Chapter 3

A Chapter by BrynnaW.

Nothing happened for a couple months except, in July, we didn't celebrate Independence day. I asked my father why and he replied that if we don't have freedom of religion, then we don't have freedom at all. That day, we just did our daily chores without another word. In August, my brother Josh, sent us a letter. My mpther stroked it with care as she realized how much he had to spend to send it to them. I knew my mom was afraid to read what was inside but once she opened the envelope and started reading, a smile spread across her face. She held the letter to her chest, looked to the heavens, and mouthed the words "thank you." I went over to her and tried to read the letter but my mom grabbed my arm.

"He can't go. Dear Lord, thank you. He can't go."

"What are you talking about?" I asked her.

"Josh, he can't go into the army. He was drafted but he called them from the school phone and they found out that his vision is impaired, they said he couldn't join. Thank you, Lord, thank you."

I pried her fingers from my skin and ended up backing into my father. He put my hand in his. I didn't like it but I don't understand why. Kindly, I smiled at him, rested my head on his shoulder, and waited patiently for him to let go. When I finally took my hand from his, I discovered how sweaty my palms were.

"In late September, we heard that Germany had been bombed. You could only imagine the destruction. A question sat in every mind. Who's next? What's going to happen to our world? Who's winning? So far, no one could tell. On some of the days I saked myself these questions. On those days, I would conjure up the most ridiculous answers. I knew that if I wanted to find out, I would have to join the army. That was a decision I was not prepared to make. Every Sunday, my parents would call me out into our living room and start reading from the Bible. My hands turned into fists and my teeth cringed. Lord, if you're there, why aren't you doing anything? Why don't you just show yourself? My brother can be dying and are you doing anything about it? Those were my questions of built up anger and hatred. When my parents finished reading the last passage, I laid on my bed and repeated "sorry" into my pillow several times. Maybe, I was afraid to get God upset but maybe I was afraid that my parents would be disappointed in me if they knew.

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