I heard a can top pop open and peel back. A strange smell crossed my nose. I had smelled it before. All of a sudden, it came to me, Vienna Sausages. I was sitting on the Mall in Washington D.C. I was there for the 1997 Promise Keepers rally. There were over a million men that day. It was hot; that made the odor worse. I thought to myself, “Who in the world opens Vienna Sausages in the heat of the day on the Mall at D.C.?” I turned my head to look behind me. There was the culprit, Arnold Brown.
I was reminded of this story when I saw a can of Vienna Sausages while traveling in the southern region of Afghanistan. At the sight of them, my memory was flooded with images and thoughts of a particular event and a wonderful person.
Many of you don’t know Arnold. Arnold was an older man, at that time about 50 plus. I know that isn’t old for all you 50 year olds. But Arnold had aged a little more in his 50 years. Arnold had a slow intellect. He made up for it with heart. Somewhere along the way, Arnold became a fixture on all of our trips – youth, men, and adult trips. It didn’t matter where or when we left, Arnold was there.
I remember one time that Wayne Jones, I believe, said that when he got to the church to get the bus ready for a trip that Arnold slipped out of the shadows beneath the light pole. Wayne asked him how long he had been waiting. Arnold said that he got there around 4:30am. He didn’t want to miss a trip. As I think back, I am glad that he didn’t.
So sitting on the Mall in D.C., I caught a whiff of Vienna Sausages. As I watched Arnold methodically prepare to eat the gross food object, I learned something that day. You see, Arnold may be slow; but he was practical. For years, on the few occasions that I had actually eaten Vienna Sausages, the process of getting started properly had eluded me. The question has always been, “How do you get that middle one out and get started?” You can dig it out with your finger. But, that is messy and gross, like you would actually be worried about getting it on your fingers. I mean, they are processed pork pieces. Getting it on your fingers should be your least concern. The other method, and my preferred, would be to use a utensil to dig it out. Then use the utensil to easily extract the remaining sausages. But, you still don’t extract a perfectly whole sausage. Either way, damage is done.
It took a trip to D.C. with Arnold Brown to learn how to effectively extract a Vienna Sausage. If you have a weak constitution, beware! After noticing that it was Arnold breaking out the sausages, I became interested as I watched him prepare to consume them. The moment of discovery came. You see, Arnold took the can. He drank the disgusting juice from the can. I need to mention here for the sake of effect that Arnold had not one tooth in his head. Now, that doesn’t mean that he had no teeth. They just were not in his head. While he was eating Shrimp in New Orleans once, tails and shells included, I asked him, “Arnold why don’t you have your teeth?” He answered, “I do.” Seeing him struggling to eat shrimp with the tails and shells I had to ask, “Where are they?” Patting his chest he said, “They are in my shirt pocket.” Well of course they are, I thought. Where else would your teeth be Tim? So anyway, he drank the juice from the can. Here is where I was enlightened. He then wrapped his lips completely around the top of the open can (for greater suction) and sucked the middle sausage out. By the way, there was literally a pooping sound when the middle one shot out. Now why didn’t I think of that? From there it was easy. He reached his index finger in and pulled out the remaining sausages fully intact.
Simple things, simple people make life good. Sitting on a hillside watching a sunset. That doesn’t take intellect. It only takes the ability to appreciate beautiful things. Taking time with a small child who is alone. That only takes a few minutes. Noticing something positive about someone who is constantly bombarded with negative statements. It takes simple consideration. Getting the middle sausage out of the can. It takes practical reasoning. These are the things that you miss when you run through life so quickly attempting get it all done better and faster, attempting to please people who really don’t care.
Arnold Brown – simple. Arnold Brown – a joy to have known. Arnold Brown will always be remembered by a group of ragamuffin believers at Blooming Grove Baptist Church.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Remembering a Hero
This is my message at a PFC’s Memorial recently. I have changed the names and locations due to OPSEC (Operational Security). I was on a mission in the Southern Region of Afghanistan. By God’s design, I met this Soldier as we were waiting on a bird to catch a ride out to the forward positions. It would be the last time I would see him alive.
I rode shotgun in the vehicle with PFC Joe on the way to the holding tent in the Southern Region of Afghanistan. We were the first to arrive as I recall. I couldn’t see him in the vehicle. He sat directly behind me. We all talked about where we were from. I remember PFC Joe being from Louisiana.
We got to the tent. I believe it was PFC David that asked if I knew how to play gin rummy. It had been 20 years since I had played. I attempted to play. It wasn’t going too well for me. Joe was playing just across from me. He was a vibrant young man. I remembered him saying that he was going to Ripley. Every time SSG Brown or someone would ask to clarify, Joe was quick to shout out that he was going to Ripley. He wanted it to be known that he was not going to Bullhorn. That is the last that I remember of him.
My assistant woke me early Thursday morning at Bullhorn and told me that there was a KIA from Ripley. I soon would realize that it was my traveling companion and card playing acquaintance the day before.
John 15:13 says, “Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends.”
It is not likely that PFC Joe woke up the morning of his honor and said, “I might give my life in this mission.” I am sure that the thought that possibility was there. But like most of us, these events usually come as a surprise no matter how prepared we are. I don’t know what he was considering on that morning. But on Thursday morning, PFC Joe would be face-to-face with this reality.
PFC Joe may not have been considering all the friends and countless others for whom he would make the ultimate sacrifice. But, he had committed to a cause greater than himself. He had given his life into the service of our great Nation.
Like all of you, PFC Joe raised his hand on April 8th, 2008 and stated that he swore to support and defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. At that moment, PFC Joe gave himself to the service of our Nation. His service was short-lived, but none diminished by time. In this short time, he gave all of himself for all of us.
PFC Joe’s sacrifice seems unjust when considered in the constraints of the moment. It would be very easy for those who knew him well to be angry, hurt, and without a remedy. Some may wonder about God’s purpose or even if a loving God could allow such a tragedy. I say that those are normal and even expected reactions. None of these questions are unfair or unjust. They are normal emotions and responses to the sting of death. Only time can heal such wounds. Only God can bring comfort into this deep sorrow. I mourn with you the loss of PFC Joe’s. He was a Soldier I would have been pleased to know better.
PFC Joe will leave behind a great void to those who knew him and loved him. Those left behind will struggle to find meaning and purpose from day-to-day. First, I encourage you to simply hold on. Hold onto all that is dear to you. Hold onto to those whom you love that remain with you. You will need one another. You will need to lean heavily on one another. Second, hold onto God’s constant hand. You may be angry with God. You may not want to even believe in God. I simply ask you to speak your heart to Him. He’s big enough to take your pain. He will deliver you from the dark and dismal days. Though He seem distant, He is near to the broken-hearted.
This is what David said in Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the quiet waters. He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You have anointed my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and loving-kindness will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Today, I say “Thank You” to the family of PFC Joe. He gave his life for our Nation. He gave his life for his friends. No greater commitment and no greater love can be displayed but that a man lay day his life so that we can enjoy the freedoms with which God has blessed us. Today, I salute a Hero. Today, we honor PFC Joe.
May God bless the family, loved ones, and friends of PFC Bobby Joe . Father, bring comfort in this time of loss and grief. Be a tangible strength and help in the days to come.
