When my grandfather talks about World War II, he talks about North Platte, Nebraska.
He came from Wisconsin and he was sent to Hawaii. That means he took a train ride across the country. In fact, because he was allowed to return home one time during the war, he crossed the country by train four different times. Each time, the train stopped for 10 minutes in a small Nebraska town of 12,000.
This town had dedicated itself to making those 10 minutes count.
North Platte residents were there to greet all the trains that arrived. Even trains coming in the middle of the night were met by townspeople who warmly welcomed the soldiers and sailors for the course of their brief stay. The men (as practically all the military personnel were) got sandwiches and free magazines. Many were teenagers—many homesick and frightened. They got attention and loving encouragement. A piano played; ladies would join the men in brief dances. And as they left, the men were given popcorn balls with the names and addresses of North Platte young women who would gladly receive and respond to their letters.
My grandfather was awed by the humble power of the reception he was given in this town. Long after the war, after his four children were all grown, he returned to North Platte just so he could track down someone—anyone—to whom he could express his thanks. He found a lifetime resident of the town, a woman who graciously welcomed this visitor one more time. My grandfather’s trek to deliver his thanks indicates how deeply the town’s gesture affected him—and no doubt how deeply it affected other soldiers and sailors as well. The impact is all the more striking when one considers that the efforts of this town, the gifts that they gave, were completely unnecessary.
After all, the soldiers and sailors were going to get fed. The military would see to that. The town’s sandwiches were not needed. Ditto with the rest—there would be various stops along the length of the train ride. Magazines would be easy to obtain, and it’s fairly certain that people at these other stops would see the troops and happen to say a kind word. That is why, when the people of this town first asked themselves what they could do for the nation’s struggle, when they saw that their gifts consisted entirely of hospitality and 10 minutes per person, it would have been easy to say, “It just doesn’t look like there is all that much we can do.” As far as I know, some of them said this very thing. Fortunately, they poured themselves anyway into the effort of doing what they could, no matter how small it seemed.
No doubt, as I say, other men were affected by this town as deeply as my grandfather was. How many others? How extensively? North Platte managed to greet 6 million military men over the course of the war. My grandfather went to Hawaii, but obviously other train riders went farther. Some went to Midway. Some to Guadalcanal. How many turning points in how many battles could be credited to the increase in morale, the strengthening of spirit, that resulted from a stop in Nebraska?
And how many men, in how much personal darkness, found extra courage to keep fighting bravely simply because of a letter they had recently received from a woman they knew from a popcorn ball?
The effort was huge. Six million was a lot of popcorn balls. The sandwiches alone required round-the-clock production. The entire town had to be organized to provide this greeting to the trains, sometimes 20 trains per day.
Those people just two generations before me certainly weren’t very different from me. They heard the same voices I hear, including the voice that would have told them it is a foolish thing to invest so much effort into a 10-minute stop. But God uses and chooses the foolish things of this world (I Corinthians 1:27).
The town painted a picture of how we are to use the gifts God has given us. It’s true—others might already be doing the very thing that you can do, and others might even be equipped to do it better than you can. Does that matter? We are to proceed anyway, choosing faith instead of doubt. I used to wonder what God’s special purpose for my life was, but my mind is quieter about that question now. Finding the Lord’s purposes for our lives is difficult only when we make it so. We are to do what we can see to do, within the opportunity we see to do it, even when the prize for this effort is difficult to point out. Let God secure the prize. We are to serve. We are to show up! A great and powerful Love flows through this simple commitment—the commitment to continue making sandwiches, the commitment to keep on meeting the train.
He came from Wisconsin and he was sent to Hawaii. That means he took a train ride across the country. In fact, because he was allowed to return home one time during the war, he crossed the country by train four different times. Each time, the train stopped for 10 minutes in a small Nebraska town of 12,000.
This town had dedicated itself to making those 10 minutes count.
North Platte residents were there to greet all the trains that arrived. Even trains coming in the middle of the night were met by townspeople who warmly welcomed the soldiers and sailors for the course of their brief stay. The men (as practically all the military personnel were) got sandwiches and free magazines. Many were teenagers—many homesick and frightened. They got attention and loving encouragement. A piano played; ladies would join the men in brief dances. And as they left, the men were given popcorn balls with the names and addresses of North Platte young women who would gladly receive and respond to their letters.
My grandfather was awed by the humble power of the reception he was given in this town. Long after the war, after his four children were all grown, he returned to North Platte just so he could track down someone—anyone—to whom he could express his thanks. He found a lifetime resident of the town, a woman who graciously welcomed this visitor one more time. My grandfather’s trek to deliver his thanks indicates how deeply the town’s gesture affected him—and no doubt how deeply it affected other soldiers and sailors as well. The impact is all the more striking when one considers that the efforts of this town, the gifts that they gave, were completely unnecessary.
After all, the soldiers and sailors were going to get fed. The military would see to that. The town’s sandwiches were not needed. Ditto with the rest—there would be various stops along the length of the train ride. Magazines would be easy to obtain, and it’s fairly certain that people at these other stops would see the troops and happen to say a kind word. That is why, when the people of this town first asked themselves what they could do for the nation’s struggle, when they saw that their gifts consisted entirely of hospitality and 10 minutes per person, it would have been easy to say, “It just doesn’t look like there is all that much we can do.” As far as I know, some of them said this very thing. Fortunately, they poured themselves anyway into the effort of doing what they could, no matter how small it seemed.
No doubt, as I say, other men were affected by this town as deeply as my grandfather was. How many others? How extensively? North Platte managed to greet 6 million military men over the course of the war. My grandfather went to Hawaii, but obviously other train riders went farther. Some went to Midway. Some to Guadalcanal. How many turning points in how many battles could be credited to the increase in morale, the strengthening of spirit, that resulted from a stop in Nebraska?
And how many men, in how much personal darkness, found extra courage to keep fighting bravely simply because of a letter they had recently received from a woman they knew from a popcorn ball?
The effort was huge. Six million was a lot of popcorn balls. The sandwiches alone required round-the-clock production. The entire town had to be organized to provide this greeting to the trains, sometimes 20 trains per day.
Those people just two generations before me certainly weren’t very different from me. They heard the same voices I hear, including the voice that would have told them it is a foolish thing to invest so much effort into a 10-minute stop. But God uses and chooses the foolish things of this world (I Corinthians 1:27).
The town painted a picture of how we are to use the gifts God has given us. It’s true—others might already be doing the very thing that you can do, and others might even be equipped to do it better than you can. Does that matter? We are to proceed anyway, choosing faith instead of doubt. I used to wonder what God’s special purpose for my life was, but my mind is quieter about that question now. Finding the Lord’s purposes for our lives is difficult only when we make it so. We are to do what we can see to do, within the opportunity we see to do it, even when the prize for this effort is difficult to point out. Let God secure the prize. We are to serve. We are to show up! A great and powerful Love flows through this simple commitment—the commitment to continue making sandwiches, the commitment to keep on meeting the train.
