Hallowe'en

I've decided, midway through my trip to my new home for the next nine months or so, that I'm just going to dress up as a Soldier in the United States Army for Hallowe'en this year.

There's simply no time to throw together anything else.

(The phrase, "I'm not a doctor; I just play one on TV" comes to mind....)

We'll see how *this* goes.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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On the road again....

Actually, I'll be in the air again.

Today after graduation I'll go to the airport and fly to Dulles, outside of Washington, DC. After a short layover, and a change of planes, I then fly to Frankfurt, Germany.

Eight hours of pure joy, I'm sure, crammed into a tiny seat. Sigh.

Another change of planes, and it's off to Ljubljana, Slovenia. There I change planes again, and fly to Kosovo.

By the time I get to where I'm going, I'll have been in transit for almost 24 hours.

Wish me well!

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Coming to a close...

It's hard to believe that my time here at Fort Schoolhouse is almost at an end. Tomorrow I graduate (I hope!) and then go directly to the airport for the journey over the pond.

It's been fun being here, and especially seeing friends from my time at Chaplain Basic Training a couple of years ago. I've made some good friends, whom I look forward to staying in touch with after we leave here.

One of the best aspects of being here has been that we generally seem to share a healthy sense of humor. I've thought for many years now that the ability to encourage others to laugh is a sign of spiritual health.

Many of us have done a lot of laughing. At ourselves.

Which is the healthiest and holiest kind.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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A chance encounter

Last night I found myself once again in the company of people who go to a lot of AA meetings. As a rule, when that sort of thing happens, I generally find myself coming away from such an encounter feeling spiritually renewed.

Last night was no exception.

All but one of the men I met was a military veteran, too. Who knew?

A young man and I began comparing notes regarding our respective times in Iraq. He has been sober just sixty days now, and is only a few years older now than I was when I stopped drinking. (He is, however, a combat veteran, a distinction I did not reach until I was twenty-nine years sober.) We carried on quite a lengthy conversation.

I told him that if *I* could get sober at age 23, and stay sober since, *he* could, too.

As we parted, he told me, "I'd have been honored to serve with you, Sir."

I told him my name is just Tim.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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PT

It was 37 degrees Fahrenheit last week when we were doing PT at the crack of dawn here at Fort Schoolhouse. Having been deployed to Iraq all last year, and responsible for doing PT on my own, I found it a case of déjà vu all over again to be back at that field doing PT so early in the morning.

However, a couple of years ago, when last I was there doing that, it was a *lot* warmer, and there was much more ambient light. The new moon a couple of weeks ago meant that it was still very dark by the end of the PT session.

At least the first day.

On the second day, a buddy of mine (a long-timer in the Army before becoming a Chaplain, and one who's done a lot of secret-squirrel things during that time) and I showed up, made sure everybody saw us, and then we took off back to the hotel.

Did I mention that the hotel had a really nice (if small) work-out room, with a great ambient temperature? And TV?

It almost didn't feel like working out.

Almost.

And from the number of my classmates I saw in the workout room or running outside near the hotel, Chaplain J and I were not alone in playing hooky.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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The visit

More than a year ago, while I was in Iraq, I met a young Soldier who was turning his life around after he'd made a mess of things with his drinking. CPT M came for almost a month to work at the Post where I lived as he filled in for a friend of his who'd gone back to the States on leave.

He celebrated two years of being clean and sober shortly after I met him.

While we were in Iraq, he worked diligently on his recovery. We spoke by phone often after he moved back to the FOB (forward operating base) where he lived, but I only saw him twice over those next four months since it was so difficult to travel for pleasure over there. He returned CONUS (to the Continental United States) about six months before I did.

Yesterday he drove three and a half hours, one-way, to visit me and have brunch with my parents (who'd flown in late Friday night for the weekend). A few hours later he drove three and a half hours back home.

A couple of weeks ago he celebrated three years' sobriety.

I have some amazing friends who go to a lot of AA meetings.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Somewhere, over the rainbow

When MSG McG and I were Down Range last year, I don't ever remember seeing a rainbow in the sky. I don't often see them where I live at home, either.

While I was in Europe for training over the last month, I managed to see a handful of them, and I photographed two of them.



Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Missment

I've been gone a week now, and while I'm not missing the O/Cs at all, and I'm very glad to be CONUS (Army-speak for "in the Continental United States), I find myself missing my Soldiers.

A lot.

Yesterday it was just ninety days since I joined my new unit, and began to wear a patch with a horse on it on each shoulder. Before the last part of July, I'd never met any of these guys or gals. In the three months since that time, we've been to three different "Summer Camps" for training, on two continents.

Over this past quarter-year, though I didn't get any break, essentially, between Iraq and this mission, I've come to be able to recognize and know at least a little something about many of the personnel in my new Battalion. It's been quite a ride so far, and I've not even gotten 'down range' yet with them.

The weather here at Fort Schoolhouse has been much warmer (if a bit rainy) than what we'd been having in Europe, and that's been very satisfying. I've been in contact with friends and relatives much more easily than in the recent past, which has been splendid. (For some reason, the Army blocks access to Facebook online, which seems to be the preferred method of keeping in touch for many of my acquaintances these days; it's been great to check that site out every day since I've been back.)

