Today is Sunday the 4^th of Oct. 16 years ago the 4^th of October fell on a Monday.  I remember it as if it were yesterday.  At about the same time you were coming home from church today, I was  stepping off a Blackhawk helicopter as we landed back at base after 18 hours of hell.

    So many were wounded. Too many were dead. And those of us who were fortunate to make it back in one piece would forever carry the scars of that battle. We had gone in the day before as a highly trained, highly motivated fighting force.  We came out the next morning on the 4^th as combat veterans.

   All in all Task Force Ranger would loose 18 men. Our ranger company lost 6. The delta squadron lost 6. The night stalkers lost 6 in the crashes.  A sobering lesson of the team concept. All players are of equal importance because every element is dependent on the other. Of the 150 or so of us in TFR, 78 were wounded. Somali casualties were listed well over a thousand. 

   I should also point out that the 10^th mountain division of the QRF also lost a man. They are seldom mentioned when it comes to the story of Blackhawk Down. But they should know everyone of us were thankful they came. We could not have gotten our wounded comrades back with out their help. 

    For those of us who make it out something like that where others did not, you will spend the rest of your life followed by a strange sense of guilt. We all asked the question, “Why me?”  “Why God did You let me walk away when men who were three times the soldier that I was did not? Men who deserved to live. Men who should have lived. Men who had families, children and wives.  Why was I one of the chosen ones? Why me? What am I supposed to do with this?

   You can do one of two things with the guilt. You can get angry and let the unfairness of it all bury you.  Or you can choose to let it motivate you. See it for what it is. Its more than an opportunity or some devine “second chance”.  See it as a responsibility, a duty, and a commitment to those who got you out of there, to carry on and live a happy life filled with purpose, direction and motivation.

   Years later, even after the noise of slamming doors no longer made me duck for cover, and the mere site of Old Glory no longer made me cry, I was still feeling the effects of combat. I was still fighting the battle of Mogadishu only now I was years away safely at home in the middle of a good life.  Guilt would continue to haunt me.  Sure I followed my dreams of music. The intestinal fortitude instilled in me as a ranger would not allow otherwise.  Outwardly, Keni was a positive, motivated, dreamer out there doing what he loved to do. Good for him. Way to go Keni!  

   But down inside I could never fully commit to ejoying the life I had. In fact, I could never fully commit to anything. Why, it just didn’t seem “hard” enough. Somewhere deep inside, I felt I shouldn’t really be allowed to be happy. It should be enough that I was here when others were not.  It affected everything. My sense of self worth, my relationships. The moment I felt the good life closing in, that voice of guilt inside me began to whisper. 

   "You know, you’re not allowed to be happy. Think about Casey’s wife. Think about Pilla’s parents.  How do you think they feel”

   And so the enemy with in me would covertly sabotage whatever good God had sent my way. I became a master of disguise, camouflaging my emotions. On the outside I appeared passionate and full of fire declaring “I love my Life. I love you!”  Because that’s what I knew I was supposed to be. In reality, I was shutting down my feelings because somewhere between the streets of Mogadishu, the hospitals of recovering friends, and the tombstones at Arlington, I convinced myself I didn’t deserve to be here.

   It takes one to know one and it was a vitenam veteran, a friend of my father, who wrote to me after yet another painful break-up that I had somehow managed to manufacture.  And without talking to me or knowing me all that well he pinpointed the problem with the accuracy of a laser guided missle.

“You know Keni, you are allowed to be happy”, he said. “In fact, you owe it to those guys who got you out of there”

Yeah Yeah tell me something I didn’t know.

But it was this next line I remember most of all that planted the seed of change in my restless and guilt-ridden heart.

If any one of your friends could come back from the dead and talk to you today, do you really think they would tell you that you were supposed to feel guilty? 

 

  I’m not saying the change was an immediate metamorphose, as if God himself had spoken the words and then SHAZAM I was struck by a bolt of lightning. But the seed was planted and I knew that combat veteran of vietnam was right. I’d grown accustomed to the numbness and comfortable with in the walls I had erected around my heart. It is exactly those walls we build to protect us that ultimately will imprison us. This guilt I drug around with me like a ball and chain was self-imposed. I had the key all along. God had indeed spoken to me. It was time to start breaking free of Somalia and begin running out of that city for good.

