The Martial Stride

Celebration of a birthday

October 11, 2005

by Joel Akin

October 11, 2005

  The Martial Stride

If there were ever a sound of music that inspired the men of the armed forces it was the Martial Stride. Now we speak as an amateur here and not an actual expert on either music or the armed forces. Particularly the army. I speak of men who fought in World War II and men who followed in their footsteps. Men such as General Douglas MacArthur who fought in the Philippines and on the Island of Corregidor and on the Bataan Peninsula. Forced by overwhelming enemy forces he had to leave behind so many men who later died.

What most men don't know is that my father worked with MacArthur in Japan after the war. No, he wasn't a General or a major player. He delivered messages in the same building as MacArthur and he walked softly whenever the big man was around.

I think of my father with tremendous respect. Today was his 75th birthday. Three quarters of a century and still going. A man who spent his entire life moving towards a goal called serving the Lord.

Growing up in New Haven Township, Michigan, he spent his early years on farms. His father moved to a tiny community called Bath where he had a garbage dump and raised bulls.

I have little memory of my grandfather Akin. Part Mohawk, a big nose, stoop shouldered, slim, a cozy grandmother, also who I have little remembrance of. Part of the reason I guess is because Dad was a preacher. He traveled to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where he took over a church in Shingleton. Again another tiny community few will ever have heard of. From there it was other small towns such as Gwinn, Munising, Oshkosh, Menominee and so on. And then he pastored in a new land. Like Abraham going to a new country so was my dad going to Canada. Of all places Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. We spent the first few years listening to jokes about the place from distant relatives. After all not many can say they've heard of such towns let alone lived in one.

And then a place we'll call "Brooks". Located in the Eastern Irrigation District of Alberta it was a semi-desert. Like Moses he spent those years searching for water to bring to the thirsting few. It was a struggle and a hardship that tore at his heart and his body until our family wondered if he would see the 90's. Yet he did. By Gods grace he did. And he moved on to a bigger city. A bigger place where he and mom settled down on a corner lot. Trees, a garage, a nice yard and me in the basement. I settled in and struggled with my own health problems and then came Mom struggling with hers. And dad continued building up a list of battles he fought against. Cancer, heart attacks, heart failures, stroke, localized deafness, glaucoma, in one eye at least, shingles and so on. I looked at him as a battle scarred warrior. A man who had fought the hard fight of faith and somehow came out the other side alive.

A father who has won no medals, no commendations that are known among many, no honorable mentions in the paper and few who know his name, let alone his adventures? Here is a man who worked alongside a great warrior like MacArthur. Yet my father never faced the battle of Corregidor yet knew similar suffering, in a way, in his own body. He would not say he deserved any honor or mention in the accolades of history. He saw himself as a simple man and loved his family and his wife with all his heart.

But here was a man. A man who had fought the greatest fight of faith I had ever seen of any man in my lifetime. A man who like Paul could say I have fought the good fight of faith. And I have come through the other side with my eyes upon the glories of heaven. I have not given up. I have not surrendered. And though I have not seen those things God has prepared yet I know that God has rewards for him beyond the ken of men. It is those rewards, that like his birthday, will be a remembrance to him, my father, forever.

We are all children. And sometimes we are taken into other lands. We look across the border to the promised land where we were born. And we wonder with tears if God will ever return us to those places where we grew up. Upper Michigan is our promised land. It is the place I was raised. It is the home I love. Yet God has promised not to forsake us in our hour of need. And we will grow and we will love and prayerfully I will see my father in many more birthdays to come. Happy Birthday dad. Know that God loves you and I love you more then words alone can say.