Tag Archives: military

My Hardest Job

It’s been a little while since I’ve posted to my blog. I’ve been busy. Plus, there’s only so much we are allowed to talk about from here. I have tons of inspiration and great stories to tell, just can’t really tell them all right now. I guess some of my stories will have to be told to the grandkids one day. But what I can tell you is that unless something catastrophic happens, 2013 in Afghanistan will have the fewest number of U.S. casualties in six years. I’m using numbers from icasualties.org for my source. Their last entry for a U.S. casualty is December 17, when a helicopter crash killed 6 U.S. Soldiers. On that same day I took a helicopter flight from Bagram to Kabul. It wasn’t long after I landed that I learned of the crash.

I didn’t personally know any of our recently fallen here in Afghanistan. But I still feel a loss and my heart goes out to the families. In the past I’ve been in a unit that lost a member. And as the chaplain assistant I had to help coordinate the memorial ceremony. That’s very emotional for all involved. I could see the pain and reflection in the attendees as they cope with the loss. My job has also given me a front row seat to passing on bad news. I’ll never forget being in Iraq and being present when a chaplain informed a Service Member that her husband’s plane had gone down in Afghanistan and that there were no survivors. I can still see in my mind her reaction. I can still feel the pain she was tormented with as she cried uncontrollably for what seemed like forever. Time seems to crawl during moments like that. I think it gives us time for the images to be forever etched in our minds. I have a number of those images in my mind.

My job isn’t terribly hard, but it is emotionally draining at times. Earlier this year when offering comfort to a Soldier during his loss of a family member, I put it all to words in a poem entitled “My Hardest Job”. I will share that with you here. Enjoy. Good day, God bless.

Dave

My Hardest Job

We’re built to be tough- hard and strong,
Trained to keep going when the days get long.
We learn to fight, to shoot and kill,
Our soul is busy- never still.

We fight the battles when called upon,
Without distraction we soldier on.
I’ve gone to war- seen the dead,
Images of that, etched in my head.

I’ve done all the jobs I’ve been given to do,
For the love of the army, and my country, too.
But when Taps is played and we say goodbye,
My hardest job ever is watching a Soldier cry.

The True Risk

This post was removed for a while to make someone happy, even though it had been approved for publishing here. So, I’m putting it back. Enjoy.

Every weekend in September my chaplain and I travel from our compound to another to provide religious support and to participate in a ceremony honoring the fallen of our NATO forces. For more on the ceremony, see my blog entry titled “The Ceremony.” Every trip comes with some element of danger. Some of our trips have even been canceled. Most of the trips we made were in armored NTVs (non-tactical vehicles). One week we walked to our destination for a trip that lasted only a couple of hours. We were only on the roads for about 5 minutes, but it was quite an adventure to walk the streets, to see the people and the traffic up close. Turns out, we weren’t supposed to walk, at least not those of us in my unit. But that’s a whole other point of grief I won’t get into here.

On this particular weekend we were all geared up, ready to walk. We were wearing our protective gear, including a protective vest, helmet, gloves, etc. I had my M9 and my M16. I was ready for the adventure. At the last minute we found out that our walk was canceled and began scrambling to find a ride. We did, our drive team came through like the professionals they are.

Early Sunday morning we are setting up for chapel service. The Navy Captain that plays piano for the services asked me to go to the gate of the compound and escort his Afghan National Army friend to the service. So I set out on my mission. I made my way through the compound to the gate. I went out to where I thought I was supposed to meet him but instead found myself on the street, outside the compound, without my gear. I had only my M9 with me, and nothing in the chamber. I looked around to see a few locals walking the street. There was almost no vehicular traffic. I walked toward the entry checkpoint down the way from where I exited. I wasn’t afraid and never felt threatened being outside the compound. But it was a very surreal feeling.

I found the gentleman I was looking for. He was dressed in his uniform talking to another Afghan Soldier who was also waiting for an escort to get into the compound. He had a genuine smile and was very happy to see me. I greeted him in his native tongue and he returned the greeting in English, shook my hand, then embraced me. I led him through the gates and checkpoints and then to the chapel. We talked about his training he had been to in the States and where I was from back home. He spoke very good English.

As it turns out he is a Christian, something that puts his life in jeopardy here (hence, I will not use his name or rank). As I sat there during the service, I pondered all this. Here is a man who not only is willing to risk his life to make his country a better place, but also to risk everything in his life to go to church and fellowship with other Christians. This moved me.

