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Drafted!

While my husband was in Vietnam, I faced a different battle

by Anne M. Garris

Vietnam? They can't send you to Vietnam, you just got back."

"Honey, I've been back three years."

"That's not long enough," I cried, clutching my husband to me.

"Sweetheart … " The pain in Berle's eyes silenced me. United States Marine Corps orders are not to be questioned, only obeyed. I knew that. How could I let him go back to that awful war?

It was 1968. Much too soon we were packed up, moved to Florida, settled into a rented home near my family and saying good-bye at the airport. Back in the car, I leaned my head on the steering wheel, sobbing.

How will I get through the year without him? I thought. What if, this time, I get the telegram … I refused to think about it. Chin up, teeth set, I headed for home and our two children who needed me.

The minister of my church gave me a month before he stopped by. "Mrs. Garris," he said, "we'd like you to be director of our youth fellowship."

"I can hardly keep up with my own two teenagers," I told him. "How can I possibly handle a dozen more?"

"I understand you've done youth fellowships before," he said. "You'll do fine. Can you start Sunday night?"

He left me mumbling about people who think you have extra time because your husband is gone. No one seemed to care that, in addition to my other chores, I now must tend to the car, the lawn, and other husbandly tasks. Didn't they know it took all my emotional energy just to get through a day when all around me was news of the carnage in Vietnam?

"I need spiritual help and adult company," I thought, "not a bunch of kids whose world is a mystery and puzzle to me."

What am I getting into?
I asked my own mystery kids what they thought.

"We need a youth fellowship," said Berle, Jr. "In fact, I was chairman of the committee who petitioned the church board to get us a leader."

"Did you volunteer me?" I felt like wringing his neck.

"You should do it, Mother," Nancy interrupted, protecting her brother. "Maybe you wouldn't spend as much time staring into space if you were busy with us kids. Besides, it would be good to have a gang to pal around with." She sounded wistful.

---

"I can hardly keep up with my own
two teenages," I told the minister. "How
can I possibly handle a dozen more?"

---

"Why me?" Even as I grumbled, I knew I would do it. Saying no to a minister's request for help in the church was not part of my heritage.

More than once I regretted my decision. We started as a drama group that never performed. Guest speakers were worse. The teenagers stayed away in droves. Nothing I planned seemed to work.

Who cares? I thought, as the postman told me, regretfully, there was no mail today. How can they expect me to plan programs for kids when my heart and mind are both in Vietnam?

In two months we were down to five members. My son cornered me in the kitchen one evening. "Mother, this isn't working. Nobody's enjoying youth fellowship. If it doesn't get better soon, I'm going to quit," he said, conveniently forgetting it was his idea in the first place.

"Fine," I said, feeling my temper slipping away, "talk the others into quitting, too, and I'll have my Sunday evenings back."

He looked so hurt I was sorry immediately.

"Honey, I can't invite young people to the meetings," I said. "You guys have to do that. Tell you what. We'll have a bowling party. I'll treat all the guests and pay the way of any member who brings a guest. If they don't bring a guest, they have to pay their own way. How's that?"

It starts to click
Twenty young people showed up for the bowling party—fifteen of them became regulars at youth fellowship. I persuaded the church leaders to put up a volleyball net. Instead of programs we had volleyball outside in good weather and soccer inside when it rained. Recklessly I let the young people plan for themselves. Sunday nights were happy bedlam, keeping me distracted for hours at a time.

They planned picnics and hayrides; swimming parties and camping trips—twice as many as I thought we could do. They Christmas caroled for shut-ins, conducted an Easter sunrise service, hid Easter eggs for the Sunday school, held car washes and ice cream socials as fund raisers for missions. At times I wanted to shout, "I'm their leader; which way did they go?"

Moments of worry and depression were interrupted by young voices on the phone, "Mrs. Garris, listen to my speech for the campfire Saturday night."

"Can I spend the night with you, Mrs. Garris? My dad's mad with me."

In the midst of chaos were moments of joy. My favorite "agnostic" spoke on the reality of heaven at the Easter sunrise service. The flower child of the group began quoting Scripture instead of slogans.

With trepidation, I gathered the girls around me one evening and said, "Tonight we're going to talk about everyone's favorite subject—sex." There was rapt silence as I shared with them the joy of waiting until the right man comes along. The girl whose behavior had motivated me to share my feelings on the subject whispered, "Thank you. I never thought of sex as love."

Mental pictures of dreadful possibilities in Vietnam dissolved into laughter at a youth fellowship talent show … prayers for my husband's safety intertwined with prayers for the son of an alcoholic father … thoughts of war were set aside to counsel a young friend about forgiveness.

One Sunday evening I talked about the importance of hugging elderly people. "Without love they can become senile," I said. The blonde giant beside me promptly patted my head. "Let's all hug Mrs. Garris so she won't lose her mind," he said with a wicked grin. This started a "hug Mrs. Garris" conspiracy among the teen-agers. The year was turning out to be more bearable than I had thought possible.

News from the front
The minister brought the telegram to me at the start of our meeting. "This might be important," he said, cautiously. Busy chatter in the room faded to silence. Anxious eyes watched as, with trembling hands, I tore open the envelope. After a quick glance, I read it to my young friends.

"Leaving 'Nam today. Home Tuesday. Can't wait. Love, Berle."

The room erupted! Teenagers rushed about shouting and clapping. They hugged me—they hugged the minister—they hugged each other. They laughed and danced, punched one another, pounded me on the back.

"We were so worried about you," said one of the shyest girls. "Every time we got together, we prayed for you and Mr. Garris."

The minister stood beside me, as the young people settled into their soccer game. "When Berle comes home will you be going back to Camp Lejeune?"

"Yes," I told him. "Berle got his orders last month. I'm gonna miss this gang."

"And we'll miss you," he said. "All year we've felt grateful and guilty," he added. "Grateful for your ministry to our kids; guilty that we weren't doing more to help you through this awful time."

I watched the young people for a moment, unable to speak.

"You mean you didn't plan it?" I managed, half laughing. "It was the worst year of my life, and they made it worth living, exciting, even delightful at times."

"So it would seem," he said. "Do you know someone else who's facing a bad year? We'll have a hard time replacing you."

Since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special regard to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstances, are brought into closer connection with you.

—St. Augustine of Hippo

Wherever our life touches yours, we help or hinder … wherever your life touches ours, you make us stronger or weaker … There is no escape—man drags man down, or man lifts man up.

—Booker T. Washington

Sojourn in every place as if you meant to spend your life there, never omitting an opportunity of doing a kindness, speaking a true word, or making a friend.

—John Ruskin

Copyright © 1997 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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