Terra Firma

SFC McG and I were up before 0300 on Saturday morning, Iraq time, and as of 0430 Monday morning, Iraq time, neither of us had yet been to bed. SFC McG got lots of sleep during that time frame, while I did not. (We've been over this before here at "Curmudgeon," now, haven't we. 'Nuff said.)

Suffice it to say that he and I are now back at "Summer Camp" in southern Mississippi, after quite a trip back to the States from Iraq and Kuwait and Ireland's Shannon Airport. Perhaps we'll go over this more later, but for the moment, since at the time of this writing I've still not slept, thank God we're back in the States!

A multitude of thanks to all who have supported the two of us -- and through us all the Service Members and civilians we've been privileged to minister to -- during this past year. Your prayers, and packages, and postings bostered our spirits and lightened our hearts while we have been far from those we love most.

The day this post is published, Monday, is day 365 of my mobilization.

I remarked to SFC McG in the car shortly before our arrival at "Summer Camp," as we passed under the Military Order of the Purple Heart Memorial Overpass, how grateful I am *not* to have a Purple Heart, and how grateful I am to all who do.

He promised my parents that he'd bring me back safe and sound, and that he'd shoot me in the foot if I tried anything stupid, so that I'd at least arrive home alive.

I'm grateful he didn't discharge his weapon in my direction, despite the stupid things I *did* do....

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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On the ground

Summer Camp hasn’t changed much since SFC McG and I were here a year ago, though it doesn’t seem quite as crowded now as it was then.

Not that I’m complaining, mind you!

We arrived at the Atlanta Airport Sunday morning amid the crush of units redeploying and other Soldiers and civilians going on leave. It seems as though we were originally supposed to have stops in Ireland and in Bangor, Maine. While we were in Ireland someone decided that we’d skip Bangor entirely, and fly non-stop to Atlanta. This meant a much longer (read: five-hour) layover in Ireland.

It also meant no welcome-home phalanx of greeters, as it turns out.

I’m told that the crowds in Bangor are legion, and the welcome enthusiastic and positively overwhelming.

There was no one there, other than airline personnel who had jobs to do when we got off the plane in Atlanta.

Upon arriving in Dallas when I was on my way home for leave in January, I experienced the Texas version of that kind of raucous welcome, but Soldiers on the plane who’d been through both Bangor and Dallas told me that nothing beats the intensity of the Bangor greeting.

All that being said, it’s good to be home, knowing that I won’t be going back to a war zone.

At least, not for a while, anyway.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Sweltering

It was 132 degrees Fahrenheit in Kuwait yesterday as we sat, sweltering, in lockdown prior to boarding the bus that took us to the airport. It was not nearly so hot in the tent (thank God for A/C), but the heat radiating off the wall into the tent was significant, and with the tent full of people with nowhere else to go, it was definitely warm-ish inside.

Later, it was 103 degrees on the bus to the airport, even with the air conditioner running, such as it was.

Though it was only some 60 kilometers from where we were in lockdown to the airport, we were on the bus for almost 2.5 hours. SFC McG and I had all of our carry-on baggage with us (including carriers for our Stetsons), on our laps, for the duration of the time we were on the bus.

Unlike the other times I've ridden from or to the airport on those buses, we had no plastic bottles of water available. Not that we could have easily extricated ourselves from the seats to get up and get them! But it would have been nice.

Fortunately for SFC McG, he was directly under the A/C vent, so what air was moving, was blowing right down on his head. I can't remember a time when I've sweated so much while just sitting in place (other than being in a sauna, I suppose).

Now we're on a long layover at Shannon Airport, and unlike the last time I was here (flying home for R&R) I'm able to get on the internet. Hooray!

Not much sleep on the plane, but at least a little. Hooray!!

We will soon be back Stateside, and I'm looking forward to it.

I doubt it'll be 132 degrees Fahrenheit, too.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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On the road again....

Well, now it looks as if I might be unable to post for a few days. So please be patient.

I suspect that today might be a very long one, indeed. SFC McG and I were up at 0300, and may not get any sleep tonight. It wouldn't surprise me if we might well spend much of the day on our feet.

Ku-waiting.

Oh well, as my friends who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings say, 'This too shall pass'.

And as many of my friends in the Army are wont to say, 'It's all good'.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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La vida es sueño

I had a very vivid dream Wednesday night.

I don't often remember my dreams, or even that I have had them (though I know, intellectually, that people *must* dream or else they become very emotionally ill).

But Thursday morning I awoke with the clear knowledge that I'd had a drinking dream.

They don't happen to me very often (that I know of), and I've not remembered having one for many, many years. But it was clearly a dream about drinking. About *me* drinking.

Or at least pouring out lots of drinks for myself, knowing that I wasn't going to drink them. Well, at least knowing it would not be a good thing to drink them.

But there was some very present necessity to be pouring them out for myself.

Very odd. And slightly disturbing.

The first time I had a drinking dream was many, many, many years ago. I don't remember much about that particular dream now, except that I awoke not really knowing whether I'd had a slip. Unlike this latest, in that one so long ago, I definitely *was* drinking in that dream. Back then it was terrifying to me.

Fortunately, I knew someone named Gil who had been sober at that point for probably a dozen years. He went to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings (his wife Dorothy got him hooked on Al-Anon; he would tell people, "Al-Anon is advanced recovery for an alcoholic").

I spoke with Gil one Wednesday night after he'd been to his 'home group' meeting at Cranbrook (in a very tony suburb of Detroit -- yes, there are some!). I was pretty rattled by the experience, and he listened patiently as I told him what had happened in the dream, and what I'd felt when I'd awakened.

He smiled. He told me that he'd had drinking dreams, too.

And that only sober people have drinking dreams.

I'm grateful to be sober today.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Kuwaiting

SFC McG and I have been using an NTV (non-tactical vehicle) since Easter (thank you, CSM Malloy!) to move about the Post as I did Chaplain-things on Camps Victory, Liberty, Slayer, Cropper, Steelers, Striker, and Sather Air Base. We used the vehicle one last time on Tuesday night as we shoe-horned our gear into it for the ride to BIAP (Baghdad International Airport) as we prepared to ship out to Kuwait on our way home.

Poor SGT P! She was in the back, having to fight off being crushed by our duffels and tough boxes cascading on top of her as we traversed the notoriously bad "paved" roads on our way to the airport.

We were to report in NLT (not later than) 2200, for a flight that was schedule to leave at 0015 Wednesday morning.

The plane took off at close to 0400.

I don't sleep well, in general (unless I'm driving, as I've mentioned before), so Tuesday night and Wednesday morning, I didn't get much rest. SFC McG, on the other hand, can sleep standing up, it seems, so he was zonked out more often than not.

I have tried really diligently not to envy him....

Once on the plane, scrunched in as we were on the C-130, he was asleep almost instantly.

I found myself with some sort of support strut directly behind me, so that instead of being able to lean back into the webbing which serves as a back support (for everyone else), I pretty much had to sit straight up the whole time.

