He wasn’t the CEO of a billion-dollar corporation, a professional football player, or an astronaut. He wasn’t a politician, a lawyer, a professor, an accountant, or a top-of-the-chart musician. He didn’t cure an incurable disease, write a best-selling novel, or discover the world’s next revolutionary invention or scientific concept. He didn’t appear on the evening news with Tom Brokaw and he didn’t make the front page of the New York Times, the local paper, or the latest edition of People magazine. He didn’t have a college degree, he was never garnished with honors and accolades, and he never left his hometown. Some may label him unsuccessful by their standards, others may consider him ordinary, but after years of observation I’ve come to know there is more to his story than one might imagine.

While many of his friends and family graduated from high school and left that small, Pennsylvania coal-mining town to pursue other dreams and adventures, he was content to stay behind and keep the lights of home shining brightly and to change the world in more conventional ways. He took a job with a local car dealership – carefully washing, waxing, and detailing the latest arrivals for the showroom floor and making the dream of “taking to the open road” an appealing reality for many. He took the occasional out-of-town trip with a local mover, relocating professional clients up and down the east coast as they pursued new opportunities and horizons. He drove a delivery truck for the local feed mill, delivering grains and goods to farms and stores and feeding households across the state. He enlisted as a member of the local volunteer fire department, protecting and serving family, friends, neighbors, and businesses throughout the valley, when fire and flood threatened or stole from years of hard work and labor. He later joined the workforce of the state highway department, where he blazed new trails and maintained thousands of miles of highways so thousands more could reach their dreams and destinations. He eventually married his sweetheart – my mom.

My dad is an ordinary guy. He is steady, unchanging, and low-key. I never knew his intentions to be self-consuming. He was never out to make a name for himself, but to provide for his family, make our lives a little bit better, and to serve his friends and neighbors. He went out of his way to help my sister and me reach our aspirations. He worked long, tedious hours under the hot summer sun, and through some very cold winter nights. He drove us to scout meetings, airshows, church camp, vacations, and college. He even sacrificed a meal at work one night so I could have a new football. I often wonder if Jim Croce knew my father when he penned the lines to his infamous song, I Got A Name: “…and I carry it with me like my Daddy did, but I’m livin’ the dream that he kept hid.”

Jesus saw the value of the ordinary guy – in fact, he hired 12 of them. Fisherman, tax-collectors, publicans, zealots, and tradesmen possessed the necessary world-changing skills applicable for the calling to the Great Commission of the New Testament Church. They weren’t necessarily all educated individuals, but each of them were created with a unique ability to spearhead the world-wide revelation of a timeless truth.

As we celebrate Father’s Day, I am reminded of the ordinary fathers who are out there today. They may not have an important title or fabulous job description. They’re not flashy or seeking public approval. They’re steady, unchanging, low-key. They’re busy serving their family, friends, neighbors, and communities in exceptionally inconspicuous ways. Today we celebrate you – ordinary guys helping others reach their lifetime dreams and eternal destinations in extraordinary times.

United States Army Medic/Private First-Class (PFC) Thomas Greene’s knuckles turned a ghastly white as he clung to the frame of his temporary cot. A cold sweat covered his pale face as his head and neck pulsated with pain from the clinching of his jaws and his rapid heartbeat. An overwhelming sense of nausea continuously swept over him as his body tried to determine left from right and up from down. The sounds and smells emanating from his 4,412 comrades and the lower deck of the ship certainly didn’t help the situation. He tightened the closure of his eyes, laid his head back and tried to remember the pleasantries of life; his wife, daughter, and his home in the hills of west-central Pennsylvania.

It was December 1945, and Operation Magic Carpet was in full motion. The transfer of millions of military troops and equipment from the World War II fields of battle was an enormous undertaking for the United States War Shipping Administration, and was not without its risks. Battleships, aircraft carriers, attack cruisers, and floating hospitals were all re-tasked to deliver GIs from around the world safely home to their family, friends, and communities. Operation Magic Carpet commenced in October of 1945, and now, after three and a half years of service with the Medical Detachment 355th Infantry Regiment of the United States Army’s 89th Division and a two month wait, it was PFC Greene’s turn to head from home. He opened his eyes once again and looked around the deck. He wondered if they would make it and if they had made the right decision.

On the 13th of December 1945, PFC Greene reported to the ports of Southampton, England for his final assignment to Operation Magic Carpet. It was a cold, brisk morning on the English coast, but nothing could distract the thousands of men who were waiting to embark on their journey home. The line was long, but the wait would be worth it! After processing the final paperwork, he clutched the straps of his bag and walked towards the waiting ships. His eyes widened as he looked at his paperwork and looked up again. It was the largest ship he ever laid eyes on, and in spite of her numerous battles, wounds, scars, and refitting, she was here to carry him home…the United States Navy’s own Yorktown Class Aircraft Carrier – USS Enterprise CV-6!

