Some may think my story began when I wrestled a pistol from my student’s hand, but I know it started many years before…

I’ve taught JROTC for the last ten years in a large, metropolitan Kentucky school district—one of the most politically progressive districts in the country. A place where teachers will feel the friction every day if they try to teach while living out a biblical worldview. And because I don’t hide my biblical values, battles always seem to find me.

Over the years, I’ve learned that when God is working, I won’t always know it in real time. But something will happen—a conversation with a student, an interaction with a colleague, an act of courage. And then, the pieces will fall into place. And I will think, So that’s what You were doing, Lord.

Two incidents in particular came before the day of the pistol incident. Looking back, I now know they were all part of the same story…

The Student Who Was Sent to “Expose” Me

Several years ago, during the first week of school, a counselor walked a new student into my classroom. Everyone in the building knew this counselor as a strong LGBTQIA+ advocate—she spoke often about advocacy, pronouns, and all the rest. The student she brought was clearly transgender. I already knew who she was; she had been around the school for years.

“Colonel,” the counselor said, “you will support her.”

I told that counselor, politely but firmly, that I didn’t appreciate her attempts to tell me how to teach my class. Then I turned to the student and said, “This is the safest place you’ll ever be in this building. I’ll protect you—your mind, your heart, and you physically if I ever need to. But I’m not going to enter into ideological fantasies. You’re welcome here, and I’m grateful you joined.”

Things went fine at first. She was a good student. But after a couple of weeks, she began correcting me on pronouns. Each time, I gently reminded her of our earlier conversation. The third time it happened, we were doing rappel training. It’s not a place for distractions or debates, so I told her, “Up here, I could call you Schmidtlap or Humperdink. It doesn’t matter. You answer ‘Yes, sir’ and follow instructions. I’m not going to play games with this. I love you too much to let you put yourself in danger.”

And that was the end of it…so I thought.

Two weeks later, she came to me shaking, sweat on her brow. “Colonel, I have to talk to you. I feel terrible. I was planted here.”

She explained that she’d been convinced by her friends, an LGBTQIA+ coach, and the counselor who had walked her down to my classroom at the beginning of the year to take my class just to “prove” I was a bigot, a racist, and a homophobe.

I asked her, gently, “Well, what’s the verdict?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You love all of us. You’re tough, but you’re fair. You’re none of those things they said you were.”

I told her to go tell them all, and she said she already had and that I’d probably have a lot more LGBTQIA+ kids in my class the next year.

“Great,” I said. And I meant it.

The Dobbs Lecture and the Investigation

A couple of years later, the Dobbs decision overturned Roe v. Wade. The school was full of walkouts, shouting, and misinformation. I heard teachers tell kids that abortion was now illegal everywhere. I heard students spewing talking points they didn’t understand.

So I decided to print the entire Dobbs decision (128 pages) and teach them the truth straight from the text. I explained what the decision actually said and didn’t say. I also corrected the myths they’d been fed.

In my first period class, one girl got furious and stirred up the whole classroom. Some statements were made by students in my classroom that I wish hadn’t been said. However, I was subsequently accused of saying many things that were never, in fact, said that day…

Still, the same counselor from years before saw her chance. She coached four girls—one of whom wasn’t even present during the lecture—and launched two investigations against me: one through the school district and one through the Kentucky Department of Education. 

I immediately contacted Roger Dillon, KY State Director for Christian Educators, who connected me with a local attorney who supported me every step of the way. Without Christian Educators, Roger, and my Christian co-worker, this journey would have been even more unbearable. My union did not represent me, except for the very first meeting that I had with my principal.

The investigations lasted nearly a year. I was accused of vile things that were put into my file without any evidence. I nominated students to be interviewed—students who had been in the room and took notes on the lecture. My school district refused to interview any of them. But they eagerly interviewed anyone who would tilt the scale against me.

Meanwhile, life went on. I continued to host a student-led Bible study in my room. Even though the school wouldn’t allow me to advertise, it continued to grow.

After months of silence, my principal finally called one day.

“You’ve been found guilty of everything,” she said. “I’ll give you my final verdict next Tuesday.”