   For the thousands of you who share the title of “combat veteran” I thank you for your service and sympathize with your loss. Do not let the guilt of your survival become your ghost. God brought you this far for a reason. Enjoy your life. Live it with a passion. Make a difference. And never miss an opportunity to tell the story of those around you on that day. You know the day. It will forever be engraved in your memory as if it were yesterday.

   To the men of TFR, I thank you for bringing me home. I am forever indebted. Today is a good day to be us and a great day to be alive. 

     we few, we happy few, we band of brothers.

ps. if you would, we sure could use your help breaking into the TOP 20 w our new video on GAC. Its completely up to you guys voting everyday. So thank you for being part of our team. We can not do it with out you.

GAC Top 20

Fans and friends can preview the "Gunslinger" video right here before it airs nationally on Great American Country Monday, 9/7! Produced and directed by the brilliant Glenn Sweitzer, the video was shot at Resistol Areno in Mesquite, Texas and features several well known NFR Championship Ropers (including Britt Bockius),and  an award-winning Barrel Racer (Brittany Truman). Jen Nix (former Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader) also makes a cameo appearance.

Click on the profile banner for a sneak peek!

Voting for the new video begins next week!! Whoohoo! Here we go!

At 14,410 feet, Mt Ranier in Washington State is the highest mountain in the continental United States. It is actually an active volcano covered by the largest glaciers south of Alaska. According to the National Park Service, mountain climbing on Mt Ranier is very difficult requiring a knowledge of self rescue, glacier and wilderness travel. About 8,000 to 13,000 people attempt the climb each year. Only half of those are successful in reaching the top.

   I made the climb again this year with four of our veterans and a handful of exceptional volunteers from Camp Patriot which is a charity program that takes our wounded vets on outdoor adventure excursions like hunting, rafting, biking, and climbing. “Giving back to those who gave” is the Camp Patriot motto.  But once again I found in my effort to give back I was indeed the greatest recipient. Give and you shall receive. (read Acts 20:35)

   Ryan was a Navy Seal deployed to Iraq, where he lost his eyesight to a 7.62mm round when he was shot in the head. Two years later, He climbed Mt Ranier blind.

   Rey graduated from West Point in 07 as a promising young officer in the Army.  A few months later he was paralyzed from the neck down when he fell from an obstacle in Ranger school.  Living his life as quadriplegic wasn’t working for Rey. So he taught himself to walk and 18 months later was climbing Mt Ranier.

   Mario is a special forces soldier with a big smile and a happy attitude. Looking at him, you would never know that two years ago he lost most of his lower face when a roadside bomb exploded underneath his vehicle.  At first, even his 5 year-old son didn’t recognize him. The Army told him he would have to be released from duty for medical reasons. But getting out was not an option for Mario. 19 surgeries later, and with a whole lot of intestinal fortitude, Mario is back with his SF unit. He took some leave to climb to the top of Mt Ranier. His little boy had asked to come with. “I want to climb with you Dad”. But this was a trip Mario needed to make on his own.

   While on patrol in Afghanistan with the 75^th Ranger Regiment, Jesse was hit 4 times in the side of his chest. His buddy in front of him was killed. He woke up in a hospital with shrapnel lodged in his heart.  The doctors said his days with the Rangers were over. At best, he might stay in the Army but he would have to take a non-strenuous job behind a desk somewhere.  This simply would not do for a ranger who planned on staying just that. He found a doctor that would do the risky surgery and set his mind to healing and recovering fully. Today Jesse still serves in the Ranger regiment and less than 2 years after being shot in the heart, made it to the top of the highest volcano in America.

   Getting to the top of Ranier and back down takes about 3 days. It is a grueling climb that takes you over rock faces, across glaciers, and up steep inclines that can only be tackled one step at a time. Physically it is exhausting. The first day is spent getting to base camp at 10,000 feet vertical. The second day is spent acclimating to the altitude and learning important life-saving techniques like how to save yourself and your buddies from sliding off the glacier into a crevasse.  Weather, snow and ice conditions can change rapidly especially as the sun heats up the glacier. Being prepared is the difference between enjoying a life long rewarding experience and tragedy. 

