Indivisible

by Travis Thrasher

  The paradox of the war.

  Darren knew already that he had grown to love these guys, and that love was a risk. He would hurt like they did when they lost a buddy. He continued to hope and pray that they wouldn’t come close again to losing another soldier. Yet he also realized he’d only been out there for two months, and that he had thirteen more to go. This was war, and bad men wanted to kill them. They were always thinking of new ways to try and get them, but so were the soldiers—always thinking of protecting the innocent and the oppressed.

  He heard the door open and footsteps enter his tent. Lance Bradley walked over to his desk, scanning the shelf of candy and beef jerky.

  “Hey. These free?”

  “Twenty bucks a pop,” Darren joked.

  “Smart man. Or I’d clean you out.”

  The young soldier’s glance shifted down to the desk, then his hand whipped to his side, pulling a knife out and lunging toward Darren so quickly that the chaplain didn’t even have a chance to react.

  The blade sliced into the wood desktop, slicing a scorpion that had been skittering across it. For a moment, all Darren could do was look at the weapon and the creature cut down by it. He swallowed, then nodded to the candy.

  “Well, for doing that, the candy’s free,” he said.

  For a second I thought that knife was coming at me.

  After seeing the trauma these men carried, and hearing all the stories not just on the battlefront but about their lives back home, Darren knew anything could happen. He knew every soldier had a different way of dealing with grief and wounds, and he had to be on guard every moment.

  Taking his knife and what was left of the dead scorpion, Lance then grabbed a handful of beef jerky and some sweets before sitting down in front of Darren.

  “I was a bit hard on you the other week,” Lance said as he chewed on the jerky. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It goes with the territory.” Darren saw the young man studying the framed photo of the family on his desk. “That’s Sam, who’s six. Elie is eight. And Heather with Meribeth, who’s all of eleven months.”

  The soldier grinned, then took out a picture from his shirt pocket and handed it to Darren.

  “Daughter’s Alexis. And that’s my wife, Amanda.” Lance shook his head, looking at the ceiling for a moment and laughing in a bewildered sort of way.

  “What is it?” Darren asked.

  “She just told me five minutes ago that we gotta come up with another name! And money to pay for it too. How about that?” Lance let out a sigh, then tore into another piece of jerky.

  So that’s why you came in to talk.

  “Well, congratulations. That’s great news.”

  “I’ll tell Amanda you said so. I’ll even give her your number.”

  Popping back up to his feet, Lance began to pace in front of the treats again, obviously lost in thought. Then he began to walk toward the door, looking as if he thought it had been a mistake to come in. Darren let him debate with himself, not saying anything for a few minutes. Finally Lance glanced over at him.

  “Something on your mind, Bradley?”

  “You said something the other day.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Something about how God gives us life for a specific time and purpose, then takes us home safe.”

  Darren shifted in his chair, nodding at the younger man, recalling the rage on his face when Darren had uttered those words.

  “Yes,” he said. “Home safe in heaven. But that’s not a guarantee of safety here.”

  Lance shuffled back over toward him.

  “See, that’s the part that got me. So let’s say I buy it here, right? And something happens to me and I go ‘home safe’ to heaven. Where does that leave my wife and kids?”

  He slid back onto the seat facing Darren, for a moment searching his thoughts and confusion, trying to make sense of the questions he wanted to ask.

  “I mean, what happens to them? Do they go off the rails without their dad? Does Amanda lose it and let some drunk loser move in and hurt all three of them, making their lives a living hell while I sit up in heaven all safe and warm? Is that what you think oughta make me or anyone else feel better?”

  This wasn’t some hypothetical question the bright-eyed soldier was asking.

  This is his own life he’s talking about.

  “Lance, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t care if you’re sorry! Tell me He is! And tell me my kids won’t ever go through what I did! Can you tell me that, Chaplain? Can you?”

  The shouting clearly could be heard yards around the tent, yet Darren didn’t mind. He understood. He knew it was the kind of release men like this needed.

  The blue eyes stared at Darren, so desperate and so ready for an answer.

  “When my father left us, I knew he wasn’t coming back,” Darren said. “Ever. Said he stopped loving my mom. But it felt clear as day he stopped loving me too.”

  “This is not helping, man.”

  Darren hadn’t talked to many men about his father, especially not like this. But the time was right and he knew he needed to be open. Sharing his heart didn’t mean to spout out a bunch of things he’d learned in seminary. It meant opening up about the wounds his heart had experienced.

  “I didn’t have my dad, but I did have—still have—another Father. Who has never let me down. Who has never abandoned me. Who won’t abandon you or Amanda or Alexis or that new little one, no matter what comes.”

  He took one of the Bibles he had for the soldiers and slid it across the desk. Lance simply eyed it, then stood up again and headed out.

  But then he turned around, walked back to Darren’s desk, and picked up the Bible.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he said with the charming smile that had surely attracted Amanda to him when they first met. “I just like free stuff.”

