We flew out of Saigon, Vietnam, to Bangkok, Thailand. Nothing unusual was going on in Saigon, but when we arrived in Bangkok, the airport was full of armed Thai soldiers. That’s when we learned the much-anticipated war on Saddam Hussein and his Revolutionary Guard in Kuwait had begun.

It wasn’t a total shock — the buildup had been going on for months, with half a million U.S. troops deployed. When I got back to Iowa, that’s when it started. Protesters across the country began the “No blood for oil” chanting. Outside the State Capitol building in Des Moines, protesters, mostly students, wrapped themselves in black garbage bags, signifying the body bags everyone expected to be coming back home.

As a Vietnam combat veteran, my heart was heavy. Here we go again. All of the “Yellow Ribbons” and “Support Our Troops” signs were quickly forgotten, and insanity began to overwhelm reason. I prayed, “Lord, not again!” I didn’t want our warriors to endure what Vietnam veterans did.

Several weeks later, I was at a small gun shop in the “booming metropolis” of Huxley, Iowa. Even with a map (remember those?), it was hard to find. The store had not opened yet, and I noticed an event taking place in the town square. I walked over to where a dedication ceremony was taking place, with several veterans groups participating.

I noticed a family standing nearby, so I asked what was going on. A woman turned and said, “We’re dedicating this sign that has all the names of service members from our region who are deployed in Operation Desert Storm.” I said, “That’s great!” She then stated, “My son is there with the 101st Airborne Division.” I responded that they were a great unit and were deployed in Vietnam.

As I started to leave, I felt impressed to ask: “What is your son’s name? I want to pray for him until the Lord brings him safely home.” She gave me his name and introduced me to his wife, who was standing next to her, holding a small baby. I left and prayed for her son, Jarrod Vreeze, every day. The war was over, and I kept checking the news. Fortunately, Jarrod’s name never came up as a casualty.

Some weeks later, I was returning from speaking in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Landing at Chicago’s O'Hare Airport, I went to my gate and was told it was a very light flight to Des Moines. I boarded, laid my briefcase on my aisle seat, and went to the bathroom. When I came back, a man and a woman with a baby were seated in my row. I buckled in and told the husband I would move after takeoff.

He looked to be in the military, suntanned and very fit. He said he served in the 101st Airborne. I asked if he was returning from the Gulf War, and he said he was. I gave my normal response: “Welcome home! We prayed for all of you every day!” He thanked me, and we were both quiet.

As the plane rose, I asked if he lived in Des Moines. He said he lived north of Des Moines in Huxley. I got this feeling that this was a divine appointment. “What’s your first name?” I asked. “Jarrod,” he replied. “Vreeze,” I shot back. His eyes widened, and he asked, “How did you know?” I said, “Because I’ve been praying for you for several months now.” That’s when his wife said, “I thought you looked familiar!”

The Lord knew my burden for the men and women in the Gulf War. They were our sons and daughters. To show how much He cared, He put me right next to a fellow warrior to let Jarrod know God cared about him. Several days later, Jarrod’s mother called and asked, “God put you next to my son, didn’t He?” I replied, “Yes, ma'am, He did.” Jarrod had drifted away from God before joining the Army but sensed His protection over him during the war. Now, he knew God cared about him.

Maybe you’re looking around our nation right now and asking, “God, do You even care?” He is still on the throne! The Lord knows who you are, where you are, and what you need — and He will move in His perfect timing.

Something to pray about!
Semper Fidelis