Fortunately, there was more leg room than at other times when I've flown on similar aircraft, and so I could stretch my legs. Moreover, I was able to listen to a "Teaching Company" course on the Sonatas of Beethoven, so I was very happy.

(As an aside -- mindful that I have no financial relationship with the "Teaching Company," other than having spent a boatload of money on their courses -- if you're not familiar with those folks, you ought to be! They've got some spectacular college-level courses available for purchase that are well worth the investment. I just finished (again) the course "Bach and the High Baroque," taught by Robert Greenburg, who's stupendous. It's 32, 45-minute lectures, replete with appropriate detail to a college-level music course, as well as the latest gossip from the early 1700s. Awesome!)

Once arrived at our destination, SFC McG and I boarded a bus to take us to the holding pen where we'll wait out the time before our flight to the States leaves. Because we're a unit unto ourselves, and in the midst of redeploying and not just going on R&R, we didn't have to stand in line forever, and sit through interminable briefings.

We did, however, find out at 0600 or so, that important paperwork we'd been given in Baghdad was worthless, and that we needed the signature of a Brigade Commander in order to leave here. We just had our Battalion Commander's signature. No one was being particularly helpful, and for the first time, I saw SFC McG getting really annoyed.

He even asked for the phone number of the Inspector General. (Turns out there isn't one here, supposedly....)

After working the issue for the better part of almost three hours, SFC McG spoke with a Sergeant Major back in Baghdad, whose people it was goofed things up in the first place, and even *that* person was decidedly unhelpful. SFC McG then asked for the Division Command Sergeant Major's phone number, and was unceremoniously disconnected from his phone call after receiving the number.

The DIV CSM made things happen, and the BDE CDR's signature was faxed shortly thereafter.

SFC McG and I were going to be assigned to different tents when we got here, so I asked if we could be in the same tent, especially since we have so much gear between us. The woman behind the desk at the Billeting Office looked over the top of her rather large glasses at me, and somewhat witheringly said, "I cannot put an Enlisted person in a tent with you, Sir."

I asked whether I might be permitted in a tent with Enlisted personnel, then.

She looked surprised, and said, "Well, if that's what you want!"

Sheesh.

While SFC McG was negotiating the unexpected hurdles we encountered, I moved our gear to that tent, with the aid of a Gator (a Lilliputian tractor-trailer). Actually, I say "aid" advisedly, since the third-country national guy who was driving it made as if not to help me at all. Two of our tough boxes weigh at least 100 pounds each, and are so large that they're a bit awkward to carry even when they're empty.

The two duffel bags and the two large rucksacks are are pretty heavy as well. It's hotter in Kuwait than it was in Baghdad, and by the time I was trying to get stuff into our tent the sun was up with a vengeance.

I finally convinced the guy with the Gator to help me move the two large tough boxes from the pallet in the baggage drop to the trailer, and then I had to re-convince him to help me move them from the Gator into the tent.

The rest of the stuff I schlepped myself.

I was so grateful for the ride and for his help with the two big boxes, that I tipped the guy. He seemed pretty surprised and delighted to get the money.

I was pretty surprised and delighted that I gave it.

So now we Ku-wait.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Hope

Last night I found myself hanging out with about a half-dozen guys who go to a lot of AA meetings. Amazing to me how that happens!

Wherever I go, I just always seem to find myself in the company of those folks....

One of the guys who was there is very young, and has only been going to those meetings for about a month. He first showed up on his own, after he'd lost rank because of his drinking over here Down Range. I find it amusing that people seem surprised that personnel over here wind up having problems because of their drinking, since consumption of alcohol is not permitted on account of General Order 1B.

Except of course for the Super Bowl.

And the Fourth of July, it appears.

(Personnel in the AO (Area of Operations) where I've been living for the past year were authorized up to two beers on Super Bowl Sunday. I chose not to partake, and also chose not to give "my beers" to anyone else during the Super Bowl... My young friend spoke with a fearful wistfulness about the fact that word had just come down that the CG (Commanding General) has authorized up to two beers per Service Member and civilian for the Fourth of July.)

Alcohol is *very* easy to obtain over here anytime, anywhere, despite what the General might have to say about the matter! The number of Soldiers I've met who've run into UCMJ (Uniform Code of Military Justice) troubles -- over here -- attests to that.

My young friend had been out on missions during the past week, and hadn't been able to get to meetings in more than a week's time. As he moved into the first mission, he reported, he told himself that he probably didn't really need to go to meetings after all. Missing a few (or more!) would be fine, because he had the "not drinking thing" down.

After all, he'd not had a drink for just shy of a month!

Anyway, last night he told his friends who go to a lot of meetings that his buddies in his squad had told him he'd *better* get his ass to a meeting, because they were tired of dealing with him the way he was acting. That there was a noticeable difference (for the worse) in his attitudes and actions after having missed three meetings in a row.

And that if he didn't go on his own, they'd drag him there.

He told the group that as he walked into the building and saw people in the room, something inside him changed, and that he felt instinctively that there was something there for him that was not available to him anywhere else.

And that it felt spiritual.

And that they'd probably think he sounded weird saying that.

Later, he told me privately that after he'd missed three meetings in a row, he stopped by the office of one of the guys who goes to a lot of those meetings, just to check in with him. He knew that his attitude had deteriorated rapidly and significantly, especially after he'd gotten into a fight with another Soldier, and that he needed to talk with someone who goes to a lot of meetings.

I pointed out to him that, according to my friends who go to a lot of those meetings, one of the so-called "Promises" says, "We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us."

"It seems to me," I told him, "that this Promise is already coming true in your life! You could tell something wasn't right with your attitudes and actions, and that talking with another alcoholic in recovery would help."

"You intuitively knew how to handle a situation that used to baffle you."

He paused, thinking deeply.

Then he smiled a huge smile, his eyes bright and twinkling. He looked so young (he's the age now that I was when I stopped drinking) to be a combat veteran on his second deployment.

And he said, "I really listen to what you say, because you were my age when you stopped drinking, and I figure if it can work for you, it'll work for me. I never thought of my visit to M in the way you put it. That gives me hope."

Hope.

To the spirit, what water is to this parched place.

I leave here filled with it myself.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Hiatus

I *may* have to take an enforced hiatus for a day or two (or possibly more) from the blog over the next short while, given the exigencies of the moment.

So, if it turns out that I'm not posting quite as often over the next while, please be patient and bear with me. It's likely that my access to the internet will be much more difficult for a time, and I may not be able to get access to my blog at all. (The government blocks access to civilian blogs, and I never quite was able to migrate this thing to a different domain name, cptdrfrtim.com.)

Please continue to pray for all those who are grieving the death of Fr. Tim Vakoc, the Army Chaplain who died a couple of days ago, subsequent to the traumata he experienced when his Humvee was hit by an IED in 2004. I believe his funeral will take place on Thursday; I suspect it will be a big deal, given that he's the first Chaplain to die from wounds suffered in the line of duty during the Global War on Terror.