  At about 11:30 pm that night you gear up, tie into each other and step off to attempt the last 4000 feet to the summit.  The higher you go, the harder it gets because the cold and the altitude slowly take their toll. Each breath begins to feel like an elephant is sitting on your chest.  Each step becomes a labored movement. Step. Breath. Step. Breath. Breath some more. Step again. This goes on all night and into the morning until finally you see the sun come up below you.  By then you are physically drained. But where the body gives up, your mind will take over. The last 1000 vertical feet to the top are achieved only by sheer will power. The squeeze however, is definitely worth the juice.

   From the top of Ranier, standing at the edge of the crater looking south, you are above the clouds and can see all the other “fire mountains” poking through the sea of white. Mt Adams is closest. To the right looms the infamous St Helens with her side blown out from the eruption back in the 80s. And if you look far off into Oregon you can see Mt Hood outside of Portland. It is a stunning and absolutely life lasting memory that fills you with pride and accomplishment.

   I learned a great lesson that day in the strength of the mind to overcome physical obstacles. Not from my own accord but in the examples set by Ryan, Rey, Mario and Jesse. You’ve all heard coaches talk about their favorite player. He’s the one who may be lacking in God given physical skills but makes up for it with an overabundance of determination and drive.  They say “that kid has heart!” A person with heart doesn’t know what they can NOT do.  They only know what they CAN do. Why do coaches love these players so much? Because heart is infectious that’s why. The team takes notice of the example set by the overachievement of the underdog. They are inspired to work harder, to push beyond their limits, and to accomplish the task at hand though it may seem unreachable. Heart builds character. And character is the foundation of champions, heroes and saints.

   I have come up with a new mathematical equation that I think should be taught in school. Mind over matter + heart = Victory. Try it. It works! Next time you find yourself at the end of your rope, tie a knot, hang on and pull yourself up. You have more in you than you think you do. If you need motivation and inspiration then try looking to the underdog with heart. Ryan, Rey, Mario and Jesse are on your team working hard for you. Theirs is an example worth following. They do not know what can not be done. They only know what must be done.

   Getting where you want to be will not be easy. It will require everything you have in you and then some. It’s going to hurt. It will be exhausting. It will push you beyond where you are comfortable being pushed. But get there you will, one step at a time, the miles will unfold. Through the darkness you will stumble. Through the cold you may shiver. But the sunrise awaits illuminating where it is you want to be. And it is that last little push, that last 1000 vertical feet that requires all we have left even when we are sure we have nothing left.  Your body will scream in defiance. But your mind will stay strong. Your heart will kick in.  And you will stand high above the clouds where only the eagles dare to fly.

Where Eagles Dare to Fly

F15 Eagles do a fly over for Camp Patriot

From atop Ranier you can see Mt Adam, Mt Hood. See More pics in my albums

Get out there and live! “Wake up Wake up! Open your present!” 

I landed at Reagan Airport in DC and was met by a smiling USO rep in a big black car. She was taking me to Walter Reed medical center to visit some troops.  During the ride up to Maryland, we talked about the weather and the usual pleasantries of light conversation.  A half hour later i was standing in a hospital room talking with a kid who had lost both of his legs on a Bagdad highway less than 30 days ago.  How quickly things can change. 

Suddenly that morning's cancelled flight, my bass player leaving for another tour and  a girlfriend who was no longer a girlfriend seemed like problems that were ridiculously superficial.  If you are in need of perspective, go visit a military hospital.

 I visited from room to room trying to keep a good game face on. My job was really just to get them talking and to sit there and listen. Their stories are heartbreaking yet inspiring. Tragic yet somehow incredibly motivating.                                   "Show me a hero and I shall write you a tragedy"

 Most recalled the day with indifferent detail. it seemed as if they were simply on autopilot recounting and trying to figure it all out as they talked through the events.

 "I was in the gun-turret when the blast hit us. My driver got hit pretty bad. At first i couldn't really feel anything. After I pulled him out, I realized my legs were pretty much screwed..."

