In our few hours in the Middle East, I went out with about a dozen of my soldiers for our first drinks in half of a year.
Each soldier was allowed three drinks. Most everyone else got three large German beers. I got three small, mixed drinks: a Gin and Tonic, a Pina Colada, and a Tequila Sunrise. I thought those three drinks sounded the most tasty. When we went outside to our table and I told the soldiers what I ordered, a female at a nearby table asked me if I left my purse inside. We all enjoyed a good chuckle.
And as might be expected, once the soldiers started enjoying their drinks, the conversations deepened (or as I call such occasions, "manversations").
At one point, one of the soldiers abruptly broke off of a conversation and told me that I was the best chaplain he's ever had, and he's had quite a few chaplains. As you might expect if you know me pretty well, I didn't know how to handle the compliment. I gave a quick "Thanks," but followed it up immediately with, "Well, I love what I do." The soldier said that he could tell. I added that I also really cared about our soldiers. He said that he knew that as well.
As my wife told me later when I mentioned this to her, "Again, you can always just say 'thank you.'" Such a simple response is hard for me, as I such comments often fall on the knife's edge between my insecurity and arrogance (two sides of the same coin of self-idolatry).
But I must reflect on such comments, as soldiers at the end of a deployment are not prone to flattery. Also, this comment did not come in a vacuum. A number of soldiers told me something similar over the course of the deployment. As much as she likes them, I rarely conveyed these to my wife because I immediately downplayed them in my own head.
I mention all of this, not to boost my pride, but to rejoice in God's grace. Do you all remember how insecure I was, and how unwilling to rest in God's grace, as the beginning of this deployment? Do you remember how nervous I was about being a sufficient soldier and staff officer? Do you remember the time I received a counseling statement, just before leaving Texas, and how severely perturbed I was by the experience?
The same commander who counseled me and told me that while great with the soldiers, I was not a very good staff officer, told me the other day that the reason he wants to keep me in the unit until he leaves next Fall was because he wants to continue to help me grow, viewing us as having a mentorship-type of relationship. At the same time, he is willing to write me whatever recommendations I might need.
On a superficial level, I could trace my apparent success as a chaplain on this deployment to what I learned from my veteran brother years ago when I first joined the chaplaincy. He told me that the good chaplains rolled with their soldiers, while the bad ones sat behind a desk (my paraphrase). Many other vets and soldiers told me almost the exact same thing when I would ask. As a result, I rolled out on about two dozen convoys, visited soldiers on opposite ends of the country, worked out with soldiers, counseled soldiers, and visited soldiers often. They knew me and I knew them. I loved them.
On a deeper level, the hand of God in all of this is unmistakable. There were so many times when the wheels were greased for my greater involvement in the lives of soldiers--all I often had to do was say "Yes, I'll go." More important, God gave me words when I was speechless, and enabled me to serve when I was paralyzed with doubt. He gave me strength, though I was so very, very weak.
I am concluding this deployment with a greater confidence in my calling as a chaplain, not because of great feats that enabled me to "believe in myself" more, but because God fed the truth of 1 Tim. 1:15-16 deeper into my heart. Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But He did this to show His unlimited patience as an example for those who might believe and have eternal life.
I always thought that such an example was simply for others to see the grace of God in the life of a sinner. I now know that such an example is also for me, that I might truly believe that God can and will use me with unending patience, though I am such a weak vessel.
It would be a cliche for me to say that I am not the man I used to be, though that cliche certainly proves true for me. But the greater reality is that since God granted me saving faith in His Son years ago, I have not been the same man--I belong body and soul, in life and in death, to Jesus Christ. That is the monumental change, and it occurred long ago. The more recent change is simply this: Now, I am more likely to believe it.
18.1.14
The Spin Cycle
The Army waited until we were nice and rested from 48 hours of traveling around the world and across the country, then dropped us into a five hour class on VA benefits, starting early in the morning. Many a doodle were likely crafted, resembling various instructors.
I could barely talk to the wifey last night, I was so exhausted. She and the boy could certainly relate.