The Enterprise’s reputation was second to none. Affectionately known as the “Big E”, the Enterprise was the final aircraft carrier (commissioned prior to World War II) to survive the war. Assigned to major Pacific battles, such as Midway, Guadalcanal, and the Doolittle Raids, this massive ship and her crew helped turn the tide of the war. Now, after a complete restoration, she offered herself as a transport of honor. The Enterprise, her crew, and 4,413 passengers departed Southampton on her second magic carpet mission, a mission that would test the courage, stamina, and strength of a GI just one final time.

A few days into the Trans-Atlantic journey, the Enterprise encountered a fierce oceanic storm, causing Captain William Rees and his crew to change course northward to Greenland; delaying the GI’s pre-holiday arrival. Frustration and anger set in and opposition to the course direction were voiced across the massive boat. Captain Rees and his officers met to discuss the situation. After nearly four years of war, the men longed to go home, especially for the holiday. Believing they could indeed navigate the raging sea, Captain Rees gave the order: Course correction, westward! The final fight was on!

PFC Greene opened his eyes once again and caught a glimpse at the outside conditions. Walls of water enveloped and washed over the decks of the mighty Enterprise. The boat rocked forwards and backwards, left to right, and then right to left. As the men groaned from the sickness enveloping their bodies, PFC Greene pulled a pre-deployment photo of his family from his top shirt pocket and held it closely to his heart. As a tear ran down his face, he once again closed his eyes and prayed a silent prayer. After three and a half years of survival, liberating men, women, children, and fellow soldiers from the atrocities of war, he needed to survive this final fight; he needed to go home.

On Monday, December 24, 1945, the USS Enterprise pulled into the docks of Bayonne, New Jersey. Lifeboats, jeeps, tanks, planes, and other equipment secured to the flight deck of the ship were all but gone, broken away and tossed into the sea by the ominous waves and prevailing winds of the storm. In their place stood 4,412 GIs, along with PFC Greene, who waved and cheered as they reached their final destination. They endured the battle, and now they were home.

On this Veterans Day, I salute Captain William Rees and his officers for successfully carrying out their mission and thank them for their leadership and courage in bringing home these thousands of soldiers and my Grandfather, PFC Thomas Greene.

©Copyright 2014 Scott Rhoades/Ivory Hill Studios

The other day I was walking through the backyard finishing up some last-minute, outdoor projects before the winter weather arrives. When we purchased our home last year, we inherited about a half-acre of land that includes three, very large trees, and a few smaller ones – so you can imagine the amount of leaves scattered across the lawn. Raking equals losing battle.

While I was attempting to rake, I couldn’t help but notice the different shapes, sizes, and colors of leaves that had gathered on our property and I began to wonder about their lifespan; how much or how little rain they received, and how much the wind and weather had molded them into what they had now become. It also reminded me of old acquaintances and relationships that have crossed my life.

Several years ago I ran into someone I hadn’t seen in years. We began talking, but the conversation was odd and a bit uncomfortable. This person was reminiscing about the past and while the discussion was broad, it soon narrowed to some times and places I would simply rather forget.

I found myself confused about the entire interaction and questioning why that person would want to focus on failures and flaws of the past instead of the growth and goodness of the here and now. It was as if I had met them for the first time and they knew a little bit about me, but not a lot. I wanted to look at them and say, “Excuse me, have we met?”

Why did I feel this way? Why did the conversation seem so weird? Why did this person insist on bringing up so many bad memories? Didn’t they know time had moved on and things had changed?

After thinking it through for some time, it became apparent what was missing – context and perspective! You see, this person hadn’t seen me in a long while and no, they really didn’t know me.

They weren’t there to watch as I graduated from college or as I stood at the front of the church awaiting my bride to walk down the aisle. They weren’t there to watch as I took my first job or as I held the hands of numerous dying patients and their families. They weren’t there to watch me navigate circumstances of life, as I learned new and wise lessons and gained new perspectives that grew and matured me into the person I’ve become.

As I’ve mulled this over for the past few days, it serves as an important lesson for me – to allow individuals the opportunity to change, grow and mature and to view them in the context of the “here and now” and not the past. If I don’t, I may miss out on truly knowing some bright, brilliant, and colorful individuals who are purposed to do extraordinary and incredible things!

©Copyright 2014 Scott Rhoades/Ivory Hill Studios