Soldier Of God

Chapter 2

~Chapter 2~

Nothing happened for a couple months except, in July, we didn't celebrate Independence day. I asked my father why and he replied that if we don't have freedom of religion, then we don't have freedom at all. That day, we just did our daily chores without another word. In August, my brother Josh, sent us a letter. My mother stroked it with care as she realized how much he had to spend to send it to them. I knew my mom was afraid to read what was inside but once she opened the envelope and started reading, a smile spread across her face. She held the letter to her chest, looked to the heavens, and mouthed the words "thank you." I went over to her and tried to read the letter but my mom grabbed my arm.

"He can't go. Dear Lord, thank you. He can't go."

"What are you talking about?" I asked her.

"Josh... He can't go into the army. He was drafted but he called them from the school phone and they found out that his vision is impaired; they said he couldn't join. Thank you, Lord, thank you."

I pried her fingers from my skin and ended up backing into my father. He put my hand in his. I didn't like it but I don't understand why. Kindly, I smiled at him, rested my head on his shoulder, and waited patiently for him to let go. When I finally took my hand from his, I discovered how sweaty my palms were.

In late September, we heard that Germany had been bombed. You could only imagine the destruction. A question sat in every mind. Who's next? What's going to happen to our world? Who's winning? So far, no one could tell. On some of the days I asked myself these questions. On those days, I would conjure up the most ridiculous answers. I knew that if I wanted to find out, I would have to join the army. That was a decision I was not prepared to make. Every Sunday, my parents would call me out into our living room and start reading from the Bible. My hands turned into fists and my teeth cringed. Lord, if you're there, why aren't you doing anything? Why don't you just show yourself? My brother can be dying and are you doing anything about it? Those were my questions of built up anger and hatred. When my parents finished reading the last passage, I laid on my bed and repeated "sorry" into my pillow several times. Maybe, I was afraid to get God upset but maybe, I was afraid that my parents would be disappointed in me if they knew.

Nothing significant happened until December twenty fifth, the month before my birthday and the day of Christmas. I brought a potted plant, from our backyard, into our house and hung pictures, ribbons, and bows on the scrawny, lifeless branches. It was small and flimsy but it was a tree nonetheless. I put some things, that I had made out of cloth, yarn, or pages from children's books, under the tree. Sadly, I could not wrap them, as much as I wanted to. We didn't own any wrapping paper or plain white paper which made me think of an idea. I ran into my room and ripped the sheets off of the bed. I would get the sheets back so it wouldn't be a problem. My presents bulged under the sheet wrapping and I smiled at the surprise my parents would not expect. Then, my house shook. A plane was flying toward our house. My eyes widened as I classified it as a bomber. 

My heart raced as I ran to my parents bedroom and burst through the door. I screamed at them and my mom told me to get our stuff. They seemed too calm but I had no time to ask why. I opened our cupboard and took out a large, red tool box. It carried extra money we saved, water, beef jerky, sandwiches, and a picture of my family. Every week, my mom would make a dozen sandwiches in case of an air raid. Every week, if the air raid didn't come, we would end up having to eat the old things. Not this time. A picture frame collapsed to the floor and the lamp right above my head crashed to the ground, leaving me only a split second to dodge it. The glass shattered only inches from my toes.

My mom and dad came into the kitchen dressed. They took up our cat and dog before we ran outside. They release out pets and I hoped that somehow they would find a way to live. We continued to run on the streets, of which I was the only one barefoot. A bomb behind us threw me off of my feet and onto my face. I quickly scrambled to my feet and ran to catch up with my parents. As we neared a corner, my father strictly instructed us not to look back. I did look back. My house was no longer there; it was as if it had never existed. My father caught me staring and pulled my arm to keep us moving. Everything happened so fast that it was almost as if there were no real emotions to express. Our streets were crowded with people running which nearly caused me to be separated from my parents. So far, we didn't see any dead bodies and man, was I thankful for that.

It wasn't until late that night that we finally found a bus stop that had not been affected by the bombs. It was extremely crowded with people panicking and cursing. We knew that we wouldn't get a turn on the bus until morning so we laid on the cold sidewalk and slept while one of us kept an eye on the line. Before the bombing, we had planned where we would go just in the air raid came; we would go to my uncle's house which partly upset me. I didn't like the idea of just showing up on their doorstep, begging for shelter. My uncle was nice, don't get me wrong, but he has a wife that has several obnoxious habits and a son that thinks that he is better than everyone. Truth is, their family never got along my family... Ever. Snow began to fall so I let the frosty flakes bite my tongue. My parents began to shiver as the snow collected around their huddling figures. Since we arrived at the bus stop, the line in front of us had decreased significantly but the line behind us had increased. We were now waiting for the next bus which, if no one cut in front of us, we would get on. The sun was slowly starting to make its way above the snow-capped buildings. Hopefully, to melt the snow that the night had brought.

Gently, I shook my parents awake as the bus came into view. They slowly straightened their backs and stretched out their legs. "Why?" they asked quietly to themselves. We paid our fare and, discovering that all of seats were taken, grabbed a pole to steady us as we stood. I looked behind me and saw our old neighbors and my old coworkers. They glared at us while muttering violent curses under their breath. I ignored them and stared vacantly out the window as if I was staring into the face of destruction. Suddenly, our whole situation hit me with a bang. No more home. No more fun family conversations. No more... peace. Dear Lord, why did you let this happen? A hot, bitter tear rolled down my pale, freckled cheek. I looked at the bus driver and saw that her rear mirror had a sticker that said: "D--- those believers." Why such language? Was it really necessary?

Somehow, my parents nodded off in an upright stance. I did not because I was completely alert as I looked for bombers. My eyes scanned for a fellow Christian at each stop but so far, judging by the language and hatred, there were none. The bus came to another stop and my parents, who had woken from their slumber, instructed me that this was our stop. As I walked toward the bus's doors, a man tried to trip me. I stumbled a bit but, as I got both feet steady, I punched the man across his jaw. His head snapped back and once he was back in order and ready to fight, we were already gone. I smiled with a sense of pride but my parents scolded me.

"Control your anger!" they said.

"You aren't acting very Christ-like." My parents stared at me long and hard but I didn't reply.

The rain started to drizzle down before it began to pour. We began running to my uncle's house, wherever it was. Our heavy feet hit the ground and splashed water everywhere. My hair stuck to my skull like glue until we came into a small neighborhood and we slowly trudged our way up a walkway to my uncle's house.