Techy? Sometimes. Funny? Often. Relevant? Always.

Every now and then, we get caught off guard by inexplicable emotions. A deep feeling that is much more than joy or sadness — it’s a bit of each, actually. A feeling that has a sense of urgency, though you feel no rush. A feeling of restlessness and longing, but also a sense of peace, too. This is the feeling that’s been sitting deep within me for the past several days — because my hero is leaving.

My hero is the bravest man I know. He’s funny, charismatic, and has a million-dollar smile. Every time you say good-bye after having spent time with him, you’re a better person than when you came. Nobody loves their wife or children more than him. He’s moral, full of integrity, and and just plain all-around-cool. The true irony of Cpt. Tim Crawley, Battalion Chaplain in the US Army, is this: he’s not allowed to carry a weapon, but his hands are registered as weapons … yeah, he’s a third degree black belt. And that’s just the beginning.

I met Tim four years ago. He and his family joined our church up in Parkersburg, WV. He had recently transitioned from being a youth pastor at a nearby church to being a “counselor” at Pressley Ridge … a “last chance” place for kids on their way to jail. That job wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was for people like Tim. While others complained of the low pay and disrespectful and sometimes dangerous kids, Tim saw it as an opportunity to pour his life into needy teens. But then, something totally unexpected happened…

Tim became burdened for a different area entirely: The US Military. Tim believed the Lord wanted him to become a chaplain. There was one problem: To be a chaplain in the US Armed Forces, you have to hold a MDiv. At the time, Tim only had an MA in Counseling. There were no seminaries where we lived in West Virginia, so Tim made a difficult choice — he left his family in WV and went to Iowa for a year. There he worked full-time, lived off a diet made up almost entirely of oatmeal (to send as much money back home as possible), and worked his way through as a full-time student. He took as many classes in one year as most students who work part-time take in two years. Tim told me he prayed through his classes. Well, God blessed — he graduated at the top of his class.

I remember Kim and I helping his wife, Tahsha, take care of things around the house from time to time while he was away. They had three children, two of which Tahsha was homeschooling. You know what — maybe she was the braver one!

After Tim graduated, he went almost right into boot camp. While he was away, Tahsha gave birth to child #4, their first son. (I remember him driving at the speed of light across four states to get there in time for the birth. He arrived less than an hour late.) He got a break that summer of graduation — while every other chaplain who graduated with him went almost immediately overseas, Tim was placed with an Apache battalion whose choppers were getting retro-fitted for Iraq. That’s given Tim a little over a year extra now to spend with his family.

During that time, Tim’s had to deliver letters to family members telling them their loved ones died in combat. He’s had to counsel soldiers who’ve stared death in the face. He told me of a time when a US Army Ranger rescued a 3-year old boy from attacking dogs. The boy didn’t make it. He died on the way to the hospital. Tim was the only chaplain on base. He sat with the Ranger for an hour. The only thing the Ranger could say was, “All I know how to do is kill. I don’t know how to save a life.” What would you have told that man?” Tim knows, and that’s why he’s now going into Ranger school.

But that won’t happen for 18 months … Tim and his battalion are heading to Iraq on Wednesday. Our soldiers can sometime become a statistic to us until it’s someone we truly love. Then it’s much more real. I don’t want to see his family split up again — I want to feel sorry for him; but he won’t let me. “It’s like a candy store!” he told me once. All Tim sees is the opportunity to encourage, strengthen and disciple our brave men and women in combat. He never sees the glass half-empty … even when there are times when only a few drops are left in the glass.

I’ve wondered what I could give the bravest man I know. If he were here, I’d give him a bear hug and wouldn’t let go until his superior officers dragged him away. I’d tell him I love him and that I’ll be praying for him … that he comes home to his precious family soon and safe. I’d give him the whole world if I could, but alas, it’s not mine to give. So what can I give him to wish him Godspeed, and to let him know that though he’s thousands of miles away that we’ll never forget him? What can I give him? Wait, I know …

… this.