SPECIAL DELIVERY

In 1974, my first wife ran off with another man while I was stationed in Germany and left me with our young children. The Army curtailed my tour and returned me to the states and assigned me to the Military Processing Station in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

I was a bachelor father for a long spell but eventually found it too difficult to keep up with household expenses and pay a full time nanny to watch the kids while I was at work all day. I tried working at night but I paid out more money than I made just for the extra babysitter. Bill collectors were harassing me constantly because my funds were stretched too thin to meet all my obligations and they started writing letters to my commanding officer.

Unfortunately, my commanding officer was not the type of person who cared about the problems of his subordinates. His initials were G.O.D. and he signed all his paperwork with that one word…God! He firmly believed that if the Army wanted you to have a family it would have issued you one.

He finally told me that he had recommended me for a transfer back to a combat unit because he was tired of putting up with my menial problems and I received orders within two weeks to report to Fort Huachuca, Arizona.

This left me in quite a bad situation. Here I had four children from ages 7 years old to 11 months old, orders to report to a new unit, almost no money, and my youngest was in the hospital at the time.
I prayed to God for a long time that evening while kneeling by my baby son’s bed in the hospital.

Several days later I requested time to take my children back east to my mother until I could report in to my new assignment and get settled in. I was given four days leave, which included the weekend, as my commander could not spare me any more time. Four days to get to Mississippi then return to New Mexico.

After borrowing some money from a friend I figured I had enough to get me back to Mississippi with the kids and hopefully my family could help me once I got there.

I made it to Mississippi, just barely, and discovered that my mother would take the two girls, however, she said she was too ill to take the two boys and recommended I take them to my sisters in New Orleans. After a call to my sister, it was all set up, she would watch the two boys until I got situated in at my new assignment.

By this time I had gas in my car but no money in my pocket but I knew that my mother probably couldn’t spare anything either. So I headed for New Orleans filled with hope but empty in my pockets.

We didn’t quite make it to New Orleans. I ran out of gas in a little town named Amite, Louisiana. So there I was, stranded in the middle of nowhere, out of gas, starving, completely exhausted, and with a baby recently out of the hospital with no milk for him. I had no idea what to do because I didn’t even have change to call my sister who lived about sixty miles away.

My 7-year-old son suggested we talk to God like we did each night before he went to bed. "Like tell God it’s an emergency," my son said.

At that moment I was angry, tired, frustrated, and bitter at the world and everyone in it, so I figured…what the heck!

I pretended that I had to check something in the trunk of the car, then while I had my head out of sight from my son, I did pray to God. I was too ashamed and too proud to have him see me begging for help with tears in my eyes… even if it was from God.

Several hours later, just when I thought I could handle it no more, a trucker pulled up in a big rig and asked me if I had mechanical problems. I started to say yes, however I knew that a lie was not the best way to go so I broke down and blurted out the entire story.

"Saw your Army uniform in the back window," the trucker stated. "Served in the Navy myself a few years back and thought of it when I passed your car. I live in this town and Amite means friendship. Not only that we 'Veterans' have to stick together."

He helped me and the boys to a gas station, filled the car up, and since we were next door to a McDonalds, he bought burgers all around, even milk for the baby bottle. I politely refused a $20 bill he offered, stating that I could make it to my sisters thanks to his help.

To this day I am not ashamed to pray to God and I have fond memories of a little town called Amity. The incredible irony of the whole story was the logo on his truck, which I only noticed as he was pulling away. It was Guaranteed Overnight Delivery (GOD).
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