I rode shotgun in the vehicle with PFC Joe on the way to the holding tent in the Southern Region of Afghanistan. We were the first to arrive as I recall. I couldn’t see him in the vehicle. He sat directly behind me. We all talked about where we were from. I remember PFC Joe being from Louisiana.
We got to the tent. I believe it was PFC David that asked if I knew how to play gin rummy. It had been 20 years since I had played. I attempted to play. It wasn’t going too well for me. Joe was playing just across from me. He was a vibrant young man. I remembered him saying that he was going to Ripley. Every time SSG Brown or someone would ask to clarify, Joe was quick to shout out that he was going to Ripley. He wanted it to be known that he was not going to Bullhorn. That is the last that I remember of him.
My assistant woke me early Thursday morning at Bullhorn and told me that there was a KIA from Ripley. I soon would realize that it was my traveling companion and card playing acquaintance the day before.
John 15:13 says, “Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends.”
It is not likely that PFC Joe woke up the morning of his honor and said, “I might give my life in this mission.” I am sure that the thought that possibility was there. But like most of us, these events usually come as a surprise no matter how prepared we are. I don’t know what he was considering on that morning. But on Thursday morning, PFC Joe would be face-to-face with this reality.
PFC Joe may not have been considering all the friends and countless others for whom he would make the ultimate sacrifice. But, he had committed to a cause greater than himself. He had given his life into the service of our great Nation.
Like all of you, PFC Joe raised his hand on April 8th, 2008 and stated that he swore to support and defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. At that moment, PFC Joe gave himself to the service of our Nation. His service was short-lived, but none diminished by time. In this short time, he gave all of himself for all of us.
PFC Joe’s sacrifice seems unjust when considered in the constraints of the moment. It would be very easy for those who knew him well to be angry, hurt, and without a remedy. Some may wonder about God’s purpose or even if a loving God could allow such a tragedy. I say that those are normal and even expected reactions. None of these questions are unfair or unjust. They are normal emotions and responses to the sting of death. Only time can heal such wounds. Only God can bring comfort into this deep sorrow. I mourn with you the loss of PFC Joe’s. He was a Soldier I would have been pleased to know better.
PFC Joe will leave behind a great void to those who knew him and loved him. Those left behind will struggle to find meaning and purpose from day-to-day. First, I encourage you to simply hold on. Hold onto all that is dear to you. Hold onto to those whom you love that remain with you. You will need one another. You will need to lean heavily on one another. Second, hold onto God’s constant hand. You may be angry with God. You may not want to even believe in God. I simply ask you to speak your heart to Him. He’s big enough to take your pain. He will deliver you from the dark and dismal days. Though He seem distant, He is near to the broken-hearted.
This is what David said in Psalm 23, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the quiet waters. He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You have anointed my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and loving-kindness will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Today, I say “Thank You” to the family of PFC Joe. He gave his life for our Nation. He gave his life for his friends. No greater commitment and no greater love can be displayed but that a man lay day his life so that we can enjoy the freedoms with which God has blessed us. Today, I salute a Hero. Today, we honor PFC Joe.
May God bless the family, loved ones, and friends of PFC Bobby Joe . Father, bring comfort in this time of loss and grief. Be a tangible strength and help in the days to come.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
We Have Cobras
We have freakin cobras over here. Yes, you heard it right. There are cobras in Afghanistan, what wonderful news to hear when you arrive. There is a poster in our building that has the poisonous snakes listed, with pictures. It is a bit disconcerting to see the cobra listed with a visual. There is even a poster that warns that cobras can get into the toilets. Believe it or not, there is a picture of a cobra in a freakin toilet. Seriously? Is someone just messing with me? Because that crap is serious. I mean a cobra in the toilet. It is bad enough that you are going to die quickly once bitten by a cobra. But, do you also have to lose all of your dignity as well.
“What happened to Tim in Afghanistan?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear? He was bitten by a cobra.”
“Really?”
“Yeah”
“Where?”
“Uh, well, he was on the toilet.”
“On the what?”
“On the toilet.”
“He was bitten by a cobra while sitting on a toilet?”
“Yeah”
“Was the toilet outside?”
“No”
“I don’t understand.”
“He was sitting on a toilet. A cobra was in there and it bit him?”
“Where ?”
“Well, he was sitting on the toilet. I mean….the cobra just bit him.”
“Is he ok?”
“The cobra or Tim?”
“Tim!”
“No he’s dead.”
“He died?”
“Of course, it was a cobra.”
“But, he died on the toilet? He didn’t get shot by the Taliban?”
I actually stared at the picture of the cobra, in the toilet, on that poster. I said to my assistant, “Do you see that?” We were both puzzled. Guess what I do every time I got to the toilet. I check it for cobras, a practice I can’t wait to discontinue once back in the states.
Now when I stand a top the wall and look over at the farmers in the field next to us, I have a newly found respect for them. Cause those cobras are out there. There are other snakes here. I really don’t care. My eye is on the lookout for the one that spreads its head flat. I may not see one while I am here. I kind of would like to. But, that may be an adventure that would even cause me to shrink back a little.
I thought that the sand, the heat, the shower being 50 yards from my room, the toilets being 50 yards from my room, and other inconveniences were bad. I believe that the cobra has won out over all those.
“What happened to Tim in Afghanistan?”
“Oh, you didn’t hear? He was bitten by a cobra.”
“Really?”
“Yeah”
“Where?”
“Uh, well, he was on the toilet.”
“On the what?”
“On the toilet.”
“He was bitten by a cobra while sitting on a toilet?”
“Yeah”
“Was the toilet outside?”
“No”
“I don’t understand.”
“He was sitting on a toilet. A cobra was in there and it bit him?”
“Where ?”
“Well, he was sitting on the toilet. I mean….the cobra just bit him.”
“Is he ok?”
“The cobra or Tim?”
“Tim!”
“No he’s dead.”
“He died?”
“Of course, it was a cobra.”
“But, he died on the toilet? He didn’t get shot by the Taliban?”
I actually stared at the picture of the cobra, in the toilet, on that poster. I said to my assistant, “Do you see that?” We were both puzzled. Guess what I do every time I got to the toilet. I check it for cobras, a practice I can’t wait to discontinue once back in the states.
Now when I stand a top the wall and look over at the farmers in the field next to us, I have a newly found respect for them. Cause those cobras are out there. There are other snakes here. I really don’t care. My eye is on the lookout for the one that spreads its head flat. I may not see one while I am here. I kind of would like to. But, that may be an adventure that would even cause me to shrink back a little.
I thought that the sand, the heat, the shower being 50 yards from my room, the toilets being 50 yards from my room, and other inconveniences were bad. I believe that the cobra has won out over all those.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
My Mosaic
Several years ago, I saw the most beautiful mosaic as I walked into the church from the foyer. The church was near the Sea of Galilee. The mosaic was the first thing I noticed. From a distance, all the pieces formed a harmonious image. I stood at the back for a while, to take it all in. I moved a little closer, about half way. As I approached, the pieces began to stand out. It was still easy to see the intent of the art. But, the pieces were now taking on their own identity. I got even closer. Now, I was only ten feet away. I could easily see each piece of the mosaic. The whole image was more difficult to discern. I got close enough to touch the wall. I saw each piece of the mosaic so individually that I had lost the image that they once made.