I've rekindled friendships here at Fort Schoolhouse with some of the guys who were in Chaplain School with me a couple of summers ago, and I've been making friends with other Chaplains. There's even a Chaplain on staff here who was my rater for part of my tour Down Range last year.

It's delightful to know that I'll see my parents this weekend, at least for a couple of days. Since my Dad had surgery this past Tuesday, it wasn't clear whether they'd even be able to come visit. And since it could well be that my time at Fort Schoolhouse will be counted as my mid-tour leave (a condition I was informed I'd agreed to, after the letter containing this information had been sent to the folks who had to sign off on my coming here), I'm very grateful indeed to be able to see my parents at all.

But all of this good stuff notwithstanding, I miss my Soldiers.

It will be good to see them again, soon.

Of course, I'll be the last one to arrive on Post over there, and therefore the last to get billeted....

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Boys will be....

So there we were, the Battalion Staff crammed into a relatively small room for the briefing with the Battalion Commander. The room barely holds all of us when we're all present at the same time.

This particular evening we had almost a third again as many Observer/Controllers (O/C) as Staff. The room was really, really crowded, and getting stuffier by the minute. Tensions were running high, as the O/Cs never seemed to have anything good to say about what we'd been doing.

I was seated in the very back row, in the corner. I wasn't even going to brief the Commander, since I'd arranged beforehand to have SPC C do it. (Since I was going to be returning to the States, SPC C was going to have to fill in for me in similar briefings, and I wanted him to get some practice while I was still there.) From my seat I had a great view of the room and what was going on.

One of the guys in the back row with me decided to have a little fun while the meeting was going on. His antics (see the photo to the left) inspired a copycat, much to the delight of the rest of us in the row. I'm presuming that none of the O/Cs saw what he was doing, the danger of which added to the enjoyment of the situation.

Another day of quality Army training, wouldn't you say?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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A portent of things to come

Almost two weeks ago now, it was so cold and snowy at Summer Camp - Über Alles that a group of Soldiers made a snowman one evening, which lasted through the next day, though having melted significantly.

The photo shows the poor thing after a day of melting.

A snowman in mid-October. This does not bode well for my return to Europe, and the long winter months ahead.

Sigh.

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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Like you mean it!

The Army supposedly has a rule that someone who's been deployed Down Range for a year can't be compelled to take an APFT (Army Physical Fitness Test) for at least ninety days thereafter. Sounds reasonable to me. While I was Down Range, the OPTEMPO (operations tempo) was such that I was often busy all day, for many days in a row.

That made getting to the gym on a regular basis at a regular time pretty difficult. If not down-right impossible.

I took an APFT while I was deployed, in late November. By that time it was cooler during the early morning than it had been for most of the time I'd been over there. (In other words, it didn't reach 100 degrees Fahrenheit until after the sun had come up, rather than remaining over 100 all night long.)

I realized as I was doing the push-up portion of the test, and had already done more than the max for my age, that since the best I could do on the test was a "GO," given my permanent no-run profile (and thus the need to do an 'alternate event' like the 2.5-mile walk), that I wasn't really motivated to push myself to max the sit-ups, since it wouldn't 'count'. I'm not particularly proud of that attitude, but the way the Army has structured things, that's become my response.

I received a "GO" on that test, and am glad of it, but not proud of my effort.

I joined my new unit the day after my orders for Iraq ended, two days after they'd started their pre-mobilization training for this current deployment.

Imagine my surprise, then, given the 90-day thing I just mentioned, when I found out on a Saturday night at 2230 (10:30 p.m.)-- less than three weeks later -- that I was required to take a PT test the next morning at 0600. Since everyone else in the Headquarters Company was doing the test, I just went along with it, and 'soldiered-up' as they say.

I did, however, insist that it be counted 'for record', since if I were going to take it then, I didn't want to have to repeat it at some later date. The First Sergeant wasn't too pleased about that, but I insisted none the less.

I passed, though truth be told, I didn't really give it my all.

Yesterday we had to be up at the crack of dawn here at Fort Schoolhouse to go to PT with the Active Duty Soldiers who are here for the six-month course. (Ours is in two phases, as I explained a few days ago: the first part is on-line, and then we come here for two weeks.)

Because there's a new moon, it was pitch dark on the field when we showed up. It was actually a challenge to figure out which of the many groups of Soldiers doing PT was the one we were supposed to join, seeing as we'd not yet met any of the Active Duty folks.

I should have known, however, that the one gaggle of Soldiers (as opposed to the squared-away ranks of personnel) was the one we were destined to fall in on. (They were supposed to be in a circle, I figured, but it seemed more like an anemic amoeba.) Given my bad knees, bad ankle, and bad feet, and my permanent no-run profile from the Army, I found myself not over-exerting.

This was reinforced to me as I heard the Chaplain who was leading PT explain to us that we were to skip down to the big tree off in the distance, and then run, flat-out, back to the starting line, and then repeat the process a couple of times. My friend the Orthodox priest and I just walked the course.

As we started out, the Chaplain-in-Charge called out: "Skip!" Then he paused briefly and yelled, "Skip like you mean it!"

Ah. Chaplains. There's strong, and then there's Army Strong, I guess.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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What I learned in school today....

My parents usually asked me what I learned in school today, when I was in grade school. I'm pretty sure my stock answer was, "nothing." That certainly was an unhelpful response, in retrospect.

