Indivisible

by Travis Thrasher

  “But we gave it to you so we could—” Sam said.

  “So it’s mine and you read it when I say you can!” Darren reached down with his bandaged hand while both of the kids recoiled, as if expecting him to strike them.

  He grabbed the journal and then clutched it, still glaring at them, hovering so close.

  She’d seen enough.

  “Darren—what are you doing to them?” She rushed over to the children and crouched down, put herself between them and their daddy.

  Her expression told him everything. She didn’t need to say it.

  Do you see the fear you’re putting in your own kids’ eyes? Do you?

  Elie began to cry. “Please, stop! Don’t fight anymore ’cuz of us!”

  Anymore.

  These fights had become routine, just like Darren’s distance. She glared at him, furious.

  “I didn’t do anything!” Darren said.

  Steady and calm, Heather stood and looked at him. “Enough, Darren. Get out! Go! Right now. You’re no longer welcome in this house.”

  Somehow he seemed to shrink down, his fury dissipating into guilt.

  “No. I’m not leaving my family.”

  She forced him to look back down at their kids, terrified and hiding like children escaping from bombing attacks.

  “You need help,” she said. “And I can’t give it to you. Go to the base and get some help.”

  Darren appeared to steady his emotions, knowing he was cornered. He knelt down on the ground while the children cowered behind Heather.

  “I love you guys,” he said to them. “And I’m going to find my way back.”

  Elie popped up and approached her father, giving him a tentative hug on his shirt. Then Heather saw her pull out a coin from her pocket and give it to Darren.

  “I think you need this more than I do, Daddy.”

  Without another word, Darren left.

  5

  He stopped at the gate of the walkway at Fort Stewart, a place he knew very well but had avoided since coming back. Then he read the sign at the entrance with the header, “Where Warriors Walk.” This was a sacred place, a path where soldiers had marched before heading to battle, and a welcoming point for when they returned home.

  Standing upright like the men and women they honored, Easter redbud trees stretched down the path on each side of Cottrell Field. Dozens and dozens planted for each soldier from the Third Infantry Division who died in Operation Iraqi Freedom. A concrete marker displayed the names of the deceased soldiers. Surrounding many of the trees were flowers and photos and other small keepsakes and souvenirs brought by family and friends. Those were the ones who mostly visited this memorial; soldiers were less likely to be seen striding over Warriors Walk.

  In his army sweatshirt and jogging pants, Darren walked down the path and stopped in the general area where he’d been told he could find the name. He spent a few moments searching until arriving at the concrete block with the name chiseled into it.

  SPECIALIST LANCE BRADLEY

  Underneath the small American flag stuck by the tree, a blue rattle rested.

  Darren knew it hadn’t been accidentally dropped by some baby.

  Under the gray skies, feeling the cool wind shivering around him, Darren sought for something to say, but couldn’t even utter something simple. After all those words of encouragement he’d given to Lance, he couldn’t say anything now. Nor could he find it in him to pray.

  Perhaps Lance wasn’t the only thing Darren lost that day in Iraq.

  Maybe the hope he used to pass out as freely as beef jerky had departed with the young man.

  Darren turned and began to walk away, then started to jog. He kept running, harder and faster, trying to get as far away from that cement brick as he could.

  6

  Alone in the dark, Heather sat on the edge of her bed, wiping the tears off her cheeks as she did the one thing she could.

  “Lord, please come rescue this family. Please, Father, we need Your help. Something supernatural has to happen. I know that. And I know You work miracles, so please, Lord. Help Darren. Help him find his way. Please, Lord, help me find mine. We need You, God.”

  7

  Struggling to go to sleep, Darren found himself spending yet another night on a friend’s pull-out couch. He didn’t have any answers, not yet. But he did have a lot of opened doors and soldiers who welcomed him in without questions.

  After tossing and turning for an hour, he sat up and checked his phone, hoping for some sort of message from Heather. Instead he found a text from an old friend he hadn’t heard from in a while.

