Jane Cook - Stories of Faith and Courage from the War in Iraq and Afghanistan

Westfall returned to Times Square Church from her home in Texas for the Easter morning service and found herself fully engaged with the sermon’s theme of being called into battle by God as the King and Commander in Chief.

“The pastor said that we’re part of God’s army,” said Westfall. “I understood that. I started putting some pieces together that I was just missing: this belief in God is not a passive one, but faith is active and proactive, moving, growing. It means jumping in when needed, resting when it’s time. It’s like the army. I understood that. I can do this, I remember thinking, I can put my whole heart into this. And like that moment I first said my oath to join the army. For the first time in my life I made a public profession of faith and went forward for an altar call. That Easter Sunday was my birthday.”

While she anticipated that she would stumble on this new spiritual journey, Westfall understood the connection of God as king, warrior, and Lord. Still experiencing symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder even as she grows in her faith, Westfall shares her story through the Military Ministry’s Bridges to Healing program that educates churches about PTSD.

Lord, help me submit to your will and take delight in serving you.

“Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.” (1 Timothy 1:17)

Throughout the ages, countless soldiers, returning from battle, have suffered from what we now call post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), caused by exposure to constant traumatic events.

In 1 Samuel 30, David and his men, following a battle, were returning to the city of Ziklag, where their wives, children, homes, and possessions were. When they arrived, they found that the city had been ransacked and burned to the ground by the Amalekites. David and his men cried uncontrollably.

Brave and mighty warriors, in their right mind, would have quickly planned a pursuit of the enemy and fought for their loved ones who had been taken captive. Instead, these soldiers wept and discussed killing David.

David and his men were likely suffering from PTSD. Intense psychological distress with uncontrollable, uncharacteristic emotions, such as crying and depression, is classic in PTSD. Hopelessness, fear, and horror occur in the face of unfamiliar challenges. PTSD sufferers are unable to think rationally or process information properly in stressful situations. They can’t deal with problems at hand, nor can they plan for the future. Displays of inappropriate, aggressive behavior, often against authority, can lead to crime and even murder.

David, distraught from PTSD, “encouraged himself in the Lord his God” (1 Samuel 30:6). Chazaq, the Hebrew word for encourage, means to grow strong, firm, and secure by taking hold of the Lord. When David encouraged himself in the Lord, it was actually God taking hold of David, filling him with strength and security, and healing his affliction. This is what Jesus Christ does for us, when we passionately seek Him.

It was one man, David, who sought the Lord and the others were healed as well. He led them to regain what was lost in their lives. Each of us can be like David, if we desire Jesus Christ above all else. To minister to the military, we must passionately, unceasingly seek the Lord for more of His presence, His ways, and most importantly, His love.

Lord, help me to place you alone in my uppermost affections and to seek your healing for myself and for those around me.

“For I the LORD thy God will hold thy right hand saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee.” (Isaiah 41:13)

Lt. Col. Brian Birdwell was watching the news of the planes crashing into the World Trade Centers with two co-workers in his office at the Pentagon, Sandi Taylor and Cheryle Sincock, when the phone interrupted them.

“Mom, get out of the building.” It was Sam, Sandi Taylor’s daughter. She had a bad feeling that the Pentagon would be a sure target for another hijacked plane.

Surely they won’t hit the Pentagon, Brian thought. If they did that, they’d have the whole U.S. military after them.”

Moments later, Brian excused himself to use the men’s restroom. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he told them. They would be the last words he spoke to the two women.

Stepping out of the men’s restroom on the second floor, he started down the corridor when a deafening explosion blew him across the corridor. Even as a Gulf War veteran and an artillery officer for more than ten years during his seventeen-plus years of service with the U.S. Army, the sound that filled the air was louder than anything he’d ever heard.

In an instant, the corridor had gone from being well-lit with bright fluorescent lights to being pitch black. Walls of fire rushed at him from two directions the site of the explosion and the elevator shaft tearing the glasses of his face and throwing him to the ground. The building shook; debris from the walls and ceilings suddenly became dangerous projectiles flying through the air.

Brian could see nothing, except for a yellow orange haze with black around the periphery surrounding his body. That’s when he realized he was on fire.

Meanwhile, Brian’s wife, Mel, was at home working on a science experiment for home school with their twelve-year-old son Matt when their neighbor, Sara, called.

“Is your TV on? The Pentagon has been hit,” she said, panic in her voice. Mel almost dropped the phone and ran to turn on the TV. The scene clearly showed Brian’s office behind the helipad. Flames were coming out all the windows in that area.

“Mom, that’s not Dad’s side of the building,” Matt kept saying, “It’s not him.” But Mel knew the truth.

Lord, when my flesh and heart fail, let my spirit still be strengthened by you.

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” (Psalm 73:26)

Every nerve in Brian’s body screamed in pain. His arms, back, legs, face, and hair were all on fire. As he gasped for air, he swallowed thick black smoke and inhaled aerosolized jet fuel and heat so intense his lungs began to blister.

Disoriented and with damaged equilibrium from the concussion, his attempts to stand and escape failed repeatedly. Finally he collapsed and waited for his soul to depart from his body.

But somehow, he had landed under one of the only working sprinklers in the corridor, and the cold water extinguished him. Suddenly he was reoriented and began stumbling forward. But with the point of impact behind him and a fire door closed in front of him, he was trapped.

Then out of nowhere, a locked door to the B-ring opened and Col. Roy Wallace entered followed by Lt. Col. Bill McKinnon who Brian recognized immediately.

“Call Mel! Tell her I’m alive!” he yelled. But McKinnon had no idea who the skinless, charred body in front of him was, even as the two officers carried Brian to safety with the help of two other men: Chuck Knoblauch and John Davies.

Most of Brian’s skin was gone. What was left was charred black. Sixty percent of his body had been burned, 40 percent of which was third-degree. He was going into shock.

A fellow officer from the Pentagon commandeered Capt. Calvin Wineland’s SUV in the parking lot to carry Brian, who was strapped to a body board, to Georgetown Hospital. Finally, someone got through to Mel and told her Brian was alive and on his way to Georgetown.