Yesterday we spent much of the morning going over paperwork, and "getting to know one another," and generally freezing our butts off. Fort Schoolhouse doesn't have enough room at the inn (literally), so not only are we staying off-post in a hotel -- quite a nice one, as small hotels go -- but we're not meeting on-post either!

They have us gathering at a building just outside one of the gates to Fort Schoolhouse. Either the thing is built over a hidden glacier, or the thermostat is stuck on "meat locker".

It's late October here, and 38 degrees Fahrenheit in the mornings when we get to class, but it winds up being warmer outside than in the building. Brrrr!

After a lunch of fast food (I'd not had fast food like that in a long, long time), we were back to the ice house for some instruction.

Perhaps it was the torpor induced by the near-hibernation temperatures, but when I spoke with my parents last night, and they asked me the same question as years ago, I found myself giving them the same response.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Jet-lagged

I arrived back in the States late on Saturday night. By the time I got to bed at the hotel the Army has me staying in, it was almost midnight by the clock in the room.

That meant that I had gotten up to start my journey more than 26 hours earlier.

As I've mentioned often in this blog, I don't sleep in moving vehicles unless I'm driving. This trip was not much different. I'd been assigned a middle seat for the 8.5-hour transatlantic flight, four rows from the back of the very large plane.

By some grace or other, a married couple had the seats on either side of my assigned seat, so they offered me the aisle. Hooray!! (Thank you, God!) That at least meant that I could get up and stretch my legs whenever I needed to. On the flight back to Kuwait after my mid-tour leave this past January, I felt trapped in my seat for most of the flight by the very large and completely insensate Soldier in the seat between me and the aisle.

I don't think he'd have have awakened had I had a bullhorn up to his ear and sung a high "G" into it.

It was a delight to be met at the airport by my friend Holly, who's the daughter-in-law of my friend Hildie, whom I believe I've mentioned in this blog. We went out for dinner before I checked into the hotel. Lester, her husband, had scored a ticket to the playoffs, so he was off in another city. I'll see him this coming weekend.

I managed to sleep a fair amount yesterday, but even still, getting up this morning was very difficult. The good news is that I usually experience only a little jet lag when I'm flying east to west.

The bad news is that, as I grow older, my west-to-east jet lag gets more and more prolonged and pronounced.

Oh well, I'll cross that ocean when I come to it. For the time being, it's off to my Army course and the adventures waiting for me.

I'm really tired, but glad to be here. Hooray!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Address UPDATE

Here's the latest on the snail-mail address for me in Kosovo while I'm there. It's a bit different from what was posted about two weeks ago. (Don'e you just love it how the Army changes its mind about things at the last moment?)

Here goes:

NAME [first, last; NO RANK!]
TF FALCON KFOR / TF MUSTANG HHC
APO, AE 09340

I apologize for the confusion, and am grateful for all that you have done on behalf of my Soldiers.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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What the

Hail is going on here.

The other night, as I was walking a few blocks to a meeting, it started hailing. A lot. The hailstones weren't very big, probably just the size of styrofoam leavings as a cup is absent-mindedly picked apart.

The wind drove them almost horizontal. This meant that exposed skin, such as faces, were pelted incessantly with tiny BB-sized pellets of ice. Within an hour, sidewalks and streets and the grass were glazed over, making walking and driving a challenge.

The Army says, "we train as we fight."

In this case, I'm afraid, this is very true. I'm told we can expect this and more as we get to our final destination on this mission.

Sigh.

Have I mentioned how much I loathe having wet and cold feet?

Iraq will have been a (warm) breeze compared to this, I figure.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Here I come!

After all the waiting, I finally received orders to attend school, and just last night I got my itinerary for traveling there.

Hooray!

Now, if I can just get everything done that needs doing before I'm out of here...

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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The Cloak of Love

When I first got home from Iraq, I met up with a friend of mine who's gone to a lot of AA meetings over the past twenty years or so. While I was Down Range, he was diagnosed with cancer, and had had a pretty harrowing time of it. He was gaunt and wan and looked very frail.

When he went to those meetings, I'm led to believe, he'd often speak about a "Cloak of Love" that God would throw over the shoulders of any alcoholic wandering through the doors of Alcoholic Anonymous. I guess this is something that his sponsor Quint used to speak of. Quint died sober before I ever got to know John.

John died since I started this mobilization to Kosovo.

I've been thinking about him and about his "Cloak of Love" lately. Earlier this week, my unit received three Red Cross messages. The Red Cross lets military personnel know when something important and often difficult has happened back home.

As the Chaplain, I get called in when the Red Cross messages contain particularly sad-making news.

I like to think the the Chaplain's presence at those times is one of the ways that God throws a "Cloak of Love" around the individuals who are stunned, confused, hurting, bereft -- in much the same way as John spoke about God throwing a cloak over bedraggled alcoholics showing up at a meeting.

I recently finished the Harry Potter series again, and realized that Quint's "Cloak of Love" is just the opposite of the invisibility cloak left to Harry by his father. Instead of rendering one unseeable, Quint's "Cloak of Love" reveals the innermost workings of the human heart, something which can be really terrifying to a person who's been schooled in "sucking it up."

