The Path

One of the first lessons that really resonated with me as taught by the missionaries was the importance of being clean because the Spirit will not dwell where it is not clean. While this denotes spiritual and moral cleanliness as opposed to simply physical cleanliness, I was enough of a literalist that I always insured that I had washed my hands and was physically clean as well before I picked up my scriptures. I have always treated all books, but particularly my scriptures, with respect – some of my kids would even say that I border on the maniacal about avoiding cracking the spine of the book, or shudder, bending and folding pages around while reading a paperback book. As part of a “front-line” unit with an active mission of patrolling the West German/East German/Czechoslovakian border, service with the Second Armored Cavalry Regiment also presented me with a lot of “field” time in general. Regular rotations to the major training centers in Germany, most notably Grafenwoehr [famous for Rommel’s training the Afrika Korps on these very same tank trails] kept me away from home over 80% of the time. It was nearly like being deployed overseas with an occasional opportunity to check in with my family that just happened to be in country with me. I was on one such training rotation at Grafenwoehr, supporting Level I gunnery for the Cavalry troops, essentially living out on Firing Point 621, tucked away on the Northwest corner of the reservation. As either the Fire Direction Officer or the Officer in Charge of the firing point I was pretty much stuck out there living in the muck of February, for the better part of the entire exercise. After ten days of living out on the range, it was finally my turn to rotate to our Tent City located near main post, and again, I began to think about the significance of being clean if I was serious about reading and studying the Book of Mormon. This thought was absolutely reverberating in my mind as my driver steered our jeep in from the range where I had just spent those ten days without seeing the insides of a shower or a mess Hall. Ten days of bathing and shaving out of my helmet and having hot chow brought out to the firing point in giant metal containers had definitely altered my priorities as we drove on the muddy tank trail heading for what in my mind had taken on the epic proportions of Nirvana. I could already feel the sting of the hot water on my skin, and was breathing in the steam that was going to envelope my body as I treated myself to a much needed extended stay under the shower as well as some real food from the burger bar. At the same time, I realized that in addition to these creature comforts, I was going to be afforded the opportunity to crawl into my sleeping bag on my cot and read select portions of the Book of Mormon and ponder them as I had been challenged to do by the missionaries with whom I had been meeting. While I had endeavored to read my scriptures several times while out on the range, the constant interruptions had made it pretty much an exercise in futility. Therefore, my quandary was whether I should read or shower first. On one hand, I was afraid that by not showering and becoming [physically] clean that the Spirit might not touch my heart as I hoped it would, and on the other, I knew that the only thing keeping me upright after ten hard days in the field with long days and very short nights was the dried sweat and grime of the range; I was afraid that by showering it off that I would be too tired and too relaxed to read and that I would miss out only my opportunity to study. I wrestled with this choice the entire way back to Camp Normandy. Upon arrival there I was still undecided and determined to say a prayer to resolve the question. I had no sooner sat down on my footlocker and cleared my mind, when I received a very distinct and powerful impression, almost a whisper that ran through my heart and mind, that it was important that I shower first, so as to strip away the dirt of the world before I began my study of the Book of Mormon. I quickly gathered up my toiletries and a clean uniform and headed for the concrete shower house about one hundred yards from my tent. As expected, the hot water of the shower was absolutely delightful, and I literally felt the cares of the world being washed away. Ironically, I had the shower to myself, as most of the camp was attending a movie, and I stood there under the water for a long while. I had literally just turned the water off when I heard and felt a large explosive thump that seemed unnaturally close in both severity and volume. Mind you, we would often hear artillery and tank firing going on around the clock, so this was not unusual. I learned how to sleep through it! However, the severity of the impact of this round however made it feel different, and definitely up close and personal. Sensing that something might be amiss, I quickly dried and dressed myself, and headed back outside. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the source of the explosion had been an errant 8” artillery round from an adjacent training area that had completely missed the range impact area and had actually landed in our camp, with my tent near the center of the blast radius! Having already experienced the bunker blast and hand grenade debacles, it was somewhat surreal to walk over to the remains of my tent and to view the damage that the shrapnel from this 240 pound shell containing about 21 pounds of TNT had done to cots, sleeping bags, foot lockers, and the concrete pad on which it all rested. Personnel from Range Control, the post medical detachment, as well as military police all converged on the area because this incident was a big deal, and probably meant that more than one or two heads were going to roll before all was said and done. While we jokingly refer to such incidents as an “oops” the potential for loss of life is great. Over the years I was party to several such incidents in various training areas in the US, fortunately always with the same result and no loss of life. In fact, I have shrapnel sitting on my desk from such an oops…. Miraculously, no one was injured, but there was a lot of personal gear and equipment destroyed by the exploding round, to include my footlocker and everything in it. I literally was left with the clean clothes on my back and the few personal items that I had taken with me to the shower house until I was sent to Quartermaster Sales the next day to have my personal uniforms and equipment replaced courtesy of Uncle Sam. It is the only time in my military career that I did not pay for my personal equipment as is required of commissioned officers. Later that night after all the brass had left the area and my tent mates and I had found ourselves a new tent in which to spend the night, I settled into my sleeping bag on my cot, and began to say my nightly prayers. It was not until that moment that I had the stark realization that had I not heeded and acted upon the impression to take a shower before performing my study and reading, I could very well have been in my tent at the time that it was destroyed. That revelation was enough to release a large dose of adrenaline into my system, and had I not already been lying down, I probably would have had to sit down. All four of my limbs instantly felt as solid as Jell-O and I could feel myself beginning to perspire and my respiration to quicken. It was probably a good 15 to 20 minutes that this condition persisted, and I was able to regain control of my body. As the years have passed and I have shared that story on a limited basis, the reaction to it has largely been the same. Those with faith have been quick to point out that I was blessed because of my desire to be clean before I read from the scriptures.