Last week, I marveled at the tenderness expressed by a battalion command sergeant major as he memorialized a young fallen solder from his unit.

This week, an aviation company first sergeant who identifies himself on Facebook as a “barrel-chested, steely eyed freedom fighter” showed another streak of tenderness.

1SGT James Halchishick posted a note on Facebook saying, “I struggle with duality. My hands have been trained to crush the life out of evil men.  These same hands, wet with the drops of tears, now tremble as they embrace my children.”

I know both of these men, CSM Tim Johnson and 1SG James Halchishick.  I know them as gentle, tender, soft-spoken men.  But, I also know they are trained for destruction and to lead men to do the same.

The character of our nation rests on the fact that those we train to fight are not fighters by nature.  They are tender, compassionate men.  And, those I know, such as Tim and Jamie, are men of God and warriors of the cross.  I know they go with these verses tucked away somewhere:

Because you have made the LORD, who is my refuge,
Even the Most High, your dwelling place,
No evil shall befall you,
Nor shall any plague come near your dwelling;
For He shall give His angels charge over you,
To keep you in all your ways.
In their hands they shall bear you up,
Lest you dash your foot against a stone.
You shall tread upon the lion and the cobra,
The young lion and the serpent you shall trample underfoot.

Psalm 91:9-13, The Soldier’s Prayer

Tim, Jeff, and Jamie who are now down range, Elijah, Brady, Pat and hundreds of others who soon will be headed down range, may God bless you and keep you.

I have been given permission to share the text of the email I referenced in my Friday post about the death of a soldier in Afghanistan.  SGM Tim Johnson is the battalion sergeant major (the highest ranking sergeant) for the 3/187 Infantry Battalion, 3rd Brigade Combat Team.  His email reflect his concern for each of his soldiers.    This is his personal report of the story.

My unit lost a Soldier on 1 March 2010 to enemy fire.  His name was Specialist Vincent Owens, he was 22, and married less than 2 months.  I tell you this because I think it’s important that it’s more understood when it comes from someone you know versus reading it in a paper….or seeing a name/face on the news.  He is a wonderful young man who didn’t deserve to leave this earth so quickly.  His unit is going through a range of emotions at this moment and today will be even more difficult as we conduct the memorial ceremony to pay proper respects to this fine young American and what he sacrificed for his Nation.

I was with him when they brought him into the emergency room here on FOB Sharana and i will tell you that the FST (Forward Surgical Team-Army) did all they could to prevent his death….and this goes for the combat medic that was with him when he was first became the casualty.  The medic on the ground was asked to do more than you would ask a 19-yr old to do….and the surgeon commented on what a fine job he did trying to resuscitate him….but even they knew there was no way SPC Owens would’ve survived such a difficult injury.

We conduct a “departure ceremony” (more commonly referred to as a HERO FLIGHT-and rightfully so) immediately following his pronouncement of death.  This consisted of rows of Soldiers lined up at the helicopter landing zone waiting for the ambulance to escort the Soldier with the honor guard in trail and the battalion leadership leading the escort with a tri-folded American Flag to pass along to the medical crew that would then escort the Soldier to Bagram Airfield where he would then be given a ‘ramp ceremony’ where he would be then flown to the U.S.  Our chaplain prayed over him both in the emergency room after he was declared dead and when his body was transferred to the helicopter.

There will be a memorial ceremony (Eagle Remembrance ceremony) back at Ft Campbell in April to pay honor to his ultimate sacrifice.  The division will bring in the wife and family and take care of them during these difficult times.  I would ask that you pray for his wife who is a very young woman from Arkansas and his family who is from Oklahoma.  I can only imagine how they feel and what pain they are enduring.  We here are feeling this loss too as a Soldier who dies in combat is a “brother” to all of us……and I mean literally a brother.

Thank you all for listening to this and know that no matter what the enemy does….he will never defeat or deter us from this mission.

God Bless You All…….Love…..Tim

Only one brigade of the 101^st is down range in the current deployment and I have already received a message from a friend about the death of a young soldier in his unit.  My friend gave details of the event and paid tribute to the young soldier.

I’ve heard far too many similar stories over the past decade.

For me, the saga goes back to Dec. 5, 1990, when my friend and fellow Tennessee National Guard soldier died in Daharan.  Joe and I had served together on staff the previous summer during National Guard annual training.

By the summer of 1991, most of us were back in Tennessee mowing lawns as if the previous winter in the desert had never happened.  We had seen way too much death and carnage scattered along the corridor from Hafer al Batin to Basra.

I still have the newspaper clipping on my wall where I told Tim Ghianni that I hoped our sons would not have to fight for peace.  Unfortunately, almost 20 years later, that young generation is now on the front line for peace.  The young 3^rd BCT soldier who died in Afghanistan this week was hardly two years old when I returned from Kuwait.