  3

  They had walked through Freedom Park for a while, just the two of them, mothers taking a break from their children to talk. Heather had been there from the moment Anna Cosgrove learned about her husband’s death, and since then had been staying in touch and making a point to see her. This morning Heather had scheduled a time to have their kids babysat while they got outside to take in the midsummer day. With Anna in her third trimester, she needed to sit and rest for a while after the short stroll.

  There were so many things Heather wanted to say to Anna, but most of what she was doing was listening. Anna admitted her hormones were racing as she shared her frustration and fears.

  “I know what they say, how they tell you to accept the reality of your loss, how you can’t be in denial. But part of me is still thinking they made a big mistake, that Dirk’s going to call me up and say there was one huge misunderstanding.”

  Sometimes Anna would wipe away tears, then would find herself laughing so hard she had to wipe away more. Then sometimes the wave of emotion would seem to drift back out to the ocean, leaving her staring out in wonder, her hands resting on the little life growing inside of her.

  “I’m still trying to figure out how I’m supposed to raise a baby on my own,” she said.

  “You can’t do it on your own. And you don’t have to.”

  “Are you signing up for babysitting services?” Anna half joked.

  “You have a support system here. That includes me and a lot of others.”

  The pregnant woman gazed at a pair of ducks flying together above them.

  “I know that. Everybody keeps giving me information and showing me resources that are going to help. But eventually it’s just going to be me and my baby. And what then? There are lots of other folks who are going to need help. And I’m–I’m just really scared.”

  A passage from the Bible came to mind, and so did a couple of groups that Anna could become a part of. But instead of giving her more advice or wisdom or resources, Heather just put her arm around the younger woman and stayed by her side.

  Sometimes that was all anybody could do.<
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  4

  The sound of footsteps woke Darren up, not with a slight nudge but more of a violent jolt. As he jerked in his chair, he scattered papers and CDs on the desk he’d been slumped over. Sleep was nothing like it used to be. Now it was hard to find and too easy to leave behind.

  Shonda looked surprised to find him at his desk.

  “Oh, hey,” Darren said. “Sorry, Sergeant.” The alarm on his watch began to chirp. He swatted it silent. “Wow. Couldn’t sleep last night, then apparently couldn’t stop . . .”

  Shonda seemed to understand all too well. “The amazing power of anticipating a mortar blast. Then doing whatever you can to forget about it. It can be a vicious cycle.”

  As she walked over to help him pick up the pages that had scattered onto the floor, she noticed the emails on the computer monitor.

  “So, just checking, but did you want me to protect you from all kinds of trouble? Or just bullets and bombs?” She stood, waiting for him to respond. “That’s lots of emails from your wife, Chaplain. Better answer at least one of them.”

  Darren glanced at the inbox displayed on his screen. There were multiple unopened emails from Heather with subjects like Are you okay? and Please write back! and even Darren?

  He sighed, knowing he needed to, remembering he had started to yesterday but hadn’t been able to figure out what to say or what not to say. He had told himself he would just talk to her on the phone, but that hadn’t happened yet.

  That has to wait. I have a job to do.

  “I’m late,” Darren said as he began to get his materials ready for the morning service. “Mind cross-checking those CDs with the service run while I check setup?”

  He had been checking a few albums for music that could be used for the memorial service. Many times, like now, there wasn’t a bugler or trumpet player around to play taps, so they used a CD player instead.

  “No problem,” Shonda said, picking up a CD to begin looking through them.

  Once again, there would be a memorial ceremony for another man killed yesterday. Darren now knew a little more what to expect. The guys who were closest to the deceased would be hit the hardest. Big infantry warriors would be crying hard tears. But that was good. They needed to do that now, and then get ready for the next mission coming up. If they kept the grief inside, or delayed it, they would be a liability on the battlefield.

  5

  July 15, 2007

  I share this not to freak out anyone, but to be real. The courage and bravery I’ve already seen here are phenomenal. Soldiers continue to go in and out of our gates, patrolling the area we’re in and trying to do the right thing. War is confusing, but our guys are doing the best they can to secure this place, which will in turn get us home. That’s the goal. And they are doing a great job, with minimal mistakes. They have joined the fight and hit the streets, knowing it might not always turn out well. I’ve promised my guys that I and lots of people behind me are praying for them and their safe return each and every day. There are times that I have to go out as well. No lie, it’s not an easy place here. But my guys would have it no other way. If they would’ve wanted a safer existence, they would have done something else. They are true heroes! Pray for God’s supernatural protection—bullets missed, bombs not exploding, bad guys’ plans thwarted. God bless you all.

  Darren

  6

  The image on the computer monitor showed Elie by her countdown calendar, with three of the fifteen months each marked out with a big X. Heather studied it from the table full of photos and possible mattes for framing. Those empty boxes on the calendar seemed bigger than ever.

  Twelve more months. A whole year.

  The busyness Heather used to fight against now was an unusual ally in her battle against missing her husband. The photography helped, and so did parenting the kids, and so did all of her involvement with the community of army wives and families. Yet everything could potentially remind her of Darren. And when she hadn’t heard from him for a while, like lately, those reminders could linger for longer than they should. They could sting too.

