Thus he spoke, and then he said to them, “Our friend Lazarus
has fallen asleep, but I go to awaken him out of sleep.”
John 11:11
A young woman cradled her three month old infant and wept. She had just returned to her mother’s home to live, to start her life over again. She had no idea where to begin or how she was going to do this, but she knew who to go to in her grief; her mother.
It was 1945 and nearing the end of WWII. For months now, her husband of a year and a half had been missing in action in Europe. Now her letters to him were coming back to her stamped by the government with "Deceased" on each one. Pain seared through her every time one arrived, and it grieved her sorely to think he hadn’t even seen or known his precious little son! She could never have imagined this, yet deep in her heart she had feared that it might. Maybe because he was everything she had ever dreamed of, and finally she had found someone who brought stability to her life, that she feared losing him even more.
The young US Army lieutenant was a prisoner of war in Germany, held in several concentration camps for days that turned to weeks that turned to months. He clutched to his heart the last letter he had received from his wife of only 6 months. “She is the love of my life!” He had said so many times to those around him. That letter held information that was the foundation of his continued courage. She told him she was expecting their first child, and his joy in receiving that knowledge gave him the strength to hold on no matter what, even as he endured atrocities beyond comprehension. He clutched that letter and his little leather bound Missal; both remained with him and amazingly concealed all those months!
It was late at night, when the young woman finally settled her little one down and she was about to attempt a few hours rest. Suddenly she heard a knock on the front door downstairs. Not paying much attention to it because of the activity in the busy family household, she was surprised when her sister called her name. “Elaine! Wake up! Come quick! Bob is here!” she shouted. Down the stairs my Mother flew, having no recollection of ever touching them. There stood this emaciated, dirty, disheveled human being she didn’t even recognize until he said her name. He was one of the lucky ones; and the rest of the story is history.
My Father’s camp had been liberated and he was on my Mother’s door step not 12 hours later, with no time to even wash! “I just prayed and yearned to get home, and I would not believe it was actually happening, until I had my feet back on U.S. soil.” He said. It had seemed to those who loved him, that he was like Lazarus being brought back to life! For months they had all been told he was dead, and had to somehow go on. Now he was given back to my Mother, to my brother, and to all of who loved him, filled with life and awake to every moment God gave to him; never to take one day for granted again.
God! We can be “dead” to so many things . . . so many important things. Thank you for the gift of life, life awoken and renewed with your spirit; and for the gift of our freedom.
On this Veteran’s Day, a special thank you to my dear, late Dad, Robert T. Finnell, Sr. and my brother, Robert T. Finnell, Jr., who served on the submarine the USS Dogfish during the Vietnam War; my brother-in-law, Jim, my nephew Michael, and to all who have served in the Armed Forces of The United States of America; men and women who have, and continue to keep us safe and free.
Copyright© 2013 Kathleen A. Matson