Heather continued to breathe slowly and steadily, the way she did when all three of the kids were born.
“I can’t believe I just did that to you,” Tonya said, shaking her head. “Even after three tours, I still feel the floor disappear every time there’s a knock at the door. When he’s gone, I can’t even order pizza.”
Heather laughed, releasing some of the terror that had built inside of her. She wiped slight tears from her eyes as she hugged her friend.
God didn’t want people to go through trials alone. Darren had his comrades-in-arms out in the desert, and Heather had hers on the home front.
“Dear Lord, we have to do this well,” she said, more to herself than anyone else.
Tonya gave her a knowing nod. She had been down this road before, so she knew what to expect.
Not knowing what was coming was the worst thing about all of this.
6
The page was blank and empty, ready for Darren to pour out his heart and share his thoughts. Yet all he could do was watch his hand as it shook, the pen barely held in his grip. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and turned toward the floor, thinking about everything that had happened. The spinning sensation inside of him hadn’t completely ceased.
Once again he pictured the little girl he had carried, so light and lifeless. He saw the other soldiers, wounded and weary, continuing to fight by helping others or by being strong with their injuries. What haunted him the most was the face of the father, wrecked and desperate, so lost.
Closing his eyes, Darren saw Elie’s sweet smile and round cheeks. For a moment, a terrible and twisted moment in his imagination, he saw the dead girl jumping on their trampoline, laughing, and himself carrying Elie into the tent.
He opened his eyes and closed the journal, then placed it down along with the pen. He grabbed the sat phone and stabbed in the numbers as fast as he could.
Fear was not going to consume him. The enemy had won a victory today, but Darren still planned to fight in any way possible.
The line rang once, then twice, then started a third time when it was interrupted by a familiar and delicate “Hello?” from Elie.
“Hey, Bug. It’s Daddy.”
“Daddy!”
Her shout calmed him far more than writing in the journal could have. The only voice that could encourage him even more was Heather’s.
“It’s so good to hear your voice,” he told Elie. “I miss you so much.”
In ways you don’t know and hopefully never will.
“I miss you too. Is everything okay? Mommy looked worried when she left with Miss Tonya, and you sound—”
“Yes, I’m okay. I promise.”
She waited for more, but he didn’t—he couldn’t—tell Elie everything.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, honey.”
“Are you wearing your armor?”
His eyes burned with tears as he stared at the photo of his daughter on the screen saver of his laptop.
“I sure am,” he said. “Are you?”
“Every day. When I remember.”
Her voice felt like water on a patch of dry grass in the middle of a desert.
“Give everyone a great big hug for me. Bye, baby.”
“Bye, Daddy.”
Daddy. Her sweet voice said the word with such intimacy and adoration.
Sometimes that simple word was enough to keep going.
Sometimes it had to be.
7
“You okay, Chaplain?”
The officer’s words jolted Darren out of the daze of thoughts surrounding him in the middle of the sweltering day. He sat on the sandbags outside the office, his gaze facing the buzz of activity on the base but his mind elsewhere. Far elsewhere, away from this country and this fight. He stood as Jacobsen approached.
“Yes, sir.”
His voice masked every bit of pain and question his heart held.
“Good. ’Cuz some folks around here could probably use a visit about now.” Jacobsen handed him a thick file. “Some info on our lost warriors.”
As Jacobsen began to move toward the barracks tents, Darren followed him from behind, trying to shake the cobwebs of confusion from his thoughts. He imagined Heather back home, walking up to the soldier’s house with her friend, knocking on the door and waiting. Waiting for it to open. Waiting for the pain to invite her to come in.
He knew her warm and inviting presence would be comforting to the women who were suddenly dealing with the news. Yet he also knew how hard her job was.
He stood for a moment in front of the entrance to the tent, unable to go inside. He wiped the sweat off his forehead, then did the same for the back of his neck. His mouth was dry, his back ached, and his uniform felt gritty against the rest of his body.
He felt like he was waiting to reload his rifle, but he couldn’t find any rounds to fill the magazine with.
“Turner?”
“Sorry, sir,” Darren said with a wry chuckle. “Standing here, in this moment—I guess I’m not exactly sure what to say.”
“Well, I’m no expert in your line of work, Chaplain. But I bet you’ll leave that master’s of divinity back in your tent and just give a few boys your heart. It’ll probably go a long way.”
The commander’s no-nonsense attitude never wavered. Disciplined. Decided. Undaunted.
“Thank you, sir,” Darren said as he entered the tent.
8
Later that evening, having made the rounds that afternoon and talked to a variety of men on the base, Darren still needed to meet with a few more from the platoon of the soldiers who’d died in order to do a Critical Incident Stress Debriefing (CISD)—which basically meant helping them talk through what happened. To ask what they thought during and afterward, to talk about how they felt now and how they could cope in the days ahead. Darren knew it would be tough to get the guys talking at first, but once someone really shared, conversation could take off. This was vital in helping them deal with their loss and ultimately get back in the fight. Otherwise, they could become paralyzed with grief and think they were the only ones feeling this way. It also brought the platoon together even closer, which was good in combat for sure.