He's survived by his mother and sister, that I know of.

Thanks.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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The Donation

Those who have read my blog for a while might remember my having mentioned the guys who live on either side of me in the CHU I've called 'home' for the past almost eleven months.

On the one side, there are a couple of NCOs. One has a LOT of tattoos, and I'm thinking the other must be deaf, because he's often playing music at decibel levels approaching the threshold of pain. They're very nice guys, actually. But different.

On the other side we have the Snorer and the Sleeper. It's probably a good thing that one guys works days and the other works nights, but given their personality quirks, I suspect they'd do just fine working the same schedule. They're Junior Enlisted (I really dislike hearing people talk about "lower enlisted"), very young, both married, and with young children.

The Snorer, as you may remember, can wake the dead when he's dead to the world.

His roommate almost never awakens, for anyone or anything. Many a morning (usually after I've been out late on a mission), someone will come POUNDING on his door to wake him up before dawn, and then will be back somewhat later, POUNDING again. Both instances are accompanied by very 'flowery' language, shall we say.

It's been a trip living between those two pairs.

Now that it's time for me to leave, I've decided to divest myself of the appliances I accumulated while here: TV, fridge, microwave, hot pot.

I figured the NCOs, being much more senior in rank, probably wouldn't need much, so I gave all that stuff to the Snorer yesterday, much to his surprise, and my delight. Generosity is its own reward, you know, if it's truly no-strings-attached.

The Snorer said his roommate would be really jazzed when he got back from work.

I doubt any of that stuff will get the roommate up on time in the morning, however....

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Fr. Tim Vakoc

We received word today that CH (MAJ) H. Timothy Vakoc, wounded on 29MAY04 (the 12th anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood), died last night in Minnesota. Having suffered severe trauma to his head (including the loss of his left eye), when the HMMWV (Humvee) he was riding in on the way back from celebrating Mass with troops was hit by an IED (improvised explosive device), he was nearly comatose for more than two years, before he began speaking again (a little) in October 2006.

We were told that he fell the day before yesterday, hitting his head. A hematoma developed, and he died last night.

I never met him, but in December 2005, when I was finally beginning to be willing to be willing to look into Army Chaplaincy (remember: I was 49 years old at the time, and I don't even like war *movies*), I found the website of the Archdiocese for the Military Services online. The very first thing I saw on the page was, "Please pray for Fr. Tim."

That was the first time I'd ever heard of the man, and at that point he'd been injured for more than 18 months, and was still almost comatose.

Given my skepticism about joining the Army at such an advanced age, the news about Fr. Vakoc probably ought to have sealed the deal against my signing up. But for some reason, it did not.

I suspect it has something to do with what my friends who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon and other 12-Step meetings call "praying only for knowledge of God's will for us, and the power to carry that out." (It seemed like such a good idea when they described that kind of prayer to me, I decided I'd try it out, as well.)

If nothing else, learning about his experience at least enabled me to make an informed decision. And don't think I didn't think about Fr. Tim every time I climbed into a HMMWV or MRAP (mine resistant ambush protected vehicle) to convoy to someplace outside the wire!

It seems to me that he died from his war injuries, making him the only military Chaplain to have died from enemy action during the Global War on Terror.

May he rest in peace, and may his family and friends be consoled.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Non sequitur

Completely à propos de rien, SFC McG and I were in the NTV (non-tactical vehicle) coming back from elsewhere last night (this is a VERY big military installation!), and were traveling with the windows down.

There wasn't much dust (note that I wrote "much"), and the breeze was actually pleasant.

Given how hot it's getting to be during the days around here now (if there's not a huge amount of dust in the air, which actually tends to cool things off significantly -- if you call moderating the temperature from 116 degrees Fahrenheit down to 100 degrees signficant, and I do!), it felt good to be traveling with the windows open.

Feeling grateful for the breeze, I glanced over at the thermometer in the dashboard. It's usually quite accurate, from what I can tell.

During the day lately, it's not surprising to see it at 43 or 44 or even 46 degrees Celsius (we're not in Kansas, Toto, after all). That's 109.4 111.2, and 114.8 degrees Fahrenheit, respectively. When SFC McG and I arrived in August last year, the temperatures reached a lot higher during the day, so this heat, while stifling, is a piece of cake.

I saw that the thermometer read 35 (95 degrees, Fahrenheit).

Amazing that 95 can feel cool, eh?

A non sequitur to be sure, but there you have it.

(I am sure the gratitude helped. It always does.)

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Dust!

The night before last we had an incredible dust storm. It looked as though we were in a very thick tule fog in California's Central Valley.

Except that it was really hot. And dry. And brown. Very, very brown.

Just in walking from the office to my CHU (containerized housing unit), my eyeglasses were coated with a disgusting film of the stuff, and my ACUs (Army Combat Uniform) looked noticeably brown.

The dust particles were as fine as talcum powder, and were being blown into the office by the air conditioning unit just above my desk. Ditto for my room when I got back to my CHU. The amount of particulate matter in the air was very, very disturbing.

Last night at dinner, one of my buddies who'd been outside the wire (via convoy, since no birds were flying) all day mentioned that an Iraqi national with whom he'd been speaking earlier in the day told him that last night's dust storm was the worst he could remember for the past thirty years.

Yesterday morning as I walked to work it was amazing to see how discolored (read: brown) everything was, including the gravel underfoot. Each footfall would send a miasma of particles swirling into the air inches above the ground, and if the wind caught them, then they'd soar up into the air.

Very creepy.

Especially considering what those dust particles *really* are. Ugh.

As SFC McG and I were walking back to work from the DFAC (dining facility) two nights ago, he tried to snap photos of my feeding the fish in the irrigation canal near the chow hall (see my post about turtles from last August). There was so much particulate matter in the air (and my dinky camera is so small) that all he managed to visualize were those dust particles. The water is barely even noticeable.

(His camera stopped working for some reason, so I gave him mine; I've gotten so used to taking photos (I have about 20 GB so far, just from this deployment), that I feel incomplete without it on me! )

I'll have to see if I can get the camera back from him long enough to download a shot or two to post here....

By last night the skies had cleared noticeably, but the choppers still weren't flying because the visibility was still so poor.

I'm not going to miss Iraqi dust storms!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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The Replacement -- update

So there I was, posting yesterday about how my replacement has finally arrived (otherwise we'd have been down to one priest having to do sixteen Sunday Masses each week), and I happened to mention that I celebrate eight Sunday Masses per (Thursday - Sunday) weekend.

It's just what I do, because that's what needs doing over here; when I arrived in theater, we had five priests covering what two priests cover at the present moment. My colleague here on Post, Fr. B, does eight Sunday Masses each week as well. There's no other way to provide Roman Catholic worship opportunities to the more than 80,000 personnel who live on this post (counting civilians and coalition partners).

And so that's just what Fr. B and I do.

No biggie.

