painted a bleak picture for a C-130 aircraft, so I thought it best to don my parachute for that first flight, incase a SAM (surface to air missle) found us.
Not until I returned to Kuwait and prepared for a second flight into Iraq did I realize the truth. Perhaps my commander’s request that I lead the crew in prayer steered my thoughts. It wasn’t timing, luck, or a parachute that saved my father. It was God’s will. God saved my father that day because he had work yet to be done. My own life was part of God’s plan. After concluding this, I tossed my parachute in the back of the plane. I geared up for the next flight following normal sans-parachute procedure. I looked to God as my saving grace, not some piece of equipment.
Truth be told on that first flight into Iraq; the parachute was bulky and very uncomfortable. However, on all flights since with God on my shoulder, the weight has been lifted.
Lord, you are the great life-preserver. Preserve my life according to your plan.
“Defend my cause and redeem me; preserve my life according to your promise.” (Psalm 119:154)
January 9
BOTTLE OF SAND
Just like back home in the United States, we take photos of the significant moments of things we want to remember. So, I took a picture of the Army “kids” in the back of the plane at the onset of the war in Iraq.
As we loaded them onto the plane in Kuwait I couldn’t help but say to my fellow aircrew, “How do they carry all that stuff on their backs?” and “Gosh, they look so young.”
We ran several shuttles that night from Kuwait into Iraq; each time delivering about sixty paratroopers in the 82nd Airborne into harm’s way. The 82nd Airborne is an elite airborne infantry division of the United States Army. This mission was one of those moments where the Air Force and Army joined forces, demonstrating the joint strength of the United States military. Our last flight took us flying into and out of daylight, which made the end of our mission even more dangerous than the beginning.
Just before our final departure from Iraq, I ran out of the ramp of our C-130 into the daylight and filled a bottle with some Iraq sand. While I still have that bottle of sand, I never look at it as I thought I would a symbol of aviation excellence. Instead, it’s a reminder of sacrifice. I always think of those kids that got off our plane in a foreign land and the seven who lost their lives. The fresh faces in the photographs are still embedded in my mind. I was too involved with myself and celebrating the aircrew accomplishments of finishing our mission that I never stopped to think of others who were entering battle and would not return.
Instead of celebrating, I wish I had been praying for safe return of other soldiers.
God promised his people he would bless them and make their “descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as the sand on the seashore” (Genesis 22:17). That bottle of sand reminds me to pray and think about God as the Good Shepherd of all who serve in the armed forces.
I pray for those around me today, remembering that you love them and care for them more than I can ever know.
“Know that the LORD is God, It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.” (Psalm 100:3)
January 10
DUST THAT TURNS DAY INTO NIGHT
The dust storm wind was so loud that it drowned out the engine of our amphibious assault vehicle. Tracks, as we called them, are armored personnel carriers. I was part of a three-man crew transporting fifteen Marines that night March 24, 2003, just four days into the invasion of Iraq. We were about eighty to one hundred miles north of An Nasiriyah on our push to liberate Baghdad. Despite the wind, Lance Corporal Mejia’s voice came in loud and clear over the intercom in my helmet.
“I can’t see anything out here,” Mejia exclaimed as he drove.
“Just keep close enough to see the track in front of us,” Sgt. Connors instructed from the turret. “Everything alright down there L.B.?”
“Yes, Sergeant, everything’s cool. Real dusty though,” I responded from the troop compartment. I was the rear crewman. My job was to keep an eye on the infantry in the back and provide security for them when they exited the vehicle.
The dust was pouring into our track’s open hatches. We had been through a couple of dust storms, but nothing like this. Visibility was about ten meters, forcing our column of thirty-seven tracks to move at a snail’s pace.
“Listen up,” Connors called. “I just heard over the net that we can’t move any further in this dust. We are going to set up our defense for the night.”
It took several hours to set up our armored coil, a security formation resembling a clock with tracks filling the clock’s positions at 90-degree angles. After trudging through relentless dust, we finally got into position.
When the infantry started digging, the strangest thing happened. The dust got so thick, it turned day into night. This was the darkest pitch I’d ever seen. It was so dark when I got out of the track, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, even with my night vision goggles. I had to feel my way along the track to reach the rear personnel hatch.
Then a bizarre thing happened. It got light again. The world around us was wrapped in a strange red fog, as if we were on Mars. The dust wasn’t strongly blowing anymore, but visibility was only about a couple hundred meters. Half an hour later, it was dark again for good. Night had finally come. Because of the dust no one, including the enemy, would be moving tonight, so we thought.
Father, though the wind sometimes howls and dust hinders my visibility, I put my trust in you.
“I am laid low in the dust; preserve my life according to your word.” (Psalm 119:25)
January 11
NIGHT WATCH
A couple hours into that night, the dust storm began to let up. As visibility became completely clear, we were shocked to see an enemy convoy about four kilometers to our direct front. Lacking our night vision capability, the enemy used very dim headlights to maneuver. Although these headlights were about half as bright as regular automobile headlights, they were very visible from our position. We were astonished. The Iraqi convoy stretched from one end of the horizon to the other. It was just sitting there, not moving.
All I could think about was what a great opportunity for an air mission. The chatter over the radio suggested
