Hi all,
I hope November is treating everyone well! Mine's
going pretty well... just busy! On that note...
I've officially made the decision to hold on "The Advocate"
until early 2023. I don't love that it'll be running
about a year behind when it's set. But... I also don't
love the idea of spending Christmastime writing about a
corrupt church because that's stressful. So I'll plan
to do the annual Christmas story which will be a sort of
bottle episode with a very limited number of characters to
avoid being spoilery. All I'll say about that is that
incarnation is an important theme.
As for today, I'm re-sending this story from several years
ago in honor of Veterans Day which was this past
Friday. It'll also give me a chance to, hopefully, get
the Dyeland Christmas tree set up in my basement. :-)
God bless,
Jenni
From July 4th 2010...
The Chaplain
September 1990
Eleanor
Fitzgerald
glanced at the clock. 2:45. In half an hour
the final subject of the day would be finished, the week
would end, and she would be off... off to say good
bye. Tears sprung to her eyes but she quickly brushed
them away, not wanting to alarm her students at the small,
Catholic grade school where she was teaching for a third
year. She had become adept at throwing on a calm mask
in the weeks since her husband, Ian, had went to a
far-off military base to prepare for deployment.
The
rattled
teacher was grateful that at least the final class was
religion. That period usually went smoothly
enough. In third grade, religion class meant
sharing a Bible story, fielding a few questions,
offering up a few prayers, and then settling the children
down with a ridiculously anachronistic image of Christ to
color. Of course, not even a realistic depiction would
have ended the day that way. The Lord inevitably ended
up with neon pink skin or a polka dot robe. Eleanor
was convinced He didn't mind. Who wouldn't reach for
the most vibrant Crayola crayons when they spent the bulk of
their days in staid, blue and white uniforms?
Of
course, there was the splash of color augmenting many of
their white shirts: the flag pins in red, white, and blue
with a yellow ribbon backing them. Eleanor swallowed a
lump in her throat as she surveyed the room. Each pin
seemed to call out the message that ran through her own
mind: "Come home, come home, come home..." She stooped
behind her desk, pretending to look through a drawer as she
drew in deep, calming breaths.
"Alright,
children,
clear your desks," she directed after regaining
her composure and moving to her feet. "I want you to
listen to me as I tell you a very important
story." She gave a stern look to a boy who
continued to doodle. With a sigh, the boy put his
crayon and paper away and directed his attention to the
teacher. Satisfied, Eleanor took up the classroom
Bible and began to read about an angel's dramatic appearance
to St. Joseph, warning him to flee Bethlehem with his wife
and child.
"You
see,
kids, just as God sent an angel to protect Joseph and Mary
and baby Jesus; so He also sends angels to protect you and
help you. In fact, each of you has a guardian
angel. Do you remember our prayer to our guardian
angels?" Eleanor prodded hopefully. She'd tried her
best to teach them a variety of prayers and hoped they'd
stuck.
Twenty
heads
solemnly nodded back.
"Let's
say
it now, okay?"
"'Angel
of
God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me
here. Ever this day be at my side, to light, to guard,
to rule, to guide. Amen,'" twenty one voices prayed in
unison.
"Very
good!"
Eleanor praised. The children beamed. "So does
anyone have any questions about our story?"
The
teacher
patiently and creatively fielded several questions,
delicately sidestepping the more sobering aspects of the
story of the Flight from Egypt. There were fewer
questions than usual and Eleanor moved onto the next
segment: the prayers.
They went around the room, some children petitioning prayers
for sick grandparents or frenzied parents. Together
they prayed the "Our Father" and then came an addition that
was only a few weeks old.
"Would
anyone
like to lead our prayer for the troops today?" Eleanor
asked, desperately hoping one of the children would.
She couldn't trust herself to keep the building tremor out
of her voice. To her relief, a girl raised her
hand. "Thank you, Molly. Go ahead."
The
little
girl crossed herself, her teacher and fellow students
following suit. "Dear God," she began, "please protect
all of our soldiers and help the good people in Iraq
and Kuwait so they don't get hurt. And please be with
the soldiers' moms and dads and other family. And
their friends. And help em to know there are angels
with them. And please bring the soldiers home
soon. Amen."
