Felicia Pringle Hopkins, CHP (Major) Retired
In 2003, reservist Chaplain (Major) Hopkins was
pulled away from her husband and children in El Paso, Texas, to serve a
year long unaccompanied tour overseas. Forty-eight hours later, Chaplain Hopkins
was in a U. S. Army hospital in Germany, the halfway point
for injured soldiers on their way home from Iraq.
Halfway Home is the heartfelt account of her service in Operation Iraqi
Freedom.
In these stories of commitment,
hope and service, Chaplain Hopkins brings us with her to the bedsides of America's
wounded and hurting heroes. She weaves powerful, tragic narratives with
anecdotes of her own triumphant change and ultimate healing.
Originally hailing
from Buffalo,
NY,
Reverend Felicia P Hopkins received her undergraduate
degree in social work from Valparaiso
University.
Felicia went on to obtain her Master’s of Divinity from Austin Presbyterian
Theological Seminary in 1996. She is now serving as the Preaching Pastor at St.
Mark’s United
Methodist
Church
in El Paso,
Texas.
Felicia was deployed in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom, where she served as
trauma Chaplain (Major) in the U.S. Army for wounded troops, and their family
members, arriving in Germany
from battle in Iraq
and Afghanistan.
Love
“… And the greatest of these
is love.”
True love is very hard to find. It is not lust. It
is not the kind of love that has a high physical attraction, but a short life
span. I believe that everyone ought to experience true love at least once. At
some point in your lifetime, your heart ought to stop and skip a few beats at
the mention of someone else’s name, and everyone’s eyes ought to be wide with
desire when someone you are madly in love with graces your door. True love is
not seasonal or convenient, it is not harsh or bitter, and it is good even in
bad times. It is a whisper that calms your soul in the middle of a crushing
storm. True love props you up when you fall down, and it has the power to
forgive, restore; mend broken hearts and to heal.
He was a helicopter pilot, a warrant officer, who’s
helicopter got caught up in some wires and landed near a riverbed deep enough
to drown in. We were told by some witnesses from the scene that the pilot had
been underwater for what seemed like a long time, maybe 10 minutes or more.
When he arrived by medevac at LRMC, the young warrant officer was unconscious
and in very critical condition. His name was Mac and he had not been blown up
or shot at. He didn’t have a sucking chest wound or even a severe bloody head
wound. Lying on his gurney, Mac looked like he was taking a peaceful nap,
almost too peaceful. The young pilot had been under the water for too long, and
the initial prevailing thought was that he had suffered some severe brain
damage and had reached a point of no return. We all were deeply concerned. I
undoubtedly knew that something was terribly wrong with him, but somehow I felt
at peace, almost like the tranquility you feel when you sit by a lake on a
calm, quiet day. This feeling was inexplicable, because here he was, a soldier
injured in the war, now very seriously ill. Even though he didn’t look ill, he
was. As we changed his bloody dressings and cleaned his wounds, I had an
overwhelming feeling that everything would be all right. Even though I couldn’t
say it out loud then to anyone, I really felt it in my heart.
