When I joined the United States Army, I turned to Christian Science as never before. Probably at no other time in my life had I relied on understanding my spiritual status as the image and likeness of God as much as at Infantry Officer Candidate School (OCS), held at Fort Benning, Georgia.

My six months of OCS were very successful. I was elected president of my class and, significantly, named to head the Honor Council, which enforced a carbon copy of the rigorous West Point Honor Code. I graduated in September at the head of my class. I also learned how to tolerate 100-degree south Georgia heat.

I joined the Christian Science group on post, which consisted of 12 soldiers and the senior Christian Science chaplain. Services and discussions were held Sunday afternoons. These services became cherished moments of calm and spirituality for me, in the midst of the Army’s unfamiliar universe.

Suddenly I felt the not-so-subtle tug of divine guidance that I must leave my firing post.

At the end of our training, the company was trucked off to the recoilless rifle range for one last “familiarization” exercise. The recoilless rifle was created for World War II and was also used in Korea. Each weapon fires enormous 105-mm high explosive artillery shells and has a three-man crew: two soldiers to load the shells, and one to fire. That day I was in the latter role, tasked to pull the cable that fires the weapon. The recoilless rifle’s projectile fires out the front barrel, but unlike conventional artillery weapons, the backblast simply blows out through the open end, hence making this big weapon recoilless.

My firing crew and I were at weapon station number five, of ten weapon stations on the range. Through the loudspeaker, the range officer told our crew to commence firing.

Suddenly I felt the not-so-subtle tug of divine guidance that I must leave my firing post, which I did. From his tower, the range officer told me to get back to the weapon and fire it. I kept walking, now well out of range of the weapon’s ferocious backblast. The range officer told me to get back to the weapon; still I kept walking away. He yelled the dreaded words: “Candidate Jareo, get back to your weapon. This is a direct order!” Disobeying a direct order is a very serious offense; I knew I could be court-martialed and punished.

When I reached the base of the range tower, I paused and looked up at the range officer. I heard myself saying, quietly but clearly: “That weapon shouldn’t be fired. I think the barrel is cracked.” The range officer instructed the remaining crew at station five to reach over the barrel and pull the cord that fired the weapon.

One of the loaders did as told. As he pulled the firing cord, the rifle exploded. There was a flash as the round was blasted through the side and rear of the barrel. Small bits of shrapnel flew out all over the range, sailing over the heads of the company and training officers. A good number of the 75 members of my OCS company and training NCOs were singed, even though they were seated on bleachers well behind the backblast.

Then, nothing. Silence.

I quietly walked back to the bleachers and sat down. Nobody came up to me. The range officer in the tower said nothing, or was speechless. I was certain that I would face heavy punishment for disobeying a direct order. No one had been seriously injured in the blast, since we were all wearing helmets and heavy khaki uniforms, but many people were bruised by the heat, and the on-site ambulance was already beginning to take people in for treatment.

The chaplain assured me that I could not be punished for following the Word of God.

Back in the barracks, my serenity and composure resolved a bit and grew. All I could think was that I was God’s perfect image and likeness. Since God is omnipresent, there is no such thing as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is no place where the spiritual lessons taught by Christ Jesus do not apply. I knew I was in God’s care, and my mates were, too.

When I was young, my mom had told me that God’s direction comes as “a still small voice” (I Kings 19:12). At the recoilless range, that voice, though small and still, had had volume and urgency, and God’s direction had come through unmistakably.

Soon, I got permission from my tactical officer to go to the Christian Science chaplain’s quarters. When I arrived, the chaplain held me in his arms and assured me that leaving my post on the range was divine guidance, not insubordination, and that nobody in the Army would challenge that. He assured me that I could not be punished for following the Word of God, and that I had the divine right to claim my place as a child of God. We prayed for the rapid recovery of anyone touched by the blast.

I graduated three days later and was commissioned as a newly minted second lieutenant. Thereafter, I was posted to the Pentagon at a desk job, safe from exploding weapons. Within two years I became a first lieutenant and an eager young public relations staffer. In my rounds, I encountered the commanding officer of my OCS training battalion, who was now a major general. He asked me to have a seat in his office.

My heart sank—this was it. I was finally going to be punished for violating an order during training. I prepared for a tongue-lashing, or worse.

Instead, what he said was: “You have done the Army a great service. Over time, you will be directly responsible for saving the lives of dozens of soldiers who would likely have been burned or killed in range catastrophes.” He continued, explaining that the recoilless rifle that had exploded had been “a tragedy waiting to happen.” He said that the model of weapon we’d used had been in constant use—overuse—since it had been made in 1943. Following the explosion, he had directed that the Army totally discontinue the use of this model of recoilless rifle. “They were obsolete long ago anyway,” he concluded.

I was relieved and grateful to hear the major general’s news and more grateful still for this proof that the reassurance the chaplain had given me, when I had been sitting shocked in his quarters, was true: God’s messages always lead us to peace and safety. God is always guiding us. Humility opens the way for us to hear and to heed the Father’s direction.