Reflections: Every day God gives me

This piece appeared in this column in 2023, and I received more comments about it than almost any I’ve written. Wrapping up Veterans Homecoming Week, with the Thanksgiving holiday approaching, seemed like a good time to revisit it, perhaps with new perspective gained from recent conversations with other veterans. 

Like many World War II veterans, my dad never talked much about his experiences. As I sorted his belongings after he passed away, I found many indications that he witnessed some horrible things while serving in the U.S. Marine Corps in the South Pacific, where he fought in the battles of Saipan and Okinawa and served in the occupation of Japan. During my growing-up years, though, he rarely spoke of his war experiences. 

Except for one story. 

I’m not sure of the exact date, but apparently Dad and his companions were on a troop ship, headed toward the Japanese mainland. The average Marine knew no details of the Manhattan Project or possible nuclear attack; they were just awaiting orders and wondering if they were headed for an invasion, when one day, the sound of an approaching aircraft seized everyone’s attention. As it came closer, it was obviously a kamikaze plane headed right for them.  

Dad said some men dropped to their knees in prayer; some clutched pocket-sized Bibles; others resolutely faced forward—but at the last possible second, the plane swerved and crashed into the ocean nearby. Crew members using binoculars reported being able to see the pilot’s face in the cockpit, and several were positive the man smiled and raised a hand in salute. 

America’s use of the atomic bomb likely saved hundreds of thousands of Allied lives, but before the Enola Gay ever took off, an unknown Japanese pilot, for who knows what reason, decided to spare a ship full of Americans. Since many innocent civilians were not in agreement with their emperor, Dad said he liked to think maybe that pilot had a praying mother or grandmother, or maybe the pilot knew the attack was wrong but had no way to escape until that split-second decision. Dad even wondered if he might meet that man in heaven someday. 

Dad always believed his and his companions’ lives were spared for a reason. After becoming a Christian a few years after the war, he determined to take every opportunity to share the gospel with others, quoting from Philippians 2:13, “. . . for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose” (NIV). Former Assemblies of God World Missions director Greg Mundis, whose story of nearly dying from COVID-19 was shared in another Globe column, said it well: “. . . Our Sovereign Lord makes the decision as to when we enter His glory and when we remain on earth to fulfill a purpose He has for our lives.” 

Dad did jail ministry for many years, and he never hesitated to share his faith with co-workers and friends. During his last couple of years on earth, he often became frustrated with his physical frailty and questioned why God hadn’t yet taken him to heaven. But when I reminded him that God apparently wasn’t done with him, he found purpose in prayer. I often took him a list of prayer needs from family and friends, and he also prayed for his nursing home care team.

I pray that Dad’s World War II story—and his example—continue to remind me that every day I’m given is for a purpose.