So, imagine my surprise -- and delight -- when I signed into my account online this morning and discovered the following comment left by 'Anonymous':

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "The Replacement":

So we are supposed to be impressed because you worked so hard, much harder than your fellow priests? Man my fellow Catholics across the pond must be blessed to have such a fine upstanding hardworking chaplain like you there. Man, what will they do without you?

Posted by Anonymous to Curmudgeon: An Unlikely Army Chaplain at 17/6/09 20:22

Wow.

I seem to have hit a nerve in Santa Monica, California. And this time, I wasn't even attempting to hit anything!

I've remarked before about the spinelessness of anonymous commenters leaving derogatory, ad hominem messages online, so I won't belabor that point.

Well, not too much.

Well, OK. A lot.

(I hope my blog post didn't do any permanent damage to you, Ms/Mr Mous. (I wouldn't presume to call you by your first name, 'Anony', since we've barely met, and you clearly are a very delicate flower, Dear.) And, hey: your response seems a teeny-weeny bit disproportionate to the stimulus, don't you think?)

But to be clear, my post was not intended -- on any level -- to impress anyone with anything, except the fact that my replacement arrived, and that he's going to be busy.

I don't know of any Catholic priest here in theater who's not busy.

As Pastor of this 'mega-parish' for the last ninety days, I've been concerned about the fact that until very recently, it was not clear what plan was in place to take care of our Catholic Soldiers, Sailors, Coasties, Marines, Airmen, civilians, and coalition partners over the summer. Fr. B leaves on his mid-tour R&R shortly, so with both of us gone from here, that could have been a bit problematic.

Perhaps if there were more priests in the military at the moment, the subject of how many Masses Fr. B and I do each weekend wouldn't even have come up.

Or perhaps if Ms/Mr Mous had had the wherewithal to put on a uniform and come to a war zone, she/he/it (s/h/it?) might have a greater appreciation for how many personnel over here at small Posts go without Catholic liturgy and sacraments, for long periods of time, despite our best efforts, and how good the Catholics on this Post have it, that there are sixteen opportunities for Sunday Mass each week at sixteen different locations.

But since Mr. Mous didn't have the courage to leave her own name with the comment, there was never much chance of that, was there?

I'm very grateful to my replacement, Fr. J, for having answered the call; he's supposed to retire within a matter of weeks, and yet he's agreed to come to a war zone and stay on Active Duty because the need for priests in the military -- and especially the Army -- is so acute. I pray that he finds ministering to the communities here on Post as rewarding and graced as it has been for me.

(And Ms. Mous, may God bless you with every good gift I could wish for myself or those I love most!)

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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The Replacement

My replacement as Pastor of the Catholic Parish here Down Range arrived in country on Monday, so we got together yesterday to chat a bit. It turns out that SFC McG and he had met many years ago in Germany, and SFC McG had been looking forward to renewing the man's acquaintance.

They were both assigned to units in the 2nd Armor Division, and had both participated in the Gulf War, so they are among the few left in the Army, it seems, who can wear the "Hell on Wheels" (the motto of the now-defunct Division) deployment patch on their right shoulder. They both laughed about Chaplains and Chaplain Assistants wearing that patch.

While he'll be replacing me, there is no one who could replace SFC McG, and so the Army didn't even try, it appears.

My replacement was definitely dazed from the journey here. Not a surprise, to be sure; it took me almost three weeks to get my internal clock re-set upon arrival here, especially since SFC McG managed to get us into and out of Kuwait in 14 hours' time (rather than 5 - 21 days' time it takes most mere mortals).

The fact that he's actually older than me (hard to believe, but true) might have something to do with it, too. In fact, he's facing mandatory retirement while being deployed, and is supposed to be brought back onto Active Duty the next day.

We'll see how that goes....

He at least has made something of himself; he outranks my by several pay grades!

It seemed to me that no one had alerted my replacement to the fact that he'd be doing eight Sunday Masses over the course of each weekend here, in addition to weekday Masses, various catechetical programs, and perhaps one gig "outside the wire" each week, at least for the time being.

That did not seem to be good news to him (can't say as I blame him, either, but I guess I'm just used to it now....).

But maybe it was just the jet lag.

I tried to be as gentle as I could in laying it all out for him.

I'm hoping to drag him along with me to each of the Masses this weekend, so I can introduce him to the folks, and at least give him a chance to meet some of the ministry coordinators whose efforts on behalf of the community are legion, and without whom I'd have been a complete failure.

Nothing like a good ol' baptism by fire, I guess!

I'll keep you posted.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Cookout

It's customary at the end of a deployed unit's time in country to have a send-off that usually includes food and awards.

It was not much different for the 142d Chaplain Detachment as our time for leaving here drew near. We are a unit, after all, even if there are only two of us in it!

Two Thursdays ago our Section threw us a party. MSG M (the Division Chaplain NCOIC) cooked steaks and chicken breasts on the grill outside our office. Other members of the team raided the DFAC for condiments, fried chicken, salad, chili, garlic bread and other goodies. SFC K even made really yummy deviled eggs -- quite a feat for having no kitchen facilities available to him!

Mmmmmm.

It was especially nice to have meat that hadn't been boiled both before and after being cooked!

Before supper, most of the members of the Chaplain Section smoked ceegars. (That appears to be a technical term used by people who appear in public wearing rather large headgear.) I did not partake, however. (I used to smoke -- even cigarettes -- and figure it's just better for me not to light up anything at all these days....)

The Division Command Sergeant Major and another guest even showed up for the festivities.

After we'd all eaten, SFC McG and I each received a handsome crystalline plaque, and an "impact handshake" in recognition of the more than 135 combat missions we performed outside the wire, and for coordinating Catholic coverage to over 30,000 Soldiers, Sailors, Coasties, Marines, and Airmen (not to mention some 60,000 - 70,000 civilians and coalition partners in the Area of Operations) during our time Down Range while working 5.5 months for one Army Division, and then 5.5 months for another.

What an experience!

SFC McG clearly enjoyed his ceegar before supper, as can be seen in the photos above! (Click to enlarge.)

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Raining mud again

It's not been particularly dusty since SFC McG took our NTV (non-tactical vehicle) in to be washed this week. We'd managed to go for more than two months without washing it (I should have snapped a photo of it, but did not!), so imagine my surprise one morning this week when we got to the car and it looked almost new! (see photo)

The local nationals who washed the vehicle even spritzed (a *lot* of) air freshener into the air conditioning system. (Amazing what $15 will buy over here, I guess!)

Just a couple of days later -- and without us having had particularly bad air quality -- we came out to the car only to discover that it had rained a little overnight. The way we could tell was by looking at the previously clean hood of the car, and seeing the dried remains of what passes for 'raindrops' here.

See for yourself (clicking the photo will bring up a larger image, and if you look closely, you might be able to see SFC McG smiling out at you....):

I doubt it rains mud in Kosovo.

I can safely say that I will NOT miss the muddrops of Iraq once I leave!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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The Army Birthday

Today is the Army Birthday. I think it's almost as old as I am. At least, that's what my classmates in Chaplain Basic Training seemed to believe. (They wanted to know what George Washington was *really* like, for example.)

