Follow Me

Back at Bragg

I am 44 years old.

I forget that sometimes because, in my mind, I’m still 19.

Take today, for example. I decided to work twice as hard and essentially do the job of two people. I felt great while I was working. I knocked everything out, came home, and then my age caught up with me.

I felt it.

A lot.

I’m not 19 anymore.

The older I get, the more I find myself reflecting. Yesterday gave me plenty to think about. My wife, our two sons, and I took a trip to Fort Bragg, North Carolina.

A large part of my adult life was spent in the United States Army. I’ve traveled all over the world and been stationed or trained at countless military installations, but somehow I had never been to Fort Bragg.

Throughout my career, whenever I met someone who had served there, I’d inevitably hear the phrase, “Back at Bragg...” It didn’t matter what they were talking about. There was always a “Back at Bragg” story. I think it’s in the water.

So we decided it was time to see it for ourselves.

Being on a military installation is something that has to be experienced to be understood. The moment I drove through the gate, a flood of emotions came rushing back.

The Army wasn’t just my job.

It was my life.

You develop friendships that become deeper than family. You build a life around honor, sacrifice, and trust. Your life literally rests in someone else’s hands. Words like camaraderie stop being vocabulary words and become reality.

That’s what most veterans miss.

Not the deployments.

Not the uniforms.

The brotherhood.

Being part of something bigger than yourself. Committing to a mission alongside others and striving every day to become better because, somewhere in the world, someone is training to kill you.

My eight-year-old son, Rhett, is absolutely obsessed with the Army.

Ironically, he completely missed that chapter of my life. During all those years filled with deployments and enough testosterone to power an armored division, God gave us daughters. Then, the first year after I retired, He gave us a son... and He’s been giving us sons ever since.

Take that, everyone who joked I wasn’t a real man.

As we walked around Fort Bragg, Rhett asked me if I missed the Army.

I told him, “Rhett, I wore that uniform every day. It wasn’t something I did. It was who I was.”

Then I realized something.

Today, I disciple about ten young men.

In many ways, it feels familiar.

I lead a group of guys. We spend time together. We know each other’s struggles. We laugh together. We carry each other’s burdens.

We’re family.

Forever.

A band of brothers.

As I tried explaining that to Rhett, we stopped in front of the Iron Mike statue.

Iron Mike represents strength, courage, sacrifice, and the fighting spirit of the American soldier. Beneath it is one of the Army’s greatest leadership principles:

Follow Me.

Standing there, I had a moment of clarity.

For most of my adult life, God has called me to lead men.

Whether in combat or in discipleship, the assignment has been remarkably similar.

Lead well.

Know the way.

Bring them home.

I remember meeting soldiers’ families before boarding buses headed for airports that would eventually take us to distant war zones.

There was always a moment.

A mother.

A father.

A wife.

A brother.

They would look me in the eyes without saying a word, silently asking one question:

“Will you bring him home?”

That responsibility was heavy.

War is chaos. Things don’t always go according to plan.

I was incredibly blessed that I never lost one of my own soldiers under my leadership.

I lost friends beside me.

Too many.

But the men entrusted to me came home.

I knew the way.

I led.

They followed.

Now I believe God used all of that to prepare me for something even more significant.

Discipleship.

Because discipleship is also life and death.

Not physically.

Eternally.

I’m still leading.

I’m still responsible for knowing the way.

The difference is that now the way isn’t me.

It’s Jesus.

Paul wrote, “Follow me as I follow Christ.”

That’s still the mission.

There is a war raging all around us. Most of the time we can’t see it, but we feel its effects.

There are casualties.

There are victories.

There are moments of unbelievable joy and seasons of crushing grief.

Some of the hardest laughs of my life happened in combat with my guys. When everything clicked, when everyone moved as one, it felt like the world itself was in harmony.

Nothing compared to it.

Then someone would be killed.

Suddenly all the oxygen seemed to disappear.

Time stopped.

The distance between home and where we stood felt impossible to measure.

I’ve experienced those same highs and lows in ministry.

I’ve lost brothers to suicide.

I’ve watched others walk away.

I’ve also watched men surrender their lives to Christ.

I’ve been in rooms where the Holy Spirit moved in ways that can’t be explained.

I’ve witnessed miracles.

The highs are high.

The lows are low.

But through every season, the peace of God remains constant.

I’ve finally matured enough to say, “Hallelujah,” even when my heart is crushed.

Because Jesus is still on His throne.

I wasn’t always this way.

I used to be deeply pessimistic.

I learned a lot of that from my earthly father, and the Army only amplified it. After enough firefights and enough explosions, it’s easy to begin viewing the world through dark lenses.

But Jesus changed that.

Today I wake up with hope.

Not because life is easy.

Not because bad things don’t happen.

But because Christ has overcome the world.

When that truth traveled from my head into my heart, everything changed.

This entire week has been filled with moments I can’t adequately explain.

Conversations where people extended grace when I least expected it.

Jobs that went smoothly.

Problems that resolved themselves almost as quickly as they appeared.

It felt like driving through a crowded city and somehow hitting green light after green light for miles.

I started noticing.

Then today happened.

We were wrapping up a job, and I desperately needed the rain to hold off just a little longer. We still had equipment to load and material to move. If the rain started, everything would come to a standstill.

So I prayed.

I remembered James describing Elijah as a man just like us who prayed earnestly.

I simply asked God if He would hold the rain a little longer.

I finished loading every piece of equipment.

Closed the trailer.

Got into my truck.

The moment I shut the door, the rain began.

I sat there and was completely overcome with emotion.

Maybe someone else would call it coincidence.

I can’t prove otherwise.

I only know how it felt.

In that moment, I felt seen by my Heavenly Father.

Proverbs says,

“When a man’s ways please the Lord, He makes even his enemies to be at peace with him.”

My father-in-law has a saying whenever moments like this happen.

“We must be living right.”

Amen.

I’m not saying I’m perfect.

Don’t ask my wife if I’ve got it all together. She’ll tell you the truth.

I’m still a sinner.

I still have to die to myself every single day.

But today, I experienced the kindness of God in a way that reminded me He walks beside His children.

Tomorrow I’ll need His grace just as much as I did today.

Maybe more.

If you’re lost...

If you’re carrying a burden...

If you’re looking for someone to lead you home...

Jesus said it first.

“Follow Me.”

There isn’t a battle too great.

There isn’t a failure too deep.

There isn’t a storm too strong.

There isn’t a soul too far gone.

He knows the way.

And He will bring you home.

Thanks for reading.

I needed to get that off my chest.

Love,

Garth