Month: January 2016

The Christian Soldier

Being a Christian and a soldier has its own particular set of difficulties.  Some may call you a hypocrite, and they would be right but for the wrong reasons.

You see, all of us Christians are necessarily hypocrites.  We proclaim loudly that no one should sin, yet we admit to doing it every day.  That truth holds for me as I suspect it holds for many of you, and therefore as a Christian, I am also a hypocrite.  Being a soldier, however, does not make me a hypocrite.  I can be a soldier and still live as Christ and God expect me to.

Even a cursory glance at the Bible shows that God does not punish the soldier.  Abraham conducts the first recorded night raid to rescue Lot, Saul had his thousands, David his tens of thousands.  Even in the New Testament, John doesn’t tell the repentant centurion that he must quit, and both Peter and Jesus commend Roman soldiers for their faith.

The military is very much the context under which my faith was born.  What started as a ruse to get communion bread in Ranger school resulted in my actually hearing the word of God.  Slowly I began my conversion.

Two groups that typically have larger percentages of religious belief are soldiers and the elderly.  Both groups have come to grips with their own mortality.  I realized this quickly after my first firefight when the whizz and crack of bullets all around me showed me that it was luck, or maybe grace, that one of them didn’t find me as its target.

I accepted that I was indeed going to die one day.  All of us know this intellectually, but to believe and embrace it is quite a different story.  Many people see their eventual death as they get older and their body begins to break down.  As an Infantryman I realized that it really could happen any day, not in an intellectual way, but I knew it…I felt it.

Not everyone is built to do this job.  Some hesitate in a door, some don’t fire, and some will suffer emotionally for years.  Then there are the warriors who move with no apprehension straight into the face of danger and inflict whatever violence is necessary to eradicate the threat.  I’ve come to believe that you need to be designed that way, that’s not something that can be trained or taught.

In my walk with Christ over the years I’ve met men that can preach sermons that bring you to tears, others that give me goose bumps when they pray, and other still that can make music that brings you right into the very presence of God.

Some of us were given a different skill, like Peter who didn’t hesitate to draw and cut off a Roman soldier’s ear when they tried to take Jesus, we shouldn’t hesitate when confronting evil.  Also like Peter, however, we should be willing and able to show mercy, empathy, grace, and love.

Although some evil requires action in the physical realm to eradicate, other types of evil live in man’s heart, and can only be reached with love.  One of the efforts of CONUS Battle Drills is to teach you how to quell that beast so you can find love, compassion and empathy and live it in your daily life.

Violence is a tool, but it shouldn’t be your only tool.  When you lean on Christ you will find many other tools to add to your arsenal and you will not only be able to fulfill your purpose as a warrior but also as a Christian.






Shit Happens When You’re a Dad

This story only has one side…

“Good morning kiddos!”
“I love you too!”
“Well that’s an interesting dream, now go to the bathroom.”

What is that?  Is that shit?  

“Why are you naked? You can’t sit on the couch naked and watch a show. Come get dressed.”
“What do you want for breakfast?”… “No, you can’t have peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”… “Fine…stop crying, I’ll put PB&J on a waffle, how’s that?”

Did the baby just shit his pants? Damn, I just changed his diaper. “Come here Ben! You need another diaper.”

“Alright, let’s get shoes on.” … “Stop screaming, we’re going to the playground.” … “Sure we can go to that one.”
“Is everyone buckled in?”
“Sure, I’ll push you on the swing.”
“Tag! YOU’RE it!”
“Daddy needs a break.”
“Alright, timer’s set for 5 minutes.” … “Stop crying, what do you want for lunch?” … “No, we’re not having McDonald’s again.” … “You had PB&J for breakfast.”

I’m just going to make Hot Dogs, 20 seconds and they’re done. Damn, should’ve emptied the dishwasher earlier.

“Roll up your sleeves please.” … “Stop, you’re getting ketchup everywhere.” … “Ok, time for a show.”

Almost nap time, get lunch cleaned up and this show will be over, then it’ll be quiet and maybe I can sit my fat ass on the couch for a few.

“Why are you naked? Let’s get a pull-up on you.”

What did I just step on? Is that shit? Oh no, if that’s shit I’m holding it in my bare hands. Emily is looking at me like it’s shit. Only one way to find out…whew…wet cocoa puff.

“Get some rest sweetie.” … “I love you too.”
“Time to wake up babies!” … “Yes, we can play upstairs.”

12513865_10208251963000414_2145126624172371101_o Did he shit again? Yep.

“Come here Ben, you need a new diaper.”

What the fuck did he eat? Damn.

“Stay here kids, Daddy has to go to the bathroom.”

Oh, looks like Izzy took a shit and forgot to flush again…next time I’ll use my own bathroom.