It's also Flag Day.

I knew the 14th of June was Flag Day long before I realized it was also the Army Birthday.

I was ordained priest on Flag Day 1991.

It was beastly hot in Detroit that weekend (a portent of things to come?), and I had really long hair at the time. In fact, when my official ordination photo was taken a few weeks earlier, I had a pony tail, but the photographer (a Jesuit who'd been a Marine in a former life, and who went on to become an Active Duty Army Chaplain after 9/11) managed to pose me in such a way that my pony tail did not appear in any of the photos.

I had no idea it was the Army Birthday.

I also had no idea at the time that eighteen years later to the day I'd be observing the Army Birthday qua deployed Soldier.

Who knew?

Happy Army Birthday to all my Army buddies and their families!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Scents and nonsense

Yesterday, when SFC McG and I were in the NTV (non-tactical vehicle = SUV) on our way back from another Camp on this mega-Post where we live, the thermometer in the dashboard read 46 degrees - Celsius. That's an easy 114.8 degrees Fahrenheit.

And it's only June.

At least we weren't OTW (outside the wire) having to wear body armor!

Some time ago he and I were out on a mission OTW, and it had already started to get pretty warm. We'd been waiting at the flight line, in full battle-rattle (as they say), for almost 90 minutes for the helicopters to pick us up, with nowhere to cool off.

Now, we we're quite 'stewing in our own juices' -- that starts happening at temperatures above 120 degrees Fahrenheit.

(Isn't '120' a setting on some ovens?)

But it was pretty warm-ish, none the less.

For reasons unbeknownst to us, the people who schedule the flights had put us on a couple of birds that would make six stops to discharge and pick up passengers (plus a stop for refueling) before we'd reach our final destination. I wasn't particularly annoyed at this -- I know, hard to believe, isn't it? -- and in fact I was pretty stoked.

I love flying on Black Hawks!

It meant, however, that we'd be in transit for well over an hour (when a non-stop flight from where we were to where we wanted to be was about five minutes). Fortunately, my 'bribe' of M&Ms (or Skittles, or both -- I can't remember at this point, the days seem to blend into one another; in any event, grazie mille di cuore to all who sent goodies to share while I've been here!) had gotten SFC McG and me up front, so he was seated behind the gunner on the left, while I was behind the gunner on the right, with an empty seat between us.

This meant that we'd at least have air moving as we flew; in the back (eight seats: four facing the rear, four facing the front) when the doors are closed, and the windows haven't been removed, it can get pretty 'close'. It's a lot more fun when flying to be able to see out the windows, and when crammed in the back (often with other people's luggage (civilians) / gear (military) pile on top of us) it's sometimes not possible to see anything outside the compartment at all.

At one stop along our way, we had so many people and so much gear on the aircraft that SFC McG had to move into the previously vacant middle seat so that a Soldier could board, along with her very large Army-issued ruck sack. (They were loading from that side of the aircraft; had they landed in the opposite direction, I'd have had to move.)

I noticed the new passenger's perfume almost immediately. For one thing, not many Soldiers wear perfume over here Down Range. For another, the rotors of the aircraft were doing their thing, so there was (rather hot) air blowing in the gunner's hatch on my side of the helicopter. This meant she was wearing a LOT of perfume, it would seem.

Now, I'm not complaining, mind you.

There are very few occasions when things/people over here smell nice, so it was actually quite pleasant, if patchouli.

I'm old enough to remember patchouli from my youth in the 70s. Given how rapidly my memory is fading, I suppose I can be grateful for this.... (As a fun fact to know and tell, the oil comes from Pogostemon cablin (Blanco) Benth, which grows in tropical, shady climes.)

Anyway, the young woman was only on the aircraft for a couple of legs before she dismounted at her destination, and we continued on to ours. While we were in the air, I could not detect the perfume, but when we landed, there it was again.

I'd made a mental note to ask SFC McG about the perfume, but then promptly forgot. (What was it that I just wrote about my rapidly-fading memory?) I did, finally, bring up the topic with him a few days later, and he laughed and said how surprising was the experience, but how welcome.

These days, I'm grateful to be able to live in the moment enough, paying attention to what's going on in and around me, to notice the small delights that are available to me, if I just advert to them. Paying attention, for an alcoholic such as myself, is the stuff of patchouli-garden miracles in my life, even (especially?) here in a place as drab and (for some) dangerous as Iraq can be.

Living a day at a time, in the present moment, is the condition of the possibility of gratitude. (Looks as though I've been reading too much philosophy with my Baptist Chaplain friend over here who's getting a doctorate in Thomas Aquinas!)

My time here, by and large, has been characterized by a heart filled with gratitude. I'm reminded of a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, SJ. It was published in 1918.

Pied Beauty

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

On an entirely different note altogether, that is to say, to move from the the sublime to the ridiculous: I decided, in inimitable "Tim" fashion, to send holiday cards (for a recent holiday) to several of my Army friends who outrank me by several pay grades.

It was rather cheeky, to say the least. I've only heard back from only one, who seemed only slightly annoyed and wrote, in part, "From anyone else... I would have been quite offended. From you… I just consider the sense of humor and don’t sweat it. "

Thanks, Sir! I knew you could take it!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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SPC and Mrs. SPC McG: 1982

Twenty-seven years ago today, Specialist (SPC) and Mrs. SPC McG were married.

SFC McG likes to tell people that when he joined the Army, the Army issued him everything he needed, including a wife.

You see, they met on Post at Ft. Riley in Kansas, and were married not long thereafter. Interestingly, seeing as SPC McG was high-speed, low-drag Chaplain Assistant even back then, his Chaplain at the time refused to officiate at the wedding, because he didn't think they would make it as a couple.

SFC McG is about to complete his third long deployment to Iraq, and his marriage to Mrs. SFC McG is still strong.

By placing their faith in God and in one another at the center of their lives, I guess SFC and Mrs. SFC McG (soon to be MSG and Mrs. MSG McG) showed his first Chaplain, didn't they?

Congratulations to them both, and may God continue to shower blessings upon them over the next twenty-seven years!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Happy Birthday, John O'Malley!

Today is the birthday of my mentor and friend, the great church historian John W. O'Malley, SJ. He has authored numerous books and scholarly articles, and is among the very best lecturers I've ever heard.

(Having gone to school through the 37th grade, I've heard a LOT of lectures, let me tell you!)

His 50th anniversary of ordination to the priesthood is coming up on Sunday, which is also nothing to be sneezed at for us Jesuits, seeing as many of us who have been ordained were ordained practically already in our dotage.

(I was in the Jesuits almost thirteen years before I was ordained, but that might just have been because I'm a slow learner or something....)

John's book, The First Jesuits, is a great read. I especially enjoyed it when it was published because John had been working on it while I was in priest-school. John and I lived in the same house (there were about eight of us, I believe), and every night at supper, as we all sat around the table, John would regale us with the latest gossip from 1580 (or whatever year he happened to be working on at the moment).

