A Job To Do

Every morning of my vacation, I walked along the sound.
It was my favorite time of the day.
The wind along the sound blew my hair in all directions.
I loved standing against the railing and feel the wind on my face.

Along the quaint boardwalk, there were a few sections of shops.
I felt as if I was in some New England town rather than in the Outer Banks.
Places to sit with tables to sip a cup of coffee were empty that early in the morning.
There were flags along the railing in one particular section.

The wind from the sound made the flags flap furiously.
Many mornings, I could hear the flags flapping against the pole.
Even as I turned the corner approaching that particular section, I could hear them.
I could easily see the direction of the wind by the way the flag was flapping.

Four flags were spaced along this section of the railing.
On the section where the boardwalk turned, one flag got tangled on itself.
The same flag was tangled every morning.
Every morning, I came to its rescue.

I could hear the flapping before I could see the flags.
I got so used to the sound, I knew if all four flags were flapping or only three.
As I turned the corner, I could see if I heard correctly.
There it was, the one lone flag that was all tangled up on its pole.

I stopped every morning and untangled it.
I really had no idea why it was important for me to do so.
I do not have to have everything just so.
I have no problem with things out of place.

This was different.
Each flag made its own distinct sound as it flapped in the wind.
This flag, because of its location, did not seem to have a chance.
I could not understand why I felt so led to untangle the flag.

One morning, I stood there untangling the flag for quite a while.
I thought I was alone.
I finished and turned around.
An older gentleman was standing back, watching me.

He smiled.
I smiled.
I felt a little funny; feeling like I got caught doing something I should not be doing.
Thank you, he said quietly as he walked on.

I wanted to go after him.
I wanted to ask him, Thank you for what?
How many mornings had he seen me do this same thing?
Why did it matter to him?

When I got to the end of the boardwalk, I turned to walk back the way I came.
I could see someone coming towards me.
Someone else was walking this early as well.
I noticed that it was the same gentleman.

I noticed his hat.
He had served in the Navy.
It made sense to me why he wanted to walk along the water.
It made sense to me why he was grateful that I untangled the flag.

He served so we could be free.
That flag stood for all that he held dear.
That flag was fought for and died for.
He did not want to see the flag tangled either.

My throat tightened.
That veteran thanked me.
He thanked me for untangling a flag.
It was all backwards; I should have been thanking him.

I walked on and thought about the encounter.
How many moments do we fail to understand until much later?
How many moments are clear only in hindsight?
There was so much I wanted to say to him; so much I wanted to ask him.

I came to a bench further down the boardwalk.
There was a gold plate on the back of the bench.
Someone wanted a loved one to be remembered.
The gold plate was in remembrance of a loved one’s beautiful smile and laugh.

There was also a line from a poem.
The poem was by e.e. cummings.
I stopped and read the words.
I smiled remembering the gentlemen with the Navy hat.

for whatever we love (like a you or a me) it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.

Is that why the gentleman in the Navy hat walked along the sound?
Did he find himself in the sea?
Did he find that he was most comfortable near the water?
Did he walk with his memories?

I never understood why I needed to untangle the flag each morning.
I never understood until I encountered the gentleman in the Navy hat.
The time I took to untangle the flag meant so much to him.
Service is a matter of life and death, honor and duty.

How I wish I had an opportunity to talk to him.
How I wish we could have sat on the bench and found ourselves in the sea.
How I wish I knew his story.
But I do know his story, at least in generalities.

He served with honor.
Duty mattered to him.
Our freedom and that flag mattered to him.
On those windy mornings, untangling that flag mattered to me.

Whoever is faithful in very little is also faithful in much, and whoever is unrighteous in very little is also unrighteous in much. (Luke 16:10)