The pieces of the mosaic were truly unique. None of them possessed shared symmetry. One piece was brown. Another would be blue. One piece might almost be square. Another would be not quite triangular. There were long pieces, short pieces, glass pieces, and more. Some of the pieces were beautiful. Some of them didn’t even deserve to be trampled under foot on a dirt road. Some looked polished. Others were ragged and ugly.
“Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity,” (Job 2:10). If you are wondering about the context of this, let me help. Job had also just stated, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord,” (Job 1:21). Job had just encountered the most difficult time of his life. And now, he is accepting the bad because he knows that God is still good. The debate here is not does God allow or does God dish out bad things for our long-term benefit. It seems obvious if he states it so plainly. Job says specifically that we must learn to accept bad from God if we are going to willingly receive the good from God. The next question you have to ask yourself is, “If the bad we receive from the hand of God makes us more like Him, then is it really bad.” Humans don’t often respond to warnings. They almost always respond to consequences. This does not imply that bad things only occur when we do wrong. It would be wrong to ever imply that. Bad things often occur when we don’t see the future. God may have brought bad times to help us avoid worse times. Bad times drive us more deeply into the heart of God. Or, He may have brought pain for an even greater purpose. But, this isn’t even my main concern.
My biggest concern is whether or not we began to accept the good and the bad as a means to live fully in the reality of who God made us to be. It is simple to live in the good moments. It is no challenge at all to accomplish this. But, to live in the bad moments, now that’s a challenge. But, we are never more like Christ than when we live in the most difficult times of our lives.
God is creating a masterpiece with our lives. We are His kids. In the same way that God loves pouring out good things on us, He also has to put up roadblocks. The crazy part is that He does all of this with great care. He carefully places each piece of the mosaic in our lives. We like to think that we are artists placing the pieces of our lives where we want them. But, it’s not true. God puts all the pieces in place. There are days, and even seasons, when He uses beautiful pieces. He carefully places those. There are times, and even seasons, when He uses ugly pieces – We question His judgment in these times. We wonder why is it necessary to have the ugly pieces in our masterpieces. He places these as carefully as he did the beautiful pieces. The Artist never wearies. Moment by moment He is making us just as He planned from the beginning.
I don’t see it today. But, I own all of it. “For I am confident of this very thing that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus,” (Philippians 1:6). God is faithfully putting me together good and bad. I am becoming a mosaic work of art. If someone were to look closely he or she might see some beautiful pieces. Likewise, he or she might see some ugly pieces, pieces I don’t want to share. God sees the work of art that He is creating. I like to imagine sometimes how the mosaic of my life will look when I see it completed. I want to stand back and admire it from a distance. Then, I want to get close, run my fingers across the jagged and ugly pieces, and smile. Who knew that I was a masterpiece?
The pieces of the mosaic were truly unique. None of them possessed shared symmetry. One piece was brown. Another would be blue. One piece might almost be square. Another would be not quite triangular. There were long pieces, short pieces, glass pieces, and more. Some of the pieces were beautiful. Some of them didn’t even deserve to be trampled under foot on a dirt road. Some looked polished. Others were ragged and ugly.
“Shall we indeed accept good from God and not accept adversity,” (Job 2:10). If you are wondering about the context of this, let me help. Job had also just stated, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord,” (Job 1:21). Job had just encountered the most difficult time of his life. And now, he is accepting the bad because he knows that God is still good. The debate here is not does God allow or does God dish out bad things for our long-term benefit. It seems obvious if he states it so plainly. Job says specifically that we must learn to accept bad from God if we are going to willingly receive the good from God. The next question you have to ask yourself is, “If the bad we receive from the hand of God makes us more like Him, then is it really bad.” Humans don’t often respond to warnings. They almost always respond to consequences. This does not imply that bad things only occur when we do wrong. It would be wrong to ever imply that. Bad things often occur when we don’t see the future. God may have brought bad times to help us avoid worse times. Bad times drive us more deeply into the heart of God. Or, He may have brought pain for an even greater purpose. But, this isn’t even my main concern.
My biggest concern is whether or not we began to accept the good and the bad as a means to live fully in the reality of who God made us to be. It is simple to live in the good moments. It is no challenge at all to accomplish this. But, to live in the bad moments, now that’s a challenge. But, we are never more like Christ than when we live in the most difficult times of our lives.
God is creating a masterpiece with our lives. We are His kids. In the same way that God loves pouring out good things on us, He also has to put up roadblocks. The crazy part is that He does all of this with great care. He carefully places each piece of the mosaic in our lives. We like to think that we are artists placing the pieces of our lives where we want them. But, it’s not true. God puts all the pieces in place. There are days, and even seasons, when He uses beautiful pieces. He carefully places those. There are times, and even seasons, when He uses ugly pieces – We question His judgment in these times. We wonder why is it necessary to have the ugly pieces in our masterpieces. He places these as carefully as he did the beautiful pieces. The Artist never wearies. Moment by moment He is making us just as He planned from the beginning.
I don’t see it today. But, I own all of it. “For I am confident of this very thing that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus,” (Philippians 1:6). God is faithfully putting me together good and bad. I am becoming a mosaic work of art. If someone were to look closely he or she might see some beautiful pieces. Likewise, he or she might see some ugly pieces, pieces I don’t want to share. God sees the work of art that He is creating. I like to imagine sometimes how the mosaic of my life will look when I see it completed. I want to stand back and admire it from a distance. Then, I want to get close, run my fingers across the jagged and ugly pieces, and smile. Who knew that I was a masterpiece?
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Pain is Good
Unbelievably hot, and, I found myself hiking the ridge of a mountain range at the Pakistan border. It was 130 degrees. It was my assistant, Thompson, and I. We had flown into Torkham on a bird. The helicopter ride was great, rolling in and out of the mountain passes. At one point, I could have almost reached out and touched the face of a mountain. In reality, it was a good 30 yards away. It’s just that I have never flown past a mountain that closely, but, back to Torkham. Unbelievably hot, and up the ridge we went.
Thompson and I were walking around on the FOB. We began to talk to some guys about the mountain ridge that led up to some stuff that will remain undisclosed. In the conversation, one of the guys said, “You should hike up there; it’s beautiful. My immediate response, of course, “That would be great.” So, off we went. Thompson didn’t decry going then. There were too many men around. He had to look at least as willing as I was. His willingness would wane. He will greatly appreciate me pointing out this fact.
It certainly wasn’t the biggest or even the most difficult hike I have ever done. However, it was certainly the hottest. The best way to describe it is to imagine walking around in a large oven that has rocks in it. On occasion, there was that stiff breeze. I know what you are thinking – how nice, a breeze. Let me help you with that thought. Imagine a gigantic Clairol hair dryer being held directly in your face. That is the kind of breeze to which I am referring. If I am not mistaken, Torkham was the runner up for where Satan would be sent when he was thrown out of heaven. Hell won out by a slight margin.
We made it to the top of the ridge. I don’t remember how high it was. This is probably due to the fact that my body was focused on surviving a heat stroke. We took some pictures. They are good. I hope to get them up on my blog soon. Then, we headed back down.
