Freedom doesn’t empower subjugation

I don't observe Christmas in December, for historical reasons that merit a different blog post. In fact, I don’t celebrate any of the traditional Christian holidays – even though I love the holiday season. However, as an American, I would be a hypocrite to advocate forced change of the name “Christmas tree” to “holiday tree,” or the greeting “Merry Christmas” to “happy holidays.”

It’s not merely semantics, but a matter of principle. Now, I’m no genius, and I have little skill in rhetoric, but the controversy over Christmas should never happen in America. A large part of what it means to be free in America involves religious freedom. This is the message of the pilgrims in American history. Religious censorship is what motivated them to emigrate from Europe .

So when I see organizations attempting to neutralize public events related to Christmas – or ban them altogether – I’m reminded more of constraint and intolerance than freedom. Unfortunately, I feel many Americans have mistaken our freedom of religion to mean freedom from religion.

As I understand it, freedom of religion safeguards the people from a government that would force its people to practice a certain religion only. To my knowledge, the U.S. government has never forced a religion on anyone. And having a public display of a Christmas tree or manger scene is hardly an act of repression.

I think military members understand the idea of freedom very well – because everything their job stands for ultimately comes down to protecting freedom. I saw a refreshing example of real religious tolerance last Christmas at Langley Air Force Base. The chapel had a Christmas tree and a Menorah displayed – together. They had a lighting ceremony that recognized both Christmas and Hanukkah. Now, until the government starts making attendance mandatory to such events, I welcome them with enthusiasm. Some of the best memories come from these events. A feeling of unity and camaraderie is a common result, or else people would not have them.

Nevertheless, some people have come to believe freedom includes freedom from being offended. But in a land where free speech is touted, personal offence is unavoidable. So, if you’re offended because someone wished you “Merry Christmas” this year, understand no one owes you recompense. I hope your offense is taken with dignity and mitigated by understanding that offence is a small price to pay to live free. After all, freedom doesn’t empower subjugation.

I'm home - Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas

Just a quick note to let everyone know I safely got back from Iraq. Please forgive my silence on this blog the past three months -- It's been tough getting back into the swing of things. I now plan on reengaging (even though my subject matter won't be nearly as interesting as Iraq's).

Shalom and God bless!

A gift – but not for you

I’d like to spin a tale about my friend Scott Johnson, the protocol sergeant here at Baghdad International Airport. This is a true story.

Now, while I’m out trying to get the scoop for news stories, Scott is stuck in the main headquarters building handling all the important people that come through. We get everything from general officers to congressional delegates through here because this is basically the only airport for Baghdad run by the U.S. military. Scott works protocol here as a special duty. He’s a nuclear missile maintainer by trade out of Vandenberg Air Force Base, Calif. Like most maintenance guys, he’s got a foul mouth and sarcastic demeanor – a perfect first impression to every distinguished visitor that comes through here. But honestly, he is very good at the protocol role – very diplomatic. It is probably because of his diplomacy that he’s gathered quite a collection of military coins since he’s been here. (In the military, every high-ranking officer have personal coins with their insignia they give to people who perform well.) However, there is something Scott wanted more than coins.

We had a conversation back in July about how cool it would be to get a miniature T barrier as a gift. A life-size T barrier is a giant concrete slab that makes up a portion of a wall. They are about 12 feet high and six feet wide. They’re placed around most work environments to mitigate rocket blast when we’re attacked by mortars and rockets. The miniature T barriers are like a paperweight leadership gives out here for excellence. It was something we often saw leadership give out, but they didn’t quite make it down to us NCOs in the Glass House.

One day recently, however, the former commander of the medical squadron, Colonel Balserak, came by to see me with two of the small T barriers in his hand. He gave one to me as a parting gift for writing stories on his unit. The other he asked me to give to Chief Hatzinger, our superintendent. I had scored a barrier, and I couldn’t wait to produce my prize in front of Scott.

“Check it out Scott!” I said with amusement as I showed him my T barrier. “Colonel Balserak gave it to me.” Scott just shook his head in irritation and walked away. It didn’t help that I was chuckling at him. Later that night, Scott was playing a game of cribbage with Hatzinger. I then remembered I had to give the chief his T barrier that Balserak dropped off. I remember feeling fortunate to see Scott’s reaction again. As I put it on the chief’s desk, I told him I got one too. The chief’s face lit up. “That’s great! Did you get one Scott?” “Nope,” he answered curtly. “Well, who else got one?” asked the chief. Scott answered “Well, both the colonels, the captain, Sergeant Bailey, Sergeant Wicke and you chief; essentially, everyone in the headquarters but protocol.” The chief looked disappointed. “He didn’t give one to you and Lieutenant Hatcher?” “No” said Scott, “but it’s okay because I’m over it now.”
The next day though, Scott got a message to go see Balserak in his office. Scott assumed the chief pressured the colonel into giving him a T barrier. After an awkward wait outside the colonel’s office, Balserak finally approached Scott. Scott stood and shook his hand. “What can I do for you?” said the colonel. “Captain McGath said you had something for me?” asked Scott. “Hmm … No.” answered Colonel Baslerak in thoughtful pause. The situation was becoming more awkward every second because, through this brief conversation, the colonel would not let go of Scott’s hand. He continued to shake it. Finally, after awkward silence, the colonel said “Oh yes! I know what this is about. Wait here.” He retreated into his office and returned with a T barrier.

