Let Me Tell You About The Time A Book Saved My Life In Iraq

Ok full disclosure this is not as drastic as the time One Tree Hill saved my life in Iraq.

However, it was still an impactful moment for me during my deployment and honestly, I didn't realize how much so until about a week ago when I was reflecting in my office. 

When I went to Iraq I was 23 years old and in charge of a platoon. Under my leadership, I had 33 men that ranged in age between 18 and 36 from all walks of life. Some I related to more than others but regardless, I had to treat them all the same. Part of that treatment was adhering to the written (and unwritten) rules of fraternization within your unit. Very simply you have to maintain a professional relationship with everyone at all times. So you might be wondering, "what does that have to do with a deployment to Iraq?" 

Fair question. For the purposes of this story it basically meant I had no friends. There were other lieutenants in my battery, but everyone had a very different schedule and truth be told I didn't connect with those other guys too much. They were all nice guys who were good at their jobs, but for whatever reason we didn't connect on a personal level. It wouldn't have mattered if I did because as I mentioned, I was spending the bulk of my time with my platoon anyway. 

The first four months of my deployment had an incredibly high OPTEMPO (Operations Tempo) that had me outside the wire every day for 4-8 hours. This schedule rotated such that it wasn't consistent either so sometimes we were out during the day, other times at night, but it would sometimes mean quick turnarounds. When we were back inside the wire, guys were sleeping, eating, working out, or engaged in various leisure activities (video games, reading, movies). Within every platoon, just like every organized group anywhere, there were cliques. Guys had the same guys they did everything with - except me. 

I was alone. I usually ate with my guys but sometimes I ate alone. Everything else though? Alone. Granted, I got along very well with my platoon and this wasn't a case of guys wanting to ostracize me; some things in the military are simply set in stone and officers don't fraternize with the enlisted. Yes there were times when I worked out with some of the guys or spent time in the platoon's building and in doing so developed a strong bond with them but overall what I'm getting at is I didn't have someone that I could let my guard down with and just be a 23 year old dude. With my platoon, I was always the lieutenant. 

When you're away from home, your friends, and you don't have anyone to be yourself around, you get lonely in a hurry. That's where I was. Now on top of that you insert everything else going on when we would go out on missions and it makes for a difficult time. What's funny though is in my undeveloped frontal lobe back then, this didn't occur to me. It was only a week ago when I was looking at the books on the shelves in my office that I realized this. 

That's when I saw it - the same thing I saw in the summer of 2008. The spine of a book with a distinct shamrock on it. 

It was late one night after a particularly long mission. I went back to our HQ, wrote out my after action report, and was headed back to my bunk. I decided to stop in one of the rooms that was a makeshift library with all the books people had sent to our unit's location over the last few years. What's funny is that I had walked by the room a ton of times and never went in so I'm not sure what possessed me to take a detour on this particular night. It was quiet and I was the only guy in the room. As I was perusing the shelves, that's when I saw the shamrock on the spine. I picked up the book and saw the cover. I thought to myself, "Wait a second - that's West Point in the background. What is this book?"

In the book by Gwendolyn Bounds, I found something familiar. I found an intimate story about a woman who was directly impacted by 9/11 and was forced to flee the city she called home at the time. In an attempt to find a new home, she stumbled upon a pub and market with no intention of staying for more than 1 beer but instead she found a community that welcomed her with open arms. 

What I didn't realize at the time was that I needed this book. I was in a dark place and I needed something, a beacon of light for guidance or warmth or both. That's what I found when I read Wendy's story about a place I knew myself. The unexpected comfort I found from reading this book lifted my spirits. I can distinctly remember being out on a few missions and thinking, "I can't wait to get back and keep reading that book." 

I decided to blindly reach out to Wendy and invite her to come tell the story of how Little Chapel On The River came to be and find itself thousands of miles away randomly in a "library" I happen to pass through. I invite you all to listen to our conversation to hear a remarkable story but also heed advice of it's author…