It was a blast.

Never has history been so much fun, as in John's house and class.

Speaking of things academic, I just found out that the University of Maryland University College - Europe has hired me as an Adjunct Professor in Philosophy and Biology, so that if there are enough military personnel in Kosovo this next year who want to take classes in those areas, UMUC-E will consider hiring me for the job.

That could be fun.

Happy Birthday, John. And Happy Anniversay (a little early), as well!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Bill W. meets Dr. Bob S.

A friend of mine who goes to a lot of those AA meetings sent me the following yesterday: It bears sharing with others:

AA began 74 years ago today with Dr Bob's last drink.

Today we can all have Hope, instead of desperation;

Faith, instead of despair;

Courage, instead of fear;

Peace of Mind, instead of confusion;

Self-respect, instead of self-contempt;

Self-confidence, instead of helplessness;

The respect of others, instead of their pity and contempt;

A clean conscience, instead of a sense of guilt;

Real friendships, instead of loneliness;

A clean pattern of life, instead of a purposeless existence;

the love and understanding of our families, instead of their doubts and fears;

and the freedom of a happy life, instead of the bondage of an alcoholic obsession.

With Love,
Herb B

Pretty spectacular, eh?

As my friends who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon and other 12-Step program meetings say: Hooray for the Higher Power!


Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Commencement, 1978

LUX ESTO

Be light. That was the formal motto of the college I attended back in the 70s. We also had "the end of learning is gracious living" as an informal motto; it was inscribed over the east entrance into the dorm I lived in my first year at school.

I'm not sure why I thought of this last night. But as I was getting ready for bed, I realized that it was on 10JUN78 that I graduated from college. Thirty-one years today. Wow.

Having won a Thomas Watson Foundation fellowship (my project was to look for orchids in the jungles of Colombia and Venezuela) and a rather spectacular academic fellowship (from the Heyl Foundation) to study molecular pharmacology at Yale (only four people were accepted that year, and it had nothing to do with dispensing medications at a pharmacy!), it looked as though the trajectory of my life was set.

But I wound up turning down both of those opportunities -- much to the consternation of many. Instead, I entered the Novitiate of the Society of Jesus in September of that year.

And the rest, as they say (in my case, anyway), is ancient history.

As an aside, I count my sobriety as beginning fifteen months to the day (well, plus or minus three, days I think; everything back then is *still* a blur) after my graduation from college.

God has a weird sense of humor....

As my time here Down Range draws to a close, I see how the 'gracious living' as the end of learning we laughed about in college turned out in my case to be graced living -- even and perhaps especially here in Iraq -- rather than something from the pages of "Town and Country" as we'd all imagined.

ET FACTA EST LUX

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Colbert, again

(Click to enlarge)

As I was reading the New York Times online yesterday afternoon, voila! there was a photo of Stephen Colbert from Sunday night's performance at the palace where SFC McG and I had gone so that I could say Mass earlier in the evening. As you might have read in yesterday's blog post, SFC McG and I decided to stick around after Mass (which Mr. Colbert did *not* attend) and crash the party, watching Mr. Colbert's performance from the second floor.

In this photo, by Moises Saman for The New York Times, if one looks very, very closely (and practices a healthy modicum of willing suspension of disbelief, I suppose), one can see my bald pate (first arrow; on the left), as I'm seated at the railing of the second-floor gallery. SFC McG, or at least part of his upper body, can be seen standing next to the wall near one of the pillars (second arrow; on the right).

Does this now make us famous, do you suppose?

(Yesterday afternoon we were back in the palace to run an errand over there, and Stephen Colbert was rehearsing last evening's performance, so SFC McG and I stayed for the rehearsal., again crashing the party. Mr. Colbert certainly has gumption, given the topic of the segment we watched him practicing.... But as for what issue he discussed, if you don't ask, I won't tell. You'll just have to wait for the broadcast to find out).

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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My non-Dinner with Stephen

Colbert, that is.

You know, pronounced "Koal-Bare".

So there SFC McG and I were, on our way into a palace to say Mass. It happens quite a lot for us. It was our fourth Mass of the day, and it was well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit (again, still, already), so it might as well be in a palace, nicht Wahr?

We saw lots of military types lined up, as if cattle, according to last name presumably, as we neared the rather impressive entrance to the edifice. (But do cattle have last names?) We avoided them as if they had the anthrax.

Whipping out our ID badges that permit us entrance into the place (unlike those hoi polloi, who needed to get "Visitor" badges -- oh the shame of it!), we strode imperiously past the armed guards, who smile deferentially. As they should.

Inside, the normally quiet and mostly deserted space had been enclosed and transformed into a television studio, with Stephen Colbert minions milling about, ant-like, doing whatever Stephen Colbert minions do. Himself was at large, almost circular desk in the center of the raised platform that serves as the stage. (The desk-top, seen from above, is revealed to be a large letter "C.")

SFC McG and I proceeded upstairs, though via a different route from that which we normally take, as the Stephen Colbert minions had blocked our path with television studio equipment. Or just because they could, I suppose. The racket made by all those civilians and their military handlers drowned out the sound of the musicians practicing for Mass (which we can usually hear upon entering the palace's central rotunda.

I had somewhat expected to be accosted by someone demanding to know why SFC McG and I were there, but we just sailed on through. It turns out we got there two hours before 'show time'. The military personnel who'd been herded into long lines outside the building began to enter the audience's portion of the 'studio' just after SFC McG and I arrived.

The noise grew louder.

Mass started promptly at 1730, and although we were 90 minutes out from the start of the show downstairs, the sounds from down there intruded rather noticeably, even with both doors of our upper room closed. The building is actually rather sepulchral on Sunday evenings, normally, so this was quite distracting.

Now, I've said Mass in some interesting situations over here Down Range before, accompanied by some rather odd sights and sounds. I'm reminded of one tiny patrol base we visited (so tiny that only one helicopter could land at a time; the other would remain airborne, circling) where we set up for Mass in an MWR (morale, welfare, recreation) room separated only by a thin wall from the power-lifting gym.

I had never said Mass before to the sounds of such grunts and groans and profanity. Quite an experience for me, but didn't seem to phase the congregants in the least....

About mid-way through the palace Mass yesterday, so an hour out from the beginning of the show, they seemed to begin the warm-up entertainment, which increased the noise factor considerably.

We just soldiered on in our celebration of the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity.

I must admit there was something very incarnational about doing Mass in the midst of that mess!

Afterward, SFC McG and I just grabbed folding chairs from the video conference room where our faithful remnant had been praying, and watched the festivities below from the second floor. Again to my surprise, no one gave us a hard time about that, to include the couple of full-bird colonels who wound up standing beside me and to my left as they watched the show, too.

SFC McG's camera stopped functioning for some unkown reason, so I gave him mine to use. I've taken lots and lots of photos, but ever since he got his camera for Christmas (well, in November just before he went home on leave), he's probably taken twice as many as I have. I'll try to post some photos of the Stephen Colbert event once Sar'nt McG returns my camera!