When he entered Alpha tent after dinner, Darren found half a dozen soldiers sitting and resting on the line of cots inside the tent.
“Third platoon, Alpha?” he asked.
Some of the men looked curious, while others appeared indifferent or didn’t even bother looking at him.
Corporal Blaylock nodded and urged Darren to enter. “You found it, Chaplain. Come on in.”
The smell of sweat and cologne hovered in the air. Darren spotted a folding chair along the wall, grabbed it, and pulled it near Blaylock to sit down. He noticed one of the soldiers staring at the floor, a grim and hopeless look covering his face.
“Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I could use some help. This will be my first memorial for guys we’ve lost out here.”
A couple of them sighed; others dropped their heads. Nobody wanted to open up and expose their feelings. That’s not what men did, especially strong men like these guys. But they were still wounded and hurting, and Darren needed to find some way to attend to the wounds.
“I would love to know a little more about your friends,” he said.
For a while the silence stretched out like a knife cutting the skin. Then Corporal Blaylock finally spoke.
“Civis were all around us as we came off the last bridge. Two blasts, one after the other behind us, and we ran back, pulled Mitchell outta the fire, but he was already gone. And Cosgrove was already inside, getting those two girls out. The flames just took him.”
Darren waited for more, but Blaylock stopped, as if considering the gravity of what he had just shared. Two men, perishing in two blinks. With two breaths, they were suddenly gone.
A soldier named Diego looked up at the chaplain. “Mitchell was engaged. And Cosgrove’s wife is pregnant.”
The words swirled around them like qu
icksand.
“I’ve been with both of ’em since basic. And when my fiancée decided military life just wasn’t for her, those two guys didn’t leave my side till we shipped out. Probably kept me from—”
“What’d you do with the little girl?” another voice interrupted.
Darren turned to spot a soldier lying by himself in the dim light at the end of another row of cots.
“Bradley, right?” Darren asked.
The soldier nodded.
“Medics finally took her,” Darren told him. “And her father. To make arrangements.”
“So did you bring us some Bible verse explaining why a little girl had her life taken away before it began?”
The cynicism wasn’t lost on Darren.
“No, I didn’t. Bring a Bible verse, that is. But I do have a daughter. Her name’s Elie. The thought of losing her is beyond what I can imagine.”
A few more soldiers looked over at Darren.
“Yeah, I got a daughter too. So what? You’re peddling a God who’ll take mine tomorrow. Maybe yours the next day.”
Normally when he was challenged, Darren would run toward it, unflinching and ready to battle. But this wasn’t a competition or a game of one-on-one. This was real life. This was the reason he was in Iraq in the first place.
He moved closer to Bradley to talk.
“You’re angry. I get it. I mean, we all rage at death, right?” He looked around the room to address the others as well. “I think there’s a reason for that. I think it’s because we were made for life. And I believe in a God who came to rescue us from death and bring us into life. Who gives us all life to begin with. For a specific time and purpose. Until He chooses to take us home with Him. Forever.”
Lance Bradley shifted and sat on his cot, adrenaline pumping fury inside his veins. “You know what that little girl told me when we first picked her up? She told me through the translator—she just wanted to stay alive to do two things. She wanted to fly in an airplane, and she wanted to climb a mountain. To be closer to God. Little innocent girl didn’t do anything to deserve to die. She wanted to be closer to God. And the God she believed in didn’t stop it. Who needs that?”
Darren dropped his head, feeling the weight of the soldier’s grief tugging him down. He let out a sigh, then stood up.
Grief didn’t like to listen, especially when the enemy had it weighted down with hate and bitterness.
There’s nothing more I can say to him. Not now.
“I hear you. I do. Sorry about your friends.” Then he faced the young soldier who had initially opened up about his life. “And I’m sorry about your fiancée.”
Diego nodded. “Thank you.”
Darren walked toward the door, then turned around to look at all of the young men, sitting and lying there as if they had just lost a championship match and had nothing left inside of them.
“If anyone wants to talk, I’ll be in my tent. Eating beef jerky.”
9
The base slept under a humid blanket of black, but Darren couldn’t. He kept replaying what had happened, thinking of Heather and the kids back home, of all the things he needed to say to them. Of everything they would need to hear if the unthinkable ever happened.
He knew he couldn’t wait. He had to do this.
Setting up the camera on a tripod on his desk, Darren pressed record, then sat upright, smiling at the camera.
“Hi, babe. Man, I hope there’s never a reason for you to see this video—”
A mortar blast nearby interrupted him, causing him to cringe in his chair. He reached over and paused the camera, considering whether to rewind and start over. Instead he pressed record and kept going.
“But if you are watching this, I guess there’s no use in covering up things like bomb blasts. It just feels so wrong, not sharing everything going on over here, like we do at home. Even the small stuff. I realize now what a luxury that is.”