“Give this to Lieutenant Hatcher for me, would you?” I wish I could have been there to see Scott’s face!

Needless to say, Scott wasn’t pleased over being called over to deliver the T barrier for someone else. And after a little misunderstanding, it turned out Balserak had gotten one for Scott too. He had given it to Colonel Czzowitz, our deputy commander, who was holding on to it until he saw Scott. We’re still not sure if he arranged that little meeting for Scott on purpose though. Czzowitz just laughs when we ask him and replies with a negative.

A Fearful Situation

Last night I had a chilling reminder of a fearful moment in a combat area. Oddly enough it all started when I woke up in the middle of the night needing to use the restroom. From my previous post, I highlighted one of the biggest discomforts in a deployed area: portable toilets.

At home we take for granted the ease of relieving ourselves in the middle of the night. A short stumble across the hall and you’re there at the restroom. Here, it’s about 50 yards of walking. But there are rules. You can’t be out of your tent unless you’re in uniform. So using the restroom at night involves getting up and getting dressed – socks, shoes and all. The long walk isn’t on pavement either – the ground is covered with loose, fist-sized gravel requiring careful steps at night. And of course, I don’t need to explain the disadvantages of portable toilets over flushing toilets.

Anyway, last night as I lay in bed, I was having a debate with myself if I wanted to try to hold it the remainder of the night, or just get up and go. “If I stay,” I thought, “I’ll be uncomfortable and get only shallow sleep. If I go, I have to deal with getting dressed, the long walk, the smell, and then risk being wide awake from the trauma once I return.” To pee or not to pee ...

It was at this point I recalled an occasion a few years back in Afghanistan. I was at small place called Shkin Fire Base with the Army. Shkin is really more like a fort – there are four stone walls surrounding us and only about 100 people there. The walls were approximately 25 feet high, except at the four corners where there were tall look-out towers. Our small number (of soldiers) was unsettling because Shkin is located right on the Pakistan border where hundreds of Taliban fighters are finding sanctuary, enjoying immunity in Pakistan.

It was there that we got an intel report of about a $100,000 reward promised by Taliban leadership to anyone who could capture a live American soldier. That kind of money in Afghanistan would set someone for life. We also were familiar with rumors of what usually happened to an American soldier who was caught by the terrorists: immediate castration.

Now, Shkin was the most austere place I’ve ever been. We didn’t even have portable toilets. Instead we had slit trenches outside the protection of the walls. In Deut. 23:12, God orders the Israelites to designate a place outside their camp for relieving themselves. After being at Shkin, I know why. A slit trench is the most foul and disgusting thing I’ve ever experienced – and there is no way I would want one anywhere near where I slept or ate. The only problem was it was outside the protection of the walled fort. For this reason, we tried to restrict our visits there to daylight hours and with a buddy.

So one night, I had the most awful dream. While sleeping in our split-level bunker, I dreamed I was laying there in need of using the restroom. But in the dream I was terrified of going outside the wall at night. After all the act of using the restroom leaves a person in a very vulnerable position – so I suffered. It’s not that I’m afraid of dying. I’m really not. There are just certain (special) parts of me I’d rather not witness being cleaved from my body.

In the dream I laid there waiting for daylight hours, struggling to hold it in. My bladder was being very unforgiving. It felt like an over pressurized tire pushing up into my rib cage. Finally, my will broke before my bladder. I got up and started arming up for the event. I put on my ballistic vest and helmet. I grabbed my pistol and my M-16 and loaded them both up. Then, I walked out doubled over, making my way out of the bunker and toward the wall’s gate. I paused briefly to build up my nerve and then quietly shuffled to the slit trench. Its odor gave away its proximity. I arrived and began preparing for the jettison. But as soon as I was about to “let go” multiple terrorists ambushed me, stripping me of my guns and armor. One of them spit hateful words at me in Pashto, and the last thing I remembered was a knife coming out. I think the anxiety of that action startled me awake. I was still safe inside the wall, in my bunker (and thankfully dry). “Oh, thank you my Lord, Christ, the Messiah,” I whimpered in a trembling, emotion-filled voice. However, relief soon melted away into horror as I sat up and gathered my wits. I had to pee.

That ended up being a long night for me. And, as I lay awake last night debating on whether or not to go to the portable toilet, which was inside the safety of the camp here, I realized we didn’t have it quite so bad. So I got up and dressed myself and went.

It’s funny how our frame of mind can cause us to be so thankful to God. Before I recalled that moment a few years back, I hated my situation. But my past hardship made me grateful. Our trials seem to do that to us – to make us rejoice in lesser things. I mean, here I was thanking God for a nice, safe portable toilet. Only moments before, I was bemoaning it. Consider James 1:2-4.

Pleasant surprise

I just wanted to illustrate through an image that you can find the best of things in places you least expect them! Who would have thought I would find such tasty treats here?

Putting jest aside, in the deployed environment these portable toilets are a symbol of everything that is uncomfortable. I published this image as a joke in my newsletter to remind people that hot, portable toilets can also be the source of a laugh as well. At least I got a laugh out of it.

