The Hope of War: A Chaplain's Journey to Abiding Faith, Enduring Hope and Love Under Fire

DEDICATION

To My Parents

Freddie Hoyte and Naomi Sue (Underwood) Cripps

Their influence led me to Christ and ignited

my passion for life and ministry.

To My Wife

Charlene Ann (Yates) Cripps

She is the source of joy and inspiration

that fuels my life and ministry.

To my Children, Grandchildren, and Great Grandchildren

My greatest treasures in life, who inspire me to strive

for excellence and remind me every day

of my true purpose and legacy.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

In Memoriam …………………………………………………. i

Foreword – by Rear Adm. Jim McGarrah (Ret.), USN ………. ii

Introduction …………………………………………………… 1

Chapter 1: The People and Place ……………………………… 9

Chapter 2: The Would-Be Lions ………………………………. 25

Chapter 3: Standing Your Ground When the Storm Approaches 39

Chapter 4: America’s War ……………………………………… 53

Chapter 5: The Turning Point ………………………………….. 71

Chapter 6: Embracing the Warrior’s Path ……………………… 93

Chapter 7: The Warrior’s Crucible …………………………….. 107

Chapter 8: Good Morning, Vietnam …………………………… 123

Chapter 9: The View from Quan Loi …………………………… 139

Chapter 10: The War That Shaped Me …………………………. 159

Chapter 11: The Years of Transition ……………………………. 187

Chapter 12: From Unfinished Business to Freedom …………… 207

Epilogue ………………………………………………………… 225

Acknowledgments ……………………………………………… 233

About the Author ………………………………………………. 237

Appendix ……………………………………………………….. 239

IN MEMORIAM

PFC Alvin Dale Hutchings, USMC

CPL Ronnie Ellis Reader, USMC

PFC B. L. Murphy Jr., USMC

SP/4 Danny Stephen Young, USA

PFC Billy Anthony Adcock, USA

MSGT Robert Lewis Bolan, USA

SP/4 Neal Vincent Bainter, USA

SGT William Lester Wilhelm, USA

PVT Joseph Frank Marcantonio, USA

CPT Carl Lynn West, USA

WO1 John Henry Cannon, USA

SP/5 Allen Carson Hardison, USA

SP/5 Robert James Oates, USA

CPT Kendrick King Kelley III, USA

Blackhorse Troopers Killed in Vietnam

September 1966—April 1972 

11th Armored Cavalry South Vietnamese Scouts

Young men who sacrificed everything in the service of their country

Admired Friend and Mentor

CPT Stan Corvin, Jr., USA

Beloved Young Men Taken Much Too Soon

Zachary Estes

Wayne G. Cripps

Erie R. Hendrix

James Jim A. Rhody

Roger Estes

Edward Frazier

G. Patrick Vincion

Lee Hendrix

Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, So shall your offspring be. Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead – since he was about a hundred years old – and that Sarah’s womb was also dead. Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had the power to do what he had promised. Romans 4:18-21

Foreword

In the early 1990s, I commanded the U.S. Navy’s Naval Mobile Construction Battalion TWENTY FOUR (NMCB-24). I habitually paid close attention to our sailors’ conditions, usually by gathering data and insights from staff members I could trust. One of the most important people I counted on in particular for unvarnished answers was the chaplain.

We were a Navy Reserve Seabee battalion—one of the Navy’s troop construction units. During my time in command, we served overseas in Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm. While our unit’s regular chain of command always had some sense of sailors’ morale and welfare, it tended to filter and qualify that information.

The chaplain was different.

Larry Cripps, a lieutenant commander at the time, served as the chaplain for our Seabees. Larry was one of our special staff—officers and enlisted sailors with specialized, professional education and experience. The size and challenges of managing our unit (over 750 total personnel assigned) made these positions vital to our success.

I first met Larry in the fall of 1989. He impressed me with his energy and passion for his job as chaplain. I put job in quotation marks because, in Larry’s case, chaplaincy was far more than a job; it was his calling. First and foremost, he was motivated to serve our battalion, helping Seabees to be the best they could be as they carried out their missions. His actions always aligned with his words.

