“The president of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the … to Sergeant Ronald B. Helle.” The words of the announcer drifted across the parade deck as I focused on the Commanding General of the First Marine Division standing in front of me. Major General Ross T. Dwyer was a rugged-looking combat veteran of three wars — World War II, Korea, and Vietnam. There were more ribbons on his chest than I could count. The narration ended, and General Dwyer pinned the medal to my shirt and shook my hand. I saluted, and he moved down the line.

Post Vietnam had many medals awarded as award recommendations moved through the administrative bureaucracy. Mine had taken a year and a half. No longer a kid after six years in the Marine Corps, three of them in Vietnam, I still had a sense that what had just happened was going to be a life-changing experience, and in some ways it was.

I subsequently had a Colonel tell me he was going to “kick my butt” if I didn’t apply for Officer’s Candidate School. I applied and was commissioned as a Second Lieutenant. I then reported to my first command as an Infantry Officer. The next three years were a blur of challenging assignments. I became a fixer, sent in to clean up the mess my predecessor had made. I received glowing Fitness Reports (performance evaluations) and a growing number of plaques and commendations. None of that filled the emptiness inside me, which was ruining my marriage and damaging my son in the process.

I had heard from my parents that my twin brother Roger had gotten “religious,” and I could relate to that. Weekly attendance at our denominational church provided a pretense of some sense of morality, but it was a smoke screen at best. When he visited us in Southern California for Christmas in 1975, I heard “the rest of the story,” as Paul Harvey was fond of saying. Roger was and is my hero, and I learned many things from him when we visited together during our Vietnam tours.

In June 1970, he was mortally wounded (doctor’s words, not mine). When I arrived at the Army hospital in Danang six days later, I was informed my brother was not expected to live. He lived (obviously), and you can read the rest of his story in his book, A Time to Kill, a Time to Heal, which I will shamelessly promote here.

During his 1975 Christmas visit, I discovered Roger had been radically saved. By that, I mean he was all in for Jesus, and it was reflected in everything he said and did. It was the longest 10 days of my life as a career officer! He was witnessing to my neighbors and praying aloud when we went out to eat. When he told me his story of how he had asked God to let him live when he knew he was dying (we had never talked about it in the intervening five and a half years), I realized he knew God in a way I did not. Six months later, after seeking to know God in the manner my brother did, I made a profession of faith in Jesus Christ, and my life was forever changed.

The world and the devil will have us chasing our tails, pursuing those things that are of worldly value, all the time knowing it cannot satisfy. I watched a video recently of a dog chasing his tail. Once caught, he could do nothing with it except let it go and chase it again. By the world’s standards, my success as a Marine Officer who worked his way through the ranks may be noteworthy, but it still left me unfulfilled. I’ve had my 15 minutes of fame, and I can tell you it does not satisfy!

Scripture tells us: “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.” (1 John 2:15, ESV) The emptiness we carry is a void only God can fill. The “love of the Father” is in us through the presence of the Holy Spirit.

There are two award ceremonies yet to come. One will be the Olympics of those who have “run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus.” (Hebrews 12:1-2) The other will be the Academy Awards of those who “acted” out their self-righteousness before men. The first will receive a crown. The second will hear, “I never knew you; depart from me.” (Matthew 7:23)

The clock is ticking!

What say ye, Man of Valor?
Semper Fidelis!