Another Man's War

by Sam Childers

  One very wealthy lady in California heard about the orphanage and said she wanted to give the ministry $100,000. She also said she wanted to introduce me to some big-time celebrities who were friends of hers, who would make big donations too and maybe even get their friends to pitch in as well. I told her I was planning to head deeper than ever into Sudan, to go deep undercover in pursuing the LRA. She stared at me for a second, holding one perfectly manicured hand over her mouth in surprise. Diamonds swung from the big bracelet on her wrist.

  “What are you going to do if you don’t make it out?” she asked, eyes wide.

  I said, “There’s going to be a bloodbath.” Actually, if I go through with what I’m planning, there’s a fair chance I won’t make it back. I know I can get into the place I want to go, but I’m not sure I can get out. More about that in a minute.

  What I hoped would happen is that this lady would say something like, “You’re risking your life to save these children. The least I can do is give you a little financial support out of my idle millions. Why stop at $100,000? Let’s make it $200,000! I’ll never miss it. I spend that much on a shopping trip.”

  Instead, she called her lawyer. Based on his advice, she changed her mind about the donation. The best I can understand it, she became convinced that if she gave me money and anybody in the African bush was killed as a result, she could be liable for their deaths, and somebody could sue her. If her friends gave me money on her recommendation, her friends could sue her. I’m no lawyer, but my guess is that is complete nonsense. Members of our church back in Central City who scarcely have two nickels to rub together will give me one of them for Africa, but here is someone in a position to affect the ministry in a big way financially, and she gets jumpy about liability. I think this lady is a good person with good motives who was too worried about consequences and her own comfort to do what she knew was right deep in her heart. And I know after ten years of ministry that the only thing necessary for children to die and the world to go completely down the tubes is for good people to do nothing.

  I believe if she and her wealthy friends really understood what was at stake, they wouldn’t let a Beverly Hills lawyer scare them into inaction. They need to meet some of the kids in America who come up to our African Bike display, see the raffle tickets, and look at pictures of the Sudanese children in our orphanage. They’ll say, “Sir, I don’t have twenty dollars for a raffle ticket, but I want you to have this,” then hand me all the money in their pockets. That’s way cool. Those kids have their priorities straight.

  It’s hard to live in the bush and get to know the children there, treat the wounded ones and carry out the dead, then come back to the U.S. and have somebody tell me, “Well, my lawyer says I shouldn’t get involved.” Unfortunately, ignorance knows no boundaries of class or geography. Even some of the people who come to see the African Bike have that same throwaway attitude. They look at the bike, look at the pictures of Sudan, then walk off and spend twenty dollars on T-shirts and funnel cakes. If only they knew how much the children over there needed that money and how much it would buy! Some biker will come up and look at the painting of the three boys on the gas tank and say out loud to no one in particular, “Who’s the snotty-a-- nig---- on this motorcycle?” Who they are, are innocent children who have seen and experienced horrible things no one on earth should have to go through, innocent children my men and I carried to safety with our own hands.

  When I hear comments like that, I have no fear putting those people in their place. My attitude is, if you’ve lived the experience, then you can talk about it. If you haven’t lived it, keep your mouth shut. At a big bike rally in Pennsylvania, called Thunder in the Valley, a rough-looking biker dude swaggered over to our African Bike display and said something really rude about the painting of the three boys. I told him he was welcome to leave the premises immediately. I didn’t use those exact words, but the message was unmistakable.

  He got up in my face and said, “You don’t know who I am. I just got out of prison.” By way of answer, believing as I do that actions speak louder than words, I jumped out of the trailer into the guy’s face and said, “You don’t know who I am!”

  He and his buddy who was with him took off, then came back later with two more of their associates.

  I put my hand on my .45 automatic in my belt so he could see it and said, “See the pavement behind you? In about two minutes, there’ll be five bodies laying there, and one of them will be mine. I’ve been wanting to die for a long time.”

  Somebody I’d never seen before came up behind them just then and said, “This guy’s going to kill every one of you,” and walked away. The four guys looked at each other, looked at the .45, and then all started talking at once. “Man, I’m sorry.” “No offense, man.” “I didn’t know who you were.” “Sorry, we didn’t mean it.” “Hey, let’s shake.”

  My dad’s trick of intimidation had saved me again.

  The same thing happened another time when a truckload of guys started harassing me at a county fair where we had the bike on display. I went over to the truck and jerked open the driver-side door. The driver grinned one of those cat-who-ate- the-canary grins at me and said, “There’s five of us.” I looked him square in the eye and said, “Well then, I’ll give you a chance to go back and get some help.” They took off, and I never saw then again.

  After that rescue when I had to leave children behind, I was on edge for a long time. I was fighting almost like the old days, but I wasn’t the one starting the fights this time. I’d gone for years without swearing, and now I’d slipped back into that habit too. I was just so frustrated that I couldn’t do more for the children, frustrated that I couldn’t make people see how urgent and massive the need is. Beverly Hills matrons worry about liability risk, but they’re not the ones getting shot at. They’re not the ones who may never live to go to their daughter’s wedding. The Bible says to put your hand to the plow and not look back, to forsake your family—even your wife—if that’s what it takes to put God first.

