Page 36 of All We Thought We Knew
I reached for Paula’s hand. “Mark loves you. That isn’t going to change, no matter what. But I see his point. He might be gone for a long time. You may change your mind.”
She shook her head. “I won’t. There’s no one else for me but Mark.”
I offered a supportive smile. “Then think how happy the two of you will be when he finally comes home.”
A burst of laughter came from the group when Mark, Nash, and Rusty began prancing about and singing “I’m Henry VIII, I Am” in outrageous British accents. Mark sashayed over and grabbed Paula’s hand.
“Dance with me,” he hollered over the din, grinning.
Paula’s expression instantly changed, from sheer agony to sheer joy, and she eagerly joined in the silliness. I couldn’t help but smile, despite my frustration. My brother was a nutcase, but oh, how I loved him.
After everyone was gone, we enjoyed Mama’s dinner. Her face shone with pleasure when Mark confessed he was going to miss her home-cooked food. When the meal was over, Mama asked Mark to change into his military uniform so Dad could take his picture. I couldn’t believe the transformation when he came out of his room. He looked so mature and handsome. Mama had tears in her eyes as we each took turns standing next to Mark while someone snapped a photograph with Dad’s old Kodak Brownie.
Mama shooed us onto the porch once he changed back into street clothes. I guess she knew Mark and I needed some alone time, so we sat on the porch swing, with him gently rocking the wooden bench with his foot. The silence between us wasn’t heavy, but there were things I wanted to say before he left tomorrow.
“I know it’s too late for you to change your mind about going to Vietnam.” My throat thickened with fear. “But promise me you won’t do anything stupid, like get yourself shot.”
He put his arm around my shoulders. “I promise I won’t doanything stupid, Sis.” He tucked me into his side, and I rested my head on his shoulder. “But I need you to understand this is something I feel I’m supposed to do. Like a calling, of sorts.”
I jerked out of his embrace and leveled a hard look at him. “People aren’t called to war, Mark. They go because some politician or dictator, sitting safely in a fancy office somewhere, decided war was a better option than working things out without bloodshed.”
His brow tugged. “That isn’t always true, Mattie. Think of King David in the Bible. Taking lives wasn’t something he wanted to do, but there are times when war is necessary. I’m not anxious to shoot at someone, but there are innocent people in South Vietnam who need help. I’m proud to be one of the Americans willing to offer it any way I can.”
I wanted to argue with him, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn’t. His conviction had never wavered, and I had to admit it was admirable. I just wished he hadn’t landed on the wrong side of the debate. Hadn’t gone off and joined the Marines.
Hadn’t felt it was okay to leave me behind.
I closed my eyes for a long moment. When my gaze met his again, I saw my brother, my twin. My wombmate. The person who knew me better than anyone and still loved me unconditionally. He’d borne my anger, my arguments, my disdain for his decision, yet he’d never fought back. He’d remained steady and kind, the same Mark I’d always known.
My chin trembled and tears filled my eyes.
“I’m proud of you, Mark,” I said, my voice wobbly. “I really am. I don’t agree with you, and I think it’s a huge mistake for you to go to Vietnam, but I’ll always love you.”
“I love you too, little sis.” Moisture shone in his eyes. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid while you’re in Nashville, like joining the protests and getting yourself arrested.”
I chuckled. “You know me too well.”
He reached beside him and picked up a small book. I recognized it as the one Pastor Arnold had given him for graduation.
“The guy who wrote this, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, stood up for his beliefs back in World War II.” He ran his hand over the title printed on the cover.The Cost of Discipleship.“Dr. Bonhoeffer was a German pastor, and he strongly disagreed with Hitler’s regime. He was willing to risk his life to do what was right.”
“How could a pastor fight for his beliefs yet join Hitler’s army?”
“He didn’t join the army. He wasn’t a soldier. At least not the kind you’re thinking of. He fought the lies being told to the German people by speaking truth. He was called to spread the gospel in a time and place where it wasn’t welcome. And he made a lot of enemies doing so, including Hitler.”
“He sounds like someone I would like to meet.”
I thought my little joke would make Mark smile, but he didn’t.
“Unfortunately, that isn’t possible. He was arrested in 1943 and was eventually murdered in one of Hitler’s concentration camps just before the allies liberated it.”
This revelation stunned me. “How awful.”
“The thing is, he’d come to America to teach. He could’ve stayed here, safe from Hitler and the Nazis, but Bonhoeffer chose to return to Germany.”
“Why?” I asked. “Who would choose to live under a government run by a murderous tyrant when they could stay in the Land of the Free?”
“A man who felt called to minister to his countrymen. He knew they needed help. He once told a friend that if he’d stayed in America and didn’t suffer the trials of war along with the rest of Germany, then he would have no right to participate in the reconstruction of Christianity when the war was over.”
