Now just in time for Christmas shopping … Check out my new book now available at your favorite online bookstores, Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Xulon Publishing.

In honor of Veteran’s Day next week, I’m posting a short story I wrote a couple of years ago. This is a fictional story based on a snippet of a conversation I heard on a Christian radio program. The radio story was about a man and woman who had an “accidental meeting” during the Vietnam War because of a misdirected letter. I didn’t have an opportunity to hear the entire story or all the details, but was intrigued by the concept enough to create my own fictional account of a similar situation set during World War II. I am ever grateful for the men and women who have served in our military (including my Grandfather, Father and Father-in-Law) and for those who continue to serve today. I hope you enjoy this story entitled “Dear John.“

December 2005

With a gentle push of his ailing leg that had never quite recovered from his war injury, Noah Rigby set his rocking chair in motion and stared at the mound of bedcovers lying across from him. A brightly colored afghan, a gift from his oldest daughter, cocooned his sleeping bride. Relieved to see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, he glanced at the night table clock. It was nearly time.

The old romantic that he was, Noah felt tears well in his aged eyes. The tears came easier these days, especially when he thought of how easily his life could have gone in another direction entirely. He caressed the yellowed letter in his lap that had been lovingly preserved in a plastic protective sheath. The letter he found by accident more than 60 years ago, meant for another. Never certain if it had been coincidence or destiny that lead to the discovery, there was no denying the letter had been responsible for saving his life.

Leaning his head back, Noah closed his eyes and summoned images that were never far from his thoughts. Images of war-torn Europe and death; isolation and pain and bone-deep fear. All unpleasant memories to be sure, but mental pictures that would not die easily.

* * *
January 1943

Maneuvering his pain-racked six foot frame in the small muddy foxhole proved challenging for 20-year-old Noah. He pulled his broken body through the muck using his weapon as leverage but his movements were hampered by darkness and the confining space, half of which was occupied by an unidentified stranger. Repeated attempts at communication produced only silence. Fearing the worst, Noah searched for a pulse on the ice-cold form, but found none.

Poor guy, he silently lamented. The skills learned in boot camp left him unprepared for death on a daily basis. Noah was grateful for the cover of night to conceal the stranger’s cause of death. Most likely frozen to death, he reasoned as he rolled to his back and pulled his jacket tighter for warmth. Staring overhead, he caught a brief glimpse of Orion’s Belt as it danced behind clouds. The sight of the familiar constellation he’d studied hundreds of times from his own backyard consoled him as he watched his breath escape in little clouds. A slight noise under his helmet alerted his military senses. Rolling over with rifle at the ready, a small white envelope reflected waning moonlight. Hoping the contents would provide some clue to the unidentified victim, Noah stowed the letter in the pocket over his heart that rarely beat at a normal rhythm anymore.

The crisp winter air numbed his exhausted body and presented him the gift of a much-needed catnap. Lifeless soldiers and dancing misshapen enemies skipped in and out of his tortured dreams. He awoke with a start and checked his watch. Scant more than an hour had passed, but approaching daylight made it possible for his eyes to roam freely and define his surroundings.

Noah rolled awkwardly in the opposite direction away from the corpse that was now clearly visible. The crinkle of paper in his left breast pocket distracted him. Extracting the envelope with dangerously cold fingers, he studied the Texas postmark and the feminine scrawl. Other than the occasional smell of smoke, the frigid January air managed to preserve the stench of death and the odors of battle around him, making the smell far less offensive than the aromas of a summertime battlefield assault. Noah was caught completely off guard by a sudden unexpected whiff of a flowery scent as he opened the envelope. He inhaled the unfamiliar sweet aroma. Pulling the parchment free, several violet-colored petals fell to his lap as he removed the one-paged letter with flowing penmanship filling both sides of the stationary.

Dear John, the letter began. Noah winced; worried he was about to read a “brush-off” letter. He noted the date nearly two months past and read silently although his mouth involuntarily moved to form each word.

November 10, 1942

Dear John,

How I’ve missed you my precious love. I can hardly bear the loneliness of our separation these past many months. It feels as though a lifetime has passed since I last kissed you on the train platform in Dallas and watched you walk away from me.

Teeth chattering, Noah sat upright and pulled his jacket tighter, savoring its protection. He propped his back as best he could against the cold earthen wall. He reread the first paragraph mainly for his own peace of mind. It warmed him knowing the poor guy sharing his foxhole had died with the knowledge he was loved. Small comfort to a corpse, but strange reassurance for Noah. Feeling like an intruder, but seduced by the passionate words and beautiful handwriting, the lonely soldier’s empty soul drank in every sentence.

The whole congregation has been gathering every week to pray for all our brave boys over there - of which you are included! No one prays harder for your safe return than me … except maybe, Momma, who will not be denied her big Dallas wedding upon your return.

Daddy’s oil money has been put to good use and the plans are coming along nicely. The wedding is all Momma thinks about! Wait until you see all the flowers that will cover the entire sanctuary! I’m enclosing a small sample of the beautiful purple one. Momma knows the names of all the ones we’re using, but I could care less what they’re called or how they smell. All I care about is you, my handsome prince and your safe return.

I pray for a quick ending to this terrible war so you may come home soon and we can start our lives together. I’ve never loved you more, nor been more proud of you and what you are doing over there. Remember, God is always watching over you and will keep you in his care. I hope you keep the small Bible I gave you close to you for comfort. I pray you have hidden the Scriptures in your heart. Always know - I love you, my brave John - now and until the end of time!