  If you knew there was a child in a building around the corner getting hurt right now and you could stop it, but ten minutes from now when somebody else could get there it would be too late, what would you do? Consider your liability risk? You wouldn’t even think about it; you’d just do it. I’m always on the lookout for James 1:22 Christians who are “doers of the word, and not hearers only.”

  There are times when I’m disheartened by the church in the world. I take the African Bike to churches looking for support, and they tend to be lukewarm if you measure their response in raffle tickets sold. They have a sort of ho-hum attitude about it. Yet I can walk onto a college campus or into a barroom where they don’t know about Jesus and tell them about Africa, and they want to help. I never had a young kid, a college student, a nonbeliever, or a drunk tell me he had to call his attorney before he could make a donation.

  I don’t mean to harp about the money. I had a ministry in Africa when I didn’t have money, and I suppose one day I might face the same situation again, though I sure hope not. I’ve been entrusted with a plan for the children of Southern Sudan and the faith to see it through. That faith and nothing else is really the key to keeping our ministry alive.

  Some days my faith seems so weak. Then I start remembering all the dangerous situations I’ve been in, all the people who have died around me, and think about how I’ve never even been wounded in all these years when I should have been killed a dozen times. If it weren’t for my faith, I think I would have already been killed. And that faith is renewed every day.

  I’ve seen cancer fall off of people in Africa. Seen a man with polio straighten out his withered leg. I’ve seen blind people have their sight restored. Miracles like that strengthen my faith. But sometimes I believe I’m a lot like Thomas—I need to put my hand in the wound. I need real-world proof of God’s power. I think sometimes I lack faith because I want to be reminded one more time of that power. Miracles will do the trick.
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br />   Recently I was in California when I got a call from my daughter. A member of our church had been to the hospital, and the surgeon said she was eaten up with cancer. All they could do was give her something to ease the pain and send her home to die. Her family got her into a big cancer hospital in Pittsburgh. The doctors there said it was the fastest-growing tumor they’d ever seen. Two days later, on a Thursday night, I got back home and learned that the doctors had to operate within the next day or two because the tumor was growing so fast. I went to see her on a Saturday morning, and as they got ready to take her into the operating room, we prayed a prayer of faith like the book of James tells us to. James 5:15 promises that “the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise him up.” We anointed her “with oil in the name of the Lord” as the Word instructs (v. 14), and prayed that God would touch her, heal her, and give her a miracle.

  Two hours after she went into surgery, the doctor called me to make sure I was going to be at the hospital when the surgery was over. I figured he didn’t want to be the one to tell the family the bad news and thought that was the pastor’s place. I got to the waiting room, and when the doctor came out of surgery, he was really quiet. I was almost ready to pass out from thinking the worst. My faith was weak. I needed to put my hand in the wound again.

  The doctor looked at me and the others who were waiting and said, “We cannot find any cancer.” I said, “What? Are you sure?” The doctor told us again that there was no cancer, saying it could have been this or that. But he went ahead to say they went ahead and fixed this and corrected that, but they didn’t find any cancerous mass. Two hospitals and five or six doctors had said this woman had a cancer mass that was fast growing and fatal. Now it wasn’t there. I believe that God healed her. And in doing that he renewed my faltering faith.

  God has even used me for healing. One day, in Africa, just as I was starting to preach, a woman stood up in church and started telling me about her niece who had a flesh-eating disease that was killing her. I didn’t stop to think about where I was or what I was doing, but looked out at the people and said, “Let’s go now.”

  About thirty people followed me out of the church to this young girl’s house. I’d never seen anything like this disease before. It looked as if battery acid had been poured on her face, arms, and legs. I’d brought a bottle of anointing oil. My hands were shaking as I opened it because I was scared. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but I had faith that something good was happening. I put this anointing oil on my hands and began to rub the sores on her legs. I closed my eyes and began to pray and tremble.

  All of a sudden one of the women who was in the room let out a wild scream. When I opened my eyes, the sores on this young lady’s skin were healing miraculously right in front of us. There are still miracles in the world today—they weren’t only for Bible times. Seeing them and feeling God’s presence are what give me the strength to go on with my ministry.

  I need an extra shot of that strength all the time. Obviously I need it in battle situations. I need it when I struggle with living in two different worlds. But I never expected to need it against the FAA.

  In April 2006 I was flying from the U.S. to Sudan on British Airways, the same as I’d done plenty of times before. Along with other supplies, I was bringing over some maintenance items for the generator we use at the orphanage to produce our electricity—three quarts of motor oil, two bottles of diesel treatment, and a can of WD-40 lubricant spray. I’d packed them all in a sealed plastic container and labeled it, just like always. But for some reason, this time airport security took them, said they were improperly packed “hazardous materials,” and wouldn’t load them on the plane. This was a bit of a pain, but we could ship everything some other way, and that’s what we did.