Our God created dance

I want to tell you about Derrell Hendricks, a young troop I now admire.

I was invited to be a part of a humanitarian mission here (in Baghdad, Iraq) where a group of about ten of our guys went to deliver a load of goods to some local Iraqi children. The items given out were clothing, paper/pencils, food, soccer balls and other useful stuff. Most of the goods are sent from family members of deployed soldiers.

Anyway, we arrived to the village and there was a crowd of about 20 eager kids, (not including adults). It was a typical humanitarian mission: Soldiers passing stuff out to swarming Iraqi children – they jumped and crawled all over us and put their hands on everything. Several of them repeatedly asked (in broken English) for my camera. It was standard behavior. These missions are always a sort of joyful chaos.

Usually, however, once the items are all passed out, it gets a little slow. We often have only one translator and many soldiers have a hard time playing with kids who don’t speak English. They try to communicate – but it’s usually a little awkward. However, Derrell showed us all a thing or two about foreign relations.

He grabbed a soccer ball and bounced it right off a young boy’s head. That kid grabbed the ball and tossed it back at Derrell as hard as he could. Derrell head butted the ball right back to the boy and it was on. They both jockeyed around for the soccer ball as if they were opponents on a team. Many other children swarmed him and he just tossed them around playfully like they were his own kids.

After about 45 minutes, they grew weary of the soccer ball and all started singing some kind of playground chant in Arabic. Derrell seemed like he couldn’t contain himself. He broke out in a series of dance moves that were both spontaneous and smooth. As he danced to the rhythm of their chant, he was so animated and charismatic that even the adults came to watch. Now, Derrell is black, and his refined and unique dance moves reflected his subculture. No southern white kid my old neighborhood could move like he did and make it look good. There’s just something about the black culture that is joyful and attractive when it comes to dancing. It’s like Derrell just forgot everything around him and moved to the rhythm of the Iraqi chant. This only encouraged the kids – they loved it.



Any child that wasn’t already around Derrell was now on their way to him. The kids were captivated by him. They all joined in the chant and were clapping and singing louder and louder. Derrell just moved with a smiling face and snapping fingers.

After it got dark, the flight sergeant had to break up the fun so we could return. We loaded the bus. Just when we were about to drive off, a boy, who looked like he was about six, ran up the stairs of the bus and loudly sang out the now-familiar chant. Derrell jumped out of his seat and started dancing again, right in the isle. The kid exploded in laughter (a wonderful universal language I think).

A few seconds passed and an Iraqi man came and yanked the boy off the bus.

“That was some good old fashioned fun right there,” said Derrell. No doubt, Derrell made it fun for everyone. His flight sergeant said Derrell was always like that, and that he always connected with people in a unique way. “He’s the pied piper of our squadron,” said the sergeant.

Be reminded that Derrell is God’s creation. The Lord made that young man the way he is. So, when I see things like that, I can’t help but imagine how God enjoyed watching these events as well. It reminds me how carefully and creatively he designed each of us. And we are in his image – I wonder what it’s like to watch Him dance, and to be a part of that scene.

Should Christians fight in wars?

I recently heard of a new Christian group who is very critical to believers who serve in war – specifically because of Jesus’ words in Luke 6:27-38 about loving and praying for enemies, turning the other cheek, and giving whatever is asked of you. They claim fighting America’s wars is fighting for a worldly Kingdom. It is these claims I want to refute in this post.

According to C.S. Lewis (1949), acclaimed Christian philosopher, when Christ spoke these words recorded in Luke, there was a specific application for them his audience would not have missed.

"Does anyone suppose our Lord’s hearers understood him to mean that if a homicidal maniac, attempting to murder a third party, tried to knock me out of the way, I must stand aside and let him get his victim? I at any rate think it impossible they could have so understood him. I think it equally impossible that they supposed him to mean that the best way of bringing up a child was to let it hit its parents whenever it was in a temper, or, when it had grabbed the jam, to give it the honey also. I think the meaning of the words was perfectly clear – “Insofar as you are simply an angry man who has been hurt, mortify your anger and do not hit back” (p. 86).

He goes on further to say that if a person were in an official position, like a parent, or a court judge, or a soldier, “your duties may be very different because [there] may be then other motives than egotistic retaliation for hitting back” (p. 86).

Lewis also has a lot to say about serving in war. Like Lewis believed about WWII, I believe our cause to be honorable in Iraq and even further, I believe it’s our nation’s duty to at least attempt to help a less fortunate nation – even when it’s tough. It’s unfortunate though, this modern war in Iraq will likely not have the same outcome as WWII, because people in America (and Iraq) aren’t united for the common good, as Americans were in WWII. (Indeed, Americans had to be united because the laymen understood the war threatened the homeland if Hitler succeeded in Europe.)

I think if the greater good would come from the decision to go to war, then war (although tragic) is justified. It is rational to say that peace under Hitler (or Islam) would in no way be better than a war preventing his (its) rule.