 On and on they would go. From the moment they got hit to the moment they passed out. Some remember waking up in Germany where the first major surgeries are usually done. Some never came to until they were back here at Walter Reed missing limbs their body still denies are gone. Each person had their own tale to tell, but every story ended exactly the same.  

 "i just want to get back to my unit"

 After all they had gone through. After all they had endured. After all they have sacrificed, all they wanted to do was to go back. 

The bond you forge with your brothers in arms is stronger even than family. As part of that brotherhood, you find your purpose and your calling. In them you know who you are. To them you meant something. You were counted on. With them you were somebody who made a difference. 


I know what he was thinking. Who would look after his buddies now? Who will look after me? 

Shoulder to shoulder, manning his post is the only place that makes sense to a warrior. And make no mistake. Thats exactly what these young men and women are. Warriors. Thank God.

 Where would we be without those very same boys and girls whom we have trained and sent to do the dirty work of the real world? War is a terrible and unfortunate reality, but it is as much a part of mankind as fire and rain. Both can be beneficial. Both can be ultimately destructive. 

 The point is, without warriors willing to stand up and be sent, the world would be ruled by the wicked and ill-intended. We were born into a world at war. Before any of us even set a living breath on this planet, there was good and there was evil. Both are fighting for your very soul.  The fight has always been there. 

 But somewhere along the line of raising a boy into a man, the obscurity of moral correctness gradually concocts itself into a confusing cloud of ambiguity.  Society, school, church, friends, the opinions of scholars or your mother divorced from a combat veteran who chose duty over family, begin to re-mold your conscience, which tells you wanting to go fight is wrong. It’s a bad thing and you are screwed up for wanting to do so. 

 As a soldier, you ignore those “voices of morality”. You learn to embrace the role of the warrior and its social outcast image. So you speak with comical rhetoric using tough guy one-liners to reinforce the triviality of death—“Kill something everyday no matter how small, just to stay proficient” or one of my favorites, “You can run, but you’ll only die tired.” They name themselves “devil dogs” and “nightstalkers.” “Hunter/killer teams” always sounded better to me than “reconnaissance.” 

 From day one of basic training, the soldier sings “Hooah, hooah!” and callous cadences about the honorable destruction of the enemy. Call him “the enemy” and he’s no longer human. Say it enough and you’ll begin to believe it. You have to desensitize yourself because if you don’t, your conscience will tear you apart and you’ll become combat ineffective. You will be incapable of doing whatever needs to be done at the time it needs doing.

 So the warrior must hide the good boy that society expects of him and become the hard man the nation needs him to be—a highly trained, highly motivated, and highly effective killer of men. A hospital bed in Walter Reed is no place for the warrior. Staring down at what used to be a leg or an arm is no reality that any human wants to face. That’s why in their mind the only reality that makes any sense, is getting back to their unit.

 I shook their hands. Took a picture. Left them with some music and did my best not to cry. I told them what I knew they would eventually learn on their own and hopefully come to accept. The body is an incredible machine and will heal in time. The heart and mind take a whole lot longer. 

 I told them with the hope of sounding optimistic, "Your calling now my friend, is no longer on the field of battle. God has other plans for you.  You will have to make an impact on this earth without an M4 rifle in your hands.  Make no mistake, you WILL make an impact.  But It's entirely up to you to choose how you will do that.  And if you need help, all you have to do is ask. You'll be surprised how quickly He will answer"

 I left that hospital a little wiser in perspective and a whole lot more grateful for life.

 For the rest of us walking around on both legs, playing guitar with both hands, and  going to work without wearing body armor, I would ask that we remember to count our blessings in the face of our day to day trials. 

 There are going to be times when life will hit you hard with its own roadside bomb. And just like that everything will change. You too may find yourself asking, What is my purpose? What is my cause? How will I matter?  

One way or another, you WILL make a difference. But what kind of difference will it be?  How you choose to impact the world around you is entirely up to you to decide. Should you ever need help figuring it out, all you have to do is ask. You'll be surprised how quickly He will answer.

 God bless the troops and families of our military for all they are asked to endure on our behalf. May God bless you in all you do. Stay strong. Stay motivated.

