Proof The Bible Is True

”We got hit yesterday,” the convoy commander announced. I was still groggy from lack of sleep, standing in the heavy morning air that unforgettable February day in 2002. I glanced at the soldiers around me, standing at attention, backs ramrod straight. I could feel the nervous energy buzzing just under the surface. “We expect to get hit again today.”

 

I had flown into this remote location in the arid mountains of southern Afghanistan the night before, arriving at 3 A.M. on a Chinook helicopter. I’d slept a handful of restless hours in someone else’s cot before stumbling to this meeting. I was to be part of a convoy traveling to visit an Afghan warlord, about two hours from our current location. While the commander reviewed logistics, I found it hard to focus. I had been in Afghanistan for only a few weeks, and this was my first combat deployment.

 

Before dismissing us, the commander turned to me. “Chaplain,” he said, “would you say a prayer for us?” I nodded, not trusting my voice. I had to clear my throat before I managed to sputter out a prayer. Exactly what words I used to ask for God’s protection were a mystery to me.

 

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