  Today the reverse happened when the phone rang, breaking the silent questions in her heart. Heather felt an overflowing relief to hear Darren’s voice. She didn’t expect an apology for his lack of contact, but it was the first thing he said, saying how busy the last couple of weeks had been. Never talking specifics, but revealing more through his tone than any word he might say.

  Darren sounded not just tired but worn down. His voice didn’t match the last set of pictures he had shared last month that showed him laughing and being goofy like his normal self. She wasn’t going to tell him that, however. He surely knew how he sounded.

  “I can’t wait to send you the latest pictures,” she said. “The kids made a cake for our anniversary.”

  Darren sighed. She could picture him on the other line shaking his head.

  “They remembered, and I didn’t?” he asked. “Did you eat it all?”

  “Don’t worry. I boxed up a piece for your next care package.”

  “I can’t believe I forgot.” He paused for a moment. “I miss you guys.”

  “Believe me, we all miss you too.”

  In more ways than you’ll ever begin to know.

  As usual, there were too many things to tell him, too many stories to choose from. But she quickly tried to share a few stories about the children, at least telling him something notable about each one.

  “Meribeth is eating everything in sight. The other day Elie suggested we take her to the doctor to make sure she has a taste bud since she loves vegetables!”

  Darren’s laugh felt good to hear.

  “Sam was so proud that he earned his green belt in karate—”

  Darren interrupted. “Already?”

  “Yeah. I posted the pics two weeks ago.”

  “Aw—right. Shoot. I gotta look more.”

  Once again, she could hear it surrounding his words, almost smothering them. That depleted feeling. A tone that Darren rarely spoke in, but one he couldn’t disguise today.

  “Did you get the recent packages we sent?” she asked.

  “Yes. Those items and goodies from Buffington Baptist and the Creekview High School ROTC were incredible,” Darren said. “I’m going to put all the items in a big box and take it out to the COP for the soldiers. They don’t have anything out there, so these things will be a huge blessing to them. Especially since they don’t even know the people it’s coming from.”

  “That’s great to hear.”

  “And hey—this may be a wild idea, but any chance you’re up for coordinating Christmas stockings for the soldiers? You could fill them with gifts and snacks like you’ve been sending me.”

  Heather looked around the house that needed cleaning, among other things. Yes, she wanted to keep busy, but she didn’t want to suddenly be drowning in work.

  “Well, sure,” she said. “How many do you need?”

  “Give or take a thousand.”

  It was a good thing he couldn’t see her eyes popping. “Okay. I’m going to need some reinforcements then. I suppose I can ask a few wives.”

  Her mind began to start seeing it. Suddenly it didn’t seem daunting; the project felt like it could be inspirational.

  “We can even make it a community thing,” she continued. “Get a few churches and schools in on it.”

  Heather shared some ideas with Darren, but she didn’t get much excitement or energy coming back on the line. She decided she didn’t want to let him go without asking. Who knew how long it would be until they would talk again.

  “Babe? Are you okay? You just . . . you sound different.”

  “Nah, I’m fine. Sorry. Really, it’s a lot like faith for people at home, I guess. Slow and hard. Maybe harder here than I expected.”

  7

  July 28, 2007

  I have found that there are two options to mental survival over here: one is to constantly be on edge because, really, at any moment there c
ould be some sort of attack and people could die. The other is to go numb to the threat and live as normally as possible. I think I am choosing to go numb because the once-scary “incoming” sirens are no longer that scary. I just hit the ground and get back up a few minutes later, hoping nobody got hit. Not sure if that’s the best way to cope, but it’s how I’m getting through the days. Remember the first time you drove a car? I do. I was scared, thinking I could crash and die at any moment in that huge piece of moving metal. Then I got used to the threat and just drove. Kinda the same thing here.

  Tomorrow is Meribeth’s first birthday. I’m sad that I’ll miss the party. I so want to be home with Heather and my kids. That ache comes and goes in waves. It’s definitely here now, in light of her special day. It’s times like these that I question what in the world am I doing over here. I know why I am here, but like Jonah, I want to run away at times. But just as God wouldn’t let Jonah, He won’t let me. Pray for my cooperation in the midst of being here.

  Happy birthday, Meribeth!! I love you so much, and I can’t believe you are already one year old. Enjoy your party.

  Love,

  Daddy

  THE FOURTH MONTH

  1

  August 5, 2007

  Hey, friends and family! Hope you and yours are doing well. I want to share a couple of quotes from some kids in a Norfolk, Virginia, Sunday school class who sent me some encouraging letters. I will quote their original spelling as well.

  Dear Chaplin Turner, I hope that you will try not to die and be happy.

  Dear Chaplain Turner, thank you for helping are country. Do you know my Dad? My Dad is not thar because he chaped his anckale.

  Dear Chaplain Turner, I just want you to know I’m praying . . . so have a good battle.

  And finally,

  Dear Chaplain Turner, I am praying that the Iraqeys don’t have machinge guns and canyons. I pray you kill all the jermans and Iraqis.

  I’m sure he means well! Thanks, Norfolk First Baptist. Those letters brightened my day.