If I didn’t mention it, we were in our full uniform, boots included. If you have been visualizing this entire adventure with us in shorts, t-shirts, and running shoes, you would be horribly mistaken. By the time we reached the bottom, people were asking us if we needed medical attention. We both declined. I am not sure that was a wise decision. We were literally soaked through our clothing. We returned just in enough time to get a drink of water and for me to conduct a brief communion and short Bible study. I was in rare form.
It can take a long hard journey to see something great. That we did on this day. I wouldn’t take anything for it. It isn’t the first time I have experienced this (read about my hike in the Grand Canyons at timbslim.blogspot.com). But, it was a reminder. We stood on top of a ridge. We saw unique and beautiful landscapes. We saw Pakistan. A lot of sweat and energy was spent. Remaining is a lifetime of vivid memories.
Great living comes out of the crucible of life. You can’t really live until you have really hurt. Maybe this seems contradictory. I just know it to be true. My dad used to quote someone that I can’t remember at this time. He would say that a man can’t be greatly used by God until he is greatly broken. Maybe the words were a bit different. The truth still remains.
I don’t want to sound like a preacher right now. That is the last thing I usually desire. The day I swoop my hair (what’s left of it) and spray it to my head is the day I want someone to slap silly. Here is the truth: Brokenness brings deep and abiding joy and peace.
“That I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His SUFFERINGS, being conformed to His death” (Phil 3:10). I’d like to camp out in the first part of this verse, knowing Him in resurrection power. That would be great; living in total and absolute control of life, exercising great power and strength in all situations and circumstances. Who in his or her right mind wouldn’t choose this? Paul just had to add the next part, knowing Him in “the fellowship of His SUFFERINGS conformed to His death.” Well that just blows. Paul is saying that I can live in resurrection power. He is saying that I can have abundant life. However, that abundant living and resurrection life comes by death and suffering. Hope you weren’t looking for magic. This is real stuff.
I remember something else my dad said once. He went to Quincy’s to eat with a pastor. He said that the pastor did or said something that deeply troubled or even hurt him. He also told me that he had prayed that day to understand more about what it means to suffer like Christ. His prayer was answered.
Climbing a mountain ridge in Afghanistan, in 130 degree weather is physically tough. Living through great pain, heartache, suffering, periods of sinfulness, distance from God, etc… can be debilitating. One has the tendency to cry out and eventually want to just give in completely. If you have ever been there, you know. Exasperation, defeat after defeat mounts up. One wonders if ever there will be a day when life will once again return to at least a semblance of normality. It never does. Life is always different after such struggles. But, is it different in a bad way; it doesn’t have to be
God uses ragamuffins, outcasts, downtrodden, broken, left in the dirt, alcoholics, whores, gossips, tax cheaters, shady businessmen, lonely, bipolar….. people. He comes to the weak. He raises the wounded. He dusts off their knees. He tells whores who have washed His feet with their tears and wiped them with their hair, “Your sins are forgiven.”
If you have hurt, you are near His heart. If you have fallen apart, you have great strength in Him. You might just be at the beginning of living in resurrection power. Are you out of energy? Have you passed what seems like the point of no return? Then, you are right where He wants you. You have tasted the sufferings of Jesus. A new day is dawning. Stay in the pain long enough to drink in the suffering of Jesus. Then, run in absolute freedom, power, and joy in Him.
Thompson and I were walking around on the FOB. We began to talk to some guys about the mountain ridge that led up to some stuff that will remain undisclosed. In the conversation, one of the guys said, “You should hike up there; it’s beautiful. My immediate response, of course, “That would be great.” So, off we went. Thompson didn’t decry going then. There were too many men around. He had to look at least as willing as I was. His willingness would wane. He will greatly appreciate me pointing out this fact.
It certainly wasn’t the biggest or even the most difficult hike I have ever done. However, it was certainly the hottest. The best way to describe it is to imagine walking around in a large oven that has rocks in it. On occasion, there was that stiff breeze. I know what you are thinking – how nice, a breeze. Let me help you with that thought. Imagine a gigantic Clairol hair dryer being held directly in your face. That is the kind of breeze to which I am referring. If I am not mistaken, Torkham was the runner up for where Satan would be sent when he was thrown out of heaven. Hell won out by a slight margin.
We made it to the top of the ridge. I don’t remember how high it was. This is probably due to the fact that my body was focused on surviving a heat stroke. We took some pictures. They are good. I hope to get them up on my blog soon. Then, we headed back down.
If I didn’t mention it, we were in our full uniform, boots included. If you have been visualizing this entire adventure with us in shorts, t-shirts, and running shoes, you would be horribly mistaken. By the time we reached the bottom, people were asking us if we needed medical attention. We both declined. I am not sure that was a wise decision. We were literally soaked through our clothing. We returned just in enough time to get a drink of water and for me to conduct a brief communion and short Bible study. I was in rare form.
It can take a long hard journey to see something great. That we did on this day. I wouldn’t take anything for it. It isn’t the first time I have experienced this (read about my hike in the Grand Canyons at timbslim.blogspot.com). But, it was a reminder. We stood on top of a ridge. We saw unique and beautiful landscapes. We saw Pakistan. A lot of sweat and energy was spent. Remaining is a lifetime of vivid memories.
Great living comes out of the crucible of life. You can’t really live until you have really hurt. Maybe this seems contradictory. I just know it to be true. My dad used to quote someone that I can’t remember at this time. He would say that a man can’t be greatly used by God until he is greatly broken. Maybe the words were a bit different. The truth still remains.
I don’t want to sound like a preacher right now. That is the last thing I usually desire. The day I swoop my hair (what’s left of it) and spray it to my head is the day I want someone to slap silly. Here is the truth: Brokenness brings deep and abiding joy and peace.
“That I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His SUFFERINGS, being conformed to His death” (Phil 3:10). I’d like to camp out in the first part of this verse, knowing Him in resurrection power. That would be great; living in total and absolute control of life, exercising great power and strength in all situations and circumstances. Who in his or her right mind wouldn’t choose this? Paul just had to add the next part, knowing Him in “the fellowship of His SUFFERINGS conformed to His death.” Well that just blows. Paul is saying that I can live in resurrection power. He is saying that I can have abundant life. However, that abundant living and resurrection life comes by death and suffering. Hope you weren’t looking for magic. This is real stuff.
I remember something else my dad said once. He went to Quincy’s to eat with a pastor. He said that the pastor did or said something that deeply troubled or even hurt him. He also told me that he had prayed that day to understand more about what it means to suffer like Christ. His prayer was answered.
Climbing a mountain ridge in Afghanistan, in 130 degree weather is physically tough. Living through great pain, heartache, suffering, periods of sinfulness, distance from God, etc… can be debilitating. One has the tendency to cry out and eventually want to just give in completely. If you have ever been there, you know. Exasperation, defeat after defeat mounts up. One wonders if ever there will be a day when life will once again return to at least a semblance of normality. It never does. Life is always different after such struggles. But, is it different in a bad way; it doesn’t have to be
God uses ragamuffins, outcasts, downtrodden, broken, left in the dirt, alcoholics, whores, gossips, tax cheaters, shady businessmen, lonely, bipolar….. people. He comes to the weak. He raises the wounded. He dusts off their knees. He tells whores who have washed His feet with their tears and wiped them with their hair, “Your sins are forgiven.”
