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Prayers in the Desert
When my Army unit came under attack in Iraq, I felt the reality of God's protection.
By Courtney Birdsey as told to Julie E. Luekenga
 1 of 3
Nowhere I lived before had prepared me for the litter-strewn, ugly, intensely hot landscape of Kuwait. Dusty, gritty sand blows everywhere—so different from the majestic mountains of Colorado, where I grew up.
It's hard to believe that only four years ago I graduated from high school. Like most of my friends, I had no idea what I wanted to do. I just knew I wasn't ready for college.
I have always believed in God. I grew up going to church. But God was a distant figure—someone I knew was there but took for granted. My belief went as far as my need, which I guess in high school wasn't very far.
When a friend suggested a trip to Europe the fall after graduation, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to travel while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do next in life. While I was in Europe and even after I returned home, a conversation I'd had with an Army recruiter in high school kept nagging me. The more I thought about enlisting, the better the idea seemed. I felt almost called to enlist.
In Saddam's neighborhood
By February 2001, I was in basic training at Missouri's Fort Leonard Wood. I've always been athletic. The tests of endurance, thankfully, came easily for me. I was proud and grateful when I received a promotion to Squad Leader and completed my training as a civil engineer. So far this didn't seem like a bad alternative for a recent graduate seeking direction.
When my unit came under attack in Iraq, I suddenly understood the reality of God's protection.
When the 9/11 attacks struck our nation, I stared at the TV, stunned, watching the smoke-filled skies of New York City. I received my deployment orders not long after the tragedy, and by February 2003 I was heading to a part of the world I had barely studied in school.
Once there I lay in a stifling hot tent, wiping sand and sweat off my face and looking at this ugly landscape and wondering how long I'd be here doing busy work before our unit was given more orders. Finally, on July 1, we received the order to pack up and head out. Two days later we arrived in Iraq. The heat there was less intense; the landscape was still sandy but at least broken up with green shrubs. My new home was an abandoned, bombed-out Air Force base just north of Saddam Hussein's hometown of Tikrit.
I soon adapted to my new routine of traveling with my unit to various villages and towns. My job was to survey the area and provide information that would help in the design of base camps.
It was during these trips that I began to have a recurring conversation with God. As the violence escalated, reports would reach us of other convoys meeting opposition. As we traveled back and forth between towns, I kept my New Testament tucked in my pocket and prayers for safety constantly on my lips.
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