stretchers, taking bandages. If the nurses needed an orderly, he or she was that person.” God was everywhere. He made his presence known through the least of these.
“He was in the building when the terrorists struck. He offered healing to those who received it. He offered comfort to those who were dying. And God’s presence was overwhelming and even miraculous in some cases,” Baldwin replied.
Thank you for using the “least of these” to provide hope to those in need on the battlefield. Thank you for being a presence among your people.
“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.” (Psalm 139:7–8)
January 6
CHEMISTRY CLASS
I was holding and inspecting my chemical mask!
Though I had been in the Air Force for five years and was on my second deployment to Southwest Asia where the threat and enemy were near, I had never before been concerned about my chemical gear. I now realized I should have paid more attention during my annual chemical defense classes, one of my requirements as an Air Force navigator on C–130’s. Recalling how to put all the gear on was easy, but my worse case scenario was: I don all my gear and simply worry about dehydration. However, remembering where to inject the large needle from my gear into my hip without jamming it into my sciatic nerve was gaining prevalence on my list of important things to know.
It was fall 2002. Discussions of an invasion of Iraq gained fervor on television and on our base in Oman.
My crew and I had grown accustomed to flying into Pakistan and Afghanistan after September 11, 2001. Original fears of unknown operating areas and first-time combat operations had led to many prayers and self- reflection, but we had replaced them with card games and reading. With the exception of occasional small arms fire or a lucky rocket propelled grenade launch, threats to our C–130 aircraft were minimal. The walk many of us had taken with God to get through earlier tough times had been replaced by repetition.
This normalcy was broken that day when our commanders ordered us into a tent for a chemical gear refresher course. As they spread us apart to make sure we had enough room to inspect and manipulate our individual equipment, I noticed a difference. The more experienced master sergeant, not the young senior airman, was teaching the course. I suddenly realized this was for real. Something was about to happen. That moment brought the confrontation of war to the forefront of my thoughts.
Much like repetitive life back home, we pray more during challenges than seasons of ease. Whether we’re in the comfort zone or combat zone, God sustains us. If we routinely see life from an altitude of thirty thousand feet or fly through our day with our feet on the ground, God is there. He is with us when the sun goes down and when it rises, whether over the sands of a Middle East desert or an American suburb’s sidewalks.
You are the maker of sunsets and sunrises. Thank you for this day you have given me.
“I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me.” (Psalm 3:5)
January 7
PREFLIGHT PRAYER
So here I was about to fly into harm’s way as a member of a crew that’d been flying together for two and a half months. We had flown more than twenty-five flights together and were well seasoned by Air Force standards. We knew each other’s weaknesses, strengths, and limitations, though we’d never discussed religion. Now here we were in the cargo compartment of a C-130 aircraft getting our final briefing from our aircraft commander
Having gotten our mission for our first flight of the Iraq war, we went through our typical pre-flight intelligence and mission briefing. I decided to walk to the plane instead of riding in the crew bus to get my mind in the right place. For whatever reason I kept thinking of my father who served in Vietnam on an AC-130 gunship; he survived being shot down in enemy territory. Upon arriving at the C-130, I ran through my checklist, paying special attention to the defensive equipment controls. It was then that our aircraft commander asked me to lead in a word of prayer.
“Brandon, would you lead us in a prayer?”
While the request caught me off guard, it felt correct and needed. We came together as a crew and formed a circle. I said a prayer asking God to watch over us and our fellow brothers in the coming armed struggle. As proud members of the Air Force, we had chosen to join military service and sworn an oath leading us all to this destiny. I said some words of thanks and praise and asked God to protect us. If we weren’t meant to come back, we had accepted that and were at peace with it.
We’d never discussed our relationships with God before and perhaps many of these men had been separated from any type of relationship with God for years. However, his unshakeable presence and grace was upon each man on that plane and delivered a sense of calmness all fear behind now, just get the job done.
Even though some on this earth have rejected you, I thank you that you are a God who welcomes us as we humble ourselves before you.
“The One enthroned in heaven laughs; the Lord scoffs at them (the kings who take their stand against him).” (Psalm 2:4)
January 8
PARACHUTE
I did something I normally didn’t do during that first flight into Iraq I wore my parachute.
My father was a member of an AC-130 gunship crew in Vietnam that was hit by a SA-7 surface to air missile (SAM) in June 1972.[1] He was one of only three survivors. To hear him tell the story, he’s not sure why he lived while others died. Of all the details of his survival, the one I find most amazing is that after standing up in his aircraft, he remembers an explosion and confusion all around him. It was then that he regained consciousness in mid-air. That presence of mind gave him the ability to engage his parachute. Thanks to his parachute, he survived that day, and I was born two years later.
Fast-forward twenty-nine years to my first flight into Iraq. I’m the one flying into harm’s way, not my father. Although I had become accustomed to flying into Afghanistan’s dangerous air space, it was not procedure for C-130 aircrew to wear parachutes. However, on that first flight, I felt compelled to wear a parachute like my father.
As a navigator, I’d reflected on my father’s shoot-down many times over the years. I’ve always concluded that the parachute and a bit of luck saved his life. As we prepared for flights into Iraq, the intelligence we received