 

Keni Ish 6 8

here am I Lord, send me

Our good friend Lily at Monmouth college teamed up with the USO to put on a benefit concert "Rawk Out for the Troops" at Mcguire Air Force Base, and FT Dix just outside of Philadelphia.  5 bands, free to the public.  It was Easter weekend.  Good news is Jesus was resurrected.  Bad news is everyone in my band had to play in church  because of it. I was gonna have to do this one solo.

Gotta tell you I wasn't really looking fwd to being in the north by myself on Easter.  But I always try and go when Lily asks, because her heart is in the right place. So few college folks nowadays take the time to acknowledge the military much less organize a free show for them. So armed with my Epiphone guitar, I boarded a Southwest flight to philly and a few hours later was standing on a stage plugging in to play.  For 8 people.

Apparently the group of soldiers that were supposed to come hadn"t yet been released in time to make it to the show. I kept telling Lily not to worry. "All you can do is the best you can do" to put on a quality event. The rest was out of her hands. "Rest assured",i said " Everyone that is supposed to be here, will be here". At least thats what I was trying to convince myself.

Kinda hard to get motivated for 8 people. I told mysef, "Ok Lets just get through this. I'll sing my songs and tell my stories and  hopefully someone will get something out of it."  Well, that someone ended up being me. Turns out, I was the one who was supposed to be there. What i sang was not important. Who I met was.

Aoioa is 4 yrs-old.  He has a mohawk and a plastic gibson guitar he slings across his body like a mini rawk star. He stood right there in front of the stage, in his rocker power stance, playing his heart out. I've been playing on stages all my life. I've never seen anything so pure at a show, ever. He didn't care that he'd never heard the bands before. He didn't care if their song was on a chart somewhere. He didn't care if Simon, Randy and Paula would have hated us all. You would have thought Bruce Springsteen himself was up there rawking the Jersey shore.  This kid had come for the music. He was armed and dangerous and eager to play. You should have seen him jump around when one of the acts started playing Sweet Home Alabama.  Obviously he knew that one well. I could tell by the arm-cartwheels he was throwing on his little virtual les paul.

After the show i shook all 8 hands and I asked Aoioa if i could get my picture made with him. This time I was the fan.  He told me he liked my song Gunslinger. Which is great because kids don't lie when it comes to songs. You want to know your next hit? Ask a kid. I'm fortunate to have met Aoioa. Because just when i was starting to think i should have stayed in Nashville for Easter, along comes a 4 year old guitar hero who saves me. He reminded me what playing music is supposed to be all about. For the love of it.

So i say my goodnights and head back to the hotel room. Its late. I'd been going since 5 am. I was tired. The lady from the USO informs me  she"ll be by to get me at 630am.  What?  My flight isn't until 12. Why so early?  Well she explains, every sunday morning at Mcguire Air Force Base a plane lands with a load of folks coming back from iraq. And every sunday morning at McGuire AFB a group of volunteers from the USO and the local vietnam veterans association show up to welcome these troops home and make them breakfast.

I've been up early for plenty of easter morning services.  But I've never gotten up to serve breakfast to 200 soldiers.  I wasn't sure I really wanted to do that. i was thinking, Id rather sleep in a little and then maybe walk over to the curch service at the chapel across from my room.But then i thought,  its for troops. Maybe I can give some of those folks an encouraging word. So I told the USO lady I would be there to help and would see her at 630am.  And once again, I had it backwards. For i learned it was me who would be the benificiary.

 Some were returning from a year's deployment.  Some were coming back on leave. Some were on their way out of the military.  All were glad to be on american soil. They were almost home. A couple of the folks came up to me and said they had seen us in concert over there during christmas.  Man, that seemed forever ago.  They were just now getting home. How about a strong dose of perspective with my breakfast? Little things excited them, things i take for granted like real milk and duncan donuts.  It was good to see soldiers smiling. As they came through the line, they would tell us with the utmost sincerity "thank you so much for being here" which felt rediculously backwards. One of the USO volunteers "Doc" got up to give his thank you speech. He could barely get through it because he got all choked up. He was so proud of these young men and women. In fact, Im getting choked up trying to write this.  The emotions in that little building were huge for all parties involved. Pride, Gratitude, and patriotism were way stronger even than the coffee.