So we have come full circle. I spent the first two months of the deployment here, in the oft-withering heat. We wore the light green uniforms while returning soldiers wore the dark green. Now, we wear the dark green and watch as others don the uniform of the uninitiated. The climate is also changed, as we have traded the Texas summer for a pleasant, sun-mingled winter.
Everything seems a bit surreal. Lacking the normal time at an in-between location on the way back, the scenery and lifestyle has dramatically changed in a mere couple of days.
It can be confusing and a bit overwhelming. At times, I feel jovial and light-hearted; At other times, crabby and impatient. I can track the similar wavering of thoughts and emotions in my soldiers.
Two more soldiers were killed in Afghanistan this past week, and a popular restaurant was bombed, killing 21 people, including two Americans and a number of Western diplomats and aid workers. The restaurant was in the heart of Kabul, the city we so recently departed.
It is easy to revert to thinking of it as a remote ordeal, until I remember that our teams are still going out most days, visiting sites and advising Afghan counterparts throughout the city.
As for me and my family, whatever the future holds, the reunion will surely be sweet. I got a taste of it (two nights ago?) in Baltimore--crawling along the floor with my boy and sharing a cup of wine with my wife.
When we set him down to sleep, we tried to disappear from his view by lying back on the bed. Didn't work. I looked over and saw him standing up, hanging on the edge, watching us as he bawled.
The wifey, matured by this past year's experience, was undaunted. Alongside feelings of guilt for leaving my boy on the other side of the room after just returning from the other side of the world, I had the more mundane thought of "I didn't know he could stand in his crib like that."
I left when he was a largely unresponsive baby. Now, he is a little boy with humor and energy.
He will likely start walking soon, and I think running will soon follow. Back just in time.
I could barely talk to the wifey last night, I was so exhausted. She and the boy could certainly relate.
So we have come full circle. I spent the first two months of the deployment here, in the oft-withering heat. We wore the light green uniforms while returning soldiers wore the dark green. Now, we wear the dark green and watch as others don the uniform of the uninitiated. The climate is also changed, as we have traded the Texas summer for a pleasant, sun-mingled winter.
Everything seems a bit surreal. Lacking the normal time at an in-between location on the way back, the scenery and lifestyle has dramatically changed in a mere couple of days.
It can be confusing and a bit overwhelming. At times, I feel jovial and light-hearted; At other times, crabby and impatient. I can track the similar wavering of thoughts and emotions in my soldiers.
Two more soldiers were killed in Afghanistan this past week, and a popular restaurant was bombed, killing 21 people, including two Americans and a number of Western diplomats and aid workers. The restaurant was in the heart of Kabul, the city we so recently departed.
It is easy to revert to thinking of it as a remote ordeal, until I remember that our teams are still going out most days, visiting sites and advising Afghan counterparts throughout the city.
As for me and my family, whatever the future holds, the reunion will surely be sweet. I got a taste of it (two nights ago?) in Baltimore--crawling along the floor with my boy and sharing a cup of wine with my wife.
When we set him down to sleep, we tried to disappear from his view by lying back on the bed. Didn't work. I looked over and saw him standing up, hanging on the edge, watching us as he bawled.
The wifey, matured by this past year's experience, was undaunted. Alongside feelings of guilt for leaving my boy on the other side of the room after just returning from the other side of the world, I had the more mundane thought of "I didn't know he could stand in his crib like that."
I left when he was a largely unresponsive baby. Now, he is a little boy with humor and energy.
He will likely start walking soon, and I think running will soon follow. Back just in time.
17.1.14
Remembering 9/11
I have primarily read two books during 30 or so hours of flying over the past couple of days, Ordinary People; Extraordinary Heroes, chronicling stories of heroism on 9/11, and The Fellowship of the Ring.
It is so easy to forget the violence and horror of September 11th.
At unprovoked attack was launched against our country, with commercial planes filled with civilians used as missiles to attack two of our most storied skyscrapers, also filled with civilians.
What must it have felt like to be above the collision points in the Twin Towers, knowing that your way to safety was effectively blocked? Or to be an emergency coordinator who conceded that there was no hope of rescuing the trapped people on those floors?
