Pressure Will Not Break You
Spiritual Lessons From Mortar School, Missed Tests, and Middle Eastern War Zones
What if pressure didn’t crush you—but formed you?
What if the weight you're carrying is part of God’s process to shape you, refine you, and make you useful for something greater?
In this series (one post each Friday), I’ll walk through real-life moments—from combat zones to personal setbacks—exploring how pressure shows up and how we can respond through the lens of Scripture. We'll unpack the lies we believe under pressure, the identity we forget, and the supernatural strength God gives when everything in us wants to quit.
This isn’t about surviving the storm.
It’s about becoming who you were born to be—right in the fire.
War Story
“You gotta let me stay. I'm deploying in three months.”
My plea fell on deaf ears. The instructors were just doing their job—but I was crushed. I had failed mortar school by one question on my retake. Just like that, I was dropped in the first phase.
I had withdrawn my Ranger School slot to attend mortar school because my battalion commander had commissioned me to build a mortar team where I would deploy with Special Forces to fight ISIS.
That kind of pressure messes with your head.
And under that pressure—I crumbled.
I overthought the test. Worse, I repeated a phrase I’d spoken over myself for years in undergrad:
“I’m a terrible test taker.”
That self-fulfilling prophecy cost me my mortar certification—not because I lacked ability or discipline, but because I had agreed with a lie about my identity. I could hang with every guy in that room. But that inner script sabotaged me.
So I showed up to my platoon at Fort Stewart, embarrassed.
No certificate. Just a bruised ego and a shaky sense of self.
But to my surprise, the guys respected that I tried to learn their craft. Even more shocking—my battalion commander kept me on as the mortar lead.
That told me something I’ll never forget:
God is ultimately in charge of who I lead and who you lead.
No terrifying failure or great success will stop the plans of God.
Three Months Later
Fourteen days of brutal military travel—planes, helicopters, gear strapped to our backs. Then I stepped onto the Afghan soil of Nangarhar Province.
Round in the chamber. M4 on amber.
We were in the valley now.
I was embedded with 7th Group (later 10th Group) Special Forces. They didn’t know I had failed mortar school. But I hadn’t stopped studying. I hadn’t stopped preparing. I hadn’t stopped wanting to be shoulder-to-shoulder on the front lines with my men.
Under Fire. Overwhelmed. Still Faithful.
Despite the failures, I knew my purpose:
Start a church.
To fight ISIS.
This would happen weekly for the next seven months.
I carried a strange mix: deep confidence in my calling, and lingering insecurity about my performance.
The pressure didn’t just come from the enemy—it came from within:
The drive to be perfect.
The fear of failure.
The responsibility to bring everyone home alive.
Every round mattered. And while my guys were masters at execution, I still had to coordinate where those rounds were stored (a single lucky shot could wipe us out), how they were fired (over ridgelines I couldn’t see), and when to pull the trigger.
I couldn’t afford to blow my emotions or fail to direct fires.
The standard created pressure, but it wasn’t just tactical. It was spiritual.
I wasn’t just trying to get my guys home.
I was trying to get their souls home, too.
That included Afghan soldiers I served alongside.
What Pressure Teaches Us — A Christian Response to the Fire
Here’s the first lesson I learned in the fire:
No matter the circumstances—failure or success—time with God makes sense of it all.
And I’m not talking about ten minutes here or there. I’m talking about intentional time, daily, with the King.
Remember Jesus’ words in John 6?
“Whoever comes to Me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in Me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35)
My actions are not the key to being a faithful follower.
My affections are.
And often, it takes failure to remind us of that.
So I remained committed—no matter my circumstance—to ask God to draw me in with fresh zeal each day. I show up, not for knowledge’s sake, but for relationship’s sake. Yes, even when bullets hovered over my head.
Because I kept showing up—despite the pressure to build a church in combat, lead a mortar platoon against a deadly enemy, and bring everyone home—God helped me make sense of it all.
He reminded me of two things:
1. Speak Life, Not Death
I told myself I was a terrible test taker.
I made excuses and labeled it “test anxiety.”
But what if God allowed that failure to solidify my dependence on Him?
There may be a thousand reasons why something happens, but there’s only one Person who can walk you through the clutter: God.
2. Show Up No Matter the Circumstance
James 1:5 promises:
“If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him.”
That kind of “asking” isn’t transactional.
It’s covenantal.
It’s rooted in hesed—a Hebrew word for loyal, unfailing love.
When we ask with that kind of trust, we can be confident He will answer. And that trust is built through time spent with Him.
So don’t show up because you want an answer.
Show up because you get to spend time with the Answer.
Never Finished Challenge
What are three negative comments you’ve been repeating—out loud or in your head?
Write them down.
Now ask God to replace those lies with His truth.
Examples:
❌ “I’m not a good parent.” → ✅ “I’ve been chosen and equipped by God to shepherd these children.”
❌ “I’m failing at life.” → ✅ “God is my Shepherd—I lack nothing (Psalm 23).”
❌ “I’ll never recover from this.” → ✅ “He restores my soul.”
Next:
Pick a time. Show up every day.
Tithe the first part of your day to Him.
Ask Him to stir your affections. Ask Him to reveal His will to you.
What Does Today Say About God?
Limitless.
There is nothing before Him or after Him. He is, and always will be.
To take my limited self—with all my shortcomings, doubts, and struggles—and bring it before Someone unlimited, personal, and loving is breathtaking.
What a Father.
What a Friend.
What a King.
Thank You, Jesus.