  I wrote a letter to the U.S. authorities apologizing for unknowingly breaking the law and figured that would be the end of it. Six months later, I got a notification that the Federal Aviation Administration was fining me twenty-eight thousand dollars. I called the FAA and was handed off to one of their attorneys, a lady who clearly was not having a good day. I tried to explain what I did, what the supplies were for, and that I didn’t know where I was going to get that kind of money. Her response was something like, “We know what you do, and we don’t care. This is your fine and you will pay it.” I could have requested a formal hearing, but I didn’t know that at the time any more than I knew flying with motor oil was against the law.

  When contacted by news media about my fine, an FAA spokesman told the Washington Times, “Everyone is subject to the same standards. We are not zeroing in on one person or organization” (“FAA Fines Minister $28,000,” October 31, 2007). He added that I could hire a lawyer and request a hearing.

  When a reporter called me about it, I was sitting at home in Pennsylvania with Walter, the boy who had been shot in the eye and had come to America for surgery. I told the reporter about Walter and the fifty thousand dollars our ministry would have to pay for his care on top of a twenty-eight-thousand-dollar fine.

  Help came to us out of nowhere in the form of a stranger named Hank Baird, manager of AllTransPack, Inc., a company that specializes in packing and shipping hazardous materials. He sent me government documentation showing that motor oil was not listed as hazardous material, nor was diesel treatment fluid. WD-40 was on the list of hazards but, he said, was less flammable than hair spray; it is the only item that should have been confiscated. News media confirmed the accuracy of Baird’s claims using the Transportation Security Administration’s published guidelines. (Baird also told me that a generator of mine that was new in the box and had been confiscated the year before was not hazardous because it was brand-new, contained no fuel, and ought to be returned. I haven’t seen it yet.)

  I did eventually have a hearing with the FAA. They decided to drop the charges on the oil and the diesel treatment and only fine me fourteen thousand dollars for the WD-40.

  I told them I’d go to jail before I paid the fine. “There are people dying every day from lack of food,” I said. “You are not the one that has to tell the children of Sudan standing in the food line that we have no more food today and send them home hungry, all because the FAA has given me a fine.”

  The FAA asked if I would pay the fine if they cut it again. “Before I will pay a fine, I will go to jail,” I said. Paul and Silas had gone to prison for their faith by standing up for what was right, and I was ready to follow in their footsteps. The Bible says, “But let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’” (James 5:12).

  The government attorney responded, “Most religions will usually come to a compromise.”

  Compromise? The idea made me see red. “That is the problem with most religions,” I said. “The Lord Jesus doesn’t compromise.” I’m not exactly sure what the final official outcome was. All I can tell you is I didn’t pay a fine, and I haven’t been sent off to jail—yet. I think it would be really something if after all the years of heroin, cocaine, and LSD I finally got busted for WD-40.

  Until they come after me, I’ll be planning my next rescue, the biggest and most dangerous ever by a long shot. Right now I’m putting together the funding and making plans to go in deep undercover to document the LRA’s most evil and horrific practices with top-of-the-line cameras, and carrying top-of-the-line weapons—little short AR-15s that shoot a hundred rounds, and .25 automatic pistols like the one I have on me now: the world’s best equipment for five soldiers and me. There will be a crew filming up to one day from the transaction point and then I’m going to send them off with everything they have. I hope to come out so I can tell that story in another book, though that’s up to God. But if I do make it out, I’ll have film that’s going to bust the gates of hell wide open for the children of Sudan.

  THIRTEEN

  worth every tear

  War really clarifies your thinking on things. Makes it easy to see what’s important. One of the reasons I like war is that you don’t find
many people arguing on a battlefield. There’s no power struggle for resources and influence, never an argument over who’s doing things right or who’s helping the most. You can go to a war zone and pretty much work in peace. Everybody there is humble and looking out for the common good because their lives depend on it. But you get into an area where there’s peace and everybody’s doing okay, and there’s going to be a constant tug-of-war between organizations. The safer conditions are, the more selfish people can afford to get. They bicker and argue and compete against each other. War shakes all that out of you.

  War also reminds you of how little you have to lose in life, so you may as well go for it with all your heart. You can’t hold back, can’t worry about consequences. Life is short and tenuous, and the whole thing is a miraculous gift. Live life wide open, pedal to the metal, and you’ll do more, be happier, and feel more fulfilled than you ever thought possible.

  But shouldn’t we count the cost? Shouldn’t we exercise caution? Luke 14:28 says, “For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not sit down first and count the cost, whether he has enough to finish it?” A lot of people who point that verse out to me think that since it tells us to count the cost before we do anything, we have to plan very carefully, considering all the variables and every possible scenario before we take the first step. Planning is an important part of all missions work, but it can become an excuse to do nothing; people who could accomplish great things are too timid to act because they can’t see a complete and successful mission from the starting point. Or they’re afraid of getting sued (can you tell that really bugs me?). They freeze up. I don’t think that was the point of the verse either. The point is, before you start something, plan to hang on and finish it no matter the cost. The verse isn’t telling us to not do something; it’s telling us to set our minds and hearts on finishing a task before we begin it. I ran a construction company, built a campground, founded a church, and started an orphanage. I have no education and no special skills. But I promised I would finish each project before I went in another direction, and that’s what I did. That’s what anybody can do.