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Faith Beyond Belief is the captivating testimony of personal faith by the senior allied prisoner of the Gulf War. Colonel Eberly's dramatic recollection puts you in his F-15E cockpit at shootdown, in the Iraqi desert evading the enemy, and witness to a lifetime in the cold dark damp cells of Baghdad. No one has explained more intensely the paralyzing experience of being hit by an exploding enemy missile, the agony of capture, and the dismal isolation and starvation of Saddam's grasp. You walk with David through the Valley of the Shadow of Death and along his journey to freedom. By intense example this spellbinding story of combat survival demonstrates the power of unquestioned faith. This book profoundly reflects the importance of faith and focus in life. It is a powerful story for believers and non-believers, for young and old, and for all that may ever doubt God's everlasting love. Its uplifting message renews His promise to everyone that the Lord is our Shepherd-He is always on guard.
Dr. Robert Schuller
"The
remarkable testimony of Bob
Simon
Rick
Atkinson
Michael
Hedges "Powerful
story...a living testimony to the strength that comes Senator
Dan Coats "This story is both spellbinding and inspirational. . .a story that must be told because it is ageless yet timely and shows how fragile our secure existence is, and shows strength derived from faith." General
Chuck Horner, (USAF, Ret.) Faith Beyond Belief is a story of more than courage and leadership - it is an endorsement of the great power that spiritual belief gave to Dave and other captured Allied Airman and their families. This is a memoir of battle, sacrifice, and personal triumph that underscores the central place of religious faith in the life of one of our elite air combat pilots. Dave Eberly's book is a gift to all of us who are "not afraid of dying" but are "afraid of not appreciating living." General Barry R. McCaffrey (USA, Ret.)
SADDAM "Iraq, Syria! Iraq, Syria! Iraq, Syria!" they yelled as they continued to fire. The muzzle fires were almost blinding, like the wall of sparklers when you stand too close to the fireworks display on the 4th of July. I dared not move or breathe. It was no time to flinch let alone turn to run just to be shot in the back. I could see the sand being kicked up as the bullets ricocheted around me; my ears ringed with the sound of passing shot. Still, I was in awe that I felt no pain. Surely, I thought, I must be hit. "English, English!" I began to shout in response and then cautiously allowed myself to lower to my knees with my palms forward. To my left, slightly back, Grif too, had seemly survived the barrage. If we had already crossed into Syria, it was closer than expected. Now, cautiously, they came forward. I felt like that snared pesky rabbit looking up the barrel of Farmer Jones' shotgun, thinking at any moment my head would be blown off. They grabbed me by the upper arms and half dragged me around the corner of the building to the door. Just inside, I felt the warmth of the shelter once sought but now regretted. Quickly, we were pushed through another door and into a small room. As we stumbled ahead, I caught a glimpse of a large portrait on the wall to the right of a man with a mustache. There were a couple of chairs, maybe a bench but most importantly there was a pot-bellied heater in front of us. Up to my left hung that haunting picture. In the chaos of the moment my mind finally made the match. There was no doubt, it was Saddam. We didn't make it.
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