What must it have been like to be below the towers when the second plane struck above and know that this was no accident? What would it have felt like to be in the north tower when the south tower crumbled to the crown, presaging the demise of the north tower as well?
All of these thoughts and feelings were going through the minds of the civilians fleeing down the stairwells and the rescue workers climbing toward ever-greater danger.
Yet, on the rescue workers pressed. Some of them may not have expected to die, though many likely knew it with greater certainly after the first tower collapsed, but many of them realized pretty quickly that this would likely be their last day on earth.
Rick Rescorla was the top platoon leader serving under Lieutenant Colonel Hal Moore in the battle of Ia Drang, and the face on the cover of Moore's eventual book, We Were Soldiers Once, and Young. He was an incredibly decorated war hero from Vietnam, and had largely anticipated the 9/11 attacks, which is why most of the employees of the firm he provided security for were able to escape the south tower before it was hit by the second plane.
In his final phone call to his wife, he told her that he would not stop saving people from the towers until they were all out. He concluded by telling her, "You made my life."
For many a rescue worker, realizing that they were likely proceeding to their deaths, this knowledge prompted handshakes and hugs before walking up the stairs--a final act of love and gallantry toward their brothers-in-service.
On 9/11, one coordinated terrorist attack was perpetrated on the the United States of America. Four planes were turned into weapons of terror. Three found their target. All of these matters are quantifiable.
What cannot be quantified is the countless acts of heroism on 9/11, where thousands of rescue workers and civilians, not knowing the nature of their enemy and without weapons, began to fight back and guard lives at the cost of their own.
The passengers of Flight 93 were soldiers, and they won the battle for either the U.S. Capitol or White House. With pick axes and fire extinguishers, thousands of firefighters and police officers stormed the world's biggest deathtraps, winning the battle for thousands of lives.
Each of these first-response soldiers left behind spouses, parents, siblings, and children. Because of them, many thousands more went home to their families.
On 9/11, our freedom came under attack. But it was not freedom, but moral conviction, that allowed the first wave of heroes to defend our freedom at the cost of their own lives. Let us forever pay them homage, not in their defense of freedom, but in their moral courage that saw freedom and the dignity of human life as worth their sacrifice.
It is so easy to forget the violence and horror of September 11th.
At unprovoked attack was launched against our country, with commercial planes filled with civilians used as missiles to attack two of our most storied skyscrapers, also filled with civilians.
What must it have felt like to be above the collision points in the Twin Towers, knowing that your way to safety was effectively blocked? Or to be an emergency coordinator who conceded that there was no hope of rescuing the trapped people on those floors?
What must it have been like to be below the towers when the second plane struck above and know that this was no accident? What would it have felt like to be in the north tower when the south tower crumbled to the crown, presaging the demise of the north tower as well?
All of these thoughts and feelings were going through the minds of the civilians fleeing down the stairwells and the rescue workers climbing toward ever-greater danger.
Yet, on the rescue workers pressed. Some of them may not have expected to die, though many likely knew it with greater certainly after the first tower collapsed, but many of them realized pretty quickly that this would likely be their last day on earth.
Rick Rescorla was the top platoon leader serving under Lieutenant Colonel Hal Moore in the battle of Ia Drang, and the face on the cover of Moore's eventual book, We Were Soldiers Once, and Young. He was an incredibly decorated war hero from Vietnam, and had largely anticipated the 9/11 attacks, which is why most of the employees of the firm he provided security for were able to escape the south tower before it was hit by the second plane.
In his final phone call to his wife, he told her that he would not stop saving people from the towers until they were all out. He concluded by telling her, "You made my life."
For many a rescue worker, realizing that they were likely proceeding to their deaths, this knowledge prompted handshakes and hugs before walking up the stairs--a final act of love and gallantry toward their brothers-in-service.
On 9/11, one coordinated terrorist attack was perpetrated on the the United States of America. Four planes were turned into weapons of terror. Three found their target. All of these matters are quantifiable.
