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Did
You Hear the One About?
"Did you hear the one about the chaplain in Djibouti?" That's how it started. Several weeks ago, my wife and I traveled to the Navy base in Millington, TN, where I attended a workshop on domestic violence. I was delighted to run into my friend and fellow Navy Chaplain, Commander Hal Scott. For those of you who have been reading my articles for at least a year, you'll recall that Hal was the command chaplain for Combined Joint Task Force - Horn of Africa (CJTF-HOA). He arrived at our new base in Djibouti, Africa, in May last year, so he was already an old hand when I showed up in July. Hal and I became fast friends and enjoyed many wonderful times of ministry, watching together in awe as the hand of the Lord performed wonder upon wonder. We shared at least one meal a day together and generally looked out for each other. He left Djibouti for his new assignment in November. Then we ran into each other again in Millington. This workshop was for chaplains from all the services. We decided to sit together during the workshop and again shared meals throughout our time there. I invited all the chaplains in the class to join Isaura and me for dinner one night at a local restaurant. About ten came, including Hal, all sitting around the table partaking of some good Southern cooking (Yes, we had a large order of hushpuppies!). [See "Fried Catfish and Hushpuppies," 12 May 04] There was much merriment and jocularity throughout the evening. I was sitting at one end of the table with Hal on my left and Isaura
on my right. Hal looked across the table at my wife and proceeded to tell
her this story.
When we were in Djibouti, I came down with a nasty case of the "Djibouti Crud." (Truth be told, there are no "nice" cases of the crud! The Djibouti Crud is akin to "Montezuma's Revenge.") I had this debilitating experience three times in six months! On my first go-round, RP1 Brett Baldree was continually checking on me. He was getting concerned, so asked Chaplain Scott if he would look in on me.
We lived in tents that were set up in areas identified by a letter and then a number for the tent. For example, I lived in Delta-3, or D-3. Hal, for some reason, thought I was in the Bravo tent area. He walked into what he thought was my tent, only to find himself facing a woman with a towel wrapped around her otherwise unclothed body. She said, "What are you doing in here?" He said, "I'm looking for Chaplain Roots." "This is the ladies tent!" she replied. He had become flustered at this point and stammered, "But is Chaplain Roots here?" Well, the whole table roared with laughter, including Isaura. I was laughing too, probably harder than anyone else was, because this was the first time I had heard this story! To think Hal was sullying my reputation while cavorting in the women's tent, and I was lying sick and emaciated on my rack, in my tent! This all brought to mind a passage of Scripture found in I Timothy, chapter three, where it gives the qualifications for someone who would be a pastor (called an "overseer"). Allow me to shorten the list to only that which applies to this story. "Now the overseer (pastor) must be above reproach, the husband of but one wife, self-controlled, respectable. He must also have a good reputation with outsiders, so that he will not fall into disgrace and into the devil's trap." Well, my reputation survived in Djibouti. Moreover, my wife loves me, because she knows she means more to me than anything in the world. But, Hal, if we're ever stationed together again, please, check first to make sure you're entering the right tent! |
