Path of the Warrior: Spiritual Lessons from the Frontlines

By Nathan Justice

Follow a Canadian soldier through two tough tours in Afghanistan; in a story of adventure of hope. After losing two friends in southern Afghanistan, Cpl Nathan Justice became a Christian. God then called him back to the front lines with a deeper mission; to learn the Path of the Warrior. We are all called to be a warrior, though few of us see ourselves as one. "This is a world where to chose the side of good . . . brings you into conflict with evil," says Justice. The Path of the Warrior reveals how God finds us, redeems us, and then sends us back into the battle for the sake of others. Join Justice, as he and his platoon learn spiritual lessons deep in the warzone of Southern Afghanistan. An inspiring story of brotherhood, hope, and hardship and how God shines His light through them all. Join the adventure and learn to walk the Path of the Warrior.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Word Alive Press
• Release date: Jan 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781770690721

Book preview

Warrior

Introduction

Rollover

MARCH 3, 2006

21 Charlie, we’re good in the back… Tim, Paul, let’s have a good one, guys. That is what I said over the radio in our carrier just before we set out the other day. Little did we know that we were going to have a date with tragedy. We had a mission. Everything was going as smooth as it could be, considering the hectic streets full of merchants, camels, donkeys, and the always-present threat of ambush or suicide bomber.

Then, suddenly, the LAV3 turned upside down. So did our lives. I remember rolling down the street. I remember pointing my gun towards suspicious rooftops. I remember hitting something. I remember rolling around inside the vehicle like a pair of pants in the dryer. It stopped. I was shaken up, disorientated. I wasn’t sure what happened. Then I heard voices in the distance fading in and out. After that, I heard something that hit me harder than the crash itself. Oh, my God, he doesn’t have a pulse. It sent chills down my spine. Still does.

You and the guys in your section are like a family. It is hard for people in a different line of work to understand. We all come from different parts of the country, from Vancouver to Nova Scotia. We have gotten drunk together, gotten into fights, slept on forest floors, jumped out of countless armoured vehicles, climbed mountains. We train together, passed bored countless hours together, teased each other about girlfriends, or lack of. We are family. We are like brothers.

After the funeral today, I cried. We all did. Paul and Tim are gone. Our tent feels so empty without them. Then reality started to sink in. We have to pull it together. We still have a big mission. You can pick anyone off the street and put them in a uniform, but that doesn’t make them a soldier. A soldier will always pick up the pieces, no matter how few are left. A soldier will always try to get up.

Tim and Paul, we will continue to stand for what you did. There is evil in the world that must be stopped. The world needs people like us to stop it. We will make the world a better place for our children. No matter what the cost. This is what we do. We are Canadian soldiers.

In a few days, we will be back on the job again. In the same type of vehicle, driving down the same streets an ocean away from home, working for the rights and freedoms of people we have never met. Before we go, I will give another radio check:

21 Charlie, we are all good in the back. Let’s try this again.

This is what we do. We are Canadian soldiers. I will never forget you guys.

Cpl Nathan Justice

chapter one

Alive?

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost but now am found,

Was blind, but now, I see…"

John Newton

God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world

C.S. Lewis

After the rollover, I started to see the world around me differently. I had seen two very good friends eating breakfast with me one second… then lying there the next. For years, I lived life like a party animal, living it up… thinking that life would last forever. Things were different now. I knew that death was a reality which I could not escape. For the first time in my life, I realized that I was mortal. I was filled with uncertainty. I was filled with questions. My first patrol outside the wire and two people were killed and almost everyone in my section wounded. What was next? What did my future hold? Thoughts swirl though my head, leaving me dizzy. I popped a couple Tylenol-3s and drifted off to sleep.

I woke in the middle of the night to the news that Tim’s family had made the choice to pull the respirator. Tim was now dead. I started smoking cigarettes right there on the spot. When the news came of Tim’s death, it was about three o’clock in the morning. We were expecting it… yet a certain part of us had been holding on to some hope that he would somehow make it. After the announcement, the whole platoon lingered around kind of awkwardly. Then the Warrant Officer asked, Does anyone want to say anything to… you know… God? He was talking about God.

At that moment, I don’t know what made me step forward, but I did and I prayed that God would take care of our friends and their families.

I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I walked over to a little white trailer that was filled with internet consoles where I could check my email. My inbox was full of people asking if I was okay and telling me they were thinking of me and praying for me. I found a little comfort in their writings—or perhaps I selfishly liked the attention I was getting for being a wounded soldier overseas. After all, my name was all over the newspapers.

On the outside, I came across like I had it all together… like I was a wounded warrior that would pick up the pieces and carry on. I had survived the accident, but I was dead inside. The problem was that my spirit was broken. I wasn’t yet a warrior; I just wore the uniform of one. I spent the next six weeks drifting through operations. It was becoming obvious to my superiors that my heart was no longer in the mission. My soldier skills had been lagging behind, my weapons drills were horrible. At one point, my officer was ready to leave me at camp for good. All I cared about was working out and reading these stupid books that my father’s church kept sending me. I kept reading about God and how he works, what he does, and that he loves us so much. The more I read, the less faith I had. The world and the life that I was experiencing with the rollover and the death of my friends—in short, the war in Afghanistan—if God existed, I must have done something to get him really ticked at me.

One night, we were out on patrol deep in the heart of the southern Afghan desert. It had been a long, gruelling day of driving around and breathing in dust and sweating. We didn’t run into anything that day. I crawled into the sleeping bag afterward and looked up at the brilliant night sky, brighter than anything back home. I found myself asking God the question that had been haunting me since the rollover: Why me? My mind suddenly flashed back to the church service that I had gone to in my hometown just before leaving for Afghanistan. The pastor had asked if he could pray for me and wanted me to come to the front. Reluctantly, I said yes.

The pastor asked the congregation if anyone wanted to come forward and lay hands on me before they prayed. I was kind of creeped out, but like I said could use all the help I could get. I remember that I didn’t see one person stay seated. The entire congregation got up out of their seats to pray for me. They prayed for protection and that God would keep me safe

In the rollover, I was hanging out the back hatch of the vehicle. I remember something pushing me down into the vehicle seconds