Just the other day, too, I was on my way with a purpose, and was stopped by a prior-service individual whose military history contains some very courageous and scary stuff. He spontaneously opened up to me concerning his life and family which took my breath away, in that he'd not mentioned it to anyone else since before he joined the military.

As he unburdened himself of this secret, it seemed as though he'd put on Quint's "Cloak of Love," and became truly visible, truly vulnerable.

In my experience, this is the stuff of miracles.

It's what I'm here for.

I suspect it's how God throws a "Cloak of Love" about my shoulders.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Surgeries

I'm not sure what's going on, but three people I care about are having surgery next week, all on the same day.

My Dad is having surgery on his eyes.

Mrs. MSG McG (wife of my former Chaplain Assistant) is having surgery, too.

So is my friend Sam's father.

If you could remember them in your daily devotions, I'd appreciate it.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Putting my foot in it... (Part 2)

SPC C and I returned to the Post, following our Oberserver/Controller's (O/C) vehicle, just as the sleet was beginning to fall. Snow! It's not even *late* October. Sheesh! This doesn't bode well for the future, I'd say.

Where's Iraq's heat when I need it?

I felt pretty jazzed that I'd photographed the two handbills posted on the buildings in the second 'village' we'd visited. I could translate enough of what was written there to know that the information therein would be important for my buddies to know, but I wasn't sure of exactly what was being communicated.

No one else in the TOC could translate the materials. The translator that SPC C and I would be taking with us into The Box was across Post, and there wasn't time to go get her before the staff meeting we were having shortly after arriving back 'home'.

More than that, though, was the problem of getting the photos from my camera into the computers we use in the TOC. Army Regulations these days make that once-simple process rather cumbersome and complex.

So the meeting to brief the Battalion Commander and each of the Company Commanders on what the upcoming plans were started without me being able to share the information I'd happened upon in our travels into The Box. Staff member after Staff member briefed away on a plan which was a great plan, but only according to the intel they had on hand.

What to do?

I chose to wait my turn, which meant that I was almost the last person to brief the Commander. After the mundane stuff, such as the worship times this coming weekend, I launched into what I really wanted to say. "I hate to rain on anyone's parade here," I said. (Well, actually, I used another phrase, one which I'd rarely heard before joining the Army three years ago, but which I've heard numerous Soldiers use since then, but which probably isn't so appropriate to this venue.)

Then I proceeded to read aloud and translate on the fly (as best I could) excerpts from the handbills I'd photographed. The intel contained therein, assuming my translation was adequate, changed the situation we were facing as a unit, and therefore meant that all the work that had gone into the plan that had just been briefed would need further modification, if we were to respond to the new information.

The consequences of my actions began immediately, before I'd even been able to return to my seat.

The O-5 (Lieutenant Colonel) O/C, savaged me for having gone into The Box. Sitting down thus became a painful event. He was followed by the O-4 (Major) O/C who continued the savaging. Both those guys have RANGER tabs on their left shoulders, though I'm not sure that's important to the story.

The Major was followed, in turn, by an O-3 (CPT) *and* an O-2 (1LT), both of whom got their licks in. I won't be able to sit comfortably for a week, at least.

I suspect what *really* was the issue is that I brought back information that the writers of the scenario didn't expect/want us to have at that time. The fact that I was able to translate the handbills enough to know that they were important to upcoming missions annoyed them greatly.

Had we gone into The Box with our Unit Ministry Team (UMT) O/C (which we did), and come back without any actionable intelligence (which we did not), I'm quite sure no one would have cared.

One of the O/Cs said to our Intelligence Officer, "I can't believe how he threw you under the bus in there, in front of everyone else." My buddy shot back at him, "He didn't throw anybody under the bus! We're a team, and everybody works with everyone else. He discovered some important information, and shared it with us, so we can incorporate it into our planning right away. I think that's how it should work, frankly."

The O-5 O/C wasn't content with what he'd told me in the briefing room; he cornered me back in the TOC and read me the riot act (again) about going out into The Box without a Trip Ticket and without another vehicle (both of which I'd asked about, and been told -- by our UMT O/C -- weren't needed.

A bit later the Command Sergeant Major (CSM) of our Battalion came up to me and shook my hand, saying, "Did you see how mad those guys got? You did great! That was brilliant. Keep it up, Chappy."

Perspectives can be quite different, eh?

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Putting my foot in it... (Part 1)

The aspen trees around here are really golden yellow now, and the other non-conifers are changing color as well. It's quite lovely.

Yesterday, SPC C and I accompanied our Observer/Controller (O/C) [sounds rather sinister, don't you think?] into The Box to 'recon' our Area of Operations (AO).

As an aside, I'm flabbergasted that in just three short years I find myself speaking in acronyms. When I first started hanging around the two National Guard Battalions which were under the Command of a man who's become one of my best friends in the Guard, I was completely flummoxed by the throwing around of an alphabet soup which made no sense to me whatsover. Now *I'm* doing it.

Sigh.

I'd asked SFC A the night before whether we needed a 'trip ticket' to leave the wire, or whether I needed to come up with another vehicle (and personnel) so we could have two vehicles traveling together. He told me 'no' on both accounts.