I think Lewis’s strongest point about war is made on page 75ff though. To summarize, he said good countries should do good things for other countries. However, no single country has resources to do good things for all countries in need. In the process of helping A, it neglects B. So it therefore makes sense that the good country should choose to help the country who is a benefactor and neglect the one who has no special claim on it. And sometimes “it involves helping A by actually doing some degree of violence to B” because B is threatening A.

Consider the following excerpt from Lewis (1949):

The doctrine that war is always a greater evil seems to imply a materialist ethic, a belief that death and pain are the greatest evils. But I do not think they are. I think the suppression of a higher religion by a lower, or even a higher secular culture by a lower, a much greater evil. Nor am I greatly moved by the fact that many of the individuals we strike down in war are innocent. That seems, in a way, to make war not worse but better. All men die, and most men miserably. That two soldiers on opposites sides, each believing his own country to be in the right, each at the moment when his selfishness in most in abeyance and his will to sacrifice in the ascendant, should kill [each] other in plain battle seems to me by no means one of the most terrible things in this very terrible world (p. 77-78).

I would take it even further and say that when women and children die resulting from collateral damage in war, (although unjust), it is not the worse evil that could have happened to them. Their own countrymen could be doing far more damage to them in life, than the attacking country has done in killing them unintentionally. (This I know to be the case from experience in Afghanistan and Iraq. Many times the lives of the innocent suffer long lives under their oppressors.)

Finally, I believe that even in a corrupt society, there can be righteous individuals in that society’s military who do good things wherever they’re sent. (Wasn’t this the case with Cornelius, officer in the Roman Empire in Acts 10.) Additionally, When soldiers serving under a corrupt establishment asked Jesus how they should live, (Luke 3:14) he did not instruct them to defect. He told them not to treat people poorly and be satisfied with their pay.

There may be a lot of corrupt decision makers involved in the process of this war, but in no way do I see those decisions inhibiting the righteous work of individual soldiers. Furthermore I believe the ultimate attempt is for America to help Iraq, not harm it.

There is a caution every believing soldier should be aware of though. It would not be good for a soldier to serve his country as he would serve God. We shouldn’t allow the war “to absorb our whole attention, because it is a finite object and therefore intrinsically unfitted to support the whole attention of the human soul” (Lewis, 1949, p. 52). And also, “A man may have to die for his country, but no man must, in any exclusive sense, live for his country. He who surrenders himself without reservation to the temporal claims of a nation, or party, or class is rendering to Caesar that which, of all things, most empathetically belong to God: himself” (p. 53).

Reference

Lewis, C.S. (1949) The weight of glory. New York: HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

Culture clash! Iraqis train with Americans

A few days ago I attached myself to some of our firefighters so I could write an article about their interaction with the Iraqis. The American troops are tasked to train the Iraqis how to be autonomous. But often progress is slow because there’s a cultural disconnect. We in the military make up mostly Type ‘A’ personalities. When we have a job to do, we’re focused on getting it done – by the book. It’s all business for us. The Middle Eastern culture is more emotional. They’re big on building relationships before doing business. With that in mind, the situation that unfolded from our training was both amusing and thought provoking. Here’s what happened:

We arrived early on the Iraqis’ side of the base ready to do business. When we pulled up, they invited us inside their quarters. So we walked in and made their acquaintance. However, we noticed all the Iraqis were sitting around a table (and some on the floor) with tea cups. They weren’t ready to train – and I could tell our fire chief was irritated.

After much Iraqi insistence, our chief agreed to sit with them and drink tea. Our scheduled training time was one hour, but already 15 minutes had gone by with us just talking to them about unrelated topics. Talk was slow because everything had to go through a translator. Most of it was pointless flattery.

Finally, they agreed to get started. As we were walking toward the fire trucks, one of the Iraqis started speaking Arabic. The translator said to the chief, “They want you to meet their commander.” “How long will this take?” said our chief in an elevated tone. Through the translator, the Iraqi firefighter said “We have time – the day is new.”

Reluctantly, the chief decided to meet their commander. As we stepped in the Iraqi’s office I saw a table set up, adorned with fresh tea and tea cups. “Have some tea with me,” said the Iraqi officer. Our chief was barely holding on.

After we got through the unscheduled hour of tea, we headed out toward the flightline where an aircraft was parked for the training event. Our firefighters set up a scenario to test the ability of the Iraqi firefighters. We simulated a fire on a C-130 (large cargo aircraft). Part of the scenario included two unconscious pilots in the cockpit. The Iraqis were to drive up in fire trucks, put out the fire, and climb up to the cockpit to rescue the pilots.

For realistic purposes, our firefighters always use live people to play the role of unconscious pilots. Now, the C-130 cockpit is about 10 feet above the ground, so for safety purposes, we only required the Iraqis to remove the pilot from the seat, but not down the ladder. Carrying a live body down the ladder is dangerous and only practiced with a life-like dummy. For some reason, this bit of information did not make it through the translator to the Iraqis.

So the exercise began and the Iraqis barreled into the aircraft. The cockpit was crowded. There were two Americans playing unconscious pilots, two Iraqi rescue men, and myself (I was taking photos).

The Iraqis grabbed the first guy, whose name was Vance, and forcefully ripped him out of the seat. But instead of releasing him, they continued toward the exit hatch. They were carrying Vance belly up, with his head forward. The first Iraqi was holding Vance by the armpits and the Iraqi in back had his legs. As they moved toward the hatch, Vance suddenly animated himself and said, “Okay, that’s good. Put me down.” But they ignored him. The translator wasn’t there and these guys were playing serious.

