Stories of Faith and Courage from the War in Iraq and Afghanistan

by Jane Hampton Cook

  Those who rescued Brian had to swipe their badge at a powered door to reach him and it worked, though power had been shut down to that part of the building.

  Weeks prior to September 11, Brian insisted on buying leather Army shoes a first for him. Those shoes protected his feet, allowing an IV and morphine shot to be administered there, which saved his life.

  Brian was the only casualty taken to Georgetown Hospital because Sgt. Jill Hyson, who rode with him from the Pentagon, had worked there, and it was the only hospital she know how to get to. (Most other victims had been taken to Arlington Memorial Hospital.) Georgetown had cleared all non-life threatening patients from the hospital in order to respond to Pentagon casualties. Brian was the sole casualty there and received the entire staff’s attention.

  Brian has said that when people ask, “Where were you God?” it’s only because they are not looking hard enough.

  Prayer:

  Lord, I praise you for being in complete control.

  “Do you not know? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.” (Isaiah 40:28)

  May 9

  FACING THE FIRE

  Lt. Col. (Ret.) Brian Birdwell, U.S. Army and Mel Birdwell

  In December 2001, Brian was discharged from the hospital. At home, Mel was his caregiver.

  After his physical therapy sessions at the hospital, Brian took a nap before Mel helped him work on getting better range of motion in his arms by bending and straightening them.

  The two-hour after-dinner routine included Mel helping him shower, putting lotions and creams on his fragile grafted skin, dressing him, and massaging scars to help break up and loosen scar tissue.

  For thirteen months, Brian also wore tight compression garments on his hands and arms twenty-three hours a day to help reduce scarring and bumps as the skin healed, and to keep scars already there as flat as possible. He also wore a headband for his forehead.

  “While I was carrying the burden of physical pain, Mel carried the burden of the emotional,” said Brian. “I think the greatest strain was on her, and I don’t say that because my job was easy.”

  On March 12, 2002, Brian returned to work at the Pentagon part-time. “Stepping back into the place that could have that should have been my murder scene was important to me,” said Brian. “I stepped back a winner. I was a walking miracle, a testimony to what God did for me that day. We were winning; the terrorists weren’t.”

  Brian and Mel have shared their story and their faith through The Oprah Winfrey Show, ABC’s Nightline, CBN, CNN and FOX News Channel. They also authored Refined by Fire and created Face the Fire Ministries in 2003, through which they personally bring hope and encouragement to burn survivors and critically wounded military and their families nationwide (www.facethefire.org).

  “It’s exactly as 2 Corinthians tells us, to comfort others with the comfort we have received,” said Brian. “It’s very gratifying to be able to come alongside somebody and encourage them. We discuss the strength that carried us through this process, which was certainly our faith in Jesus Christ. As brutal as that experience was, the Lord had a better plan for us than what we knew, so here we are.”

  Prayer:

  Lord, use whatever trials I face in order to reflect your goodness and grace.

  “I will bring [them] into the fire; I will refine them like silver and test them like gold. They will call on my name and I will answer them; I will say, ‘They are my people,” and they will say, ‘The LORD is our God.’” (Zechariah 13:9)

  May 10

  THE ATTACK

  Carrie McDonnall, Missionary to Iraq, 2004

  March 15, 2004. What started out as a day full of meaning and purpose, discovering how to meet the needs of a community in northern Iraq, turned into a surreal nightmare, the scars of which Carrie McDonnall will bear for the rest of her life.

  Carrie and her husband of two years, David, were humanitarian aid workers doing an assessment at an Internally Displaced Peoples (IDP) camp on that spring day. With them for the day were visiting veteran aid workers Larry and Jean Elliot and Karen Watson, one of the first missionaries into Iraq.

  The visit at the camp went well, but as the afternoon wore on, the team grew anxious about arriving at their destination for the evening (a protected Kurdish zone) before nightfall. Driving in Iraq in the dark was not safe, especially for Caucasians.