If you have hurt, you are near His heart. If you have fallen apart, you have great strength in Him. You might just be at the beginning of living in resurrection power. Are you out of energy? Have you passed what seems like the point of no return? Then, you are right where He wants you. You have tasted the sufferings of Jesus. A new day is dawning. Stay in the pain long enough to drink in the suffering of Jesus. Then, run in absolute freedom, power, and joy in Him.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Honor of a Soldier
I grabbed the front right handle of the gurney. The eight of us pulled it from the Blackhawk. It was dark. The wind from the rotors was violent. The sound drowned out the possibility of conversation. It wouldn’t have mattered. Conversation was not necessary, nor was it fitting. It was difficult to see. It was hot. It was calm.
My assistant, Thompson, was immediately to my left, holding the front as well. We made our way across the flight line. The fallen hero was draped in an American flag, the most fitting garment for his honor. He had taken his final breath defending freedom. He never knew that I would be retrieving him that night. He pushed forward with little if any concern for himself. Now I, and my comrades, had the privilege of giving him the honor due him.
We walked about 150 yards from one bird to the other. Once we got out from under the rotors of the delivering bird stillness gripped the moment. It was like slow motion. We approached the departing bird. It was still, not a movement. As we closed in on it, I noticed two soldiers posted by the side-loading door. It was dark. It was only when I was about 20 yards away that I realized they were standing at attention, saluting. We slowed our approach out of final respect for one worthy of such tradition. Thompson and I placed the front two handles of the gurney on the chopper floor. We jumped in and helped pull him into to a resting place for the journey. All of us then stood back. Slowly and deliberately, we saluted – 3 seconds up, 3 seconds hold, 3 seconds down with our hands. We walked away. The chopper fired up. Soon he was gone.
There are many soldiers here, fighting a war. Today, there is one less. There will unfortunately be more once you have read this.
I’ll be short today. Not much else to say. I was thinking just before writing this that I need to write something funny. It’s difficult to write something comical in light of this. Don’t read too much into this somber trend. Soon I’ll write funny stuff.
My assistant, Thompson, was immediately to my left, holding the front as well. We made our way across the flight line. The fallen hero was draped in an American flag, the most fitting garment for his honor. He had taken his final breath defending freedom. He never knew that I would be retrieving him that night. He pushed forward with little if any concern for himself. Now I, and my comrades, had the privilege of giving him the honor due him.
We walked about 150 yards from one bird to the other. Once we got out from under the rotors of the delivering bird stillness gripped the moment. It was like slow motion. We approached the departing bird. It was still, not a movement. As we closed in on it, I noticed two soldiers posted by the side-loading door. It was dark. It was only when I was about 20 yards away that I realized they were standing at attention, saluting. We slowed our approach out of final respect for one worthy of such tradition. Thompson and I placed the front two handles of the gurney on the chopper floor. We jumped in and helped pull him into to a resting place for the journey. All of us then stood back. Slowly and deliberately, we saluted – 3 seconds up, 3 seconds hold, 3 seconds down with our hands. We walked away. The chopper fired up. Soon he was gone.
There are many soldiers here, fighting a war. Today, there is one less. There will unfortunately be more once you have read this.
I’ll be short today. Not much else to say. I was thinking just before writing this that I need to write something funny. It’s difficult to write something comical in light of this. Don’t read too much into this somber trend. Soon I’ll write funny stuff.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Afghan Update #4
The treacherous landscape was displayed in my window as we darted through the majestic mountains of the Afghanistan countryside. I sat with my face in the window for the entire journey. Seeing things through the portal of a helicopter here is a view that is unparalleled. The mountains are jagged and barren. I imagine them in late Fall and Winter with snow, maybe in the Spring with brush strokes of green - but not much. It takes a tough plant to survive these conditions. Green is a scant sight here. Doesn't matter; the view from my seat was exhilarating. It is the kind of feeling that you get when you take in a deep breath, enraptured by images that catch you for the first time. The whole experience was like standing where time ceases to tick. Many thoughts flooded my mind.
In the mountains I would see the occasional tent or lean-to dwelling. Once we entered the flatlands, there were more. I began to think to myself, “How does a person live in a tent in this arid place?” But, there they were spotted across the land. Some areas had houses that had been constructed. They were built out of hand-crafted blocks. It was like going back in time. I thought that I had stepped back about 2,000 years, except that I was in a helicopter.
Here, there are the everyday things that a war dumps on your, once, nominal life. All of this became a distant memory as I recounted the story that the images from my view were telling. It was a story of God. It was a story of someone Who makes all things difficult vanish into nothingness, even if just for a moment. As I gazed across the landscape, I remembered this story. This story isn't different, no. It isn't something that I heard for the first time that day. And though it is not different, it somehow is. I mean, every time I hear it, see it, or experience it through some tangible sense, it resonates deeper. It causes me to think more clearly about it. Something new is revealed each time. Maybe I am making no sense. It's just that I heard, or saw, and old, old story again. And, I was reminded once more of my hope, my salvation.
I was reminded of who I am in Christ. I was reminded of the Christ that I am to others. I was reminded that all of this is not because of me, but because of Jesus. I told a wonderful struggling soldier just yesterday that I have nothing to give. I have nothing else to say. I told him that I just know that he needs Jesus. It may sound simplistic. It may sound like I am from Alabama. Ok, then, let it be so.
Over the years, I have allowed an old, old story to become a polished, inoffensive, request. Dress it up however we like, it is the story of Jesus. It is a story of Him dying for my sins. It is a story of Him forgiving me. It is a story of me living in freedom. This story tells me that I am alright in His care. I could tell all these wonderful soldiers that developing coping skills and looking inwardly will get them through this war. I would be kidding them and myself. Last week, I prayed with a group of soldiers before a mission. This week, one of those soldiers paid the ultimate sacrifice. Not a lot of time here to work a ministry plan that will attract middle to high income churchites to visit me at the chapel. Only time to tell them what it has taken me 37 years to understand as deeply as I do today, that they need Jesus.
Maybe what I am writing is too prosaic. Maybe this too, is me attempting to place my words so that they impact others. So, I should summarize. I rode on a chopper through Afghanistan. It was amazing. God reminded me of an old, old story. It is the story that gets me through each day.
One might wonder how I got all this from a chopper ride through the mountains. It is a good question. For those who know God the way I know Him, it is no mystery. To those whose hearts are empty and searching for a place to call home today, it is still hidden, but not out of reach.
It is barren here. It is hot. Water becomes your best friend. The environment can destroy you if you don’t prepare. People here are durable and live simple lives. I have learned to live a much simpler life just being here. Something about flying through the mountains and seeing life from a different vantage point seems to have made an indelible mark on this 37 year old man. This mark caused the story to resonate deeply: It’s not about me, the soldiers, or even the Afghans. Somehow, the old, old story points us right back God.
In the mountains I would see the occasional tent or lean-to dwelling. Once we entered the flatlands, there were more. I began to think to myself, “How does a person live in a tent in this arid place?” But, there they were spotted across the land. Some areas had houses that had been constructed. They were built out of hand-crafted blocks. It was like going back in time. I thought that I had stepped back about 2,000 years, except that I was in a helicopter.
