Our team of chaplains and chaplain assistants at Prince Sultan Air Base, Saudi Arabia. I’m standing on the far right.
Introduction
How in the world did I get here? Ever ask yourself that question? I have, and I remember the time and place. I was standing at the window of my fourth-floor E Ring Pentagon office. I was gazing out across acres of parked cars to the three stainless steel spires of the Air Force Memorial soaring 270 feet into a cloudless azure sky overlooking Arlington National Cemetery. My journey to this window was an unexpected one. We were making plans to retire from the Air Force in San Antonio, Texas, when I got the news that President Barack Obama had nominated me for promotion to Brigadier General. Several months later, the Senate confirmed my nomination.
I was an unlikely candidate, to be sure. While I had a strong military record with the prerequisite Major Command assignments, there were some holes. I’d never been selected to attend Professional Military Education in residence. All my PME was completed as distance learning. I was not an Air Force Academy graduate, and I’d never had an Academy assignment. These are things you’d typically find in a General Officer’s record. Oh, and I didn’t play golf. OK, I added that last one for fun, but you get the point.
Just the numbers made it improbable. Only about two percent of Air Force officers are promoted to colonel. On top of that, only one chaplain colonel is promoted to Brigadier General every three or four years. As a colonel, it’s likely you’ll only be considered for promotion to one-star twice in your career. In 2012, out of 34 chaplain colonels in the Air Force, only one would be chosen for promotion. Somehow in God’s providence, I was selected.
For me, the road to Brigadier General was a long and winding one. As it turns out, it was a bit too long and winding. In 2015, when it came time to select the next two-star Chief of Chaplains, at 63 years of age, I had run out of airspeed. The law required Brigadier and Major Generals to retire no later than the first day of the first month after their 64th birthday. I retired January 1, 2016, grateful for the 33 years God allowed me to be an Airman. I was grateful for the people we’d had come to love like family, for the places we’d been, and for the rare view on the world from the E Ring I was blessed to experience.
Along the way to that window, Ruth and I enjoyed some days of great joy and deep fulfillment. There were also times when life was dark and difficult. There were detours and disappointments. Through it all, we came to know God’s love is real and his grace sufficient for every trial. There are two words in Spanish that can be translated to know in English. They’re not interchangeable. Saber means you possess a piece of information or a skill. For example, “Do you know where my phone is?” (A common question around our house.) On the other hand, Conocer means to be familiar with a person. “Do you know my friend?” When I say we came to know God’s love is real and his grace sufficient, I’m talking about that conocer kind of knowing that happens in a close relationship.
Maybe your road hasn’t always been an easy one, either. Along with the good days, you’ve struggled through times of loneliness, depression, or anxiety. Maybe a devastating loss, a heartache, or a disappointment has robbed you of the life you were counting on. Lately, it seems many are on a hard road. Here’s something you need to know about painful circumstances. They can talk us into believing something about ourselves or about God that isn’t true. In our despair, believing a myth, we find ourselves in a dark place, searching for hope. It’s a perilous place to be. Without the light of truth, the hope we need to live eludes us.
There was a quote in giant script on the auditorium wall when I went through SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape training) as a young combat flight crew officer near Spokane, Washington. I’ve not forgotten it. You can live 40 days without food, four days without water, and four minutes without air. But, you can’t live four seconds without hope. Maybe there’s a bit of hyperbole in that, but we know the idea is true. We can’t live without hope.
Years ago, when I deployed to Prince Sultan Air Base in the Arabian Desert, our team of chaplains and chaplain assistants had the opportunity to name the chapel that served the 5,000 Americans assigned there. We came up with something we thought was perfect. We sent a request for the commander’s approval to name the chapel, Desert Hope Chapel.
The commander didn’t care for that name. When he heard “hope,” he thought, “hope so.” To him, it must have sounded like the Chapel of Uncertainty or the Chapel of We Hope So, But We’re Not Sure. I paid a visit to the commander, “hoping” I’d be able to convince him the biblical concept of “hope” was a worthy name for the chapel.
Being the great leader he was, he listened to the dissenting voice. Being the man of faith that he was, he quickly understood the hope God offers us is not wishful thinking dependent on ever-changing and uncertain circumstances. It is a rock-solid confidence built on God’s unchanging character. He agreed to the name.
The “dirt boys” in the Civil Engineering Squadron found us the perfect rock to stand in front of the chapel. A talented Airman fabricated large metal letters for us and attached them to the flat side of the rock. A front loader delivered the massive stone to the site and set it up for us. We were in business as the Desert Hope Chapel.
Through the years, thousands of Airmen from several nations entered those doors, parched dry and weary. Inside those doors, they found an oasis in the desert. They were welcomed as family. They were refreshed with grace. They were liberated with truth. They found hope.
Let me tell you my mission in writing this book. First, that wherever you are today, whatever you’re going through, you’ll get a taste of hope that will revive you and give you the strength you need to take the next step. Second, my prayer is that, refreshed by hope, you might become an oasis for someone else on a hard road.
I invite you to drink in the hope that bubbles from these stories. As you do, dare to ask God to heal the wounds of your past, give you the strength you need for today, and encourage you with the hope of a better day coming. Then, go in that strength and refresh someone else. Invite a friend or a group to read these stories along with you. Use them as a springboard to talk about your own story and the story God is writing.
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I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—
nothing living or dead,
angelic or demonic,
today or tomorrow,
high or low,
thinkable or unthinkable—
absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love
because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.
Romans 8:38-39 (The Message)