What cannot be quantified is the countless acts of heroism on 9/11, where thousands of rescue workers and civilians, not knowing the nature of their enemy and without weapons, began to fight back and guard lives at the cost of their own.
The passengers of Flight 93 were soldiers, and they won the battle for either the U.S. Capitol or White House. With pick axes and fire extinguishers, thousands of firefighters and police officers stormed the world's biggest deathtraps, winning the battle for thousands of lives.
Each of these first-response soldiers left behind spouses, parents, siblings, and children. Because of them, many thousands more went home to their families.
On 9/11, our freedom came under attack. But it was not freedom, but moral conviction, that allowed the first wave of heroes to defend our freedom at the cost of their own lives. Let us forever pay them homage, not in their defense of freedom, but in their moral courage that saw freedom and the dignity of human life as worth their sacrifice.
The Journey Home
Preparing to leave my post of the last four months. The trip grew increasingly complicated as we had to travel to two separate locations in Afghanistan before leaving. This meant less relaxation and recovery and an extra dose of stress!
Leaving Afghanistan! You can see the myriad of reactions on the faces of soldiers. Some are relieved; others, anxious. Soldiers begin to feel the sheer weight of months of cumulative exhaustion, and all are set off-balance by adjusting their mindset back toward home.
Flying over the Alps. After a stressful twelve hours in our last location in Afghanistan, and a stressful twelve hours in a Middle Eastern country, I got my first experience of Europe. I visited Italy, flew over the Alps, then visited Germany--all in 24 hours! Check that off the bucket list! Back to Africa...
After a final jot across the ocean, I enjoyed a brief reunion with my family in Baltimore. My son enjoyed making me his jungle gym and my wife enjoyed the company of her best friend, at least for a night. Even though the notice that I would be staying overnight was last minute, the wifey thoughtfully brought a Chick-Fil-A sandwich and bottle of wine from our time in Texas. The sandwich was one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten!
Another soldier got to meet his baby for the first time. In the limited time they had here, soldiers opted to enjoy different things. Some soldiers simply watched T.V. in their hotel rooms. Others had McDonalds for the first time in the better part of a year. One gal rented a car and drove to her house in Fredericksburg, VA, well over an hour away, to suprise her mother, then drove back to the airport.
Now, we all are making our way back to Texas to outprocess, via Atlanta. As warm as our reception was at the airport by a few families, soldiers, and veterans, we know we are in the south by the number of random strangers who come up to us, look us in the eye, shake our hands, and thank us for our service (including kids and teenagers).
Spinning Home
What a crazy past 24 horus!
I arrived at a country in the Middle East late on Wednesday night and left before dawn the next morning for Italy for a layover, then to Germany for a layover, and finally back to the States.
Not quite home, but I did get to enjoying seeing my wife, boy, and some of my family at the aiport before moving to our mob station.
I will blog more about my final adventures in the coming days, but the bottom line is that I am back and safe in the States, by the grace of God, and looking forward to going home!
I arrived at a country in the Middle East late on Wednesday night and left before dawn the next morning for Italy for a layover, then to Germany for a layover, and finally back to the States.
Not quite home, but I did get to enjoying seeing my wife, boy, and some of my family at the aiport before moving to our mob station.
I will blog more about my final adventures in the coming days, but the bottom line is that I am back and safe in the States, by the grace of God, and looking forward to going home!
14.1.14
Nighty Night for Soldiers
I stayed up for most of the night in a flight terminal at my last location in country.
In part, this was due to the activity of my soldiers, most of whom were staying up--likely out of anticipation for coming home and also to spend more time with each other. One group played hacky sack, and many others talked to loved ones on their computers. I was able to Face Time my wife for the first time in several days. In the process, I got to watch her feed my funny little boy.
I ended up catching an hour or two of very cold, uncomfortable sleep, wedged under the arm rests of a row of metal seats. I had to inhale to squeeze under them, which means that most people had no choice but to sleep on top of them if they chose to sleep.
