A Tug at the Soul

Everyone is called for a purpose though most will never realize it. Fewer still will actually hear their call and only a small number of those will answer it. I can look back through my life and see God’s hand at work. For me to be where I am today clearly took some intervention. I remember the first time I heard God’s call and like most that call went unanswered.

“I am sorry. Bob isn’t in right now. Please leave a message and he will get back to you in, oh, let’s say thirty years…*Beep*”

The first time I can remember God’s call in my life came during the dark years after confirmation. When I turned seventeen I joined the United States Navy. It was an attempt to get as far away from home as I could and escape what seemed to me to be little chance at a prosperous future. I reported to active duty shortly after graduating high school and after a year of technical training I became a gunner’s mate on a warship stationed in Long Beach, California.

 

GMMSN Robert Collins
USS Francis Hammond 1988

One night, lying in my rack, a strange feeling came over me. A thought came into my mind in the voice of my subconscious. It told me quite clearly that I should become a priest, that I would make a good priest. Now this idea presented several problems for me, the least of which was that I wasn’t Catholic or that I didn’t have the foggiest notion what a priest actually was. But the voice persisted.

The logical side of my brain couldn’t reconcile the idea of me being a person of the cloth with the person I currently was. I was a specialist on a nuclear capable missile launching platform on a warship deployed mainly to the north Pacific during the height of the cold war. I was on the ship’s security force and stood armed roving watches. I was the body guard to the boarding officer on the alpha boarding team and I was a .50 caliber machine gunner serving as close in ship defense.  During Operation Desert Storm I had the self proclaimed title of DrBob DeathDealer. In short, it was my job to break things and kill people and I could do my job with impunity. 

DrBob DeathDealer
Operation Desert Storm 1991

This wasn’t the only argument my brain presented but it was the strongest. In addition my brain told me that I wasn’t a practicing Christian, didn’t really belong to any particular church and I wasn’t really comfortable around “church people” better known as “bible thumpers”. With all of these arguments before me it was easy for me to say no to the little voice in my head.

But that didn’t keep it from trying. It was persistent. It was annoying. It kept on for at least two weeks. Finally I prayed about it. I told God that I wasn’t cut out to be a priest and would rather be a husband and a father. I asked for that instead. All I really wanted was to find a woman who could love me and raise a large family. Wasn’t that enough?

I may not have listened to God but that didn’t stop him from listening to me.

Growing up Lutheran

I have no memory of my father ever attending a church service other than for a wedding or a funeral. I have no doubt the love my father had for God. I can look back now and clearly see the goodness of God working through my father.  He required that his children have a religious upbringing and the family church was Lutheran. 

I was baptized July 19^th, 1970 by Reverend Mueller at the Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church in Harvard, Illinois. My godmother was my cousin, Sandy Knull and my godfather was my cousin Mickey Vest. My soul was indelibly marked as a child of God and I was firmly set upon the road to Damascus where I have wondered aimlessly for the past forty-four years.

My “official” religious training started when I was three years old. I was enrolled in the Sunday school program at Trinity and never missed a week. I went two weeks a year for vacation bible school and added Wednesday nights when I got to confirmation age. Davey and Goliath will always hold a special place in my heart.

                                                       

Confirmation years were tough to say the least. My parents had separated and then divorced. My mother listed her religion as Buddhist although I think she cherry picked what she believed from multiple religions.  The intellectual side of my brain was warring with the creative genius side of my brain which resulted with me being one of the weird kids. The church became a sanctuary where I could escape a strained home life as well as the slings and arrows hurled by my normal peers.

On confirmation day we went from being children of God to adult members of the church. Mid-week school and vacation bible school became memories of our youth. We were now expected to actively participate in the adult service and were no longer allowed in the children’s classes. I missed the intimate instruction and really didn’t care for the service. My church life plummeted faster than a rock thrown down a well. Now an adult, church attendance was left up to me and I chose not to darken the doorstep of any church for a good eight years.

I had pitched my tent in a nice grassy spot along the road and had decided to settle. God had other ideas.