Waiting For the Trumpet

If you’ve ever spent a day in the military, you probably know that “parade field” is code for “human roasting pan.” I never realized the sun could taste victory until I stood at rigid attention—shoulders back, chin up, dignity draining away in tiny salty rivers down my back.

A military parade can be grueling under any circumstances, but standing on this field in Georgia during the “dog days” of summer makes it the ultimate test of mental toughness. A military ceremony like this may look impressive to the crowd gathered under the tent, shielding themselves from the brutal sun while sipping cold water, but for the soldiers on the field… it’s pure misery.

Standing under the scorching midday sun feels like a slow form of torture. The only thing that could make it worse is wearing a wool hat—which is exactly what the black beret representing the U.S. Army Rangers is. Somehow, I ended up wearing what would normally be a winter cap in the 100-degree heat and 100% humidity of a Georgia summer day.

It starts off so hopeful. Every uniform is crisp, boots blindingly polished, weapons at Port Arms with the bayonet reflecting the scorching sun back into your face. You might even hear a faint murmur from a naive Private: “I hope this doesn’t take long.” Immediately, the scoffs of every seasoned soldier on the field rebuff him—seasoned like a roast that’s been through more than one oven of military ceremonies.

Ten minutes later, you’re mentally drafting your will and wondering if anyone would notice if you passed out like an overdressed domino. Your buddy next to you has sweat stains in places you didn’t even know could sweat. The “cherry” (the newest guy in the unit) already looks like he’s aged five years and keeps glancing longingly toward the bleachers.

Every muscle in your body itches to move, but you know the unspoken rule: move before the trumpet sounds, and you’ll become parade ground legend—and not in a good way. Legs turn into concrete pylons. Faces tense up into a contest of who can maintain a neutral expression while secretly fantasizing about cold drinks—and maybe air-conditioning. One by one, people begin to hallucinate shade.

I longed for the relative anonymity of being one of the countless masses in the military formations to my left and right. But because I was the guy standing in the middle of the field, carrying the rifle in the Color Guard next to the American flag, there was no escaping the eyes of everyone in the crowd—just as there was no escaping the sun reflecting off the very blades of grass under my jump boots. Everyone in the crowd would gasp with horror if I passed out in front of them. Oh, how I longed to be the guy who fainted in the back of the formation and was subtly dragged off to an ambulance waiting nearby!

Suddenly, a distant noise—a trumpet? A squeak? Was it my imagination? No, at last! The pass-and-review call! Everyone perks up, refreshed by the prospect of escape. Sure, you might stumble a little getting your circulation back, and there’s probably a perfect square of sunburn outlined where your beret sat—but you made it. Another parade down, only seventy-two more to go this year. And you never thought you could love a musical instrument this much.

Sometimes, life in this chaotic, messy world brings me back to that parade ground in Fort Benning, Georgia. I feel like I’m doing my best to handle the heat and keep going when I want to give up. It’s moments like these that make me cling to the promise that Jesus is coming back to rescue his people and restore everything that was broken when Adam and Eve ruined paradise (1 Corinthians 15:52). Today, I long for the shout and trumpet call from God’s Commander of Troops. I patiently wait for King Jesus to “pass and review” his troops before dismissing us from our mission on earth.