So we were to take off at 1000 hours yesterday morning. SPC C readied our vehicle and just as I showed up (the requisite 15 minutes early -- can you believe I'd ever be early for anything?), I got a rather stern note telling me I needed to go to a building across our compound. Folks in that building needed information from me concerning my upcoming trip, even though I still didn't have orders to go on it.

I figured that information was more important than the morning's mission, so off I went. SPC C would bring SFC A and himself around to pick me up. I was hoping it would only take a few minutes, but I was there for forty-five.

Evidently this trip involves complexities of paperwork I'd never dreamed of.

I finally excused myself, and off we three went in our two vehicles. The drive in and through our sector of The Box was lovely. Rolling hills. Large meadows. Dark conifer woods. Fluffy clouds above. Falling temperatures.

(Well, the last bit you can have, actually.)

We stopped off in one "village" replete with a prominent minaret, visible from several kilometers away. As we walked through the town, I was amazed to find that I understood both the Albanian and Serbo-Croatian being spoken by the residents. (Unlike Summer Camp - North, wherein we actually had real Albanian and Serbo-Croatian being spoken, here overseas, everybody is speaking a language I actually studied in college, and we're pretending it's either Serbo-Croatian or Albanian.)

Given that I'd audited this particular language for a year in college, I was able to make myself understood pretty well with the "Imam" and the "Priest" in each of the two "villages" we visited. (The Army must be shelling out a lot of money to be paying locals to hang out in these "villages" for us to interact with.)

It was fun to be speaking a language I'd not attempted to speak in probably 27 years (the last time was when I spent the summer at the Vatican Astronomical Observatory at Castel Gandolfo, Italy -- but that's another story entirely). It was also incredibly frustrating! The actors were very gracious, and all in all, it was a good experience.

In the second town I noticed some handbills posted on buildings, written in that same language. My powers of translation are decidedly weaker than they once were, but I realized there was some information contained in those handbills that my colleagues back in the Tactical Operations Center (TOC) did not know, but would probably need and want to have.

So I photographed each of the posters before we left town to return to Post.

Little did I know that I was putting my foot in it, as they say....

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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It's happened again

No matter where in the world I've wound up over the past 30 years, I've always managed somehow to encounter women and men who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings. It's uncanny, and it's happened again.

Just yesterday, as I was minding my own business (a real triumph, as some of you know), there I was all of a sudden in the presence of a retired Army NCO who goes to a lot of those meetings. He had with him a young NCO who'd gotten herself into quite a pickle because of her drinking, and as fate would have it, went to her very first AA meeting ever yesterday.

I've run into these people in Costa Rica and Rome and Chiang Mai, Thailand. They've shared their experience, strength, and hope with me in Canada and England and Spain and Italy.

I can't seem to get away from them.

What's up with *that*?

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Still waiting....

*If* I'm to go back to the States to finish up an Army course that I started more than a couple of years ago, I need to leave very soon in order to get there in time to sign in. Very soon.

Were I an Active Duty Chaplain, this course would mean a six-month Permanent Change of Station (PCS)move: the Army would pay to move my wife and children and pets and furniture and car to Fort Schoolhouse at their expense. (Hmmm. Is there a correlation between NOT being an Active Duty Chaplain AND not having wife, children, pets, furniture, and car???)

However, since I'm just a Reserve Component (National Guard or Army Reserve) Chaplain, *our* version of this course involves 68 credit hours of online coursework, followed by two weeks of Temporary Duty (TDY) at Fort Schoolhouse. (I finished Phase 1 in a few weeks' time more than two years ago now.)

The disparity between the two methods of doing this course seems pretty stark, eh?

In any event, it's getting down to the wire here, and I still have no idea whether I'm going.

More powerlessness!

In the meantime, we're gearing up here for a couple more weeks of training, most of which will involve going into "The Box" as it's called here. I'm told that everywhere else in this country the weather will be lovely, but inevitably it will be incredibly bad in The Box.

Sigh.

I'll keep you posted (as best I can, given how difficult internet access is at the moment).

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Temperament

One recent afternoon I had to brief the "Chaplain" slide to the Commanding General during the daily Commander's Update Brief, since the Brigade Chaplain was doing some training.

I had never done so before with my present unit.

After I finished presenting the information on the slide, as I was leaving the podium, an older guy in civilian attire stood up and raised his hand.

Surprised, I said into the microphone, "I guess there's a question." The man said, "How much education do you have?" This was a bit off-putting, and I replied, "Is this a trick question, Sir?" He countered with, "Seriously, how many degrees do you have?"

I paused a moment, performing a quick mental calculus.

Throwing caution to the wind, I replied, "To be perfectly frank, Sir, I have more degrees than a rectal thermometer."

The room went completely silent.

Then there was an audible gasp.

It turns out that the guy asking the question was a retired Lieutenant General (three stars).

Then everyone burst out laughing, and he stood up, turned around, and raised his hand to his head in a trigger-pulling gesture.

And I hadn't even been drinking at the time!

Or since.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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More waiting

Shortly after I blogged about waiting for word about whether I'm going to be able to finish my Chaplain Captains Career Course, I met one of the Brigade big-wigs, who congratulated me on being given permission to go to the course.

Hooray!

Then, the next night, about 2230 (10:30 p.m.), I found out that certain parties here at Summer Camp - Über Alles were upset by this news, and were questioning the authority of the people who granted the waiver which would allow me to go.

Great.