“That’s enough, let me go!” Vance repeated, raising his voice a few octaves. He got a response in Arabic this time, but it didn’t sound friendly.

At this point the first Iraqi, who had Vance’s forward end, was mounting the ladder. Vance’s head was beginning to dip downward as his legs elevated above his torso. His voice quickly became unintelligible and high pitched and he was squirming like a cat avoiding a dunk in the toilet. He sounded like a greased pig behind a megaphone. I could hear our guys outside laughing at him.



The following seconds were a little hazy for me because I was doubled over laughing too. Vance was screaming like a little girl, but the two Iraqis just gripped harder and said things in Arabic that sounded like hard-core expletives. I’m not sure what the words were, but I doubt they would’ve used them in front of grandma.

The Iraqis finally got Vance down safely, but when they turned around to get the second victim, they found him standing there outside the aircraft with a smile. “I woke up,” he said. The Iraqis seemed disappointed they only got to rescue one guy. But we all had a great time making fun of Vance.

After thinking back on this, I realized how our different cultures caused such a clash. We Americans are big on business and safety to preserve individual life. The people of the Middle East seem to place more importance on sociality and community. In their minds, it’s okay to lose the lives of a few to benefit the whole. They see death as a rite of passage. We see death as a tragedy. They see us as worldly when we celebrate the individual; we see them as barbaric when they recruit people for suicide. Both of us need adjustments in these areas – they represent extremes of ideals gone corrupt. In the west we should learn to value community more, because it promotes selflessness. In the Middle East they should learn to value the individual more, because we are all created with intrinsic value.

Whatever the answer is, I’m no philosopher, or even a leader, so I’ll stick to what I know: praying for understanding, and a loving heart. That, I believe, is a good start in this world. As for Vance, he said that was the last time he’ll train with the Iraqis. I told him they were probably calling him a sissy.

What is our daily bread?

When we pray the Lord’s Prayer, we say “give this day our daily bread” (italics mine). How often in America do we ask God to provide our daily meals and mean it? Richard Roberts, a good friend of mine, pointed out this thought-provoking question to me. Even now, when I pray the Lord’s Prayer, I never find myself compelled to depend on God for my next meal. It makes me feel rather ashamed – especially when people in less fortunate countries reflexively beg God every day for a meal.

The reason we can only mouth this prayer is because we are so secure in our next meal. As you read this, there is likely more than several days’ worth of food stocked in your house. And as I write this, there are service members in the chow hall here preparing our next meal. But I had a small epiphany recently that enabled me to pray for my daily bread renewed fervor.

In this environment (Baghdad, Iraq) we get tired quickly. Hours are long, tempers are short, and stress is abundant. I often find myself struggling to maintain composure. Sometimes hourly I need to remind myself to take deep breaths. (This happens frequently to us even when we’re not in war environments. We all have trials.) I need something more than my own grit and mettle to get me to sunset.

Anyway, I was in the chapel a while back and we were singing the song Breathe by Michael W. Smith. There is a line in that song that says “This is my daily bread, your very Word, living in me.” After I left the chapel I fell to my knees and thanked God for showing me a new meaning to this part of the Lord’s Prayer. The Words of God are something I need to ask for everyday – we were meant to feed on them. This is something we Americans do starve for – especially if we aren’t in the habit of seeking it or asking for it. I find if I don’t get this kind of Bread, my state of mind deteriorates.

So now, I pray for daily bread every day with new meaning “God please, just for today, give me your Words, my bread, so I can get through this day.”

Of bats and men

I endured a “bitter-sweet” scene of drama last night. We are in the final week of Session E and I only had one more test to take. Here in Baghdad, the terrorists are fair-weather fighters: they rarely attack in bad weather or at night. From this assessment I’ve made it a practice to take my tests at night, when there is little activity on camp and no rocket attacks. Because the tests are timed on the computer, it would be very inconvenient to come under attack in the middle of a test.

Now, because of my job as a journalist, I have a pretty sweet working environment. My office is in Saddam Hussein’s personal terminal at Baghdad International Airport. It’s lavish, complete with a glass dome ceiling (see photo) and marble floors. I share the area with the camp’s commander and his staff.



Anyway, at about 9:30 p.m. while I was taking my test, a bat found its way into the building and was flying around up in the dome. Several people gathered to watch what would turn from a minor distraction to a major one.

The captain called entomology to come retrieve the bat. But when they arrived, they didn’t have nets or traps – only a flash light and a long stick.

So I’m sitting at my desk focusing on a question about the theme of Ephesians and enduring a scene of minor disorder. Until this point I got only the occasional “fly-by” visit from the “flying rat.” However, the guys from entomology engaged in their trapping technique, which involved turning out the lights and attempting to usher the bat outside with a bright flashlight. Some other guys decided they’d help by waiving some sticks (and one garden rake) at the bat.