The show was quite funny, as it turned out.

My thanks to SFC McG for staking out space for the two of us while I was in saying Mass!

In the hallway before Mass, I'd met a Command Sergeant Major who usually comes to Mass earlier in the day at another location. He wasn't at that Mass yesterday, so I decided to give him a bit of a hard time. (Hard to imagine me doing such a thing, isn't it? I know.)

He brightened up immediately and said, "I'd completely forgotten about this Mass! We just got back from seven days on the road, about ten minutes ago. Let me tell my bodyguard where I am, so he can finish doing what I was going to do, because I'm going to Mass!"

The CSM takes his faith seriously.

Now, Stephen Colbert has often mentioned his Catholicism on air, I'm told.

So why didn't YOU come to Mass yesterday, Stephen??

Huh? Huh?

(Oh, gentle readers: If you happen to be watching the first "Colbert Report" from Iraq on Comedy Central, you might be able to see my silhouette on a second-floor balcony to Stephen's left! Does that make me famous, now?)

The DFACs were all closed after the show ended, so SFC McG and I went out for pizza afterward. We were both so tired out from the day and dragged out from the heat that we didn't even notice until the third piece each that the folks at Pizza Hut had given us a 'meat lover's' pizza rather than the vegetarian pizza we had ordered.

Disappointing, to say the least.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Raiderettes

I mentioned a few days back that SFC McG and I had gotten stranded at one of the posts outside the wire that he and have visit with some regularity.


After finally getting on birds to take us 'home' -- SFC McG was in the lead aircraft, while I was in the other -- it turns out that the Raiderettes were seated on the helicopter I boarded. Three were in the forward compartment, two were next to me, and two were across from me.

We did not speak, as the noise from the helicopter was too great. But who needs to speak when the smiles were so prevalent?

Several readers of the blog have asked if I had gotten any photographs of the women, so I'm obliging by posting this one that I snapped while the aircraft was in flight.

Great smiles, eh?

And what's with those *glasses*???

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Something good...

There's a lovely tune from The Sound of Music, sung by Julie Andrews (Maria) and Christopher Plummer (The Captain) that I was reminded of this week, after receiving an email from someone I don't know. The song, "Something Good" has lyrics which read, in part:

Perhaps I had a wicked childhood
Perhaps I had a miserable youth
But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past
There must have been a moment of truth....

Nothing comes from nothing
Nothing ever could
So somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good

Here's the email that was sent to my military email address over here Down Range a few days ago:

Hi Father Tim,

I just wanted to write you and let you know how much I appreciate 10:00 mass on Sunday morning. It is truly a blessing to attend. I am not a Catholic, but my first Sunday in Iraq was Palm Sunday, and I have been going to Catholic mass every Sunday since I have been here. I am actually a member of the Methodist church (have been for about 15 years), but I feel most at home here in Baghdad at the Catholic service. I tried the Protestant services, and I felt very uncomfortable. I am so at peace at mass, and really feel the presence of the Holy Spirit there. I think it's funny how you say that Catholics don't read the Bible... I completed a few in-depth scholarly Bible studies before deploying here, and I find your homilies and the Scriptures each Sunday to be so incredibly appropriate and relative.

I am not sure how much longer you will be here, so I wanted to let you know what a blessing you, and the Catholic congregation, have been for me in the first few months of my deployment. You have an amazing voice.

His love endures forever,

[name withheld]

"But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past... I must have done something good."

Who knew?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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The Anniversary

Tomorrow being the anniversary of the invasion of Normandy, I want to thank all World War II Veterans for their service, and especially: Carl Bunje, Andy Anderson, Joe Trinkwalder, and Bill Demers, just to name four.

Thank you for defending the freedom of this nation!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Our Excellent Adventure

So this last mission outside the wire on Monday turns out to form a nice 'inclusio' with one of our first missions: We got stranded away from 'home' for days, rather than being gone only a matter of hours. Rather like what happened last August, though at a different destination.

One of the biggest bummers for me this time was that instead of having four helicopter flights, we only got two. Rats!

I suspect one of the biggest bummers for others was my lack of showering and my not having clean clothes to change into... Ewww.

As I mentioned in a previous posting, I hadn't brought along my extra bag (with change of clothes, and portable DVD player), so I only had my high-speed "Army Combat Shirt" to wear (it's worn without an undershirt) for the three days we were gone.

Need I mention that it's been over 100 degrees Fahrenheit every day now for a while? And that it's not cooling off all that much at night?

Add to that the moving around and then par-boiling in body armor at the helicopter landing zone (HLZ) for hours on Monday night, then Tuesday morning, then Wednesday morning....

(I'm very glad to be 'home' as I'm writing this!)

I was especially disappointed on Tuesday morning, because SFC McG had managed to arrange a for a convoy (link-up time = 0830) to take us where we next needed to be, but we wound up not going with them. We were traveling with a priest recently arrived in country (he'd not even been gone a year since his last, 15-month deployment here, and he's an Active Duty priest!), and his Chaplain Assistant had arranged for a helicopter to pick us up at 1130, so we removed our names from the convoy manifest.

The helicopters arrived 45 minutes late, and having arrived at the HLZ an hour before the scheduled departure time, we were all pretty warm. I'd sat inside the concrete bunker, reading "Theology and Social Theory" by John Milbank (I'm *still* not done with that damn book, but am finally on the last chapter. CH J will owe me for the rest of his life for subjecting me to this!!) in an effort to distract myself from the sauna-esque nature of the experience.

SFC McG is happy as can be in the heat, and sat there outside the bunker in the direct sunshine working on his deployment tan -- just his head and his hands. (You should see how dark he's gotten just in these last few days!)

When the birds finally arrived, they only had room for two of the four of us, so SFC McG and I stayed behind, especially given that the new priest outranks me, and will be here for the next year.

(Considering the wag-bag-only latrine option at the next destination, it was far better to be stranded where we were, than to wind up stranded there!)

Gratitude is a delight, and really does improve any situation.

Little did I know that I'd have lots more opportunity for gratitudinous intentionality over the rest of that day and into the next!

In short: they gave me back the keys to the CHU I'd slept in the night before, but when I went to go to bed around 2200, there was someone already occupying the space; I wound up spending the night in the POW (that's right: prisoner of war) tent. The air conditioning in there kept the temperature in the 80s -- even when it dropped into the 70s outside that night.

Every so often a puff of dust would come belching out of the thing, so that I spent the night hacking and coughing.

On top of everything else (not being able to connect to my Army email program from an Army computer, for example), my prescription glasses disappeared from in front of the mirror in the latrine while I was busy about other things in that place. Given that I paid for them myself, and I'd be needing to wearing eye protection (EYEPRO) in order to board the aircraft the next morning, this was something of a huge annoyance and concern.

I made a bunch of gratitude lists over that one!

Fortunately, the person who had them got them back to me a bit later, so that turned out OK, but was pretty disturbing for a while.