The second thing that impressed me was Larry’s extensive, varied background. He brought an authentic, authoritative perspective to our discussions and meetings. Anytime he came to me and said, We have to talk, I learned that it was wise to stop what I was doing and listen.

We spent two years together in NMCB-24, including eight months of pre-deployment training and operational deployment in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait for Desert Storm. Larry refused to sit behind a desk during the week and preach on Sundays. He wanted to be out with the troops wherever they were—project sites, training ranges, classrooms, or on the battlefield. He worked hard to make himself available for all our sailors, to listen and offer counsel.

Between the start of the air and ground wars in Desert Storm, our battalion spread out in fourteen different locations. We ranged from a three-person detachment with Navy Special Operations to a reinforced air detachment of 120 Seabees at King Abdul Aziz Air Base and a Main Element of two hundred Seabees on the Kuwait border with the Marines’ Direct Support Command. Working within our operational and security constraints, Larry never sat still; he insisted on visiting as many sailors as possible.

Wherever he went, Larry gathered insight into how our sailors were really doing and shared his assessments with me, even if they were uncomfortable. He discreetly respected the line between general and personal/confidential information, but he wasn’t afraid to tell me what he thought. As a result I felt genuinely well-informed on our sailors’ morale and readiness, and because of that, I could often anticipate issues before they arose.

Describing my experience working with Larry sets the stage for what you’re about to read. He always had valuable stories to share, even back then. His passion for service, common sense approach, and God-centered focus drove him to confront his own internal challenges. They fueled his mission to help others find the same kind of hope. When it’s time for a real-life physical battle, few things are more valuable than a clear mind and a calm soul. Larry wants those things for everyone.

You’ll find value in Larry’s emphasis on teamwork and personal relationships. I remember it so well; as I look back, I see how he, along with our Command Master Chief, was part of a 1-2 punch advisory team every leader should have. Few leaders follow through on finding those advisors; it’s little wonder leadership is such a rocky road without them. I was blessed; I had an abundance of honest counsel, especially from the chaplain.

Larry champions the spirit of service. I’ve never known him any other way, even now, decades after we finished our military careers. He is passionate about being in the mix wherever there’s an opportunity to contribute to others. This book manifests his desire to see people set free and flourishing. He may be in the fourth quarter of life, but he’s nowhere near finished.

The Hope of War is autobiographical. You’ll read about Larry’s decades of service and a heartfelt description of his struggles to grow into his calling and future. 

But it’s also a field manual for living through and learning from your experiences and seeking and applying God’s truth in practical ways. While combat and the school of hard knocks certainly accelerated Larry’s learning, these principles can be used anywhere, anytime… and you don’t need to wear a military uniform.

Larry deeply desires for people to find meaning in their struggles and experiences. Beginning with Vietnam, he reminds us to mobilize whatever goodness and truth we can find, no matter where God calls or sends us. If you feel lost at sea, Larry’s stories provide navigational beacons for the soul. Few feelings are worse for a sailor than being lost at sea without navigational aids; few give you more hope than finding your bearings, the sight of land, or friendly ships on the horizon.

I had the privilege of reading Larry’s manuscript as he developed it. It caused several wheels to turn for me, some of which had not moved for a long time. I could connect details of my past to the feelings, experiences, and principles he shares. If you’ve ever felt stuck on the inside, with conflict and emotions that seem random or unrelated to the present… think again. Like your body, your soul gives off pain signals. Larry’s stories will help you re-evaluate them and seek help to overcome them so you can leave a legacy for future generations to build on.

It’s an honor to contribute to this book. I’m even more excited about the hope Larry found because I know what it can do for you. We all live through messes, but few of us ever find the message God leaves in the rubble. Larry is among those happy few. It’s my hope you take the opportunity to read, take action, and join him among those ranks.

James M. (Jim) McGarrah

Rear Admiral, Civil Engineer Corps

United States Navy (Ret.)