“What’cha cooking babe?” … “Smells great!”
“She’s making dinner.” … “It does not smell disgusting Jonathan.”
“Izzy, stop jumping on the trampoline when Ben falls, you’re going to hurt him.”

Why does it smell like shit?

“Jonathan did you fart?” … “It’s not funny.” … “No, get away from me.” … “You’re going to poop your pants, go to the bathroom.” … “Now!”
“Alright, let’s clean up, dinner is ready!”

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… “Yes my love.”…“Sorry, forgot to roll up his sleeves, I’ll remember next time.”
“Is that so delicious Izzy?” … “You’re going to get it in your hair like that.”
“Jonathan, sit correctly, you’re going to fall…see? That’s why I tell you to sit correctly every night.” … “No it’s not the chair’s fault.”
“Alright, I’ll clean up.”

Well now I have to empty the dishwasher.

“Yes, I wiped everything down.” … “Sorry, forgot the oven. I’ll do it now.”

How many diapers do we have in this trashcan, damn it smells like shit.

“I’ll be right back, I have to use the bathroom.”

Did Izzy shit in my bathroom too? Damn! We really need to teach that girl to flush.

“Alright, time for bath!”
“Come here naked baby!” … “Yeah, they’re all running around naked.”
“HEY! In the tub! All of you!”
“Stop splashing, you’re getting me wet.”
“Right now you have to pee? Now that you’re all wet?”

Great, this’ll be fun to clean up.

“Alright, go to mommy and daddy’s room so we can get you dressed.” … “You’re cold because you threw your towel off and started running around naked.”
“Bring me a Dr. Seuss book.”… “thank you, thank you, Sam I am…Alright, go get in bed.”
“Goodnight my babies!”
“I love you too.”

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“So you wanna get freaky now that they’re asleep?”… “Well, thought I’d ask.”
“Izzy left me a turd in both bathrooms today.”… “I know, the second one was the kicker, I’m still laughing.” … “Well she eats like a man, what do you expect?”
“What do you want to watch?” … “Want to watch another?”
“Love you too, goodnight.”





Warriors Who Do Violence

Being a warrior that does violence is different than being a violent man; a warrior has empathy.

All throughout history societies have looked to men who were willing to do violence and written their stories down.  Warriors have developed new and unique ways of fighting which we call art forms.  Entire cultures centered around their warriors: the Spartans, the Huns, the Samurai, the Maori, the Vikings, the Knights Templar, the list goes on.  In all ages, all regions, warriors have found their place among their fellow man.

I’ve come to believe that being a warrior comes as a predisposition, much like extroversion, You can train someone to be a soldier and do soldierly things, but only a few are actual warriors.

The warrior doesn’t fear death although he doesn’t yearn for it.  If it comes, so be it, but better it be the enemy.

The warrior can measure his violence, but ask him and he cannot identify the maximum amount of violence of which he is capable.

When doing violence, the warrior is concerned only with eliminating the threat.  He will not think about home or take the time to be afraid or sad.  He is singularly focused and as the threat increases, his self preservation instinct decreases.  If eliminating the threat requires his life then he will give it, if eliminating the threat requires he expose himself, then he will do it.

A warrior loves to do battle, but not against the weak, that is an act of a coward.

Finding someone predisposed to being a warrior is difficult, some even think they are until the threat presents itself and they come face to face with death.

 

Once a man discovers he is a warrior, once he has seen the world and the evil in it for what it really is, it is impossible to turn that off. Every situation, every environment, every moment he is analyzing threats, developing courses of action, and identifying weapons for his use.  Always.

When I was just a boy, my family went to Madrid, Spain for a new years celebration.  There were large crowds and I could tell my father was uncomfortable as he held my hand.  Most of the group we were with were happily enjoying their time when a man dropped his keys in between my father’s legs.  The man fell to his knees and started to feel around.  Dad’s hand squeezed mine tighter as he began to back up.  The drunk stood up, showed us his keys, and began to walk off when in an instant my father released my hand, grabbed the dude and slammed him violently against a nearby wall.  As he bounced off the wall, my father grabbed him by the neck and slammed him a second time yelling, “Where is my fucking wallet?”  The wallet flew out of the nearby crowd and landed at my father’s feet.

I remember distinctly the look of fear in the “drunk’s” eyes.  He was taller than my dad, but he wasn’t a warrior, and when he met the ferocity of one, fear penetrated his core. All night they had been pulling this scam, but only the warrior who is always thinking of potential threats identified it.

Realizing that you are a warrior is a paradigm shift.  You will never look at the world the same way again, and the overwhelming majority of the population doesn’t understand or see what you see.  Their prescription for your “problem” will always fail because they are trying to get you to see the world the way they do.  You are not them, you are different, accept that.

