DIGIJOURNAL 028--21 OCT 2007

DATELINE: 21OCT07

Friends,
A few observations before signing off for the day…

• While at Paliwoda, which I affectionately call Camp Polliwog, my chaplain assistant and I share a room split only by a half-completed wall. As I write this, I hear whatever techno band he is listening to at the moment blasting through his headphones as he cleans his M9 pistol and his M4 rifle. The harsh metallic clangs made by a sliding rifle bolt or the charging of a pistol are the only sounds that interrupt the dull pulse of music. I have just finished my evening service, where we looked at Psalm 65 and talked about the inner joy that Christians should have because of God’s grace. I am struck by how much of what I do (or, I hope, what God does through me) depends upon that pistol and that rifle. No matter what opinion I might have about combat or what complex theological ruminations I have concerning war, my life depends upon the training, skill, and discipline of a 21-year-old from Efrata, Pennsylvania.
  
• When I am out on a patrol, some soldiers marvel at my “courage” because I do not carry a weapon (per Army regulation). I would be kidding myself if I claimed courage. It is not courage. Instead, my willingness to venture out of the FOBs with the troops, even without a weapon, is one part ignorance, one part stupidity combined with four parts of the tactical competence of our soldiers, many of whom cannot legally drink and are barely old enough to vote. When I am out in sector, which is much rarer for me than it is for the majority of our troopers, I do not think about my death or other impending threat. In fact, I try not to think of anything that serious at all. I just look for changes and things out of the ordinary that might signal that the enemy is going to try to do something. If ever I am afraid (reminding everyone that I am the “ignorance is bliss” chaplain not the John Wayne-swagger soldier), I find immediate comfort in the number of soldiers around me, their personal courage, their readiness for a fight, and the quantity of weapons systems the average infantry squad employs.
  
• At any given moment, I think it is realistic, and perhaps a little generous, for me to expect that 25% of the soldiers know and like me, 25% have no use for me, and 50% do not even have me on their radar. I wish I could think of myself as the “beloved chaplain,” but it is just not true. And it is not false modesty but rather a realistic assessment of what our soldiers deserve and what limited offerings I bring to the table that allow me to accept this honest vision. What I do know and take comfort in is that 100% of our soldiers do not want to be that unit that loses its mascot to the opposing team. Whatever they think of me, they do not want to be embarrassed by my wounding or worse.
  
• 42 more days, 4 hours, 40 minutes, and 32 seconds and a bunch of mal-adjusted, cowardly, hateful theocrats are all that stands between us and home, but who is counting and who is bitter?
  

We thank you for your support and your prayers and the time you take to read these grammatically incorrect and misspelled screeds. God bless you all.