With all my love,
Luanne

The letter spoke volumes to Noah’s suffering heart. Surprised to find a lone tear snaking its way down his unshaven face, he reached up to wipe away the sentiment. Unfamiliar with all things religious and inexperienced in the ways of love between a man and a woman, he felt a longing to know both. The terrified little boy cowering inside Noah’s hulking body hungered for the safety and protection promised from the Almighty this southern girl spoke of.

Driven by need, he searched the pockets of the fallen hero next to him hoping to find the treasured Bible. Locating the pocket-sized source of hope, Noah hugged it to his mid-section. Soldiers weren’t supposed to cry, but he did. He cried for the man lying next to him, whom he would never know, but who had lost so much … and for the Texas girl whose world would soon collapse upon hearing news of her beloved’s death. Clutching a dead man’s Bible and reading a stranger’s love letter over and over again, Noah bartered for his life to a God he didn’t know, but vowed to serve in return for safe passage home.

His injuries sent him stateside that late winter of ‘43, where he convalesced in a military hospital for months. Once his strength returned, rather than going home to small-town Iowa, the battle-scarred farm boy mustered his courage and sought out the writer of the Dear John letter he held for safekeeping. He expected to find a tall, leggy, big-haired blonde beauty queen. To his surprise he met a petite, raven-haired angel with a face a man would die for, a fireball spirit and a heart as big as all of Texas that drew people to her like a grandmother to a newborn baby. It might have been the moment their eyes met, but more likely his love took seed from the first time he read her letter.

* * *

December 2005

Drawing the letter close to his face, Noah breathed deeply imagining the scent of lavender the laminated stationary once held. He carefully stowed it between the pages of his leather bound Bible and wondered why he bothered to reread it for the thousandth time. Removing his reading glasses, he rubbed his tired eyes, thankful his memory was still sharp and he could recall every word, every emotion and every punctuation mark of the letter, which had been committed to memory years ago.

His life had been blessed. Noah was grateful for decisions made on a battlefield more than 60 years ago. Life-shaping coincidences had restructured his destiny, creating an irreversible chain reaction. He found himself once again, thankful for the terrible war that took him half way around the world. God, in His mercy seemed to find a way of working things out for the good.

Running his gnarled hands through thinning silver hair, memories flashed through his mind like Polaroids. Four children, eleven grandchildren and six great-grandchildren were more than he’d ever hoped for. Certainly more than he deserved. Tomorrow on Christmas Eve, he and his precious sweetheart would celebrate their 60-year wedding anniversary. Not many these days could boast of a love affair that spanned so many decades.

He swallowed past the knot of emotion lodged in his throat as he stared at his wife’s inert form. Anger, a foreign emotion to him, had become his unwanted companion lately. Not anger at God, but anger at the cancer that even now attacked his love. The disease was slowly robbing them of their few remaining weeks together and stealing the last of her failing strength. Sixty years is not enough, Lord, he thought again.

As he rose on noiseless feet, the creak of his deteriorating knee joints alerted her to his nearness. Her charcoal gray eyes fluttered open and she turned her cheek slightly to receive his gentle kiss. As always, Noah enjoyed the rapid beat of his heart and the racing of blood through his veins at the very touch of her. His passion and desire for her were stronger than ever after all this time, although now he considered it more curse than blessing. Glancing across her head to the night table clock, he smiled, whispering in her ear, “It’s just after midnight, Love. Happy anniversary.”

Moving slightly to make room for him, her voice sounded strained. “Come to bed, Noah. I’m cold,” she whispered.

Happy to oblige her, he laid down fully clothed next to her spoon-fashioned, her tiny form nearly engulfed by his embrace. Noah sensed her need to roll towards him so they might face one another. Her wince of pain was not lost on him, as he worried for the countless time, if this would be their last day together.

Her breathing slowly evened out and he felt her relax. He gently held her, careful not to hug her too tightly. Their foreheads pressed together to share a delicate kiss. Holding the woman his soul was forever destined to love, he relished the feel of their bodies pressed close, hearts beating in synch almost as one. Noah’s weathered hand sought her much smaller one to clasp in a prayer-like fashion.

“I love you, my darling,” she struggled. “Thank you for finding me and rescuing me. You have been such a gift. You saved me from a life of grief, Noah.”

Silent tears slowly escaped down his wrinkled cheeks. “Oh no, sweetheart … it was you that saved me. I love you so very much, Luanne,” he breathed.

As was their nightly custom, with eyes closed he prayed for both of them. “Heavenly Father, thank you for helping us find one another so long ago and for blessing us beyond what we ever imagined possible. And Lord, we thank you again for Dear John and for the sacrifice he made that allowed us to find one another. We pray he is resting in your care for all eternity. Amen.”

The End

In light of the tragedy at Ft. Hood this week, I ask that you will please join me in remembering our brave men and women who sacrifice so much, so that we might enjoy the freedoms we have – not just on Veteran’s Day, but today and every day!

Heavenly Father, I pray your protection and mercy over all who serve in our military both on U.S. soil and around the world. Keep a hedge of protection about them and help them to not walk in fear, but in faith. Give them wisdom and knowledge to perform their duties with confidence. I pray also for you to watch over all of their families who are left to carry on in their absence. Grant them favor, mercy and compassion and I pray you will surround them with a strong support system during this this time of sacrifice. I ask all these things in your holy name, Lord Jesus. Amen!