"Amen,"
a
chorus of childish voices and one wavering adult's echoed.
With
the
prayer finished, Eleanor gratefully seized upon the stack of
coloring book pages. While passing them out she
noticed one of her quieter students seemed to want to ask a
question but hesitated. Once finished, Eleanor
approached the small girl who was nervously twirling a ring
about her finger.
"JenniAnn?"
Eleanor
encouraged, "you look like you have something on your
mind. Do you have a question ?"
The
little
girl's face reddened at the attention but she nodded.
"Well, would you like to ask it? Maybe I can
answer. It is my job to answer questions, after
all. And yours to ask them," Eleanor gently prodded
with a kind smile. She was forever trying to break the
girl from her shell and hoped that would do the trick.
"Well..."
The
child seemed to struggle with herself as to whether her
query was worth bringing up. After a few moments, she
settled in the affirmative. "There are angels
watching over the soldiers, right, Mrs. Fitzgerald?"
Eleanor
smiled
brightly. "Yes, I'm sure there are. Angels watch
over everyone, remember?"
JenniAnn
nodded
vigorously but then looked curiously at her teacher.
"So... who watches over the angels?"
Eleanor
blinked.
She wasn't entirely sure where this conversation was
going. "Well, God watches over them. He created
them so He cares for them."
"Can
they
see Him when they're on Earth?"
Eleanor
began
to feel a bit ill-at-ease. She was no
theologian! "I'm not really sure but maybe," she
responded, hoping that would satisfy her student.
"I
just think... it must be sad to see war." JenniAnn
continued. "For anyone. Even angels."
The
directness
and even the touch of desperation in the normally placid
child's face alarmed Eleanor and hit the part of herself she
was trying to keep in check. Before she could say
anything, the child continued.
"My
mom
says we can help the soldiers by writing them letters and
sending them packages and wearing ribbons to show we miss
them. So we do and I hope they know we care about
them. Mom also says the angels are helping
them, too. But if people help us, aren't we supposed
to help them back? Do we ever get to help the angels
back?" JenniAnn implored.
Eleanor
calmed.
It made a certain sort of sense that JenniAnn would ask such
questions. Young children were very attuned to the
ideals of fairness and reciprocity. The teacher could
handle questions of manners much more easily than she could
plumb the mysteries of the universe. "Well...
Maybe the angels get some of those letters and packages,
too." She hoped that would suffice.
JenniAnn
nodded
and directed her attention to her crayons.
To
Eleanor it was obvious the girl was not content with the
answer but had drawn back into her shell. Patting her
hair, Eleanor left her to her drawing.
Five
minutes
later, the bell rang and the students rushed out.
Their teacher was left alone to brace herself for what was
to come: a journey to see her husband and bid him farewell.
Eleanor sat in the terminal of Omaha's
airport, anxious. She had driven as fast as was legal
from the school only to discover her flight was
delayed. A precious hour had been stolen from her
already. With little else to do, she found herself
mentally going through the events of the day.
There had been the staff meeting.
She smiled as she recalled all the well wishes from her
co-workers. Morning classes had gone well. Lunch
duty had passed with little of note except a minor
fight at the fourth grade boys' table. Then math, then
science, her break while the children were at gym class,
and, finally, religion class. As an exercise in
distraction, Eleanor found herself thinking over JenniAnn's
questions. She felt a little guilty when she realized
it had never occurred to her to want to do anything for an
angel. She had grown up Catholic, praying the same
prayer she taught her students. She'd always taken for
granted that an angel watched over her. But she
realized she couldn't remember a single time she'd whispered
so much as a thank you.
The woman was startled out of her
musings by a man taking a seat three chairs away from
her. She looked up and noticed he was wearing a khaki
uniform. As she stared, he caught her eye.
"Hi," he greeted with a warm smile.
Eleanor blushed as she realized she'd
been caught. "Hi. Umm, sorry I was
staring. My... my husband, Ian, is shipping out Monday
and seeing your uniform... I guess it made me think of
him. You see, I'm going to see him but my flight's
been delayed and I'm worried it will be again and...
and..." She shook her head and brushed at wayward
tears. "I'm sorry, my name's Eleanor." She
forced a smile.