So I’m at my desk taking a test, while there are guys jockeying around waiving sticks to and fro in the dark. The chief is waiving the rake and asking me why I’m not joining in the fun. I tried ignoring his question, but he just kept asking me in a louder voice. In addition to this, there’s a guy shining a flashlight around in the dome filled with reflective glass. The place looked like a disco club with a bunch of angry villagers going after an ogre. Eventually, they chased the bat out the door. I knew right when it happened too because they all started cheering like their team just won the Super Bowl. There were high fives all around and each person came to me personally to inform me what I already knew from the ruckus.

“We got ‘em Wicke! You should write a story!” Although I politely declined to cover their victory over the bat, I can’t help but love these people.

I scored my lowest grade in the class (78%) but I couldn’t be upset because it was just too comical. I’ll likely never experience anything like it again.

Image of a broken spirit

This environment is so unpredictable. Just when people are beginning to feel a little security, something happens that jars that delicate state of mind. It’s not just the rocket attacks, or casualties among our unit. Part of it is that every man who has lost his life in Baghdad – his remains come to our airfield to be flown back home. So we see all the fatalities – not just those from our unit.

We load more than ten flag-draped caskets every week into the back of a plane. We pray over them, we salute, and send them off to their families. My heart is pummeled every time. But yesterday, after sending off six more Army soldiers, my soul felt shredded.

This one was a little different. I don’t attend every memorial, but the ones I usually go to are at night, and only a few Airmen are there. This last one, however, about fifty Army soldiers traveled to our airfield to see off their fallen brothers. After we loaded them on the aircraft we gathered around the caskets for the chaplain to pray. We asked God to receive them, said Amen and then we stood at attention ready for the call, “Present Arms!”

Now a salute is always given at attention, maintaining a rigid body and stoic face. We all try to remain strong. In front of me there were four soldiers in my line of sight. They were big. They had hardened, angular faces and shaved heads – but they were struggling. The soldier directly in front of me, a man I did not know, suddenly squeezed his eyes shut. His lips became thin and spread downward across his face. While holding his salute his broad shoulders began shaking, and tears made tracks on his cheeks. His rank was sergeant. I will never forget this sight, because it pierced me; it burned its image permanently in my soul. I wept again – a usual occurrence for me here.

I know the loss of physical life is not as tragic as the loss of a soul. In the Bible God puts a much higher value on following him, than on maintaining one’s life. That’s why he calls some to die early. But there’s something about it that causes great pain to us – something that makes us fight hard to prevent it. Seeing that soldiers face made me want to do something to help him, something to take his pain. This must be why Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb. It wasn’t for Lazarus – Jesus was about to raise him. It was because he saw on the faces of Mary and Martha what I saw on this soldier’s face: a broken, grief-filled spirit.

But a broken spirit is the state of mind that God is closest to a person: “The Lord is close to the broken hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit,” (Psalm 34:18). C.S. Lewis agrees that war is a great evil, but he admits there are times when fighting is necessary. In fact, he suggests war is a “safer” place to die.

All men die, and most men miserably. That two soldiers on opposite sides, each believing his own country to be in the right, each at the moment when his selfishness is most in abeyance and his will to sacrifice in ascendant, should kill each other in plane battle seems to me by no means one of the most terribly thing in this very terrible world (Lewis, The weight of Glory).

From our position, the position of a rank-in-file combatant, our job is to fight; not to make policy. Ours is to be faithful to one another and to work hard for the greater good. Ours is to keep our “selfishness in abeyance” and be willing to sacrifice. And ours is to comfort those who have lost ones they love. In this way we are the image of Christ to other people.

After all, these situations force people to recognize their mortality. People here are looking for God when they otherwise wouldn’t be. Maybe this is the meaning of the proverb: “Grief is better than laughter, for sadness can improve a person” (Ecc. 7:3).

Humility: such a slippery virtue

I have a long way to go.

We, here, are suffering through one of the most challenging times in the military: A change-of-command ceremony. I know this sounds ridiculous considering we are living in Baghdad, Iraq. But something peculiar happens when a new boss comes in – no matter where you are. It makes middle management overreact to every little thing. And when middle management suffers stress, we all do.

Because of this ceremony I found how serious my vice of pride really is.

I can’t help but feel middle management places a load on the workers when they want to impress the big boss. They make promises and commit to jobs that won’t affect their day-to-day work, but it loads up a burden for us. It’s quite an insecure feeling actually – to watch someone load up your schedule who doesn’t know what’s already on it.

Here’s what happened. I was at my desk enhancing some photos and the captain comes up to me and said, “Hey Flash (my nick name), go grab the colonel’s body armor, ammo and helmet and load it into the truck – get mine too while you’re at it.” For the whole day I was pulled from my duties to meet little demands like these. Frequent interruption is painful to me. I began grumbling to myself, “Where’s the protocol guys? This is their job.”

I didn’t notice my problem until the final interruption. Later that night the outgoing boss was out-processing the base, which involves paperwork. The official duty day ends at 7 p.m. and I was at my desk focusing on my homework. At about 9:20 p.m., the captain came to me again and said “I want you to take the colonel’s paperwork up to the admin office and complete his out processing.”

Although I didn’t say anything to him, I was angry. The time I have here for homework is irregular and limited. I felt he was invading on my time, in order to have me do a demeaning task.