THE HOPE OF WAR

Introduction

It was April 1971. I was seated in a Boeing 707 as it taxied along the tarmac at Bien Hoa Air Base in South Vietnam at what felt like a snail’s pace. I kept thinking, The enemy could easily fire a single mortar round and take us all out in one fell swoop.

After our plane turned onto the end of the runway, the pilot gunned the engines, hurling the aircraft ever faster down the runway. As its nose lifted into the air, all on board let loose with shouts of joy, knowing that our life in Vietnam’s hot, treacherous jungles lay behind us on the ground below. We were on our way home and toward all things familiar. If only we’d understood how much our lives had changed, that home would never be the same again.

It feels like a lifetime has passed since I was in Vietnam, but memories of the war still linger. As soon as I hear the distinct whopping sound of helicopter blades in the distance or smell something putrid, my mind drifts back to Vietnam. I hear soldiers shouting over gunfire and injured men screaming in agony. When mosquitoes buzz in my ear on a hot, humid day in my home state of Tennessee, I feel like I’m back at Bien Hoa. Even the silence sometimes reminds me of Vietnam, for just when we thought it was quiet enough to say something, another explosion ripped through the air.

I received my draft notice in the spring of 1969. During the Vietnam War, every young man over eighteen understood we had a chance of being called up. By the time I entered the U.S. Army in August, three high school friends and an uncle had already been killed in Vietnam. The previous June, Life Magazine shocked the nation when it published the names and photos of 242 men killed in Vietnam during a week of fighting. It was a reminder of the human toll the war exacted. The media released a steady stream of gripping photographs and films beginning in 1965, but none of it struck me the same way as the names and pictures of all those young men who perished in a single week of fighting.

I still remember the sadness that gripped my heart, knowing these young men would never get the chance to raise families and pursue their dreams. Instead, their hopes for the future were gone, leaving their families with only memories and lingering thoughts of what might have been. A great many of my generation spent a lot of time wondering what might have been.

Early on, the American public supported our involvement in Vietnam. We believed it was essential to stop the spread of communism in Southeast Asia. Morale among American troops was high, but as the war dragged on, it deteriorated. By 1969, the confidence and performance of U.S. military forces was the lowest it had ever been. As American casualties increased, some soldiers became frustrated that there was no end in sight. Others grew exasperated with Washington’s lack of a coherent war strategy, which seemed to risk our lives on endless patrols… without a plan for victory or closure.

Another reason for declining morale and performance was Vietnam’s one-year tour-of-duty rotation schedule. In previous wars, U.S. troops were required to serve for the duration of the conflict. You might have spent three or four years with some close friends, fighting side-by-side. However, in Vietnam, individual combat soldiers were rotated into and out of the country on a one-year schedule. Most of us focused mainly on staying alive until the end of our tour of duty rather than fighting to the end of the conflict. With an undefined mission, no clear path to victory, and a maximum of 365 days’ participation—this conflict was very different from existential, must-win battles like World War II.

I remember lengthy periods of hurry up and wait and extreme boredom, mixed with interruptions of sudden, unexpected terror. But once I reached the halfway point of the tour, I began marking off the days on a calendar I drew on the lid of a C-ration box. When I returned home, I tried to forget the monotony, boredom, mosquitoes, and sweltering heat. But I’ve never forgotten those moments of sheer terror. After all these years, I still occasionally dream about them. As the years turned to decades, I had a lot of time to think about my experience. Events like the terrorist attacks on September 11th, 2001, forced me to remember and process the past. I realized some of those memories never truly healed because I was unwilling to admit they’d impacted me, to begin with.

American soldiers grew disillusioned over Vietnam, and some began to vent their frustrations on officers. Most officers were respectable leaders who earned their soldiers’ admiration. But some placed their desire for recognition ahead of the safety and welfare of their men. We resented officers who directed combat operations from the safety of high-flying helicopters or distant command posts. We also disliked overly aggressive officers who refused to listen to the advice of experienced, non-commissioned officers (NCOs). We began to see them as reinforcements of an unspoken mission nobody could explain. No one seemed to know why we were in Vietnam, even at the highest levels of command. But it was too late to turn back; we had to keep going.