  Hoping to save time, they chose the most direct route, which was to go straight through the city of Mosul instead of around it. It was a calculated risk, since Mosul was home to a disproportionate number of insurgents and angry Islamic extremists.

  It was still light as they approached town, but Carrie’s heart raced at the scene ahead of them: traffic. Once downtown, the traffic became gridlock, and the truck with five white Americans became a sitting duck.

  And then Carrie felt something sting the top of her ear. Clutching it, she blacked out, coming to again only when she heard David’s booming voice: “Everybody get down!” But sitting in the backseat between the two other women, there was nowhere to hide. The deafening staccato of automatic rifles filled the air.

  Everything happened so fast it was impossible to make sense of it all. One thing Carrie knew: they were under attack, and they were defenseless.

  Prayer:

  Lord, help me turn to you instead of to my own resources when I am under attack.

  “O LORD my God, I take refuge in you; save and deliver me from all who pursue me.” (Psalm 7:1)

  May 11

  NO WAY OUT

  Carrie McDonnall, Missionary to Iraq, 2004

  “It was like a nightmare, everything was in slow motion,” Carrie said. “All I could hear was gunfire, and all I could smell was gunpowder and blood.” Six men with AK-47s and at least one Uzi submachine gun surrounded the vehicle, their weapons were raised, and they fired at will. “I felt pain everywhere,” Carrie recalls. “Bullets and shrapnel were ricocheting off the walls and floor of the truck. There was no way out.”

  Carrie couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. She could barely pray that God would stop the bullets, and once she did, she blacked out again, only to awaken later to an eerie silence. All the bustling people on the streets had disappeared; even the traffic had disintegrated. All that was left was the remains of the truck and the shattered humanity within it.

  Carrie’s limbs wouldn’t move. Her left hand was missing fingers; bones were exposed. She couldn’t breathe through her nose but couldn’t figure out why.

  Jean Elliot, slumped against Carrie, was dead. Moments later, Karen also breathed her last. Larry, in the front seat, was gone as well. Carrie started hollering for help in Arabic, but she could barely breathe and her voice was faint. Still, at the sound of Carrie’s strained call, David sat upright in the driver’s seat and sprang into action, moving as if he hadn’t even been hit.

  Unbeknownst to David and Carrie, their attack was the start of the targeting of Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) in Iraq. In the next forty-eight hours, more news became available about American civilians who were killed, burned, and hung from a bridge in Fallujah. “Soft targeting” had officially begun.

  Prayer:

  Lord, search my mind and heart and help me achieve righteousness on this earth before you call me home.

  “O righteous God, who searches minds and hearts, bring to an end the violence of the wicked and make the righteous secure.” (Psalm 7:9)

  May 12

  FINDING HELP

  Carrie McDonnall, Missionary to Iraq, 2004

  After looking at his wife, who was covered in blood, dust, and shattered glass, David got out of the truck and began shouting for help in Arabic. Finally, three reluctant Iraqi men were recruited to help Carrie out of the truck. As they pulled her out, every nerve in her body seemed to shriek back to life with unspeakable pain. “I couldn’t move because I had too many broken bones,” she recalled. “I had been hit in the face, too.”

  The taxi r
ide to the hospital was agonizingly slow. Once inside the unsanitary facility, the McDonnalls were still not at ease. They weren’t sure if the Iraqi doctors in Mosul a known insurgent territory would dutifully work for the Americans’ recovery or dutifully push them over the brink toward death. They had to get to the American Army’s Combat Support Hospital (CSH).

  As Carrie fought to stay awake, she noticed that the doctors were focusing more on David, even though he appeared to be okay.

  Soon, armed American soldiers arrived to protect David and Carrie until the medics arrived, but precious minutes ticked by as the helicopters were shot at and unable to land. While they waited, two soldiers who professed to be Christians prayed over Carrie at her request.