Here, there are the everyday things that a war dumps on your, once, nominal life. All of this became a distant memory as I recounted the story that the images from my view were telling. It was a story of God. It was a story of someone Who makes all things difficult vanish into nothingness, even if just for a moment. As I gazed across the landscape, I remembered this story. This story isn't different, no. It isn't something that I heard for the first time that day. And though it is not different, it somehow is. I mean, every time I hear it, see it, or experience it through some tangible sense, it resonates deeper. It causes me to think more clearly about it. Something new is revealed each time. Maybe I am making no sense. It's just that I heard, or saw, and old, old story again. And, I was reminded once more of my hope, my salvation.
I was reminded of who I am in Christ. I was reminded of the Christ that I am to others. I was reminded that all of this is not because of me, but because of Jesus. I told a wonderful struggling soldier just yesterday that I have nothing to give. I have nothing else to say. I told him that I just know that he needs Jesus. It may sound simplistic. It may sound like I am from Alabama. Ok, then, let it be so.
Over the years, I have allowed an old, old story to become a polished, inoffensive, request. Dress it up however we like, it is the story of Jesus. It is a story of Him dying for my sins. It is a story of Him forgiving me. It is a story of me living in freedom. This story tells me that I am alright in His care. I could tell all these wonderful soldiers that developing coping skills and looking inwardly will get them through this war. I would be kidding them and myself. Last week, I prayed with a group of soldiers before a mission. This week, one of those soldiers paid the ultimate sacrifice. Not a lot of time here to work a ministry plan that will attract middle to high income churchites to visit me at the chapel. Only time to tell them what it has taken me 37 years to understand as deeply as I do today, that they need Jesus.
Maybe what I am writing is too prosaic. Maybe this too, is me attempting to place my words so that they impact others. So, I should summarize. I rode on a chopper through Afghanistan. It was amazing. God reminded me of an old, old story. It is the story that gets me through each day.
One might wonder how I got all this from a chopper ride through the mountains. It is a good question. For those who know God the way I know Him, it is no mystery. To those whose hearts are empty and searching for a place to call home today, it is still hidden, but not out of reach.
It is barren here. It is hot. Water becomes your best friend. The environment can destroy you if you don’t prepare. People here are durable and live simple lives. I have learned to live a much simpler life just being here. Something about flying through the mountains and seeing life from a different vantage point seems to have made an indelible mark on this 37 year old man. This mark caused the story to resonate deeply: It’s not about me, the soldiers, or even the Afghans. Somehow, the old, old story points us right back God.
Afghan Update #3
I am sitting in my Chapel here at my Forward Operating Base (FOB). I am listening to a guy play a cello. Yep, a soldier brought his cello. I am watching him drag his bow across the chords as he plays a song called “Majesty.” This cellist joined our praise band last week. His music puts the finishing touch on the worship. As he plays, my heart is warmed. It is so unusual to be here and to be practicing for worship for Sunday. Somehow it doesn’t seem right. Yet, it seems perfect.
My assistant and I suited up in full battle gear today, adding about 40 lbs. We drove over to the Entry Control Point (ECP). This is the main gate. There we walked around and talked with the soldiers who work that detail. They stand in the heat, some days in the 130’s, and guard the entrance. They do this in 13 hour shifts (one hour is a lap over). They do all this in full gear. So, my assistant and I decided to spend some of the day with them. It didn’t take long for me to be drenched in sweat and my back to hurt from the weight of my gear. We were only there for about an hour and a half. We got back in the vehicle and drove to the office. The soldiers at the ECP stayed behind to protect our gate.
Each soldier here has an enormous burden of work. It is all different. There is no way to describe it all. But, they work hard. Each soldier here has a context. So in addition to the work, they have a story. I haven’t heard them all at this point. But, I have heard a lot of them.
One soldier came to me the 2nd day of our journey here. We were in Kyrgyzstan. Remember, this was the 2nd day. He said, “I have three kids. I have been married for 15 years. My wife just told me on the phone that she is leaving me.” This soldier continued with me here to Afghanistan. He works every day. I see him often. I speak little. I pat him on the back. I just want him to know that I really care.
Another soldier sits by himself at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He is a bit over weight. He is talked about by others. Sitting at lunch one day, I looked at him. I began to tear up. “I wonder what it feels like to be him today”; I thought. He is older than most soldiers his rank. What hurts does he carry around that no one knows. I walked by. I put my hand on his shoulder. I made a light-hearted comment, laughed, and smiled. The next day, my assistant and I sat with him for a meal. I talked a lot (easy to believe). I had to work the conversation hard. He wasn’t used to conversing. He has never had a lot of chances to practice with people speaking with him. He managed to answer politely. But, he never engaged fully. I guess the last time he tried, he might have been shot down, possibly humiliated. Kick a dog enough, he will quit barking.
These are a couple of the many stories. All of them aren’t sad. Some are great and happy. But everyone struggles in some way.
My greatest struggle is keeping my eye on the ball. Cutting out time to sit with my DADDY is difficult. I have to be creative. Recently, I walked up by the south wall. There, I could see Afghan farmers working the fields. I mean, really working them, by hand. It is a beautiful crop they have. I don’t even know what it is. It isn’t opium (for the wise guys out there). I looked over them and prayed. Huge mountains form their backdrop. It was some sweet time. It wasn’t long-lived.
It’s a great job. It poses many challenges. But, it is a great job. Every day there is a chance to make a difference. It might be by walking around with soldiers at the ECP. It might be by a hand on the shoulder of a lonely soldier. It might be listening to a COL vent. Every day is a day to be thankful and to offer what I have, little as it may be.
My assistant and I suited up in full battle gear today, adding about 40 lbs. We drove over to the Entry Control Point (ECP). This is the main gate. There we walked around and talked with the soldiers who work that detail. They stand in the heat, some days in the 130’s, and guard the entrance. They do this in 13 hour shifts (one hour is a lap over). They do all this in full gear. So, my assistant and I decided to spend some of the day with them. It didn’t take long for me to be drenched in sweat and my back to hurt from the weight of my gear. We were only there for about an hour and a half. We got back in the vehicle and drove to the office. The soldiers at the ECP stayed behind to protect our gate.
Each soldier here has an enormous burden of work. It is all different. There is no way to describe it all. But, they work hard. Each soldier here has a context. So in addition to the work, they have a story. I haven’t heard them all at this point. But, I have heard a lot of them.
One soldier came to me the 2nd day of our journey here. We were in Kyrgyzstan. Remember, this was the 2nd day. He said, “I have three kids. I have been married for 15 years. My wife just told me on the phone that she is leaving me.” This soldier continued with me here to Afghanistan. He works every day. I see him often. I speak little. I pat him on the back. I just want him to know that I really care.
Another soldier sits by himself at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He doesn’t talk to anyone. He is a bit over weight. He is talked about by others. Sitting at lunch one day, I looked at him. I began to tear up. “I wonder what it feels like to be him today”; I thought. He is older than most soldiers his rank. What hurts does he carry around that no one knows. I walked by. I put my hand on his shoulder. I made a light-hearted comment, laughed, and smiled. The next day, my assistant and I sat with him for a meal. I talked a lot (easy to believe). I had to work the conversation hard. He wasn’t used to conversing. He has never had a lot of chances to practice with people speaking with him. He managed to answer politely. But, he never engaged fully. I guess the last time he tried, he might have been shot down, possibly humiliated. Kick a dog enough, he will quit barking.