As I boarded my plane out of Philladelphia the city where liberty began, I thought about how blessed I was on that Easter morning. I had come with less than a positive attitude. But a 4 yr old kid with a plastic guitar reminded me of what it is I love to do and thus why I do it. I may have missed church in Nashville. But I am grateful for the chance to have spent my easter service serving those heroes in serivce to our nation.

Maybe you want to show your gratitude to our military but you don't know how. Its easy really. Next time you see someone wearing the uniform at the ariport or downtown, just tell them "hey thanks for your service."  That's all you have to say.   You'll be surprised at what You get out of it.  And if you have any guitar heros in your household, let em play. Someday when they're ready, get them a real guitar. We're gonna need their music one of these days.

Stay strong. Stay motivated. May God bless you all.

Keni
ish 6 8

You ever felt your self being guided somewhere, and though you're not quite sure where, you know you're being steered? Certain events begin to line up. Road signs begin to point the way. And soon you realize you have veered off of what you once believed was the only way. Maybe you thought to yourself, "I know where I want to be. And I'm pretty sure I know the way to get there because this is the way everyone else goes"

Then one day, many years down the road, you take a good look around and realize you are no longer on the same highway you had originally set out upon. You are still heading in the right direction, but the road is now unfamiliar. You look across the valley and running parallel to you in the distance, is the highway that you were on and everyone else is still on. But for some reason, instead of heading back to where you came from, you just keep on motoring along smooth and steady. It's almost like you were on autopilot. "Man, you ask yourself, How did I get here?" So it seems, I have found myself traveling a course I did not for-see. Somehow I let my self be directed off the highway and onto the back way.

Now anyone who's ever driven in the country will know the speed limit can seem excruciatingly slow at times. So if you're in a hurry it's gonna make you anxious. But remember, smooth and steady wins the race. You may point out , " yeah but, what if you break down out there? What if you run out of gas? Those back roads can get pretty dark at night. What if.. what if...what if?" But I'm not really worried. I know I'm heading in the right direction because I always carry a compass. Might take me a little longer to get where I want to be, but I'll get there. Of this I am sure. And in the event I should run into some trouble, again I'm not too worried. I have a good friend riding along shotgun with me. And He's pretty much a bad ass. So today I'm feeling confident on this road less traveled.

Stay strong. Stay confident

Keni

Shotgun Jesus, Right by my side.
Shotgun Jesus, got my Lord along for the ride
when the enemy surrounds me, and creeps up in the night,
I will not be afraid. I'm locked and loaded for that fight.

Four years. That's how long Kenneth Preston has been the 13th Sgt Major of our Army. He thinks 13 may indeed be an unlucky number since he's been the SMA longer than any other in the history of our modern military. It's usually a three-year position. But "the boss" asked him to stay on a little longer. "How do you feel about that?" I asked. "Well I'm certainly not going to say no. As long as they need me I'll stay". He was due to retire last year. Looks like retirement will have to wait. "The boss" still needs him for at least another year. That's good news for me, because as long Kenneth Preston stays the 13th Sgt Major of the Army, he'll keep bringing us over on a USO tour for the holidays. It is without a doubt, the best show we get to do all year.

Scott is an F15 fighter pilot who barely fits in the cockpit. He's about 6ft 2", built like an athlete, and graduated from the Airforce Academy in 04. This is his third rotation to Afghanistan with the 391st Bold Tigers out of Mountain Home Air Force Base Idaho. As he shows me around the driver's seat of his aircraft, it becomes apparent Scott loves his job. Here are the bomb controls. Here's the gun. Here's the missile arming switch. It's an incredible machine. It can launch off the runway straight up at a dead vertical climb. The plane can even fly itself in the dark to give the pilot free hands to load target coordinates and execute mission parameters. Cool job. But as much as the young captain loves what he does, you can tell there's something he loves even more.

Scott has a one-year-old son at home who is changing daily. "My boy started walking and I wasn't there to see it. I'll never get that back. My wife sends video so I get that at least, but it's not the same". "How do you feel about that?" I asked. "It's hard. But as long as there's guys on the ground, I feel like I should be here to support them" So he stays in. He comes back. His wife keeps supporting him, makes ends meet and his kid keeps growing up without him. It's not an easy topic. His eyes are sad when he talks of home. But his tone is proud when he describes his job and the mission of the Bold Tigers. Down inside I hope Scott knows, the support he and his squadron provide to the ground forces is saving lives. And those are the lives of people who have children of their own waiting at home.