In the great cosmic order of things, this will barely be remembered by me, let alone by anyone else. But in the present moment, it seems to be a fairly big deal. I still don't have orders, and the course starts in the very near future.

All the more reason to remember to breathe, as my friends who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings are ever reminding me.

Coincidentally, last night I met a couple of guys who go to a lot of those meetings over here in Germany. One of them has been sober since 1974, even.

It never fails to calm me down when I'm in contact with folks like that. Interesting, eh?

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Uncovered

In the Army we seem to have to have our head covered whenever we're outside (except when wearing our PT uniforms). Until three years ago when I joined the Army, I was never big on wearing hats, and it took a while to get used to making sure my hat was on any time I left a building.

Actually, they seem to call it a "cover" more than a "hat."

While I was in Iraq, I always wore a boonie cap outside if I didn't have to have my helmet on. Even when I was in PTs. Some guys hate them, and some Soldiers were forbidden by their Command Sergeant Major from wearing a boonie cap ("because it doesn't look 'squared-away' enough").

I, for one, couldn't imagine wearing anything else, given how how the sun was, and the potential for sunburn. And skin cancer.

After all, the boonie cap has a brim all the way around, while the patrol cap (what we wear over here) had just a brim on the front, and the beret (worn in the States unless other headgear is prescribed) has no brim at all. (Have I mentioned that I really don't like the beret?)

Over here, we're not permitted the boonie cap, so it's patrol cap all the time.

Unless one can't find his.

The other day I walked into our TOC (tactical operations center) and a few minutes later went to leave. As I reached into the side pocket of my pants, to get my patrol cap, I noticed it wasn't there. Or anywhere. At all.

I searched and searched and asked everyone in the TOC if they'd seen my cover, but no one had. This was a great frustration, and an annoyance.

Fortunately for me I had my helmet in the TOC and was able to wear that back to the barracks, where I snagged my spare cover.

I'd had my Chaplain insignia sewn onto the cap (amazing how much people can charge for that sort of thing), and it has (had?) my last name Velcroed on the back, so it ought to be fairly recognizable.

Three days later, and it still hasn't turned up.

Weird.

Guess I'll have to buy another and get it sewn up when we arrive at our destination.

Until then, I hope I don't lose *this* one!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Booked

I've been encouraging (read: cajoling, nudging, hectoring, suggesting, harping on -- depending upon whom you ask) Soldiers in my unit to consider taking a class or two while on this deployment, as I did while in Iraq. Civilian education units will become 'gimme-points' for promotion for the Junior Enlisted, and the Senior NCOs need a college degree to make it to the highest Enlisted ranks.

Some of the Soldiers I've spoken with aren't interested at all; some say they're going to sign up, and others are already working on their education. Given my background in higher education, it warms the cockles of my heart to see students excited about learning.

The G.I. Bill has done wonders for this Country, and the new G.I. Bill, despite its obvious deficiencies promises to do even more. Who knows? Once I get enough Active Duty time, *I* might even go back to school for another degree.

Anything worth doing is worth overdoing, right?

One of the Soldiers I worked with while mobilized is obviously bright, but suffered from a really poor elementary and high-school education. After a number of years in the Army, he had overcome much of that early deficit, but realized he still had a way to go. He's a hard worker, and would bring his assignments to me to look over and critique.

Like so many of his buddies, he lives pretty close to the bone financially, and even with the increased income from being deployed, still had to watch his finances carefully.

One day, after we had been working on some of his stuff, he mentioned that he'd seen a book at the PX (Post Exchange) that he wanted to get to help him with his education, but that he'd have to wait for the next payday even to think about getting it.

It was the first of the month when we got together, which was itself a payday.

The next day, I made a trip to the PX myself (about a 20-minute walk) and sought out the book he'd mentioned. It was $24.99.

Given the generosity of so many benefactors, I just bought the book myself, and slipped it to him that evening. When he asked how much he owed me, I told him I felt as though I owed him for all the years of courageous and honorable service he'd given in the military.

Many thanks to all those, like Dorothy B, who still are so generous in helping me to help Soldiers!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Waiting, waiting

Waiting around is perhaps not my strong suit. (I think I've probably blogged about this before. A lot, actually.)

Maybe that's one reason I'm not particularly fond of the Advent Season (set to begin at the end of November, as it happens) -- in which it always seems just a bit odd to be waiting, again, for something that's already (and yet, not yet) happened....

Anyway, I'm doing a lot of waiting these days. The training here at Summer Camp - Über Alles hasn't yet ramped up into high gear, so that's a bit frustrating. Knowing that when it *does* finally get going, things will get even crazier than they are at the moment (pretty crazy, actually) doesn't help much.

All the more reason to be taking all this one day at a time, as my friends who go to a lot of AA and Al-Anon meetings have been trying to tell me for the past thirty years, I guess.

I'm supposed to have a computer dedicated to the work SPC C and I are doing, yet again we're having to share it with a number of other folks, who then get impatient when *they* have to wait to use "my" machine. Sigh. And when *they're* using it, for hours on end, I wind up waiting and feeling grumpy. Even more so than usual.

I know this comes as a shock to many.

But I'm sure you'll get through it. Somehow.

Waiting is about powerlessness, ultimately.