These are a couple of the many stories. All of them aren’t sad. Some are great and happy. But everyone struggles in some way.
My greatest struggle is keeping my eye on the ball. Cutting out time to sit with my DADDY is difficult. I have to be creative. Recently, I walked up by the south wall. There, I could see Afghan farmers working the fields. I mean, really working them, by hand. It is a beautiful crop they have. I don’t even know what it is. It isn’t opium (for the wise guys out there). I looked over them and prayed. Huge mountains form their backdrop. It was some sweet time. It wasn’t long-lived.
It’s a great job. It poses many challenges. But, it is a great job. Every day there is a chance to make a difference. It might be by walking around with soldiers at the ECP. It might be by a hand on the shoulder of a lonely soldier. It might be listening to a COL vent. Every day is a day to be thankful and to offer what I have, little as it may be.
Afghan Update #2
Today I am sitting in my office. There is a normalizing sound that permeates my "B" Hut. It is the sound of baby birds chirping. There are baby birds in the wall where my air conditioning unit lines are placed. It's good to hear. It is good to hear because I hear it over all the other strange and awkward noises of a Forward Operating Base (FOB). There is the occasional sound of gunfire. Sometimes it is gunfire from our ranges. Sometimes it is the real deal. There is the occasional sound of an explosion. Usually, that one is real. These aren't as common as you might be thinking, except the gunfire. There is the sound of a huge generator that powers a Pizza Hut next to my office. You might say, "I bet Tim loves that." You would be wrong. I hate Pizza Hut. I don't like pizza, for a later conversation. But, the birds provide me with something different.
I call the baby birds a normalizing and familiar sound for my day. I have heard baby birds before today. I have heard them at home. So, it is like a piece of home in Afghanistan. Now, I don't know if they are chirping in Pashtu. But frankly, I don't even know English bird chirping. So, I cannot say that I am an expert in the chirping linguistics. I am sure that it is Pashtu chirping though. I just know that it isn't annoying like it should be. At home, I would probably try to move the nest; I don't know. It would likely annoy me, but not today. Today it is comforting. It is familiar. It is a slight shift in my perspective.
Another shift in my perspective occurred the other day. You may have read or seen news of the rocket attack in Bagram last weekend. One of my soldiers lost his leg from the knee down. He sustained other injuries. He should be recovering now at another location. Well, I was shaving the next day. My razor had fallen off the case in to my shaving kit. I reached in and grabbed it. I shaved off the corner of my thumb, just a piece. The first thing I thought or said I will leave as a mystery. The second, and almost immediate thought was, "I have my leg." It ceased to even be an issue at that moment.
I stood on the flight line as the FOB Chaplain yesterday as the medevac choppers came in. They unloaded a number of soldiers (Can't disclose details at this time due to Secret policy). I watched them be wheeled to the vehicles and shortly to the Med Station where I met them. They were sons, fathers, brothers etc... I watched over them and prayed for them. As they wheeled them from the choppers to the vehicles, tears pooled around my eyes. These brave me are somebody’s babies, dads.....
I am doing well. But, doing well doesn't mean that I don't feel the pain of those around me. We have just begun. There will be more of this unfortunately. There will also be some great stuff. I spend 99% of my time full and happy about what I do. It is only occasionally that it is hard. So, don't worry about me. I am doing well. I even went to a party last night.
The Afghan Security Guard hosted an event for us last night. I ate the local food and I lived through it. It was actually very good. They played music for us. A group of Afghans danced for us. I eventually joined them. It was a lot of fun. Some of the other officers were dancing with me. I am sure you know that I was acting a fool. We had a great time. Soon, I will have pictures. They will be great.
Keep our soldiers in your daily prayers. We are making a difference here. I spoke with a leader of the Afghan Army last night. He could not stop talking about the changes here. He spoke of hope. He spoke of new days. I see it in their eyes. This ancient, war-torn land has truly tasted what can be. They are determined and hungry for it. From what I gather from my comrades, it is different from Iraq somewhat in that sense. It is fresh, new life for them.
The birds are still chirping. They will chirp for a while, then go. They must lean on their mother right now until they can stretch their wings and fly on their own. Isn't that funny? Maybe, just maybe, Afghanistan will fly one day, all by itself.
Serving the Best Men and Women Today,
CH (CPT) Brown
I call the baby birds a normalizing and familiar sound for my day. I have heard baby birds before today. I have heard them at home. So, it is like a piece of home in Afghanistan. Now, I don't know if they are chirping in Pashtu. But frankly, I don't even know English bird chirping. So, I cannot say that I am an expert in the chirping linguistics. I am sure that it is Pashtu chirping though. I just know that it isn't annoying like it should be. At home, I would probably try to move the nest; I don't know. It would likely annoy me, but not today. Today it is comforting. It is familiar. It is a slight shift in my perspective.
Another shift in my perspective occurred the other day. You may have read or seen news of the rocket attack in Bagram last weekend. One of my soldiers lost his leg from the knee down. He sustained other injuries. He should be recovering now at another location. Well, I was shaving the next day. My razor had fallen off the case in to my shaving kit. I reached in and grabbed it. I shaved off the corner of my thumb, just a piece. The first thing I thought or said I will leave as a mystery. The second, and almost immediate thought was, "I have my leg." It ceased to even be an issue at that moment.
I stood on the flight line as the FOB Chaplain yesterday as the medevac choppers came in. They unloaded a number of soldiers (Can't disclose details at this time due to Secret policy). I watched them be wheeled to the vehicles and shortly to the Med Station where I met them. They were sons, fathers, brothers etc... I watched over them and prayed for them. As they wheeled them from the choppers to the vehicles, tears pooled around my eyes. These brave me are somebody’s babies, dads.....
I am doing well. But, doing well doesn't mean that I don't feel the pain of those around me. We have just begun. There will be more of this unfortunately. There will also be some great stuff. I spend 99% of my time full and happy about what I do. It is only occasionally that it is hard. So, don't worry about me. I am doing well. I even went to a party last night.
The Afghan Security Guard hosted an event for us last night. I ate the local food and I lived through it. It was actually very good. They played music for us. A group of Afghans danced for us. I eventually joined them. It was a lot of fun. Some of the other officers were dancing with me. I am sure you know that I was acting a fool. We had a great time. Soon, I will have pictures. They will be great.
Keep our soldiers in your daily prayers. We are making a difference here. I spoke with a leader of the Afghan Army last night. He could not stop talking about the changes here. He spoke of hope. He spoke of new days. I see it in their eyes. This ancient, war-torn land has truly tasted what can be. They are determined and hungry for it. From what I gather from my comrades, it is different from Iraq somewhat in that sense. It is fresh, new life for them.
The birds are still chirping. They will chirp for a while, then go. They must lean on their mother right now until they can stretch their wings and fly on their own. Isn't that funny? Maybe, just maybe, Afghanistan will fly one day, all by itself.
Serving the Best Men and Women Today,
CH (CPT) Brown
Afghan Update #1
08Jun09/Monday/8:16 pm
I am on the greatest and most uncertain adventure of my life. Adventure here doesn’t mean that I am going on a thrill ride. For the first time in my life, adventure means that I am going into danger. I certainly don’t want to play that up; I feel that I will be cared for and safe. But, I am entering a war zone. Men and women do it all the time, every day. They have done this throughout history. Today, however, it is real to me. Today, I have set out to walk as many who have gone before me.
