Standing Still--Moving Forward

 We were no longer in the living room, that night.  Instead, I was walking with my husband through one of the most frightening moments of his life. He was only a boy of 18 when he was drafted to fight in World War Two.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget those horror filled days and nights following my capture during the Battle of the Bulge.  But I wasn’t the only prisoner taken in the days ahead.  We were crammed into railroad boxcars so tightly we could hardly breathe.

"As the train began to move, my brain sped backwards to the battle,” he said.

His voice softened.  “Will I ever forget the high pitched whine of bombs and the flash of enemy fire? There we knelt, the two of us; my buddy and me huddled in a foxhole.  In a way the darkness shielded us, at least it did until my buddy suddenly leaped to his feet.

‘Get down.’ I shouted as I grabbed his leg and pulled him down beside me on the ground.

“’But I have to see,’ he cried. ‘I have to.’”

“’No! You’ll get us both killed. Don’t you understand? They told us to stay down and not fire unless we knew for sure what we were aiming at.’”

“But my foxhole buddy wasn’t listening. Even as I spoke he leaned forward and craned his neck. As he peered into the darkness he was suddenly lit by a flash of light. I tried to yank him back onto the ground for safety but an exploding missile overshadowed my efforts. 

An explosion whizzed past my ears. I wanted to vomit but I don’t know if I did or not. I only knew that my buddy’s head had been blown from his body and I was alone. But I wasn’t alone. My rifle was ripped from my hands and I was being dragged out; a prisoner of war, drenched in my buddy’s blood.”

“And after that?” I whispered.

“The railroad cars. I think I must have been one of the first to be loaded on. In a way it saved my life because I could put my nose in a crack on the side and breathe. But a lot of the men in the middle died standing up. They must have suffocated because there was no room. At times we stood on top of dead men and there was nothing we could do about it.”

He shuddered. “The smells were horrid. We all had dysentery so bad, it ran down our legs and there was nothing we could do to stop it. And still the wheels rolled. When other prisoners died and stood with us shoulder to shoulder we could only stand still and let it happen. My lips and mouth got so dry I couldn’t even spit. I thought I was going to die and I almost wished I had. But I didn’t and now I’m glad. I wasn’t ready to meet my Maker and I knew it.”

Then my husband’s eyes focused back into the present where we sat on the sofa together.  A tiny smile curled the corner of his mouth.

I nodded. “Do you remember how you kept asking me what a Christian was? I was a bit of a baby Christian myself back then and I had a hard time finding words to describe what it meant to be a child of God.”

“You didn’t do so bad.” He reached out an arm and drew me close. “Somehow your words came through to me that a Christian is someone who loves Jesus. If I had died in the war—and there were times when I really did wish I was dead—I wouldn’t have found Jesus, or you. But God . . .

But God. He goes before us and makes the crooked places straight. He calls us by Name and we run to Him and He will be with us forever and ever. Amen.