I will never adjust to hearing these reports.  The first time I read Hal Moore’s We Were Soldiers Once…And Young, a personal account of the 1965 1^st Cav battle in Ia Drang, I cried through every page of chapter 25 as Moore gave a brief bio of each soldier who died in the three days of carnage. Sean Naylor’s account of the Rakkasan’s battle of Anaconda titled Not a Good Day to Die had the same impact.

Moore started that powerful chapter with a quote from Plato – “Only the dead have seen the end to war.”  There will be more emails like the one from Tim this week.  And more tears.

In an eight-day span, I have attended three funerals.  I’ve attended my share of funerals in the last few years but this may be a record for me.   This grouping included an aunt, the father of a co-worker and a civic organization colleague.  The services ranged from Southern Baptist to Free Will Baptist to Catholic.

It was interested to see how, in different faiths, we deal with the inevitable reality of death.  Interestingly, in these three situations, the funeral services were celebrations of lives well lived.  Each of the individuals had lived long and full lives.  Each died suddenly and unexpectedly.

While the services were different, the focus of each was similar.  The Southern Baptist service leaned toward informal.  The Free Will Baptist service was in a small, rural country church with the burial service out back behind the church in the cold, biting February wind.  The Catholic service was filled with pageantry packed with symbolism.  Because he was aware of the percentage of non-Catholics in the service, Father Ed, who is also a colleague in the same civic organization, did an excellent job explaining the rituals to us.

Whether in the eulogy of the Southern Baptist service or the commendation of the Catholic service, each one focused on highlights of the individual’s life.

None of us are going to make it out of this world alive.  Whether you exit soon and abruptly or fade off into the sunset, somebody is going to have something to say at your service.  Are you living a life well enough to provide detail for a celebration?

nd he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatever he does shall prosper.  Psalm 1:3

My two trips to the East Mamprusi region of Ghana have been in February – the hot, dry dusty season when everything is brown and lifeless.  I have seen photos from others who have gone to the same villages in July and October showing lush, green fields as if they were in a totally different region.

While many of the villagers use the dry season as down time, others find creative ways to remain productive.  In several villages, once you figure out the lay of the land, it is not difficult to find a stream in a low area.  It may be near the village or it may be a mile or so away.

Usually, finding the steam, leads you to a place of intense activity.  The most interesting activity near the stream is the garden area.  Walled gardens hug close to the stream’s edge as a green oasis in the otherwise parched land.

Narrow paths separate neat garden rows of onions, tomatoes and leafy greens that provide luxurious treats and a source of income for the enterprising farmer.

The nearby stream is a lifeline for the farmer who is willing to work to keep his crops irrigated.

Even when we are in a dry and weary land, we have access to streams of living water.  The question is whether we are going to stay in the dusty village are venture to the water’s edge.  Have you found the stream?

On my last day in Zaremtenga, in the East Mamprusi region of Ghana, I was invited to join the old men’s after breakfast group.  I could speculate on way I was invited but I’m certain it was not because of any wisdom I could add to the group.

They specifically didn’t invite the young guys.  They didn’t invite our interpreter.  (That was my clue that conversation with me was not on their agenda.)

It was kind of like the men gathering at Hardee’s, or at Moss’ in Clarksville.  They each had a gourd of their morning brew to sip on as they discussed topics of the day.  I suspect it was very much like the gathering of men that happens pretty much anywhere in the world.

I suspect that their objective for inviting me was the laugh they enjoyed as they passed a gourd of brew for me to sip on.   They were all in anticipation of my reaction at my first sip.  I didn’t disappoint them.

I would liked to have been able to listen in to the conversation with understanding.  It would have been interesting to know what the wiser elders discuss as they gather in the cool of the morning.

But, I have to think about the gatherings I am involved in many mornings – at Starbucks, Arby’s, Lasaters, my office, and other places such as the one I had this morning.  I hope that the sessions I am involved in are God-honoring and positive rather than gripe sessions.  What is the discussion like when you sit down with brothers and sip on a gourd of your favorite brew?

In a trip to east Tennessee last week for an aunt’s funeral, I was reminded of the heritage of a praying grandmother.

Talking with my cousins and my sisters, we all noted our grandmother as a primary foundational guiding spiritual light in our lives.  She died more than 25 years ago at age 84, but all of us have clear memories of her prayers.