  There were no words, just a photo of Shonda with Colby sitting on her lap. Both of them were smiling as they held the children’s book Darren had recently sent them.

  He didn’t smile. But the photo was a nice reminder.

  Not everything had been lost and left behind under that scorching sun. Some good had come from the work he had done in Iraq.

  Perhaps there were a few more things remaining that needed to be dug out of the war’s hopeless desert sands.

  FEBRUARY 2009

  1

  “I mean, by the end, I couldn’t even listen to myself,” Darren said to Chaplain Rodgers, who sat across from him at his desk. “Dishing up faith as reality kept cutting the legs out from under me.”

  Darren groaned, rubbing his clean-shaven face. He’d grown into the habit of brushing his scratchy beard, and it felt good to have finally gotten rid of it.

  “Did I just say that?” he continued. “What is wrong with me? And what if Michael were here—”

  “Darren, relax,” Chaplain Rodgers said with his usual calm demeanor. “Michael’s not here, and if he were, you wouldn’t have said it.”

  “Wouldn’t I? I never thought I’d say what I said to my family either.”

  Shoving out of his chair, Darren stood and paced the room, wanting to get out of there and simply breathe.

  “And I hate that I can hear everything you’re thinking this whole time!” he told Rodgers. “All the cue cards, like ‘God is with you,’ that Lance and Michael started buying into, and now one is dead and the other’s a dad with his legs blown off! Why would he ever believe me?”

  Chaplain Rodgers waited for Darren to calm down and sit back in his chair.

  “Well, are you going to say something?” Darren asked as he fell back into his seat.

  “Dang, you remind me of me. Now, let me know if you hear what I just heard. You stopped liking hearing you talk about God. You are afraid reality undercut your message and Michael’s ability to believe you now—”

  “Give me a break, you know what I meant,” Darren said as Chaplain Rodgers gave him a thin smile.

  “I think I do. And as can happen to any of us who try to help others trust God, the enemy got you trusting in you instead of—”

  “No!” Darren interrupted. “I was trusting God! To protect those men. And He didn’t!”

  “No . . . You trusted God to do what you thought He should do.”

  Darren leaned over and looked at the floor, shaking his head. Chaplain Rodgers leaned over his desk to get his attention.

  “You show me a believer, Darren, and I’ll show you someone who’s done the same exact thing, or is about to. All of us have doubted at some point, son. You went into the fire confident in the truth, but when God’s divine providence didn’t live up to what you asked for, you questioned it. I understand that—but I have one question for you: What kind of faith do you want to pass on to your family? Or to those who look up to you?”

  2

  Amanda sat on the couch holding Elijah, and Heather and Tonya sat on either side, cooing at the baby.

  “That little expression is so Lance,” Amanda said. “A mini-me version of him.” She laughed and had to fight back the emotions filling her. Then she looked at Tonya. “I’ll never forget what Michael did. Trying to save him . . .”

  “And Michael would do it again ten times over,” Tonya said
. “Especially where his heart’s at now. It’s so . . . bittersweet.”

  Heather felt like she was falling again. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes.

  “Heather,” Tonya said gently. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t worry about me.”

  Tonya leaned over and gave her a firm look. “Why not? Pain is pain. And ours doesn’t make yours any less real.”

  “But what is it?” Amanda asked.

  Heather wasn’t sure what to say, but she also knew she was carrying way too much inside.

  “I’m just—the three of us . . . we are carrying so much pain. And loss. And I’m having a real hard time seeing God’s goodness in all of it.”

  “Here’s what I know, honey,” Tonya said. “That IED returned my Michael to me, and to our girls. He’s a different man now. And if that’s not evidence of a good God working here, bringing us something better through pain, I don’t know what is.”

  Heather knew she needed to hear this, that God wanted her to hear these words. Tonya kept talking as she gritted through her tears.

  “So at this point, all I can do is trust He knows what He’s doing. Which better be true, because it’s all that’s keeping this girl together. Just. That.”