The stranger held out his hand.
"Andrew. And there's no need to apologize. I
understand."
Eleanor took his hand and for the first
time looked into his eyes. She felt instantly that he
did understand. "Have you been over there?" she asked.
Andrew nodded. "Yes and I'll be
going back."
"Is it... what's it like over
there? I mean... if you think you can talk about it."
Andrew shifted nearer, leaving only one
chair between them. He sighed. "It's
difficult. But it's also very rewarding. I'm a
chaplain so it means a lot to me to bring comfort to men and
women who are giving so much for their country and the good
of others. It's an honor."
Eleanor wanted to ask more pressing
questions but didn't want to force the chaplain to relive
painful memories nor was she entirely sure she could handle
hearing them. She returned to the topic that she had
been stewing over when Andrew had approached. "So...
as a chaplain, can I ask you something? It may sound
strange."
Andrew chuckled. "Sure. I'm
all for strange questions. It's a great way to pass
the time while waiting for a plane."
Eleanor beamed at him,
appreciative. "You see, I'm a third grade teacher at a
Catholic school near here so we've been praying for the
soldiers and the people of Iraq and Kuwait," she began.
"I think that's great."
"Yeah. So today we were learning
about the angel's appearance to Joseph in Bethlehem so the
little girl who offered our prayer today prayed that the
soldiers know angels were with them."
"I hope they always know they're not
alone."
Eleanor nodded. "Me too. But
then another little girl asked me a question I wasn't sure
how to answer. She wanted to know how we could help
angels. She seemed very determined about it. We
teach the kids to be considerate and to return kindness with
kindness. And I can't think of anything much kinder
than spending your days watching over and protecting
someone! So how would you answer that? I mean
supposing angels were real. I believe in them but if
you don't then... hypothetically?" Eleanor wondered at
the enigmatic grin that crossed Andrew's face at her last
words.
"Oh... I believe in angels, alright," he
assured her with a smile. "It sounds like you've got
your hands full with that little one but I think it's great
when kids ask questions."
Eleanor shrugged. "She's generally
very quiet, not much of a handful at all. I guess
that's why the intensity with which she asked me got under
my skin a little. And she also seemed a little
distressed by the possibility that seeing war would make
them sad. How do you respond to that? I'm not an
angel! I have no idea how they feel!"
Andrew's eyes clouded for
a moment. Unbeknownst to his new acquaintance,
his mind was wandering back over wars long past and some
more recent. But in another moment the trouble was
gone from his eyes and he looked over at the teacher.
"I think, if I were you, I would tell her that, yes,
sometimes angels do get sad because they feel so much love
for people and don't like to see them hurt. But they
also see so many beautiful things. They see immense
bravery and unselfishness. They see friendships grow
between the men and women serving together and the joy of
those who are being helped. And the whole time they
know that, no matter how things look, the Father is always
in control. Always. And He loves them and He
loves their assignments."
Eleanor raised an eye brow at his use of
the word "assignments" but let it pass without remark.
The rest of what Andrew said made so much sense and touched
her deeply. Not only did it give her an ideal answer
for JenniAnn, but it cheered her to think that at every
victory and every heartbreak an angel would be beside her
husband. Tears of joy came to her eyes and she
couldn't keep herself from scooting over and hugging the
chaplain. "Thank you, I will tell her that."
Andrew returned the woman's hug.
"Good and as for her other question, I would remind the
little girl that angels can be every where. Just like
it says in the Bible. If you say thank you to a
stranger who is kind to you or hug someone who you
appreciate, you never know, maybe you just hugged or thanked
an angel. And maybe, every so often, an angel meets a
human and the two have a talk. Maybe that talk helps
the angel as much as the human."
Eleanor smiled at the tenderly worded
rendition of Hebrews 13:2. "That's perfect.
Thank you, Andrew. I'll tell her that, too."
"Good. I hope the answers help
her. That's an awful lot for a little kid to have on
her mind. But now, I think maybe her teacher has
something on her mind, too."
