I FIRST SAW HER WHEN I WAS A SOLDIER in a war-torn nation: young, no more than 17, shabbily clothed in dust-covered, dirty garb, barefoot, long, greasy, stringy black hair, penetrating dark eyes that cut through you like knives. She regarded me coolly as I ministered to the people around her, trying to give these war-weary Iraqis a sense of hope.

Back home in Tennessee, I was very involved in church. I was raised in a godly home, in an Assembly of God church. My mother was the pastor; my father, the associate pastor. I had known about god all my life; He was very important to me. (Still is.)

I had known ever since I was a little boy that I would grow up to be involved in the church somehow: help people truly in need of counseling, prayer, even encouragement. I also had known that I wanted to be a soldier, defend my country, the United States of America, from enemies (foreign as well as domestic). When I graduated from high school, I immediately enlisted in the Marines. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to bring the Message, the Message of Christ's Love, to the masses, just as my Pa (and Ma) did all those years before their health took bad.

The military seemed like the right choice for me.

Now, the military wasn't easy by any stretch of the imagination; yet I carried on, took a lot of ribbing from my compadres, tried to hold strong to my faith. It was extremely difficult when I'd see people being killed right in front of me, hear the bombs exploding not more than 50' away, hear the anti-American chants (or see people burning my beloved flag), or saying goodbye to buddies who were mortally wounded or severely maimed.  I can't tell you how many times I cried, shed tears, wishing I was back home in Tennessee; yet I knew I had a job to do (protect my nation).

I had been in the military for about two years when I first saw the girl. The girl knew I was an "infidel" (non-Muslim, the enemy); she knew I was one of those who had come in defense of America, not Iraq. She knew I was a "Christian", that I'd tell them about Christ, which did not sit well with her--or her people. She instantly grew suspicious whenever she'd see me. The girl never said a word or threatened to kill me--she merely stared at me; it was as though her dark eyes could cut ritght through me, like knives.

I would see the girl just about every day; she was a common sight whenever we'd come to her small village.

On one such occasion, the girl walked brazenly up to me. I had no clue as to who she was, if she spoke any English, or what she was thinking--or capable of doing. It terrified me to my soul. She looked at me, sheer determination clearly evident in those dark eyes, and she spoke the first words I ever heard her say: "Tell me about your Jesus. Tell me." That was what she told me.

I was taken aback. Once I recovered from my shock, I calmly told the girl the story of Jesus, as best as I possibly could. I told it to her in what little Iraqi I knew. The girl seemed puzzled at first, but I showed her what I told her in the Bible, pointing out the verses, showing her some of the pages that were illustrated, anything to get the Message across.

"You mean--your Jesus--this Jesus--died on cross--for--me??" the girl asked. I nodded. "What--you do--to get sin--taken away?" she inquired. I told her about the plan of Salvation. Her dark eyes widened to the size of saucers as she tried to take it all in. That's when the little light bulb over her head lit up when she at last understood what I was trying to tell her. Whereupon, she fell to her knees, then lay flat on the ground, on her face, where she began to cry, asking Chrsit to come into her heart.

I was clearly moved. Tears blurred my own vision as I began praying for the girl--and praising God for my successful attempt at winning another soul into God's Kingdom.

                                          ~End of Part One~