THE DEATH OF FEAR

(Beginning to learn to be “...thankful for all things...” - Ephesians 5:20)

By Curtis D. Rose

I could never have guessed that some of the deep-rooted fears

that had haunted me in my childhood and

tormented me into my adulthood

would be totally destroyed by

a stray machine-gun slug

crashing

into

my

forehead.

As an only child of a single mom, raised in the stifling atmosphere of an ultra-strict religious movement during the “fifties”, i grew into an angry and rebellious young teen. Shortly after turning seventeen, i joined the army (August 1963), fulfilling one of my childhood dreams. The rigors of basic and advanced training were disciplined enough for me to feel the comfort of a watchful, masculine eye for the first time in my life; and i actually enjoyed the time there. However, after i was shipped to Germany and assigned regular duty, my old restless spirit and dissatisfactions surfaced again. Drunkenness, lack of respect for authority, and my ability to be “Absent With-Out Leave” for weeks at a time gave me a chance to fulfill my other childhood dream. After being AWOL for a month, turning myself in, and then going AWOL again while on house arrest, i was immediately court-martialed, reduced to the lowest pay-grade, and sentenced to four months in a military prison. (i later learned many boys that are cursed with the lack of a good father have an innate longings to be “told what to do”, and for the company for other men; possibilities for which the military and prison provide ample opportunities.)

When i was reassigned to Vietnam as a combat photographer in September of 1966, the rebellious spirit within me was turned up another notch. i started using drugs a day or so after arriving at the reception station in Long Binh. After being assigned to the 69th Signal Battalion at Tan Son Nhut AFB, amphetamines, barbiturates (available without prescription at Vietnamese pharmacies) and marijuana, became part of my daily life. The effects of reading about “hippies” in Life and Look magazines, and the music i was absorbing, rapidly made deep changes in my lifestyle. In a short time, my superiors made an appointment for me with an army psychiatrist. i was only in his office for a few minutes when he cleared me for a mentally unfit discharge. As i was being processed, my platoon sergeant (an even-tempered, generous man) took me aside and said, “Curtis, I hate to see you get a bad discharge. Is there anything we could do to help you get through the rest of your tour here without any further trouble?” i suggested that he send me to our detachment at Cam Rahn Bay, where i had several friends that i’d not seen for awhile.

When i got off the plane in Cam Rahn, i was really stoned. Wandering into the 3rd Corp Air Transport Quonset-hut to ask for directions, i saw on the wall behind the counter a cardboard sign that read “Good Gospel Singing, Pentecostal Services,” stenciled in a circle, with the time and location printed in the center. In that condition, i thought to myself, “Hey! i’ll have to go down there sometime! Maybe i’ll meet somebody that knows my Mom.” Little did i know that GOD would be there waiting for me, and HE was very well acquainted with my Mother, in part due to the years she had spent Praying so seriously for me.

A few weeks later, i took one of our jeeps to the South Beach Chapel, where fifty or more officers and enlisted men sang songs of worship that i remembered from my childhood. One young man from New York City testified about the wonderful changes in his life since he had received the Baptism of the Holy Spirit; (just the week before!) with such a buoyancy and glow that i knew immediately that he had just exactly what I wanted.

i joined a prayer group that met weekly; i began to read a New Testament i got from the Chapel and to memorize favorite Scriptures. i was even baptized in the Name of Jesus in the South China Sea. But, because of childhood hangovers of not understanding God’s grace, i still possessed the fearful feeling of not being one of God’s own. Those old fears rose up with a vengeance, terrifying me with the possibility of being killed while on a mission before i was able to “dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s”, according to the requirements of the brand of Pentecostalism i had grown up in. i was growing more serious about my relationship with God, but the fear of death and missing out on Heaven continued to dwell in my thoughts; after all, i had not yet “worked out” my own salvation. It was like a recurring dream. As far back as grade school, i had been an easy target for bullies. Too frightened to fight back, i just suffered through the humiliation as best i could. When i grew older, the same thing would often happen in a bar or at a party—as though i had a sign hanging over my head that read, “Hey! Beat this guy up!” Now, i was being bullied and beaten up once again, but this time by an invisible (and more powerful) foe.

Sitting in a straight-back chair at a desk in our base photo office, i had just finished a letter to my mom. i tilted the chair back with my fingers laced behind my head to stretch a bit, as i lowered the front legs of the chair to the floor, there was a sound like a truck backfire, something hit me in my head and knocked me out into the middle of the room. Jumping back up, i threw my left hand to my forehead and began to run down the long rectangle of the room i was in, toward the exit nearest our bunker, certain that we were under attack. i had not reached the end of the room when i noticed i was the only one running! i turned around and looked down the room through the doorway near where i had been sitting, into the front office. Several of the guys were sitting in a circle “shooting the breeze” when i noticed one fellow, with whom I had gone to photo school, grinning at me, as if my joke was pretty good, but he was the only one who had gotten it. i remember thinking to myself, “Well, i’ll show you!” i walked to where he sat, took my hand off my forehead. and the blood began to run down my face. The look on his face was well worth the walk to where he was. The smile went away immediately. i sat down on the floor cross-legged, never lost consciousness, but for several minutes my mind was like a broken record. Over and over and over again it repeated, “Thank-You-Jesus!–Thank-You Jesus!-Thank-You-Jesus!”

A short time passed, when the door to our Lieutenant’s office opened and he stepped out to assess the damage. He and a young Second Lieutenant (who had just arrived “in country”) had been examining a “trophy weapon” that had been captured from the Viet Cong. It was a Thompson 45-caliber drum-feed machine-gun (favored by the gangsters in the movies) which had probably been captured from the French years before. My Lieutenant said the “new guy” had placed the weapon on his desk (set on full cock with a round in the chamber) and the jar of touching the desk released a round, piercing through the wall of his office, through the corner of the developing lab and into the room where I was sitting. Traveling on a slight incline, it ricocheted off the Masonite ceiling, then slamming into my forehead.

We all knew that if I was taken to the base hospital to be checked out for an injury caused by a bullet, there would have to be an investigation, due the base commanders policy of no one “ever” having a loaded weapon. So, after the bleeding stopped, I was driven to our tent and given the remainder of the day off. I didn’t even suffer a headache. Since it was so hot, I walked back to the office and spent the rest of the day there, never again fearing an accident, death, or injury. I was firmly convinced that if God wanted to take care of me, He was perfectly capable of doing so; there was no reason for me to worry any longer.

In the years that followed, I often pondered about my mind’s immediate response to the sudden accident. I believe it was God’s Spirit within me that prompted my brain to utter the words of thankfulness. Now, as I look back over the years and into my Christian infancy, I can see this was the first step in my journey toward beginning to learn about “Giving thanks always for all things . . .” (Ephesians 5:20); “In everything give thanks...” (I Thessalonians 5:18); and, “. . . all things work together for good . . .” (Romans 8:28). No matter how difficult or painful circumstances seem to be at the moment, if we are honest in our attempt to live a life pleasing to God, maintaining a thankful spirit for God’s mercy (which endures forever), will always be a giant step in the right direction (His direction).