  Heather reached over to take Tonya’s hand, and then Amanda held on to both of them. For a moment they held one another, and Heather felt something that hadn’t been hers in a long time.

  Hope.

  3

  The dirt felt smooth and cool to his hands. Darren knelt down along a row of freshly transplanted flowers and thought about the first time he’d met his new boss, Bob Henshaw. He had come here to Millstone Nursery and Greenhouse at the suggestion of Chaplain Rodgers. Henshaw had been surprised when Darren asked about a possible job.

  “I’ve had a number of vets working for us in the past,” Bob told him, “but never a chaplain. So after fifteen months in the desert, you sure you want to come work in the dirt?”

  Walking amidst the multicolored trees, plants, and flowers that day made Darren feel alive, more than any sort of jog in the woods might. He had stopped and scooped up a handful of rich soil as he smiled at Bob.

  “Different kind of dirt, sir. Different kind of dirt.”

  Weeks later, Darren was starting over in many ways. He was still on his own, seeing the kids on a regular basis but with nothing changed between Heather and him. The decision to resign from the army seemed monumental, and surprising to others around him, yet to him it made perfect sense.

  A chaplain shouldn’t be separated from his wife and couch-surfing while trying to minister to other soldiers. He was the one who was supposed to have it all together, or at least most of everything together. He needed to leave.

  There were those around him who came and said they’d give him a reassignment. But they just couldn’t understand. Darren needed out. The military had been his mistress. All this army stuff—his buddies and the world they all lived in—had become an idol to him, one he bowed down to. It was time to stand up and get away from it.

  The couch-surfing had been a fine temporary fix, but he knew he had to find an apartment to rent. Just for the time being. Just until . . . until the seeds planted could be watered and tended to.

  An old voice from the past interrupted his reverie. “Still livin’ on your knees, I see.”

  Darren turned around quickly and saw Michael’s beaming face as he maneuvered toward him in the wheelchair.

  “Oh man . . . I didn’t hear you coming,” Darren said as he stood.

  “Set it to stealth mode. Straight-up military issue.”

  Darren smiled and gave him a nod. It was the first time he’d seen Michael rolling around in a wheelchair, so he knew his friend felt anxious but was keeping it together.

  “Man—I’m glad you’re back,” Darren said.

  “That’s the problem. I’m back, but my neighbor’s gone. I wanna fix that.”

  Yeah, me too.

  “Let’s take a walk,” Darren said, then realized what he’d said.

  “Look,” Michael said, “I’m making some strides with this whole faith thing, but I don’t think I’m ready to stand up and get healed. Not yet.”

  Darren laughed. “Come on. I’ll push you.”

  “Just like always—you’re still in the back seat.”

  After strolling through the quiet serenity of the nursery for a few moments, Darren told his friend about leaving the army and starting the job at the nursery.

  “Chaplain Rodgers has been helpful. Helping me see what I lost track of.”

  “Your armor, brother,” Michael interjected. “That’s what.”

  “Bit more complicated than that.”

  Michael turned his head to look at him. “Okay. So why the anger? And don’t give me that look. Our wives are friends. I’ve heard it all, man.”

  “Then you don’t need me to tell you—”

  “Hey, I’m not the angry one.”

  “Michael, come on.”

  Grabbing the wheels and stopping the chair, Michael turned it around to face Darren. “You angry at your wife?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “At me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then who? Yourself?”

  “You’re darn right.”

  Michael shook his head. “Naw, not it. Come on, Chaplain. Belt’a truth me up! ’Cuz you been in my face since the day we met!”

  Something hard hit Darren’s chest and then clinked onto the cement. He looked down and saw one of his gifts to Michael.

  “A coin for a con man. ’Cause if you can’t even tell me, that’s what you—”

  “I’m afraid. All right? Of exactly—”

  “I didn’t ask why you’re afraid,” Michael said. “I asked why you’re angry.”

