The Greatest Grace

The Book of Ron · 21 of 48 · 5 minute read

When I look back on my life, one of the greatest graces I ever received came during United States Marine Corps boot camp.

Shortly after training began, I was selected as guide for the platoon. I was proud of that. Being guide meant responsibility. It meant you were expected to set the tone, keep the platoon squared away, and make sure things ran the way they were supposed to. I worked hard to keep that position and to lead properly.

One of the most serious things that could happen in boot camp was leaving your rifle unlocked.

Every Marine recruit knows the rifle is sacred. When you walked into the squad bay and went to retrieve it from the rack, if your rifle was missing, your stomach dropped immediately. That meant the drill instructors had it.

And that meant MOTO.

MOTO was short for motivation. But there was nothing encouraging about it.

Sometimes while we marched across the depot, you could see it happening in the distance. Usually it took place in a sandlot with trenches. Recruits would be out there wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts instead of utilities. Five-gallon buckets would be set in a circle. Eight or nine recruits would be in the middle of it.

And surrounding them would be eight or nine drill instructors.

They would be screaming in their faces, spraying them down with hoses, forcing them to pick up buckets of sand, carry them, dump them, and pick them up again. Recruits would roll in the sand while the water soaked them. Their skin would become raw and chafed. The wet sand and soaked clothing added what felt like thirty pounds to your body.

It was miserable.

When we marched past, we were never allowed to look directly at it. Our eyes stayed locked straight ahead. But out of the corner of your vision you could see enough to know what was happening.

And every time we marched by, I remember thinking the same thing in my heart.

Thank God that’s never been me.

I could never understand why someone would be careless enough, stubborn enough, or defiant enough to do something that would land them in MOTO.

Then one day, about six weeks into training, it happened to me.

We had come into the squad bay and were preparing to go to drill. I ran over to the rifle rack to retrieve mine.

It wasn’t there.

My heart sank instantly.

In a split second my mind started racing. How could this be? I know I locked it.

Right then I heard the command:

“Guide! Get your sorry butt in here!”

I ran to the duty hut, pounded three times on the bulkhead, and requested permission to enter.

Inside, the drill instructor held up the rifle.

“Is this your rifle?”

“Sir, yes sir!”

“Then why do I have it, you scummy recruit?”

“Sir, the guide obviously made a mistake, sir. The guide knows he locked the rifle but apparently forgot to spin the lock and secure it so it could not be pulled open.”

He looked at me for a long moment. He knew I worked hard. He knew I tried to stay squared away.

Then he said something unexpected.

“Well, you’ve got a choice. You can go to MOTO tomorrow, or you can punish yourself. What do you want to do?”

“Sir, the guide requests permission to punish himself, sir!”

“Get out of my face.”

I snapped about face, ran out of the hatch, dropped to the deck outside the duty hut, and began doing push-ups and bending thrusts.

I punished myself as hard as I could.

Minutes turned into hours.

The platoon had gone out to drill while I stayed there. Sweat poured off me until there was a puddle underneath my body. My arms burned. My chest burned. Everything burned.

But I kept going.

Three and a half hours later, the drill instructor stepped outside.

He looked down at me and asked,

“Do you feel you were significantly punished?”

“Sir, the guide does feel so, sir.”

Then he looked at me and said something that stayed with me for the rest of my life.

“Let me tell you something. You cannot afford mistakes in the Marine Corps. Mistakes cost lives. You can never take anything for granted.”

That lesson stayed with me forever.

But the deepest lesson that day wasn’t about the rifle.

It was about grace.

He could have sent me to MOTO. He could have ripped the guide armband off my arm right there.

Instead, he saw something else.

He saw effort.

And that effort earned me grace.

Some people might say that wasn’t grace at all. After all, I punished myself for three and a half hours.

But I didn’t go to MOTO.

There are always consequences for mistakes. That’s part of life. But by God’s grace, He chooses the outcome.

Grace isn’t a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Grace is when the Lord sees the condition of your heart. You made a mistake. You know you made a mistake. And you are truly sorry for it.

Grace is when God sees that—and shows mercy.

But grace is never something to take advantage of.

Never treat grace like something you can slide by on. Never count on it as an excuse for doing wrong.

Grace is something far more serious than that.

Grace is favor found in the eyes of the Lord.

And when you receive it, you honor it, respect it, and remember it for the rest of your life.

There is a companion workbook for this story. Open the workbook (PDF).