I basically did not sleep at all that night, which in the past would have seemed cataclysmic. Nowadays, however, situations such as this become occasions for really focussing on gratitude, so I spent the night making one list of ten after another.

The next morning when the birds landed, the crew indicated that they could only take one of the two of us, which was a bit disconcerting, to say the least. It was very hot, again, and I *really* wanted to get back so I could shower and sleep.

SFC McG worked his voodoo (or whatever it is, perhaps Jedi mind control....), and the crew of the other aircraft moved around a bunch of civilian luggage so that I could board that aircraft.

It turns out that the "Raiderettes" were on that helicopter, so I was greeted with very beautiful smiles.

Gratitude is actually easier in the face of beautiful, smiling faces.

Why is that?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Aladdin Din

I got almost no sleep at all Tuesday night, while SFC McG and I were stranded elsewhere (I'll have more on that tomorrow, I hope).

So last night, I was REALLY looking forward to getting to bed early, and then sleeping in a bit. I just love to sleep late, but hardly ever get the chance to do so Down Range.

After discovering 30-some emails that needed attending to upon our return 'home', I was none the less able to get to bed about 2200 last night, which is early for me these days. It looked as though I'd be able to get at least eight wonderful hours of rack time.

Hooray!!!

But then, at 0400, my neighbor's alarm went off.

These days he has an AM clock radio set to a local Iraqi station, it would seem, and so very loud and Iraqi music -- or at least a male voice caterwauling over the accompaniment of a couple of stringed instruments -- awakened me much earlier than I'd planned.

Mostly, of late, when his alarm goes off, he slaps the snooze button to turn it off. Repeatedly.

But at least there's a respite from the noise.

This morning was different, however.

The 'music' blared on and on.

I put the pillow over my head, but to no avail. I dutifully created a gratitude list as I lay there, and so the time was not a complete loss. Gratitude *always* helps, even if only a little (like this morning).

I even prayed for the SOB.

But Aladdin (or whatever his name was), just kept going and going, Energizer-Bunny-like.

Perhaps it might have been different had it been a Bach Partita or Beethoven Piano Trio or even Patsy Cline. (Does this make me a cultural imperialist, I wonder?) But there's something about the tonality of the stuff assaulting my sensibilities that was driving me bonkers.

I said the Serenity Prayer eleventy-seven times. (My friends who go to lots of AA and Al-Anon and other 12-step program meetings are always recommending this.) I believe it helped.

At least up to 0500, as the cacophony of vituperation continued unrelentlessly, but I could no longer take it.

I threw on a shirt, and huffed my way over there. It turns out that his door was unlocked, so I just let myself in. His roommate was not there (he works the night shift), the light was on, and he was curled up on his bed (no sheets on the bed, I noticed), with his head not six inches from the speaker pulsating with that noise!

Now, I ask you, how is this possible?

Why is life so capricious and cruel? SFC McG can fall asleep anywhere, and sleep through just about everthing. This kid can remain blissfully unaware of his surroundings, seemingly even through chaos at the threshold of pain decibel level.

I seem unable to make it through the night without waking up multiple times, if I even get to sleep at all (see tomorrow's post).

These guys can worship Hypnos and Nyx while in Bedlam.

Life is patently unfair!

I knew that calling out to the kid would do no good, seeing as even my big mouth was no match for what was being broadcast, so I slammed my fist onto the mattress next to his head. He woke up groggily, and with the same dazed look on his face that I usually have on mine.

I gestured to him to turn off the damn radio, which he did.

Back home in my CHU, looking forward to three more hours of sleep, I heard his alarm go off about every five minutes -- but as white noise rather than vocalises -- for the next 90 minutes, until someone came and pounded on his door telling him in rather 'flowery' language to get up.

So much for my good night's sleep!

But I made a lot of wonderful gratitude lists in the meantime.

I have a lot to be grateful for!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Paladin Din

SFC McG and I wound up getting stuck Monday night at one of the places we visit with some regularity. It's probably the last time he and I will be going outside the wire, and I neglected to bring my overnight bag, which I've almost always brought with me to this place since we first got stuck here back in December.

Only seldom have we been here when the paladins have not fired at least a couple of rounds. (Paladin = M109A6 self-propelled 155mm Howitzer)

If you've never been in the vicinity of a paladin when it's fired, you've missed out on a real 'sensurround' experience!

One idiosyncrasy of this place is that those weapons seem to be fired only when I'm asleep, and usually only just after I've (finally) settled into a deep sleep -- no matter what time that happens.

Last night was no different.

I went to bed rather late, and probably not forty minutes after I was sound asleep, KABOOM!

Startled awake by the sound and the shock wave of the weapon being fired, but groggy enough not to know exactly where I was, I found myself on the floor next to the bed, since the best place to be during a mortar attack (other than somewhere else, far away, of course) is as low to the ground as possible.

I then remembered where I was, and that we were not under attack, and that the boys were just engaged in "pull string, go boom" as is their wont. I climbed back into bed.

About ten minutes later, just after I'd fallen asleep again, the paladins fired once more.

I did not hit the floor that time, however.

Let's see whether we get home today! I could sure use a good night's sleep.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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A first....

On Pentecost Sunday I had the pleasure of celebrating the Sacrament of Confirmation with a splendid young Soldier who decided while he was deployed that he wanted to grow spiritually and take his faith more seriously. It turns out that he and I have more in common than might at first have seemed possible, so in addition to becoming more involved in living his Catholic faith, he's also recognizing a need for other, daily, spiritual input.

I told him I'd gladly refund his misery if this addition to his spiritual life didn't deliver as promised....

A friend of his came to the Mass, which really surprised me.

(It wasn't the fact that he *has* friends that surprised me the most -- though that is a surprise -- but that *this* particular young man showed up.)

That guy had never been to a Catholic Mass before, and he clearly seemed uncomfortable in excelsis. Fortunately, SFC McG and he have become friends over the past seven months, so SFC McG sat next to him in the back pew, and seemed to be a steadying and calming influence on him.

Afterward, that Soldier said to me, "If my father ever found out I attended a Catholic Mass, he'd have a cow!"

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Happy Birthday, Mom!

Tomorrow is my mother's birthday, so if you happen to see her, please wish her a very happy birthday from me.

I'm glad you were born, Mom!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Three weeks

I'm led to believe that SFC McG and I will be out of here in approximately three weeks' time. Given that this is the Army, after all, we'll see what happens!

So far I'm still waiting for a replacement to take over the parochial duties I've assumed here on post in the last few months. My colleague at present, while much younger than I (and therefore still blessed with the enthusiasm and good temperament of youth), none the less finds doing six Masses each weekend to be draining.

I suspect he might not be able to handle doing all twelve!

We're told there will be a gaggle of priests here at some point in the not-so-distant future, which will be great for the flock.

In the meantime, I'm attempting to clear up the remains of my still-overflowing 'in-box', pack, and steel myself against the next mobilization, which begins in 49 days.

But who's counting?

What with Eastertide officially over now, I guess we really are back in Ordinary Time....

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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