But under the anxiety, I started examining myself. I thought, “Isn’t service like this what our whole philosophy as Christians stands for? Why do I have such a problem with what is asked of me? Instead of jumping on the opportunity to “wash feet” when it comes, I get angry at being interrupted.” Jesus was interrupted frequently.

Even more convicting is this: the man I was being asked to serve is actually my better in all areas: age, rank, education, experience and income. Even the captain surpasses me in all these. If I struggle serving those above me, how can I expect to do as the Lord commanded, and serve those under me?

In my self defense, I began recalling past times where I served people I “outranked” socially, without internal protest. This resulted in my horror.

A day in the life at Baghdad International Airport

I’ve been here a little over two weeks now, which is long enough for me to explain life here. The most eye-opening detail is the rocket and mortar attacks. Although there is no pattern, we average about three attacks a week, and each attack consists of two to four rockets/mortars. (For those who don’t know the difference, rockets are engine propelled and mortars are shot like a gun at an upward angle. They arch and fall back to the ground. Both explode with shrapnel – see shrapnel in photo below).



A few days ago, a rocket hit the building I was in. It was about 20 meters from where I was sitting and knocked about 200 pounds of concrete to the floor. I nearly had to change my underwear – and my ears rang for a while. Thankfully, our building is reinforced with concrete all around. But there was still a big hole right through the ceiling. The rocket exploded on the roof before it punched through, so none of the shrapnel went into the building. No one was hurt – I think it’s because of my wife’s prayers. She’s is one of God’s favorites.

For those who don’t know, I’m a journalist for the Air Force. But my commanding officer won’t let me leave the compound to get any stories – he said he doesn’t want to send any letters to my wife and mother. He lets no one go off base unless mission dictates. That means it’s safe for me – but it makes my work harder. Every boss is different. In Afghanistan, my commander sent me all over the place getting great stories. Of course, with great stories comes great pucker factor (in other words, in Afghanistan there were many close calls).

However, I feel almost shameful being on the base all the time. Almost every day we get casualties, and my chest is always tight when I watch them load up on the aircraft. I haven’t gotten used to it.

It’s out of my hands though. I can’t go out to get stories, so I’m stuck on the Victory Base Complex surrounding the Baghdad International Airport. I write about the missions that happen inside, (see links at bottom for samples of my work). It’s been about 113 degrees outside and rising. It’s also dusty. Bathrooms and showers are all communal – and a long walking distance. The average day is more than 12 hours of work, and then homework, and then sleep. I take Saturday as my one day off because it’s the holy day.

The food is very good. There is a chow hall that serves three hot meals a day here (as opposed to MREs). I pulled guard duty there today. Each person has to take turns guarding the doors once a month.

So that’s my routine: I Take photos and write about what’s going on inside. I do homework. We take rocket fire. We pay our respects to those who fall. We eat well. We endure the heat. We sleep (usually). And then we rise to do it again. May God always be praised. He will deliver us when we die, be it in Iraq or back home.

Some of my work:
Airmen in Baghdad keep convoys off the road
Baghdad Power Pro: We take heat so you don't have to
Photos: Baghdad airport runway cut 3,000 feet

I wept hard today.

I just completed my first full 24 hours in Baghdad, Iraq, and already I’ve attended my first memorial service here, honoring a fellow Airman who was killed Monday.

He died while driving in a convoy, hit by an improvised explosive device, or IED. The IEDs are usually big bombs hidden or buried in the road set off by remote control, cell phone, pressure sensor, or the like. The majority of U.S. deaths in Iraq are from this type of bomb.

Though I don’t know him (yet) I look up to this man who we honored today. I heard his story. Staff Sgt. Self volunteered to come to Iraq, so when his unit commander asked him if he was sure, his reply was simply, yes. He told his commander “God is my savior and we can’t control when we die.” His flight sergeant also quoted him saying, “If it’s your time, it’s your time.” His peers and chief lauded him as a person who feared God. He died living out in action what he said in words.

The bugler played taps. After this they played a bagpipe version of Amazing Grace, and when the music stopped his flight sergeant stood up and began to call out names. These were the names of the people in Sgt. Self’s flight. After each name came the reply “Here Sergeant.” Finally, he called out, “Sgt. Self.”

Nothing.

Again, “Staff Sgt. Self!”

Only silence.

A third time he cried out, “STAFF SGT. JOHN T SELF!”

This time there was an answer, though not the voice of Sgt. Self: Outside the honor guard shot their rifles in response.

I am in tears now, again, as I write this – not for John Self, he is with Christ. I weep for his family, who must be mourning in a way I do not know. However, the tears I shed for Sgt. Self are happy tears, because he has reached the goal. His team members said Sgt. Self believed in what he was doing here. He was here to serve God first and try to make Iraq better.

As far as I’m concerned, there is no better way to die.

Modern ‘foot washing’

My wife knows the meaning of modern foot washing. She is from Korea, so she is living in Virginia with me on a Green Card (Permanent Resident Card). Because of this, she has not yet got a job – and now that I’m leaving for Iraq, we decided to wait until my return for her to find work.

I, on the other hand, work all day on the military base. She is ready to talk when I return, and too often, I am tired and want silence after working all day with people. I do my best to understand this and I try to spend quality time with her at day’s end.