  At long last, the Army got the situation under control, and Carrie and David boarded two separate helicopters to the CSH unit. Once inside, Carrie heard David pray, “Jesus, we don’t know what is happening. Just help us.” Then, seeing Carrie across the hospital, he shouted out, “I love you! We’re gonna make it through this, baby!”

  Prayer:

  Lord, when I find myself in unfamiliar territory, be my guide and grant me peace.

  “Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am faint; O LORD, heal me, for my bones are in agony.” (Psalm 6:2)

  May 13

  WAKING UP TO LOSS

  Carrie McDonnall, Missionary to Iraq, 2004

  After being prepped for surgery, Carrie finally allowed herself to fall into the arms of a deep sleep. She awoke eight days later at Parkland Hospital in Dallas, Texas. Her mother, father, and sister were with her.

  She had been hit twenty-two times by bullets and shrapnel. In the CSH unit, they immediately gave her a blood transfusion without first screening for antibodies, which is only done when the risk of death without the transfusion is extremely high.

  For the first several days at Parkland Hospital, Carrie drifted in and out of consciousness, flooded by memories of the attack, a feeling of helplessness, and a longing to see her husband.

  “Mama, where’s David? Tell David to come in,” she would say.

  Finally, on the eighth day, when she was firmly lucid, her father spoke to her. “We have something to tell you,” he said softly. “Baby, David didn’t make it.” The room spun as Carrie’s mind and heart reeled at the shock of those words. She cried out in agony, but encased in casts and hooked to multiple tubes and wires, she couldn’t even hug her mother, father, or sister Jennifer. It was the most alone she had ever felt.

  She discovered that David had gone into cardiac arrest in the helicopter on the way from Mosul to Baghdad, completely shocking even the surgeons. His internal injuries were more serious than anyone had imagined. He died the day after Carrie last saw him.

  On the same day she learned of her husband’s death, she discovered his funeral was being held in Colorado and that she could not travel to be there. Understanding the logic with her mind, her heart wept at not being able to share in the service that would honor and celebrate her husband’s life.

  Prayer:

  Lord, sustain me through my own moments of isolation and give me the strength to face each new day.

  “I lie down and sleep; I wake again, because the LORD sustains me.” (Psalm 3:5)

  May 14

  SLOW RECOVERY

  Carrie McDonnall, Missionary to Iraq, 2004

  Carrie still had to focus on recovering from her physical injuries. One bullet shattered her left tibia. Another bullet went through her upper left leg, and another scraped her right thigh. She lost all the fingers on her left hand except the middle finger and thumb. A shattered bone in her right arm and bullet to the joint in the left elbow rendered both arms useless for a while.

  Bullets and shrapnel hit her right ear and face, breaking the septum in her nose and fracturing her mandible. Another bullet hit her in the right chest, broke her ribs, and exited beneath her left breast. Amazingly, only one small scar on her face gives any hint as to what she endured.

  Years after the attack, Carrie said it still felt fresh. “My senses went into overdrive that day,” she said. “I remember it all. I have never had to relive that experience in a dream because it’s so vivid when I’m awake. I replay parts of it every day in my mind.”

  Even with her incredible losses, however, Carrie never was angry with God. “I did go through a time of questioning, and came to understand that even if I had answers to all those questions, I would still miss my husband and friend.”

  Carrie’s heart for the Muslim people also remains unchanged. “I still love them and desire that they come to know Christ,” she said. “They were a loving people. Not all Muslims are terrorists. This is just a fallen world.”

  She continues to heal and recover in the States, but she doesn’t rule out one day returning to Iraq. “I still want to be involved in missions,” Carrie said. “I want to encourage believers to be obedient to God’s Word and share the gospel. That’s what I’m doing now. But if God should ever show me he wants me to go overseas again, I’ll be obedient.”