I reminded her that she knew my character. 

She replied, “Well, I have an investigation that says you’re guilty.”

And then, just days before she planned to give me that verdict, everything changed…

The Pistol Incident 

It was lunchtime. I had just reached my classroom door when I saw our security lead sprinting past.

“You okay? Need help?” I asked.

“There’s a huge fight in the cafeteria.”

I ran with her. When we got there, chaos hit like a wave—two fights in the cafeteria, another outside the library, and kids slamming into the walls near the principal’s office. It wasn’t unusual, sadly. But this day was different.

As we tried to calm the students, the Lord drew my attention to one boy. I say the Lord because it wasn’t my military training. Something much more powerful silently nudged me to watch him.

He wasn’t throwing punches, but he was agitated. Other teachers tried to follow him, but it was so chaotic. Then he walked into the hallway and picked up a blue backpack.

That’s when I felt His presence propel me toward that student. (I humbly ask everyone who reads this to stop right now and pray for this troubled young man.)

I moved twenty feet in what felt like the blink of an eye—pushing through students and teachers—and tackled him just as he was pulling a pistol from the bag. The pistol slid across the floor. We discovered later that the magazine was full, and one round was already chambered.

If I had been two seconds later, students would have died. I believe that with every fiber of my being.

I held him down until I was able to hand him off to the assistant principal. I started to apprehend another student who I thought had grabbed the gun. Thankfully, we quickly learned that a teacher had scooped it up right away and then locked herself in a bathroom with it.

The students had recorded everything. Videos from three different angles spread through the school in minutes. More than half the student body poured out of the building in panic.

By the time the dust settled, the local news media had the story—minus one detail: the school told reporters that the pistol “fell out of a backpack.” They never mentioned that I had wrestled it out of the student’s hand.

But the students knew. The parents knew. I couldn’t walk ten feet in the hallway without strangers hugging me, crying, and saying I had saved their lives. Parents stopped me in the parking lot.

Even the teacher down the hall from me, who has a vastly different worldview, hugged me and whispered, “Thank God you were there.”

The School’s Response—and God’s Timing

The following day, a school district public relations person pulled me aside.

“We know you’re a man of faith,” he said. “We encourage you not to talk about your faith publicly. It might hurt people’s feelings. We’d like to review anything you say.”

I told him, “You have no idea what you’re trying to ask. This wasn’t me. This was God. I’m going to say that until the day I die.”

And just like that, all media requests to interview me were shut down. The superintendent never contacted me. The district never reached out to me or honored me publicly. The Army Cadet Command said they would nominate me for a Citizen’s Medal of Honor, but nothing ever came of it. The only acknowledgement happened when my principal told a room full of my colleagues that they should be grateful I’d been there. 

But none of that mattered to me. I didn’t want the recognition. I knew it was all part of God’s greater plan.

Days later, I walked into my principal’s office for what was supposed to be my discipline meeting.

“Well,” she said, “things have changed.”

I laughed. “Nothing’s changed for me. This is God’s plan.”

She held up the report, pointed it at me, and said, “This is going away. I know now what you told me before is true. You would never hurt your students. And you would do anything for them up to and including giving your life for them.”

Two months later, the Kentucky Department of Education also dismissed its investigation with prejudice. They found no foundation for any of the accusations.

God had my back from start to finish.

_____________

Every morning, a dear brother in Christ and I pray together in my classroom: Lord, pour us out. Use us up. Let us protect these kids from the lies and the mind viruses they are being exposed to daily. We are Yours.

God answered that prayer—just not in the way I expected.

Our Bible study continues to grow. We now have two. And several students from it have been baptized. We stand amazed at His miracles daily.

Here’s the truth: My school district didn’t want me to tell my story to the media or acknowledge my actions publicly because they didn’t want me to give God the glory. But that’s exactly why I’m sharing my story with you.

God put me there. God saved those kids. And I will give Him the glory until my last breath.

Educators, I encourage you to ask yourself, What am I afraid of?

Remember, you serve the God of the universe. Be courageous. Say, Here I am, Lord. Send me. I am humbled that God would use me, and He will use you, too.