Lord, show me how to use my own trials and sufferings to further your kingdom and give you honor and glory.
“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6)
May 15
HERE AM I, SEND ME
I could tell when my superiors approached me that day that something was up. I was right.
“We have to send a bunch of guys from Korea to Iraq,” my boss told me. “We know you’re scheduled to change command in a few days, but we want to know if you want to go with your soldiers to Iraq or go with your family back to the States.”
It was just two days before my wife Wendy and two-year-old daughter Anna Grace were scheduled to leave Korea and get our house settled for the next chapter of our lives. After handing over command of my tank company, I was to join them a couple weeks later and start grad school at Syracuse University in order to teach at my alma mater, West Point.
Plans change.
“Here am I Lord,” I replied, “send me.”
It was clear to me then that God didn’t give me all the skills and abilities in order to turn my back on seventy-five guys who were counting on me and seek my own comfort in the academic life. My duty was to my soldiers.
Wendy cancelled her flight immediately to stay in Korea with me for the next two and a half months of training. During that time, we all flew to Colorado for a family reunion before the deployment to Iraq.
My parents, who I had not seen in two years, are strong believers and were as confident that God had called me to this mission as I was. My father, who served in the Viet Nam war, pulled me aside at one point for a crucial piece of advice.
“I want you to make a decision that whatever happens, you will not be bitter,” he said.
Did he have some premonition that I didn’t have? Or had he just seen too many soldiers respond with bitterness to the blows war dealt them? Taking Dad’s advice turned out to be providential. I had no idea what God had in store for me, but I deliberately chose to trust his sovereignty no matter what.
Lord, help me trust you so completely that I will not be tempted to grow bitter over my own trials.
“Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.” (Psalm 20:7)
May 16
WELCOME TO RAMADI
Holy cow, this place is really, really dangerous. We didn’t need to say it out loud at the same moment, we were all thinking it.
Seven days after we took over our sector in Ramadi, Iraq, we suffered our first casualty. My roommate, Tyler Brown, was killed by a sniper on Sept. 14, 2004. Inside, I was crushed Tyler was an amazing man of God with a bright future ahead of him but as company commander with 120 guys looking to me for leadership, I couldn’t let my grief interfere with my job performance.
Fast forward to Nov. 10, 2004. In an instant, the soldier riding one arm’s length to my left in our tank was killed when a rocket-propelled grenade hit him in the face.
In America, when somebody dies, we take time to mourn. In Iraq, we have a memorial service for the fallen, and those who can attend do, but we literally wash the blood out of the vehicle they were killed in, pack up their gear, send it off to next of kin, and go about our mission because we must. Most of the time, we swallow our tears and keep going. It’s surreal.
As a Christian, those traumatic experiences affected me much differently than those who don’t have strong faith. My own trial (and I couldn’t have known then the trauma waiting for me two months later) is one little brushstroke of a really big painting God is creating. Most people think their story, their circumstance IS the painting. So for those people, when something horrible happens, when someone is killed, they lose a leg, or a wife gets sick, they have a tough time putting it into perspective.
During the months and years ahead, Wendy and I knew our situation was ultimately not about us. It’s about God’s plan, and whatever way that circumstance works into God’s plan it’s not something I should be moping about. I should be honored that God is choosing me for a dramatic part of his plan, even though it’s painful.
Lord, even when I can’t see the bigger picture, help me to trust in your sovereign plan.
“Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. (1 Corinthians 13:12b)
May 17
REALITY CHECK
“What do you mean? I don’t understand!” I stood in the Costco parking lot with my cell phone pressed to my ear, shaking my head as if that would clear the confusion away. Daniel had just called from Iraq and told me his roommate Tyler had been killed in action.
“No, no, no,” I kept repeating, “It just can’t be.”
But it was and at Daniel’s request, I drove to Atlanta, two hours from where I had been living in Birmingham with my sister, to take his condolences to Tyler’s family. I arrived just hours after they heard the news.
Will they be angry? I wondered as I rang the doorbell.
Tyler’s brother opened the door and graciously escorted me through the crowd of friends and family already filling the house and introduced me to his parents.
They took me into another room and gathered Tyler’s siblings and their spouses. Mrs. Brown just held my hands as I haltingly shared with them Daniel’s condolences and offered to try to answer their questions from my limited information.
“Was there anyone else?” They wanted to know.
“No, he was the only one killed that day,” I had to tell them. It was so difficult. It’s hard to know your loved one was singled out, yet you’re glad that no one else was killed.
Looking into Mrs. Brown’s tear-stained face, my eyes were opened to a terrifying possibility. I thought to myself, God allowed Tyler to go home, and this was a Christian man with great potential. He was a great leader. He had an opportunity to do something much grander and safer, and he chose to be with his soldiers and he lost his