This does not give you carte blanche to act out, It takes more power and courage to show restraint than it does to be violent. Do not ignore what you feel and see, take control over it.  Don’t be too proud to seek help.

The only way to live in this world as a warrior is to be stronger than your urges, more powerful than your emotions, exert control over yourself, like a fucking warrior does.  Any weak minded fool can be loud and angry.



Firefight on OP4

Last night I was talking with some friends about our transition out of the military.  There was a common theme and it reminded me of a firefight:

“OP4 is under attack!”

We poured out of the hooches and into our vehicles right outside.  We were still adjusting our gear, snapping on NODs, tightening plate carriers, fastening seat belts, as we peeled out towards the gate.  I snapped the radio handmic into my chinstrap and could hear the progress of the attack.  We were spinning tires and spitting rocks everywhere as we pulled out into the wadi right outside Camp Tillman.

OP4 was several kilometers away, but we could see the tracer fire across the wide open valley in between us and them (the dashteh).  When traveling at 20 mph like we usually did, driving across the dashteh was one of the most comfortable of rides since we were on relatively flat roads instead of cutting through rocky dried out rivers like we usually did.  Traveling at 50mph under night vision, however, we found every rut, hole, hill, berm, and wall in a direct line between Tillman and OP4.

Although the vehicle violently slammed up and down, none of us wanted to let up, and the driver’s foot firmly pressed the gas pedal to the floor.  Our HMMWV engine roared loudly each time a set of wheels came off the ground. I had one hand on my rifle, using my thumb to keep constant pressure on the selector switch and keeping the barrel in contact with the floorboards in between my feet.  My other hand alternated from the handmic to the front windshield as I tried to keep my head from slamming into the glass.

OP4 was an unprotected observation post.  We basically walked up a mountain and said, “this is a good spot,” and set down our rucks there.  That was until this night.  This night, all that would change.  The enemy outnumbered our boys on the OP at least 4-1, and the paratroopers held their ground for a long time with no heavy weapons and no fortified positions.  They fought with rifles, small arms, some artillery and guts.  Eventually they became overwhelmed by the large enemy force and began a break-contact battle drill, fighting their way off of the hill.

“They’ve pulled out of the OP, that’s enemy on the top!”  I yelled to the men in my vehicle since I was the only one that could hear the radio, and when we were about 1km away, my .50cal gunner began to fire at the mountaintop.

The adrenaline coursed through my veins as I could identify specific enemy positions now that we were closer.  I threw open the door of my vehicle, pushed on it with my foot and began to fire.  My shots sounded like BB’s with the .50cal firing above me.  I could hear our artillery rounds wooshing overhead towards their targets and the distinct cracks of AK rounds coming our way.

“Stop right up there,” I yelled at my driver pointing to a position in front of us and he nodded white-knuckling the steering wheel with a smile on his face.  I unclicked the handmic and got ready to hop out of the vehicle as my door was still open.  I imagined doing some John Wayne follow me shit and I was stoked.  As the HMMWV slid to a stop on the rocky Afghan terrain, I pushed off to jump out and start pegging nearby muzzle flashes.

CLACK!

That damn seatbelt!

My body jerked as the HMMWV door came flying back, slamming into my helmet.  I fell back into the vehicle, my NODs had unclicked and were dangling in my face when I felt a sharp pain on my shin.  My leg was hanging out when the vehicle door swung back onto it as well.  I let out a grunt of pain as my forward observer, who sat behind me in the vehicle took up a position next to my door.

Rounds were flying back and forth, now half of our company was in the fight, pushing the enemy off of our terrain.  My machine gunners were pelting the summit with MK19 and .50 cal rounds. My men were already out of their vehicles ready to assault, and I was stuck in my vehicle, snapping my NOD’s back into place, fighting myself out of the vehicle, trying not to be a little bitch about the pain on my shin.  In between bouts of laughter, SGT Coca my FO looked at me, “You ok sir.”  I nodded as I spun out of the vehicle, untangling myself from that seatbelt.  My gunner made it a point to laugh nice and loud in between bursts.



Getting out of the military is a lot like that night.  There’s anticipation, excitement, and you have visions of what it’s going to be like, only to get caught by something you didn’t even think about at the last second.

The military does a very poor job of preparing us for this transition, and guys wait too long to start getting ready.

If 2016 is your year, then you need to start preparing yourself now.  Get your finances in order, know why you’re getting out, know where you want to live, and know what you want to do.  That’s the first step.  Then set goals, make a plan, and start working towards the answers in your big four questions.

I don’t care how shit-hot you think you are, if you’re not ready, it’s not going to go well.

Here’s some random firefight footage just because…