A good story is like a good picture. They are all around us, waiting for a serious look. My remaining four training jumps were largely the same. For the most part, I can’t remember them. However, I did see a comforting sight, while dropping into that web seat for our second jump.
We had a chaplain in our training cycle. He was down on the deck with both knees. It did my heart good to see his head bowed low in serious prayer. As always, those doors were wide open and you could barely hear yourself think. Nudging the man to my right, I hollered, “Ain’t it nice to have the Chaplain talking to God for us!” He replied, “Hell no! Listen to him. He is praying for his sorry self!”
Well I bent over as far as my reserve parachute would let. Sure enough, he was praying for me, myself and I. Tried to give him opportunity for redemption; I listened to the Amen! He said not a word for the rest of us. What a wonderful opportunity was missed that day. The only redeeming factor, that I can tell you, is that I never forgot his singular references. Have served as a chaplain a time or two. In times of stress, I am particular to use words like…we, us, and ours. I try so very hard NOT to use… me, myself, and I.
Our first week was called Ground Week. Our second was called Tower Week. Besides giving us purgatory to cleanse the quit out of us, they provided much exposure to our equipment. Ultimately a person has to trust their equipment. Bluntly, you have to have faith in that equipment. You stake life on it every time you jump out that door.
We didn’t have time in Respite of Innocence to tell you what Jill’s father shared. I have a habit of not confessing tough things, like jump school, until after I know it’s a sure deal. Just before mustering out of Ft. Sam, I sat at the table and looked him in the eye. He nodded for a moment as I declared my intentions. Staring back, he replied that he had been a paratrooper also. Then casually he dropped the bomb that he had broken his back in three places, on his final jump. With that thought in mind, I needed an extra dosage of whatever brought faith. Glad he didn’t tell me earlier!
From my earliest recollections, I always had a Gideon’s pocket New Testament for Soldiers. Dad gave me one early on. I would hold that pocket testament closely, on those many times Dad deployed. We were not church people. Our family never darkened the door of a church. However, we assumed a belief in God. Dad believed in God: I believed in God.
In the left front pocket was placed the final piece of equipment. I always gently patted it on all equipment checks. To this day, I can honestly say that I never jumped out of a plane without my Gideon New Testament Bible. We went out that door together. Always!
Matters of faith are personal. I am thankful for all military chaplains, of all faith traditions. They do a stand up job in some awfully stressful situations. An amazing thing happened as I rolled up my chute. That sprain from jump one was gone! It had kept me awake part of the night throbbing. That very morning, I had to tighten my boot for all the support I could get. To this day, I think that chaplain’s prayer had somehow spilled on my sore foot. Somehow, God could take those…me, myself and ‘I’s and convert them to we, us and ours. God is my witness, from that second jump on, my feet were Airborne qualified!
Finally, we had to have faith in each other. All of us had moments, when the man beside us was all we had. If you ever have to go to combat, it sure helps to be with the best.
Together…we stand alone. Currahee, my friends!