At least I know that there are people out there who seem to have a program that deals effectively with the consequences of powerlessness and its attendant unmanageability! My friends who go to all those meetings would undoubtedly point out to me that this waiting around is simply the "powerlessness du Jour" and I might as well surrender to it.

Seems like a plan.

But it's a lot more easily said than done, in my experience. (Perhaps that's why those friends of mine go to all those meetings, all the time?)

Right now, in addition to waiting on training, and for computer availability, and in lines at the chow hall and shower facility a block away in the rain, I'm waiting to find out whether I'll be allowed to attend the final two weeks of my Chaplain Captains Career Course, back where I went to Chaplain 'Basic Training'. I finished the first part, on-line, within a few weeks of completing Basic Training over two years ago now.

The course is starting in the very near future, but I don't yet have orders to go, despite having gotten one of the very few seats in the class. (Thanks Ms. Alexander!)

It seems that some nameless/faceless policy wonks in some military facility somewhere else in Europe are balking at my going off to this school, so that's holding things like orders up. Amazing that the Big Army was fine with me being deployed and deployable, right up to the time I set foot back in this country after my year in Iraq, nicht Wahr?

Then, magically and automatically, I became nondeployable-until-told-otherwise. I guess some office-dweller somewhere else in Europe (who probably does not have a combat patch on his/her right shoulder) is afraid that if I miss five days of the 3-week training here at Summer Camp - Über Alles (after the ten weeks of training we had in the States before coming here), I'll fail miserably on the mission to Kosovo.

Which is not even considered a combat deployment.

Like the one I just finished.

Successfully.

And to top it off, I just received a letter, being sent on my behalf to those nameless/faceless military policy wonks residing somewhere out there, which says that if allowed to attend school, I voluntarily forfeit whatever mid-tour leave might have been coming my way during my time 'down range'. (News to me!)

Sigh.

Well, considering that my State Guard has no money at all, and if they wouldn't pay for me to attend the MANDATORY five-day training that the other Unit Ministry Teams going on this deployment attended, they probably would balk at sending me to this two-week training which is a LOT more expensive, I guess I'll count myself blessed to attend now!

If I can even go.

(Maybe the budget crisis explains why I've received so few phone calls from State HQ: before deploying to Iraq, upon redeploying from Iraq, or before leaving for Europe on this deployment... But then, MSG McG and I weren't even notified by secure email that our State Adjutant General was coming to Iraq to visit a "real" Guard unit from our State, and would arrive and depart from the airport we could see from our base - so little or no contact from HQ is not a surprise.)

In any event, I'll just count myself blessed anyway, since it beats staying grumpy and resentful, that's for sure.

That's another thing I've learned from those friends of mine (like Elaine and Mary and Elizabeth and Edith and Brandi & Peter and Tom and Kevin and Cormac and Bert and Barry and Erik and ...) who go to so many of those meetings.

Thanks!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Mailing Address

We're here at Summer Camp - Über Alles for such a short time that they didn't even give us a mailing address, since the Post here didn't want to be bothered with post for us. Anything mailed to us here would just be forwarded on to our next stop (if we're lucky) or returned to sender.

A number of folks have been asking for a snail-mail address for my new digs (come November), and I finally have it! Here it is:

Name [first, last; NO RANK!]
TF Falcon KFOR / TF Mustang HHC
APO, AE 09340

I'm told that packages sent by snail-mail (or even Priority Mail!) postmarked before 04DEC09 should arrive in time for Christmas; parcel post needs to be out by 13NOV09 (hint, hint).

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Languid lepidopteran

It's pretty chilly here at Summer Camp - Über Alles much of the time these days, and especially at night, and even more so at night in the rain, when needing to use the latrine which is a block away.

Sigh.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, there aren't many flowers blooming here, and the ones that are (in the grass), seem very similar to the weeds back home.

A couple of mornings ago I walked into our Headquarters building (it's a small dining facility (DFAC) not being used for that purpose at the moment (read: not designed to be a Headquarters building!)) and noticed a butterfly clinging to the inside of the screen door, down near the floor. [Click on any photo to enlarge.]

No one else had noticed the insect, it seems. (I later asked the personnel in the TOC (tactical operations center) about the butterfly, but none had adverted to it.)

Its wings were closed, so it would have been easy to miss, if one weren't on the lookout for little surprises. Fortunately for me, I had my camera on my belt, and began snapping photos. The critter was hard to focus on, so I eventually coaxed it onto my finger and got it into some better light.

Pretty dull, actually, as butterflies go, I thought.

Until it opened its wings once.

I'd never seen a butterfly like it before. Of course, it did not open its wings again. Poikilotherms are like that when they're cold.

I decided to take the butterfly outside, figuring that it had been cold inside the building, and as soon as the sunlight hit it, it would open its wings.

Almost instantaneously, the butterfly spread its wings and just sat there on the end of my finger, soaking in the sun's rays. Its colors and markings were even more spectacular in the sunlight than they had seemed inside the building.

I snapped a few more photos, trying not to shadow the animal with myself or the camera. I suspected I'd only have a few tries. (It's times like these when my 'idiopathic benign essential tremor' is really annoying!)

Moments later, after I'd nudged the butterfly onto a wooden ledge outside, it closed its wings once, and then took off into the morning light.

What a delight, and one that I'd certainly have missed had I not been paying attention.