Eleanor studied the man's face.
Immense compassion shown from his eyes. She knew he
wasn't asking out of some requirement to represent the army
well. He seemed genuinely concerned. "I just...
I feel such fear and such sadness. My husband is going
to Kuwait and I'm so afraid he won't come back and...
and..."
Andrew noticed when her right hand
settled on her belly. He set a gentle hand on her
shoulder. "Go on, Eleanor, I'm listening."
"I, well... I'm pregnant. I'm
going to tell Ian. And I keep thinking that if he
doesn't come home... for this baby not to know his or her
father..." Eleanor broke down into sobs. "I'm...
I'm so... so afraid he won't come home, Andrew."
The chaplain pulled the woman into
another hug. He wished with all his heart that he
could tell her Ian would be fine. He wanted to assure
her that they would welcome their tiny miracle
together. But Andrew didn't know. All he knew
was that it wasn't his job to offer such promises. He
could only tell her words that he knew were true.
"Eleanor, let me tell you something. Every soldier
comes home. Some come home to the families they left
behind. And others..." Andrew closed his eyes
for a moment. "Others come Home to their Father in
Heaven. And from there they continue to watch over and
love their families. Forever. No matter what
happens, Ian will know and love this little one so, so
much. And he'll love you, too. And God will
never, ever leave any of you."
Eleanor held tightly to Andrew, hoping
to draw his apparent certainty to herself. "Thank
you," she murmured.
A voice echoed through out the terminal,
announcing the impending departure of Eleanor's
flight. She gasped, pulled away from Andrew, and stood
up.
"Th-that's my flight!" she cried, madly
brushing at tears and smoothing her skirt.
Andrew smiled at her, also moving to his
feet. "I hope you have a safe journey, Eleanor, and
that you enjoy these two days with your husband. I'm
sure Ian will be overjoyed with the news."
Eleanor's face lit up and she nodded
enthusiastically. "I know he will!" She grabbed
her purse and then turned once more to the man who had kept
her company. "Thank you, Andrew, for listening to me
and for your counsel. It means... it means so much to
me." She hugged him again. "Thank you," she
repeated. "Are you going back soon?"
Andrew nodded. "Yeah."
"I'll pray for you, Andrew. I'm
sure you're a great comfort to everyone over there.
Maybe... maybe one day you'll meet Ian."
Andrew smiled. "I hope so."
He squeezed the woman's hand. "Take care, Eleanor."
Eleanor nodded, strangely pained to
leave him. But her love for her husband propelled her
towards the departure gate. She turned back once to
smile at Andrew but the chair he had occupied was
empty. She offered up a silent prayer to God in
gratitude for the calming words and presence of the man of
God.
*~*~*
Andrew perched in a tree
near the airport, unseen. He smiled as the plane
carrying Eleanor began to taxi. He knew she must be
feeling more at peace, knowing she was only a few,
predictable hours from her husband. He prayed that
their reunion be as joyful as possible and their parting as
short in duration as could be.
As he
watched the plane pick up speed, the angel of death recalled
how he had wondered when the Father had transported him
from the Gulf to a terminal in the middle of the U.S.
Now the angel understood. He had been sent to comfort
Eleanor, that much was for sure. But he had to wonder if
the Father's purpose had been multifold. It often
was. In comforting Eleanor, Andrew had been touched not
only by her gratitude but also the prayerfulness of a group of
children a world away from the war and the concern for his
kind held by one of those children. He wished he could
tell that unknown child that *her* kind had helped him that
day in the person of her teacher. The knowledge of her
wish to help and the memory of Eleanor's hugs and words of
thanks mixed with the ever-present sense of his Father's
love and heartened Andrew. He carried that warmth with
him as the plane took off and he returned to the Gulf to
continue to carry the message of God's love in the midst of
war.
The End
This newsletter
is dedicated to John Dye for helping to guarantee I am
never, ever bored at this time of year. So many
Christmas traditions related to him!
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(Photo Credits: The photographs used on
this page are from Touched by an Angel and owned by
CBS Productions, Caroline Productions, and Moon
Water Productions. They are not being used to
seek profit.)