Page 37 of All We Thought We Knew
I recognized the point Mark wanted to make. “If you’re trying to be a modern-day Bonhoeffer, there are better ways to do it thangoing to Vietnam. You’re going as a soldier carrying a gun, not a preacher carrying a Bible.”
“Can’t I be both?”
His question startled me. “I’ve never heard you mention anything about being a preacher. It’s always been football, football, football. You wanted to play and then coach.”
He gave a slight shrug. “I still love football, and maybe I’ll coach someday, but right now, I’m a soldier. That doesn’t mean I can’t share the gospel with people though. Pastor Arnold once said we don’t need to go to seminary to talk to others about Jesus. The disciples were regular guys—fishermen, mostly—and they went out and changed the world by spreading the Good News. I figure I’m a pretty regular guy too. I want God to use me, like he used them, if he’s willing.”
I suddenly felt ashamed of the hard time I’d given him since he joined the Marines. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”
He handed the book to me. “I want you to keep this while I’m gone. I think you’ll like it.” He grinned. “You wanna know something else I have in common with Dietrich Bonhoeffer?”
“What?”
“He had a twin sister. Her name was Sabine.”
“Really? What happened to her?”
“Her husband was Jewish, so they escaped to England with their children once Hitler came into power.”
I studied the cover of the book. “I wonder what Sabine thought about Dietrich putting himself in harm’s way, especially after he died because of it.” I looked up. “There isn’t anything wrong with safety, you know. People can still speak up for what’s right without putting themselves in danger.”
“I know.” He took my hand and locked fingers with me. “But sometimes, someone has to do the hard things and make sacrifices to make sure the people they care about are safe.”
Later, when the house was dark and still, I lay in bed, thinkingabout what he’d said. I knew on a certain level he was right. For centuries, men and women had fought for what they believed in. Freedom, religious rights, family. But Mark’s going to Vietnam was different. There was no fear of that country’s communistic government taking over the world the way people feared Hitler and the Japanese Empire would during World War II. I knew China was allied with the Vietcong, and that President Johnson was adamant in his support of the South Vietnamese, but I didn’t agree with him regarding the use of American servicemen like Mark to police the tiny country.
Why couldn’t Mark see that I was right this time?
I must’ve fallen asleep sometime in the wee hours of morning because I woke to the smell of fried bacon. A glance at my wristwatch told me it was a little before seven. Mark needed to be at the bus station at nine.
Tears rolled down my cheeks into my hair.
This was really happening.
My brother—my twin, my other half—was leaving to go to the opposite side of the world. We wouldn’t see him for a year or more. I recalled what Paula said last night about the possibility of Mark being different when he returned from war. Would her worries come true?
By the time I made my way downstairs, Mama, Mark, and Dad had finished eating and were sitting at the table, drinking coffee, and talking about a horse Dad wanted to sell.
“Good morning, Miss Sunshine,” Mark said with a grin. It was his usual greeting, especially on school mornings when he’d be up and dressed and ready to go before I even dragged myself out of bed.
Mama stood. “Do you want some breakfast, Mattie? There’s time before we need to leave for town.”
My stomach was in knots. The thought of food made me nauseous. “No, thanks.”
She gave me an empathetic nod.
The next hour flew by, with Mama making sure Mark took this item or that. Dad didn’t go out to the barn after breakfast, as was his custom, but stayed in the kitchen, a solemn look on his face. I was still frustrated with him, but it was too late for arguments.
By eight thirty, we were loaded into Dad’s pickup truck. Mark sat on his big green duffel bag in the bed, with his back up against the window. Mama sat in the middle, which allowed me to watch Mark rather than the passing scenery.
Was he going to miss me as much as I would miss him? We’d never been separated for very long. Since the beginning of our existence, we’d been together nearly every day. What would I do without him?
Too soon, we arrived at the bus station. Nash stood outside the terminal building, a duffel bag identical to Mark’s at his feet. Neither his mom nor his dad was with him.
We piled out of the truck. Dad went inside to the ticket counter and came back with a one-way ticket to Atlanta. He didn’t smile when he handed the ticket to Mark, and I wondered if he might finally regret Mark’s decision and his role in it.
Paula and Pastor Arnold joined us as we waited. Pastor offered a prayer for Mark and Nash just as a bus rolled into the terminal, spewing black exhaust into the warm morning air.
Nash thanked my parents for everything they’d done for him through the years. Dad shook his hand and Mama gave him a motherly hug.