  In the meantime, she has written her story in Facing Terror (along with Kristen Billerbeck) and founded Carry On Ministries. The nonprofit organization seeks to help awaken the church to God’s global purpose, to help ease the burdens of those who are serving among the nations, and to mobilize God’s people to unity so that we might “stand firm in one spirit, with one mind, working side by side for the faith of the gospel.”

  Prayer:

  Lord, show me how to use my own trials and sufferings to further your kingdom and give you honor and glory.

  “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6)

  May 15

  HERE AM I, SEND ME

  Capt. Daniel Gade, U.S. Army, Iraq (2004–2005)

  I could tell when my superiors approached me that day that something was up. I was right.

  “We have to send a bunch of guys from Korea to Iraq,” my boss told me. “We know you’re scheduled to change command in a few days, but we want to know if you want to go with your soldiers to Iraq or go with your family back to the States.”

  It was just two days before my wife Wendy and two-year-old daughter Anna Grace were scheduled to leave Korea and get our house settled for the next chapter of our lives. After handing over command of my tank company, I was to join them a couple weeks later and start grad school at Syracuse University in order to teach at my alma mater, West Point.

  Plans change.

  “Here am I Lord,” I replied, “send me.”

  It was clear to me then that God didn’t give me all the skills and abilities in order to turn my back on seventy-five guys who were counting on me and seek my own comfort in the academic life. My duty was to my soldiers.

  Wendy cancelled her flight immediately to stay in Korea with me for the next two and a half months of training. During that time, we all flew to Colorado for a family reunion before the deployment to Iraq.

  My parents, who I had not seen in two years, are strong believers and were as confident that God had called me to this mission as I was. My father, who served in the Viet Nam war, pulled me aside at one point for a crucial piece of advice.

  “I want you to make a decision that whatever happens, you will not be bitter,” he said.

  Did he have some premonition that I didn’t have? Or had he just seen too many soldiers respond with bitterness to the blows war dealt them? Taking Dad’s advice turned out to be providential. I had no idea what God had in store for me, but I deliberately chose to trust his sovereignty no matter what.

  Prayer:

  Lord, help me trust you so completely that I will not be tempted to grow bitter over my own trials.

  “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.” (Psalm 20:7)

  May 16

  WELCOME TO RAMADI

  Capt. Daniel Gade, U.S. Army, Iraq (2004–2005)

  Holy cow, this place is really, re
ally dangerous. We didn’t need to say it out loud at the same moment, we were all thinking it.

  Seven days after we took over our sector in Ramadi, Iraq, we suffered our first casualty. My roommate, Tyler Brown, was killed by a sniper on Sept. 14, 2004. Inside, I was crushed Tyler was an amazing man of God with a bright future ahead of him but as company commander with 120 guys looking to me for leadership, I couldn’t let my grief interfere with my job performance.

  Fast forward to Nov. 10, 2004. In an instant, the soldier riding one arm’s length to my left in our tank was killed when a rocket-propelled grenade hit him in the face.

  In America, when somebody dies, we take time to mourn. In Iraq, we have a memorial service for the fallen, and those who can attend do, but we literally wash the blood out of the vehicle they were killed in, pack up their gear, send it off to next of kin, and go about our mission because we must. Most of the time, we swallow our tears and keep going. It’s surreal.

  As a Christian, those traumatic experiences affected me much differently than those who don’t have strong faith. My own trial (and I couldn’t have known then the trauma waiting for me two months later) is one little brushstroke of a really big painting God is creating. Most people think their story, their circumstance IS the painting. So for those people, when something horrible happens, when someone is killed, they lose a leg, or a wife gets sick, they have a tough time putting it into perspective.

  During the months and years ahead, Wendy and I knew our situation was ultimately not about us. It’s about God’s plan, and whatever way that circumstance works into God’s plan it’s not something I should be moping about. I should be honored that God is choosing me for a dramatic part of his plan, even though it’s painful.