After my intermittent sleep, I walked to the nearby USO, where some of my soldiers were reported to be. I came upon the building--labeled "Pat Tillman's House"--and went inside to discover what looked and felt to be a high-end cabin in the woods. There was a bar with coffee at the ready, and dozens of faux leather couches and chairs, each filled with a sleeping soldier.
A weird feeling came over me as I walked further into the "house." I felt like I was in the States--perhaps at a friend's house, where I could fall asleep without remembering that I am far from home.
I realized that every other soldier had come to the same conclusion. Each soldier was sleeping like a baby, perhaps the first time in a long time. In moments like these, I remember that each of these warriors is still someone's child, though being out here likely devoured their remaining innocence.
And many of these "children" occupying the chairs have young children of their own. While these children all remain anxious for daddy to come home, they also sleep in peace, due in large part to what their daddy did or is doing over here.
Nothing cries out for life and love like war. In the wee hours of the morning, I discovered the same link proves true for war and innocence.
On January 9th, three more soldiers, currently unknown to the public, were killed in a helicopter crash in eastern Afghanistan. Their names may not be known to us, but they are known to parents, to little children, and to God.
In part, this was due to the activity of my soldiers, most of whom were staying up--likely out of anticipation for coming home and also to spend more time with each other. One group played hacky sack, and many others talked to loved ones on their computers. I was able to Face Time my wife for the first time in several days. In the process, I got to watch her feed my funny little boy.
I ended up catching an hour or two of very cold, uncomfortable sleep, wedged under the arm rests of a row of metal seats. I had to inhale to squeeze under them, which means that most people had no choice but to sleep on top of them if they chose to sleep.
After my intermittent sleep, I walked to the nearby USO, where some of my soldiers were reported to be. I came upon the building--labeled "Pat Tillman's House"--and went inside to discover what looked and felt to be a high-end cabin in the woods. There was a bar with coffee at the ready, and dozens of faux leather couches and chairs, each filled with a sleeping soldier.
A weird feeling came over me as I walked further into the "house." I felt like I was in the States--perhaps at a friend's house, where I could fall asleep without remembering that I am far from home.
I realized that every other soldier had come to the same conclusion. Each soldier was sleeping like a baby, perhaps the first time in a long time. In moments like these, I remember that each of these warriors is still someone's child, though being out here likely devoured their remaining innocence.
And many of these "children" occupying the chairs have young children of their own. While these children all remain anxious for daddy to come home, they also sleep in peace, due in large part to what their daddy did or is doing over here.
Nothing cries out for life and love like war. In the wee hours of the morning, I discovered the same link proves true for war and innocence.
On January 9th, three more soldiers, currently unknown to the public, were killed in a helicopter crash in eastern Afghanistan. Their names may not be known to us, but they are known to parents, to little children, and to God.
Early Expectations
I will be returning home soon.
This is a great opportunity for folks to remember previous posts on matters such as post-deployment issues, recovery, and separation from families.
I will be vacationing for two weeks in February with my dear wife and little boy. During that time, I will only be accessible for emergencies.
In the time between my return and that vacation, I will visit a bit with my wider family and attend worship services, but will generally be inaccessible in order to spend as much time with my immediate family as possible.
Things will begin to really open up in late February, and God-willing, I should be refreshed enough to open our home fully with my full-time return to the church on March 1st.
With these boundaries in place, I look forward to rejoining my wider family of friends and fellow believers after I reacquaint myself with my precious family. I have missed you all dearly. May God be praised for reunions!
This is a great opportunity for folks to remember previous posts on matters such as post-deployment issues, recovery, and separation from families.
I will be vacationing for two weeks in February with my dear wife and little boy. During that time, I will only be accessible for emergencies.
In the time between my return and that vacation, I will visit a bit with my wider family and attend worship services, but will generally be inaccessible in order to spend as much time with my immediate family as possible.
Things will begin to really open up in late February, and God-willing, I should be refreshed enough to open our home fully with my full-time return to the church on March 1st.
With these boundaries in place, I look forward to rejoining my wider family of friends and fellow believers after I reacquaint myself with my precious family. I have missed you all dearly. May God be praised for reunions!
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