I have sung the national anthem on many occasions. I have said the pledge of allegiance to the United States more than I can enumerate. Something has shifted within in me this last year. I have been an active duty officer in the US Army for one year today. When I hear the national anthem or say the pledge of allegiance today, my throat closes up, tears fill my eyes. It is different to me now. I have walked with soldiers for a year. I have seen what they do. Certainly, there are some who care less than others. There are some who are just waiting until their contract is up. But, there are others. These others work diligently to secure our freedom. These others pour their lives into defending the defending our country. These others live out fully the commitment to serve. I am flying now toward the Middle East. Afghanistan will be my home for the next 12 months. For the past several months I have come to know these soldiers, men and women like you and I. I pray that we all would return together. It is unlikely to be true. What lies ahead is in no way evident to me. There will be good days. There will be bad days. For now, that is all I know.
So what will I do for the next 12 months? I have one option, and one option only. I will “trust in the Lord with all of my heart. I will not lean on my own understanding. In all my ways, I will acknowledge Him. And, He will direct my path,”( Prov. 3:5&6). I have stepped out in faith many times in my life. Other times my faith has been weak, anemic. Today, I am not sure if I have strong faith or if I am just following because I have no other option than to trust in the Lord. Is that too honest? I do know this: I am where I need to be. Some might argue with that. I have a statement for those people. It isn’t a debate. God has placed me just where I am. To answer the question of what I will do, it is just this simple; I will trust in the Lord. Obviously I will do much in the next 12 months. Saying that I will only trust may sound irresponsible to some. For those who know me, you realize that I won’t possibly just sit around. I am saying that there is no way to complete this mission in my strength. Notice that I didn’t say there was no way to complete this mission in my strength alone. That would imply that I would be assisting God. I am banking solely upon Him doing this in me. That is it. For those who are still struggling with the idea of Grace and God doing everything, I will go ahead and give you something to chew on as well. Because right now, you guys still want some concrete answers about what I will actually be doing. But to be clear, God will be doing these things through me.
I will be praying, praying that I have strength to see young men and women wounded and likely killed in battle. I will be loving them with deep and abiding love that I can only tap because the author of love lives in me and is overflowing out of me. I will hear the hurts of lives that have been tattered and torn from the pains of life. I will share Jesus with people who need him like never before. I will pray with my security team as they prepare to defend me and escort me through God knows what. I will bond with men and women who have given up so much to attain for us freedom that costs so much. I will cry with some. I will laugh often. I will live and bloom right where God has placed me. I will strive to soak up every moment knowing that there will be moments that I want, and need, and hurt as well. I will share my hurt. I will grow in godliness. I will lean on Jesus like I really believe what He says is true. I will find Him in the darkness of terror. I will take light to that darkness. He will dispel it. I will stand back when others say, “Chaplain, thank you.” I will say to them, “I could never have done that; it must be Jesus.”
My mom, dad, sister, niece, and an aunt and uncle spent the last few days with me in my home. It was a wonderful time. I left them today. It was difficult. They hugged me and cried. I knew my mom would struggle. She did. But, my aunt and uncle showed me something today that struck me deeply. They showed me how difficult this is for them as well. As I embraced them, my parents, sister, and niece I was emboldened in the difficulty to live large in the days to come, to pour myself out for God and Country. Today is a good day to fight a war. Today is a good day to serve this country. Today is a good day to serve my King.
I am on the greatest and most uncertain adventure of my life. Adventure here doesn’t mean that I am going on a thrill ride. For the first time in my life, adventure means that I am going into danger. I certainly don’t want to play that up; I feel that I will be cared for and safe. But, I am entering a war zone. Men and women do it all the time, every day. They have done this throughout history. Today, however, it is real to me. Today, I have set out to walk as many who have gone before me.
I have sung the national anthem on many occasions. I have said the pledge of allegiance to the United States more than I can enumerate. Something has shifted within in me this last year. I have been an active duty officer in the US Army for one year today. When I hear the national anthem or say the pledge of allegiance today, my throat closes up, tears fill my eyes. It is different to me now. I have walked with soldiers for a year. I have seen what they do. Certainly, there are some who care less than others. There are some who are just waiting until their contract is up. But, there are others. These others work diligently to secure our freedom. These others pour their lives into defending the defending our country. These others live out fully the commitment to serve. I am flying now toward the Middle East. Afghanistan will be my home for the next 12 months. For the past several months I have come to know these soldiers, men and women like you and I. I pray that we all would return together. It is unlikely to be true. What lies ahead is in no way evident to me. There will be good days. There will be bad days. For now, that is all I know.
So what will I do for the next 12 months? I have one option, and one option only. I will “trust in the Lord with all of my heart. I will not lean on my own understanding. In all my ways, I will acknowledge Him. And, He will direct my path,”( Prov. 3:5&6). I have stepped out in faith many times in my life. Other times my faith has been weak, anemic. Today, I am not sure if I have strong faith or if I am just following because I have no other option than to trust in the Lord. Is that too honest? I do know this: I am where I need to be. Some might argue with that. I have a statement for those people. It isn’t a debate. God has placed me just where I am. To answer the question of what I will do, it is just this simple; I will trust in the Lord. Obviously I will do much in the next 12 months. Saying that I will only trust may sound irresponsible to some. For those who know me, you realize that I won’t possibly just sit around. I am saying that there is no way to complete this mission in my strength. Notice that I didn’t say there was no way to complete this mission in my strength alone. That would imply that I would be assisting God. I am banking solely upon Him doing this in me. That is it. For those who are still struggling with the idea of Grace and God doing everything, I will go ahead and give you something to chew on as well. Because right now, you guys still want some concrete answers about what I will actually be doing. But to be clear, God will be doing these things through me.
I will be praying, praying that I have strength to see young men and women wounded and likely killed in battle. I will be loving them with deep and abiding love that I can only tap because the author of love lives in me and is overflowing out of me. I will hear the hurts of lives that have been tattered and torn from the pains of life. I will share Jesus with people who need him like never before. I will pray with my security team as they prepare to defend me and escort me through God knows what. I will bond with men and women who have given up so much to attain for us freedom that costs so much. I will cry with some. I will laugh often. I will live and bloom right where God has placed me. I will strive to soak up every moment knowing that there will be moments that I want, and need, and hurt as well. I will share my hurt. I will grow in godliness. I will lean on Jesus like I really believe what He says is true. I will find Him in the darkness of terror. I will take light to that darkness. He will dispel it. I will stand back when others say, “Chaplain, thank you.” I will say to them, “I could never have done that; it must be Jesus.”
My mom, dad, sister, niece, and an aunt and uncle spent the last few days with me in my home. It was a wonderful time. I left them today. It was difficult. They hugged me and cried. I knew my mom would struggle. She did. But, my aunt and uncle showed me something today that struck me deeply. They showed me how difficult this is for them as well. As I embraced them, my parents, sister, and niece I was emboldened in the difficulty to live large in the days to come, to pour myself out for God and Country. Today is a good day to fight a war. Today is a good day to serve this country. Today is a good day to serve my King.
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