  “Are you even kidding me? Look at you! Look at Lance! Look at me!” Darren reached over and jerked the handle of the wheelchair, shaking Michael. “God is my life, so what was He thinking? What was He thinking?”

  Michael slowly nodded in approval, giving him a compassionate smile. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he told Darren. “Brother, when I picked that piece of tin out of the dirt, I never thought it promised I’d come back in one piece. And neither did Lance.”

  An unusual swell of emotion filled Michael’s face. He paused and relaxed, letting it move along before talking.

  “A couple minutes after the blast, he knew he was slipping away,” Michael said. “Bleeding from his head. Fading. And you know what he said to me? He said he was glad he wore his helmet. And he wasn’t talking about his government-issued one either.”

  As his lungs filled with air, Darren bent his legs and knelt to the ground. Now he was face-to-face with the major.

  “The helmet of salvation,” Darren said in a whisper.

  “You gave that to him, Darren. I watched him go with a peaceful smile on his face because of it. So . . . don’t you go losing your faith on account of me and Lance. Uh-uh. I don’t want that on my head.”

  Darren closed his eyes, sighing and trying to settle his wild and worn-down spirit.

  Michael wheeled closer to him. “Now. What are you gonna do about that woman of yours? When’s the last time you called her?”

  Looking back at his friend, Darren understood.

  He’d been the one for months gently prodding and nudging and encouraging Michael to do the right thing. Now it was Michael’s turn to do the same for him.

  MARCH AND APRIL 2009

  1

  Sliding down a downward spiral can feel slow and tortuous, like the time spent in a deployment overseas, yet climbing up toward safe ground can pass quickly, almost too fast to see the steady progress. But progress can come if you surrender to the right One.

  A heart should never stay in place. A soul should never grow stagnant.

  Darren continues to run, to stay fit and move his body and allow himself to think. To talk to God. To ask questions and to continue to ask fo
r His mercy. He runs but he’s not running away, not anymore. He’s simply running to find a place to stand still.

  Heather looks for life behind the lens of her camera, whether in Sam’s smile or Elie’s laugh or Meribeth’s embrace. Whether it’s framed for a family or found inside God’s creation. She keeps looking and waiting, being mindful and asking for wisdom and guidance.

  Every day, grace can be found in small and big ways. Starting to work on a big project for the kids, Darren finds the work refreshing and exciting, knowing he’s building a bridge to something more. To something possibly better. Michael offers to help him, coming over to the barn at the nursery to paint. Soon the two of them are hanging out more often, and it feels like old times.

  Every day Heather prays for Darren, for their marriage, for their children, for hope. She sees hope in Amanda, who carries a spirit of unlikely joy brought out by Alexis and Elijah. Heather sees hope in Tonya too, who proudly shares about Michael’s progress in rehab.

  Darren has a plan and a purpose again, yet he has to take one step at a time.

  Heather takes one day at a time, wanting to rush but knowing she has to wait.

  2

  The classroom door was open, so he could hear the voice of the presenter talking to the third-grade class. Darren stood by the wall just before the entrance, listening for a few moments.

  “I especially love photographing people. Capturing expressions. Smiles. Their memories. And moments we’ll never live exactly the same way ever again. Saving them forever.”

  Darren smiled. It felt good to hear Heather’s voice again. He knew how comfortable she felt standing in front of children, and he was reminded of her talents at teaching young students. Carrying a narrow, three-foot-long box in his hands, and wearing his nursery apron from work, he stepped inside and stood by the doorway. Elie’s teacher, Mrs. Dykstra, motioned him to come on in. Heather paused for a moment, surprised to see him. Then she turned back to the students.

  “You never know, when you take someone’s photo, how much it may mean to someone someday,” she said, now sounding more anxious. “And that’s why I love being a photographer. Thanks for listening.”

  The kids clapped as Heather sat back on a chair at the side of the room. A set of her photos was displayed on easels at the front of the class. All four of the photos were beautiful, especially the one of him in a uniform getting kisses on each side of his face from Elie and Sam.