Grandmother was a slight, frail gentle little lady.  But, she was a giant prayer warrior.   Each of us has specific memories of her praying for us.  We remember her in church – in a pew close to the front where she could talk back to the preacher.  We remember her at her home reading her big Bible in her spare time.  We remember her doing laundry on her wringer washer.  We remember her cooking in her kitchen.  And, in all of those settings, the little cabinet radio was always broadcasting the Rev. Mull Gospel Hour.  I’m not sure how at her house, it was always time for the Rev. Mull Gospel Hours, but I’m pretty sure that or some preacher would always be on her radio or it would not be on at all.

Many of us, as we went off to college, war, or wherever back in those years, knew that no matter where we were, Grandmother was praying for us.  It was a given – she was praying daily for each of her 14 grandchildren.  Those prayers guided us in those days and they thrust us out into the world with an armor of protection.

She was a simple woman.  She did not take to advances of science or modern conveniences.  But, she was God’s blessing to each of us.

Who is your prayer warrior?  Who’s prayer warrior are you?  People may not remember much about you 25 years from now.  But, the best think they can remember about you is your prayer power.

With our air conditioning, water on tap and countless other conveniences we don’t even think about, it is difficult for us to understand springs of water in a dry and thirsty land.

In hot, dry, and dusty Ghana, springs of water are the lifeline of existence.

As we headed to the outer regions of the village one day, we moved on beyond the village to an area where the terrain fell away to what we soon discovered was a riverbed.  The river was a cool welcome relieve from the hot sun.  The area suddenly came alive with birds, butterflies, small creatures and lush green grass.

We wandered along the river until we came to a mango grove.  Unlike the occasional mango tree that provided a brief respite from the heat, this was a sudden haven from the sweltering sun.

Suddenly, the temperature dropped seemingly 20 degrees or more.  The air felt comfortable rather than hot and scorching.  Birds were everywhere.   We hung around in the grove for a while as Greg climbed one tree and then another.

Eventually, we left the oasis and headed back out into the harsh sun.  It seemed even more harsh after experiencing the blessing of the trees.

In our life, we need to find the occasional oasis.  We need to get out of the harsh sun of life and soak in the cool streams of living water and grace.  Have you been there lately?

We shy away from discussion of spiritual warfare in the United States, but Ghana is perhaps on the front line of spiritual warfare in a way we don’t want to acknowledge.

People in Ghana are torn between Christianity, spirit worship with the many African Traditional Religions and Muslim influence.  It is not uncommon for a Christian family to have some involvement in spirit worship.

It was my sister who made the very clear connection to spiritual warfare when my blog was hacked with some pretty ugly stuff while I was in Africa.  After I returned, I made a joking comment that the evil spirits had been exorcized from my blog.  The demons that possessed my blog infected my wife’s PC making it impossible for us to communicate by email.  And, the battery in my Mac crapped out due to my stupidity of leaving it on and unattended for nine days.

At about the time my blog was invaded by evil spirits at the hand of a clever hacker, I was dealing with a woman clearly on the battleground of the spiritual world.  It seemed clear to me that she was dealing with spiritual warfare.  She was a member of the church in Zaremtenga and was experiencing significant personal problems.  I asked her if spirit worship was going on in her house.  When she said it was, I offered an explanation of God’s requirement for undivided worship.  I encouraged her to remove the idols and altars from her house.

We encountered similar situations throughout the village.  It was not uncommon to enter a house and see an altar covered with fresh chicken feathers or a fresh goat skull hanging from the doorpost.

The spirit worship in the East Mamprusi region is obvious and easy to identify.  Our idol worship is not a blatant.  But, it is real.  We suffer much because of our idol worship.  Are their fresh chicken feathers on the altar at your door today?  How about a goat skull?  Probably not, but there are things that are just as repulsive.

It is somewhat interesting that we had Internet access in the village despite the generally primitive conditions.

Electricity just arrived in Zaremtenga and Namassam a few months ago.  Many other villages still do not have electricity.  Water is hauled by women and girls with 10-gallon buckets balanced on their head coming from boreholes throughout the village – most of which were provided by USAID, OPEC, Rotary International and other organizations.

Mud huts remain the almost exclusive construction method.  Most have thatch roofs although some now have rolled tin roofing.

Malaria remains a major problem and along with nutrition issues creates a high mortality rate especially among infants.

Living conditions are harsh and existence is meager.  But, pretty much throughout the East Mamprusi region, 3.5G network was available.  I could check headlines from my local newspaper, respond to emails from clients, and keep track of most things just as if I was sitting at my desk in Clarksville.

Most people see this as a question of priorities for the Ghanaian people.  I don’t know.  I don’t have enough information to make value judgments about decisions that led to providing Internet but not running water.

I do know that we make enough bad priority decisions on our own that we can’t cast aspersions at others’ decisions.

Either on a personal or national level, we probably make decisions that don’t make any more sense than developing 3.5G Internet before running water.

How about you?  Do your priorities make sense?