For a few moments he poured out his thoughts, saying things he always avoided telling her when they had those few precious moments on the phone. Heather didn’t need to hear about the soldiers filing for divorce or, worse, about the ones they had lost. He didn’t want to fill her mind with thoughts about how dangerous it was around the base, about how evil their enemy really was. She didn’t need to learn specifics about IEDs, about their KIAs and WIAs.
Tonight, however, he didn’t edit himself. He shared how intense things had been. Then he shifted and began to remind her of the important things.
“Heather, please . . . know how much I love you. And have since the day we met. And yes, I know I ruined those flowers you were taking pictures of.” He gave a sober chuckle, thinking of the fond memory. “Chrysanthemums, right? Who the heck names flowers anyway?”
He looked into the camera as if he were staring at his wife.
I can see her now, those gentle and caring eyes looking up at me, knowing how much she loves me.
“I miss you more than you can imagine. And love you just the same.”
It was enough. Darren stopped recording, then took the tape out and slipped it into the top drawer of his desk.
Please, God, don’t let anybody ever see this tape. Let me bring it back to Heather so I can throw it away.
10
Darren turned to his CaringBridge blog to update his family and friends back home on life.
In the last three days I have counseled and talked with about fifty soldiers. Some were very close to those who died, and some are just plain scared. As I get a chance, I encourage them to consider Christ as their ONLY hope. He’s the only one who proved hope after death by coming back from the grave. All others are just talk and wishful thinking. He is the One we can trust and put our hope in. The guys who embrace this, really embrace this, find that their fears subside and their courage rises again. If we know our life is in His hands, then we don’t worry so much about our body armor being perfectly positioned. He ultimately is in control! The gospel truly does make better soldiers. “If He is for us, who can be against us?”
I am back at Falcon planning for these ceremonies and talking with the soldiers who are getting a quick break before going back out. The pace is insane right now. Once the ceremonies are complete, I will most likely go back out and stay at the combat outpost (COP) for a few days at a time. The soldiers need serious care and attention as they come back in from the fight each day and night. The things they’ve seen, heard, and smelled . . . They are truly heroes!
I ask you to continue to pray for me and our soldiers to remain out of harm’s way in the middle of harm’s way. Make sense? I can’t believe I’m doing what I’m doing . . . finally. I/ we (my family) have prepared for this for so long it seems, and now I’m in the middle of some of the most intense fighting of this long war. It’s an honor to be here. There is a sense of urgency, that we’re in a window of opportunity to take this NOW. God bless you all.
Darren
THE THIRD MONTH
1
July 3, 2007
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”—Edmund Burke
On this day before our great nation’s birthday, I’ve been thinking about our freedoms. That quote above really is true. If you remove people who honor and respect righteousness and goodness, the void is quickly filled with evil. It comes, uninvited. Some areas of Iraq that our forces once occupied but now have left (for reasons that are too strategic and lengthy to be discussed here) are once again refilled with bad guys planning and plotting evil. But before you jump to condemn the Iraqis, it is true in our own land as well. Remove good ol’ God-fearing people from the scene, and bad things quickly rush in. So back to the quote. It is true, regardless of geography. Evil is constantly looking for the absence of righteousness, and where it succeeds, it flourishes. I believe that is true both in the physical world and the spiritual.
God, help us to guard, to stand firm on Your truth and to stand against the tide of evil both in this world and . . .
in our own hearts!
This Fourth of July, I ask you to pause and try to imagine life without our freedoms. We can rest at night without the threat of death squads bursting into our homes . . . We can eat at restaurants without a fear of suicide bombers . . . We can go anywhere to worship without fear . . . And on and on the list goes.
This place is very dangerous, and our freedoms are foreign here. But our troops are great! They are part of a long line of men and women who have served to protect our freedoms. Regardless of the politics of the current situation here, your sons and daughters, husbands and wives, moms and dads who are fighting here are true heroes! Celebrate our freedoms, and pause to honor those who put their lives on the line to preserve them for me and you. God has graciously given our nation freedom and protection because we have a history of honoring Him. These men and women are part of that great history. It’s my honor to be here in the middle of them.
Tomorrow I will go to the COP and stay for a couple of days. We will have a Fourth of July celebration—a hot meal with ice cream instead of MREs (prepacked military rations). I hope there won’t be any “fireworks!” Pray for my safe travel to and fro.
Once again, thanks to all of you for the amazing comments and encouragement. It makes me swell with pride to know you are thinking of us and praying for us. God bless. (Oh yeah, new pictures are available.)
Darren
2
As Darren wrote down notes for yet another memorial ceremony, he thought of all the men he had spoken with in the last few days. A young warrior had stepped on a buried roadside bomb while out on patrol, and even though he never saw it coming, his friends witnessed everything. Those men were still reeling when Darren first spoke to them. He decided to stay a few days longer than he had planned, simply to meet with them and counsel them through what they were experiencing. This meant being out of touch with Heather and the family, but he couldn’t do anything about it.
Those men . . . their emotions ran the gamut, from angry to sad to confused to crushed. His job had mostly been to be there and to listen. Even though their friend had perished, there were acts of heroism to be reported. Even while there was tragic loss, there was tremendous victory as well.
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