Many people asked questions like What could have been? about Vietnam for years after it officially ended in 1975. Why did we go? What did we hope to accomplish there? What did we learn from a decade-long war? Did we learn anything? Unfortunately, the answers eluded us in the jungles, hamlets, and mountainous regions of Vietnam. 

As time passed, attitudes about the war softened. The government declassified many of its documents for study. Today, many people revisit memories of the war that were too raw to talk about at the time. They’re searching for a semblance of truth about Vietnam. I’m hopeful you’ll find some of it in the pages of this book. Many questions that came up for me during those days have been answered. I’m pleased to say the answers were there all along; I simply wasn’t ready to hear them.

An ancient philosopher once said, There is no single truth in war, for we are all prisoners of our own experience. If there’s one thing standing in the way of the search for truth, it’s that each person experienced Vietnam just a little differently from the next. Some look back on it with anger, resentment, and inconsolable grief. Others remember it with confusion, like an unresolved equation circling forever in the recesses of their minds. Some remember it with honor and pride and treasured stories of comradeship and heroism. Some remember it as little more than an exotic vacation.

If you were to ask me the truth of the Vietnam War and whether it was worth the cost we paid to participate, I’d answer: It depends on how you look at it.

Everyone knows how precarious life can be. Tragedy and loss strike without warning, accidents happen, and unforeseen circumstances disrupt the best-laid plans of mice and men. We might do everything within our power to prevent such things. We may even tell ourselves, What happened to others will never happen to me.

But in Vietnam, we quickly learned that a good day could mean many things: patrolling in the jungle without stepping on a landmine, being wounded but escaping life-threatening injuries, or being directly next to the man tagged killed in action by the medic. Death is your constant companion in war, and near misses are everyday occurrences. Combat in Vietnam gave us a broader category of a good day and taught us to appreciate the tiniest, most insignificant shreds of goodness we could find.

The principal architects of the Vietnam conflict never envisioned any of this. They couldn’t foresee how bitterly divisive the war would become. Of course, there were plenty of wrong things about the war. But as time passed, I began to understand how much goodness came from it… if you knew where to look. It is a goodness that cannot be purchased or inherited; you can only acquire it by letting yourself get swept up into something much bigger than yourself.

I went to Vietnam without understanding why—at least, from an eternal point of view. I thought I’d simply gone to do a difficult, dirty job: thwart communist aggression and expansion in Southeast Asia. It didn’t occur to me then that by answering the call of duty, I also answered a much larger calling. I didn’t understand that the God of the Bible doesn’t need unanimous public support or the approval of the international community to do incredible work in a person’s life. He’s comfortable working in environments like Vietnam, onboard an aircraft carrier, or in the Pentagon after 9/11. God doesn’t need paradise conditions in the heart of a believer to unlock new levels of maturity, obedience, and relationship with Him. But when believers embrace how He works, it’s amazing how often paradise conditions show up… even in war zones.

That’s why I call this book The Hope of War. I believe whether you fought alongside my generation or you’re currently serving, whether you believe in God or not, whether you serve(d) as a warrior or a family member…

Everyone needs help maintaining perspective.

Everyone needs a reason to continue believing when things seem hopeless.

Everyone needs to know there was courage, dignity, and meaning in the work they did… even things that seemed utterly meaningless.

Everyone needs to hear the truth.

If you were in Vietnam with us, the truth is that you haven’t blown it. You’re not going under. Your effort wasn’t a waste, and the story is not over.

If anything, it’s the other way around. Your story is still being written, and you have tremendous influence over how it ends… if you’re willing to believe it.

If you’re young and serving today… it’s simply your turn to discover what some of us older warriors already know.

If you’re a family member serving alongside a warrior, my prayer is that you find comfort and clarity in understanding the journey of the person you love. Both you and they walk a road most people will never truly understand.

But whatever you are, it’s time to step into God's calling on your life. To activate it and walk it