They say we, as American Soldiers, risk our lives everyday by being here. I know this to be true when I attend the ceremonies and see the names of the fallen. But I have never felt threatened or in danger since I’ve been here, not on any of the missions I’ve gone on, not even when we walked in the streets. (This changed as we started traveling all around Afghanistan). Maybe that’s my American culture of taking things for granted or maybe I’m just old enough to know that we can’t live forever anyway. Whatever the job at hand, we are willing to do it not matter the cost. But in thinking about all this, I am humbled and ashamed that I take so much for granted. It’s easy to do what I do with all the cumbersome protective gear I have to wear. There is some safety in it. There are no repercussions for me going to church or being a Christian. But this Afghan Soldier, to do what he did, to go to church, to be a Christian here, is far more risky than anything I have ever done. His reward will be great.

So I ask you this question as I close: What are you willing to die for? More importantly: What are willing to live for. Dying is the easy part. Can you handle living for what you believe?

Good day and God bless.

Dave

The Ceremony

Sometimes I wonder how I got to where I am. Not how did I get to Afghanistan, but how I got to be where I am, doing the things I’m doing, working with the people I’m working with, seeing the world in a way that so few get to see it. Some might think it’s weird for me consider myself lucky to be here, in a war zone, away from many of the comforts of home, away from my family. I do count myself lucky to be able to serve, even here. We do have some of the comforts of home, though not near as comfortable as being home. And while I miss my family back home dearly, these that I serve with are my family here. Putting it all into this perspective, I like this life’s adventure I’m on.

One of the things I have experienced recently is the memorial ceremony at ISAF (International Security Assistance Force) held each week in front of the headquarters building there. I mentioned this in a Facebook post a short while back, but I’ll go into greater detail here. I should note that my chaplain did the most recent ceremony and will do a few more as a fill in to the usual chaplain. The ceremony is only about 10-15 minutes, held outside. The back drop to the podium where the chaplain speaks is the Afghan flag, the NATO flag, then the flags of the Coalition Forces that suffered a loss. The chaplain starts the ceremony, then a senior military leader from each of the Coalition Forces reads the names of fallen from their respective country, an Afghan National Army leader says a prayer for his fallen and states how many (too many names to read at the ceremony), the bagpipes play, and chaplain concludes the ceremony.

It’s fascinating to me to be standing there with so many other Service Members from all over the world paying respects to the fallen. Up close to the center of the ceremony there are a couple of foriegn units in formation, but for the most part, we just find a place to stand in the background and watch. We all come to attention when called. We listen to the prayers and words of comfort. Then, seemingly as quick as the ceremony started, we all go our separate ways, back to what ever it is we are assigned to do.

The United States was the only Coalition flag up at the most recent ceremony. Five American Service Member’s names were read. The first time I attended the ceremony it struck me how quick it was. I remember thinking to myself, “How can we pay proper respect to the fallen so quick?” Not just for the U.S forces, but for who ever gives their life in such a manner. As I pondered this in the week in between ceremonies I came to a conclusion.

We stop here only long enough to recognize the fallen. We have a job to do. While our hearts are heavy and we feel a loss, we have to move on and complete the mission we’ve been given. If we stop too long we get distracted. We don’t have time to memorialize, grieve, morn, or reflect. At least not all at once, not here. It has to become a background thought. It can’t be foremost in our minds lest we lose track of what we need to do to get the rest of us home safely.

Even though I didn’t personally know any of the names called at either one of the ceremonies I’ve been to so far, I still feel a connection and a loss. Maybe it’s the kind of connection that only exists for those that wear or have worn the uniform, I don’t know. But it’s a sobering reminder of where I am in the world today and what’s going on around me. Each time I go outside the wire I take it all in. I look at the people on the streets, the shops, the traffic, the advertisements. As I file it all into my memory of life experiences, I make sure to find a place in there for the ceremonies so I don’t forget we are still at war. Sometimes it’s easy to not think about it from the inside of the walls, and forget what’s going on the outside.

Take the time remember the fallen and their families. Pray for them. Pray for us. Pray for our families back home doing all the hard work of keeping homes running. We will continue to do what we do until our job is complete.

Good day and God bless.

Dave