The last time I saw SSG Wilson, he was being loaded into a Blackhawk helicopter with a gunshot wound to his leg. He had been hit out in the streets of Mogadishu. I remember watching the bird lift off and carry him away. His BDUs were torn and bloodied. His leg looked like a car wreck. He spent most of the next year healing and rehabilitating. I moved on to another unit and never saw him again.

15 years later I stepped off a Blackhawk helicopter at camp Normandy, a small fwd operating base somewhere in Northern Iraq, and there was Sgt MAJOR Wilson still wearing the uniform, still smiling. And that's just how I always remembered him. He was one of those positive forces in my military past that you forgot how much you liked being around, until you were around him. I was so proud to see how far he had come in his career. I was so proud to see he stills wears the 3rd Ranger Battalion scroll as his combat patch. He could have chosen to wear the insignia of any number of units he has served with since. But he chose us. To know I have served with men of such character, who think so highly of our band of brothers, is indeed an honor.

We only had an hour at Normandy and troops we're already gathering around the common area when we got there. It was a tiny little stage with one microphone, a pair of radio shack speakers and a borrowed guitar. But that's all we needed. Louis CK told some jokes. Everyone laughed. Kevin, Jason, Lindy and I sang a couple songs. Everyone cheered. You would have thought we were on the grand ole opry. We shook hands, signed some autographs, took pictures and cursed not having enough time to spend with these folks. There never is. As they shuttled us off to the helicopters waiting on the pad, my buddy Wilson hugged me one last time. "I'm so proud of you Keni. Thank you for doing this. It means so much to the us. Keep up the good fight" And there it was again. They're thanking me? Sure seems backwards. I love what I get to do. Truly. It's a blessing God lets me keep doing this for a living. "No need to thank me buddy. I love what I do. This is a privilege" "Exactly" he said with a smile. "I feel the same way"

Seems for the two of us at least, our farewells and salutations seem to revolve around the Blackhawk UH60 helicopter. As the bird lifted off, this time it was my friend Sgt Maj Wilson on the ground, waving good-bye. Still wearing the uniform. Still smiling.

In my four years of going over to the Middle East on Sgt Maj Preston's USO tour, I have seen many changes. The efforts in Iraq have definitely shifted from direct combat, to a nation-rebuilding mission. Iraqi troops and the US military now patrol together. In some parts of the country body armor is no longer an essential. Hospitals are for the most part empty of our military and instead have become health care havens for the locals.

Afghanistan on the other hand, has picked up its combat operations. FOBs up near the Pakistani border send out patrols daily. Firefights are still highly probable and likely. F15s are in the sky 24-7 just in case ground troops need support. The ops tempo has stepped up. And yet, the beds at the Bagram hospital are empty. The waiting room is filled, but not with our military. We open our doors to the afghani people who have come to trust our military as a force that is there to help.

There are many miles to go in Afghanistan and Iraq. But progress is obvious. Morale is good. Troops have come to understand that this is the way it's going to be for a while. Most of the veterans have deployed at least 3 times. So they have come to peace with the fact, that there is a job to do and a war to fight. Just like you would, they miss their families. They miss their kids who are growing up without them. They worry about the economy here at home. They think about the options of getting out and living a "normal" life. I'm certain they would rather not have to make a 4th and 5th deployment. But we the American people are "the boss". As long as we keep asking them to be there, they will go. It's called a sense of duty. Its called integrity, honor and selfless service.

There is a job to be done and I am grateful to have someone who would volunteer to go in my stead. I don't carry an M4 anymore. I carry a guitar. Both have a working end. Both can make an impact. So as long as SMA Preston keeps inviting us, as long as Scott and his squadron have a mission to fly, as long as my friends are somewhere out there on a FOB waiting to greet me with a smile, I will keep going. Again and again. Until everyone comes home.


I heard the voice of the Lord saying who will go for us, and whom shall I send? And I answered, "here am I Lord, send me" Isaiah 6:8