These days, paying attention -- especially in the morning! -- seems pretty miraculous for someone who used to drink a lot....

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Another anniversary

It's been three whole years today since I signed my name on the dotted line, taking the Oath of Office as an Officer in the Army of the United States of America.

A lot has happened in that time; it seems like forever (to my aching feet, ankle, knees, and shoulders) and yet only a moment ago.

I've met some amazing and wonderful people in this short time, and learned much about the "Band of Brothers/Sisters" that I'd heard tell about, but knew nothing of personally. My time in Iraq was especially rich in terms of how many important relationships were established and continue.

It's been quite a ride thus far (especially since I'm once again outside the United States for a rather long time), and I look forward to what this present deployment holds for us.

God's sense of humor and ability to surprise us mere mortals continues to leave me in awe. Many thanks to all those who have empowered me in this new phase of my ministry!

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Bavaria

There's quite a bit of grousing going on these days, seeing as we're in Bavaria and not all that far from some establishments rather famous for their beer. However, we're under strict orders not to be drinking alcohol while we're deployed.

We'll see how *that* works out for folks.

I'm very grateful not to be upset at no booze, beer, or bongs.

Been there. Done that. Had the hangovers. Glad to be sober, one day at a time.

The days here are heavy-laden with Fall here. We're in a valley that's surrounded by hills loaded with conifers and an abundance of deciduous trees. The aspens are quaking (I guess it's no wonder they're yellow, eh?).

The birch are becoming as golden as the last of the dandelions in the grass. (It's a bit disappointing to discover that most of the weeds over here resemble the weeds we have back home.)

There are a few maples that have donned their fall finery, too.

My ancestors on my Dad's side of the family came to the U.S. from this part of the world. While I'm not looking forward to winter's arrival, there's something oddly satisfying about being here.

It certainly does not involve the food, or the accomodations, however.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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The times they are a changing....

It's been a bit tough for a lot of my buddies to adjust to the time change, and since most of us are from California, the time difference between there and here makes contacting loved ones at a time convenient for both parties, difficult at best.

Living in the barracks with 30-some others, all of whom seem to have slightly different schedules doesn't help, either.

Unlike Summer Camp - North, where I was in a barracks with my Chaplain Assistant and other Officers and Enlisted personnel, here at Summer Camp - Über Alles, I'm in a barracks with just other Officers. Thirty-some of them.

The snoring is cacophonous. Alarms go off at all hours of the dead-of-night. We have a mouse infestation (we've 'caught' five of them so far -- I could make a very rude and culturally insensitive pun about all this, but I'll hold that for another time, and definitely not for publication....).

Did I mention that the latrines/showers are a block away?

The times, they are a changin'.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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The land of my forebears....

We arrived here at Summer Camp - Über Alles a bit ago, after a long day's journey into night. We stopped at Gander, far enough out in the Atlantic Ocean that the time zone there is a half-hour off from (most of) the rest of the world. That was a bit odd.

I'm not quite sure I should even be here, at least according to the Deployment Orders I received. Everyone else's orders, concerning the duration of the deployment, read "Not to exceed 355 days."

Mine read "Not to exceed 0 days."

I mentioned this to the Battalion Commander as we were standing around, waiting for the buses to take us to the airport. I told him I'd checked with many other Soldiers, and that all of them had orders for 355 days; since mine read 'zero days,' I continued, "I guess this means I won't be able to come with you overseas."

He was not amused.

After an hour's trip to the airport, we gaggled together in the baggage claim area which seems to be the Army's waiting room for deploying personnel. The floor was as comfortable as linoleum can be.

Four hours later (about 2230 hours; 10:30 at night) we boarded the aircraft and settled in for the flight to Gander and then on to Europe. I asked to use the aircraft's commo system and offered up a prayer as we began our journey, as well as a blessing over the food. Since the Jewish High Holy Days had just ended, I offered that prayer in Hebrew.

What with the time change, and all the travel, it was 1700 (5:00 pm) local time when we landed in Europe. After another waiting-around time ('hurry up and wait') we boarded other buses and took off to our next Summer Camp.

It was pitch dark by the time we arrived here, and after the trucks bearing our gear had been off-loaded and we'd schlepped our stuff to our barracks. When we were at Summer Camp - West there were only four other people in the rather large barracks, and that was difficult, but OK. At Summer Camp - North, we had twenty guys in the my barracks bay, and that was very difficult.

Now here, in the land of my forebears, I'm in a barracks with 30-some other guys.

Oy.

Blessings and peace to one and all,

Fr. Tim, SJ

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Say what?

We took a chartered civilian jet from the vicinty of Summer Camp - North to Europe the other night. The good news is that we didn't have to go through security at the airport, but instead were able to go right out onto the tarmac and up the stairs onto the plane.

(I've come to believe it's not really worth getting dressed before going to through airport security anymore. They practically strip-search us passengers, but then don't screen the cargo going on the same aircraft. What's up with *that*?)

Because it was a chartered aircraft, everyone else traveling with me was able to bring his/her weapon(s) on board. Lots of pistols and automatic rifles. A real show of firepower, actually.

The bad news was they confiscated our Gerber (or Leatherman) multi-tools, because they were considered a threat.

Say what?

Blessings and peace to one and all,


Fr. Tim, SJ

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