiness for any number of unpleasant duties.

And to be most effective in shining my Father’s glory, I’d have to take it all in stride. I need a t-shirt emblazoned with, “It’s okay; I got this.”

My soldierly calling includes a readiness to fight, but my worst enemy will always be my fleshly self. It’s part of my particular calling as a soldier. I’m a support trooper, a logistics and operations guy (“log” and “ops” in military parlance). It’s my job to make combat possible. That’s how I’ve ministered since opening this blog — I’m building and maintaining an infrastructure that makes it possible for everyone else to conquer their enemies. You can keep the accolades and awards; it’s a very satisfying role for me. Just tell me I’ve done you some good and I’ll sleep like a baby at night.

About Ed Hurst

Disabled Veteran, prophet of God's Laws, Bible History teacher, wannabe writer, volunteer computer technician, cyclist, Social Science researcher
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4 Responses to Log and Ops

  1. 19maude56 says:

    Thank you my Brother for your courage, passion, and faithfulness to be who our Dad created you to be to bring Him glory. I must say your testimony of your journey has helped me tremendously on my journey; and for that I’m grateful that I discovered you through someone else’s blog. My prayers are for you as I continue to pray for others in the household of faith. Enjoy your rest tonight as I know and believe that you will. Rest like a baby as the Angel of The Lord watch over you! May God continue to bless you in all that you do for His glory.


  2. Ed Hurst says:

    Thank you, Sister.


  3. Jay DiNitto says:

    I know someone with the same spirit. We had spent some time literally in the spotlight, but he confided in me that it made him uneasy and stating “I’m a behind-the-scenes kinda guy.” The attention was awkward for him but he dealt with it. So I’m familiar with the sentiment and understand, second hand, the idea.

    And, no worries, you do an excellent job. You deserve a good night’s sleep.


  4. Ed Hurst says:

    Oddly enough, I’m okay in the spotlight when the mission is to lead (as long as it’s not all the time). It’s the accolades I don’t care for. This is part of the eldership calling as a matter of style. I’m all for pumping up the priestly figure and giving him all the accolades, or any of my other coworkers. But I am an introvert, and performing before a crowd drains me. I’m not energized by the applause, but by “departing to a lonely place to pray.”


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