On a recent day however, I was pushed to my limits at work. People were demanding, I was behind on a project, and I had a mound of homework waiting for me at home. Kyoung can tell when I come home burned. I got home late this day, and she saw my face. Then she ushered me away to do homework while she prepared dinner, again by herself.

We ate. I couldn’t talk much because my brain was pushing against my skull. I felt a sore throat threatening to break into a cold. After eating, I finished off the last of my homework. It was only 8:30, but I just couldn’t squeeze any more energy out.

“Kyoung,” I said with sigh. “I’m too tired to do anything else. I’m so sorry. I just want to go to bed.” She understood me; despite her loneliness and desire for company she put me before herself and encouraged me to sleep.

As I closed my eyes back in the bedroom, I heard her start washing dishes from dinner. I hated myself. But sleep took over fast. And after this I had only one more waking moment before sleeping through the night.

I had already fallen asleep for about 30 minutes, but was awakened from someone touching my palm.

It was my wife, Kyoung, applying lotion to my dry hands. She then put Carmex on my chapped lips. “Who is this you gave me to marry, God?” I thought. “What kind of woman is this who forgets herself for me?” This is who my wife is: a servant of God. She treats me like she would treat Jesus were he here. I have a lot to learn from her. God help me to be like that to her, and everyone I know.
If you are reading this and have other examples of great service, please share them with me so we can all benefit.

Please help me in Iraq

I’ve now got about two weeks before I leave Virginia for Baghdad, Iraq. I write for the Air Force, so every time I go somewhere my job is a little different. To prepare for this deployment, the Air Force sent me to advanced combat training; however, I’m not quite sure what my job will consist of this time. I do know God has my best interest in mind.

One of the most rewarding things about being in the military is representing Christ overseas. The military chaplains often say that Christians in the military are forward missionaries. But understand this: I’m definitely not a trained or qualified missionary. In fact, I’m sometimes concerned I might dishonor God’s name unintentionally. I’m well acquainted with the great self struggle Paul wrote about in Romans 7. Knowing this struggle against self will, I would be horrified to “fall” in front of Muslim Iraqi – which would likely be his first impression of a Christian. This reminds me how important it is to guard God’s character when we wear it. Hey, it must be important to him too; check out the third of the Ten Commandments.

Much of my concern also comes from the military crowd I spend a lot of my time with. You probably know the stereotype: troops are obnoxious, rowdy, crude, fowl mouthed, etc. (My wife is a welcome opposite of this.) After being in the military for nine years I’ve become somewhat desensitized to raucous behavior. I still find myself resisting temptations to conform – after nine years of fighting it! I guess we’re all somewhat a product of our environment. But this is one of the reasons I love being a part of Regent. Proverbs 13:20 reads like this: “He who walks with the wise will become wise, but the companion of fools will suffer.” Likewise, 1 Cor. 15:33 is similar: “Bad company ruins good character.” For this reason, some of my company requires me to spend quality time in the Word and in prayer.

So, brothers and sisters, I’m depending on my wife and you to be the wise people for me to walk with. Please help me counter some of my experience in the world, and help me along with prayer. I want very much to do the will of our Father while in modern-day Babylon. But I can’t do it without you. Knowing you’re with me in prayer encourages me – so I want to do the same for you. I welcome e-mails with prayer requests, because knowing more of you personally is an honor to me (plus it builds a network for the Kingdom.)

Introduction -- preparing for Iraq

Welcome to my Blog. My goal is to glorify God, and share my faith with those who will listen. This is an interesting time for me to blog because I’m scheduled to leave for Baghdad,Iraq, in early May. I plan to document some of my experiences with the war and the military, while attending classes on line.

For the next four to six months, much of my writing (but not all) will be about my experience in Iraq -- because I'll be there. Please understand that, as an Airman in the U.S. Air Force, what I write is not likely to be objective on the Iraq war; but only a narrow window of my personal experience. I don't have overall perspective. (Who does really?) Furthermore, my opinions don't constitute endorsement of the U.S. Air Force. I write as a student, not as an Air Force representative.

I'm not writing this to report news, but mainly to offer my insights. Because I’m a moderate patriot and believe in what we’re doing, I’m likely bias in favor of our country. This doesn’t mean I won’t be fair and honest, it just means I’m human. You have my assurance though, I will post with integrity.

My primary duty in the Air Force is print journalism. As a journalist, this is not my first experience with war; I have deployed to several places in Afghanistan in support of Operation Enduring Freedom. There, I wrote about Soldiers and Airmen who fought, and who I fought with against the Taliban. Most of my stories focus less on news and more on personalities and human interest. For example, in Afghanistan we delivered large amounts of humanitarian aid such as blankets, non-perishable foods and water. I wrote on this. (The media isn’t likely to cover events like this because they lack several major news elements that sell: conflict, suspense, oddity, sensuality and death, to name a few. Unfortunately, the media is a commercial market and, as a business, they offer news that's most in demand.)

Throughout my blogging here, I'll also offer thoughts on my current scripture reading and my passions, to include how Judaism affects you and the modern world. My next post will highlight the Jewishness of Jesus.

I welcome your comments here and hope we can all learn from each other.