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The bundle of bones and matted fur lying in the weeds was a dog. I thought it must be dead but I saw it move when Buster licked its muzzle. He tried to lick one of the deep cuts on the dog’s belly but Jimmy held him back. He ran his gentle fingers over the dog’s body. “Her injuries aren’t new. The blood has clotted.”
“Do you suppose she got hit by a car?”
“Looks like it. But either she’s been here for a while, or she was abused and neglected beforehand. Look how thin she is.” The dog had longish fur and floppy ears, like she might be part cocker spaniel. Jimmy felt her neck for a collar but there was none. Only a noose of rope that had chafed her neck raw before it had broken, leaving a short piece attached. Her eyes were infected and caked nearly shut. “We need to help her,” Jimmy said. He slid his hands beneath the dog and lifted her into his arms. The dog gave a soft whine. “She’s as light as a feather.”
We hurried home and went straight into the clinic. Jimmy laid the dog on the examining table and studied her wounds more carefully while I hustled around, turning on lights and preparing a tray with antiseptic and sutures and bandages and all the other things he would need. “Do you know where my dad went?” he asked.
“He had animals to see on three different farms. He said not to expect him before lunch.”
“We’ll have to take care of her ourselves.”
We gave her an anesthetic so Jimmy could cleanse her cuts and abrasions and stitch them closed. He carefully disinfected the deep wound on her belly, worried about peritonitis. One of her front legs was broken, but it was a clean break and could be splinted. As he continued to examine and tend her, he suddenly looked up at me in surprise. “She’s pregnant, Peggety! It’s a wonder she didn’t miscarry after being this badly injured.” He held a stethoscope to her chest. “Her heart sounds pretty weak, but her puppies’ hearts are still beating. I hear at least two of them.” For some reason that news made me smile and tear up at the same time.
I lost all track of time while we worked, with Jimmy suturing and me handing him all the things he needed. When we finally finished and I stepped back, I saw Buster sitting in the doorway as if guarding it. His leash was still attached. I went over to pet him. “Good boy, Buster. You saved this dog’s life.” I heard a chuckle and turned, amazed to see Jimmy smiling. “What?” I asked.
“I used to tell stories to the injured men in the field hospitals about Buster the three-legged dog. I made him into a hero, like Lassie, in the movie, you know? Today he lived up to his legend.”
I laughed and gave Jimmy a hug. He was talking! And smiling! And working as a veterinarian again. He had once saved Buster’s life, and now Buster and this little dog might help save his.
* * *
The little stray was still alive and even eating a bit of food two days later. “I couldn’t have stitched her up any better myself,” Mr. Barnett had said when he’d seen Jimmy’s work. Gisela, Jimmy, and I all took care of the little animal, which we’d named Lucky. I had just finished helping Jimmy change Lucky’s dressings one afternoon when we heard a car pull up. I looked out the window to see if we had another patient and was happy to see Chaplain Bill getting out of his car.
We all went into Mrs. Barnett’s kitchen, and after drinking coffee and chatting for a while, Mr. Barnett pulled me aside and whispered, “Take Bill and Jimmy away somewhere so they can talk. I’ll handle office hours by myself.”
It took a bit of convincing, but at last, Jimmy and I climbed into Bill’s car and drove toward the mountains. I directed Bill up the winding road past the hairpin turn to the lookout on top. “You really get a broader view of things from up here, don’t you?” Bill said after we’d stepped from the car.
“It’s one of my favorite places,” I said. I brushed my hair from my eyes, tangled by the glorious mountain breezes. We enjoyed the view in silence for a few moments before Bill turned to Jimmy.
“I have to be honest and admit it, Jim—my faith was badly shaken by what we went through. In fact, I wrote a letter of resignation to my church board. I felt I had to give up the pastorate because of all my doubts and uncertainties. Your friend Peggy here helped me find my way back.” Bill and Jimmy both turned to me. I didn’t know what to say. I felt surprised and embarrassed more than anything else by his kind words. Bill continued: “I would like to explain to you what I finally figured out—and feel free to interrupt and argue and add your own two cents, Jim, the way you used to do. I always enjoyed discussing theology with you.”
Jimmy gave a curt nod and stepped over the guardrail so he could sit down on it. Bill and I did the same. The day was warm, and the broad valley stretched in front of us with row after row of mountains lining up on the distant horizon. The pastures of Blue Fence Farms looked like tiny green squares below us.
“I don’t think you and I ever questioned God very much before we went away to war,” Bill said. “We were a little too certain about what we believed, as if we had God all figured out. But over in France, it became harder and harder to reconcile God’s goodness with what we were experiencing. If He was loving and all-powerful, why did He allow such suffering? Was He powerless to stop it? It was as if those bombs blew up our belief system when it clashed with reality. Of course, the spiritual realm is invisible. God’s actions behind the scenes are invisible. So all we had to rely on was what we were seeing. But our enemy wasn’t just the Nazis. Satan’s ploy is to spread evil throughout the world and let it drive a wedge between us and God. His evil is most painful and most dangerous when it seems purposeless to us. When we can’t see how God can possibly bring anything good from it.”
Bill paused as we watched a hawk soar through the sky below us, its broad wings outstretched as it rode the wind. “It was something Peggy said to me that led me to the book of Job,” he continued. “Job wanted to know why God had made him suffer so horribly. Instead of giving His reasons, God asked Job a series of unanswerable questions, like ‘Where does light come from, and where does darkness go?’ and ‘Does the rain have a father?’ The answers are beyond Job’s understanding. Besides, Job doesn’t need to know because he isn’t in charge of the darkness or the weather—God is. God never did tell Job the reason for his suffering. Job just had to trust that God was at work.”
“But Job was only one man,” Jimmy said. “This time, millions of innocent people suffered!” Again, I heard the anger in his voice. But at least he was listening to Bill and talking to him.
“I know,” Bill replied. “And for now, we are left without answers for what the Nazis did. But Job didn’t turn away from God in spite of not receiving any answers. The only light we’ll ever have in this dark world comes from God. If we turn away from Him, we’re left with darkness and despair.”
“Is it any wonder I turned away? I didn’t see much light on the battlefield, did you? And you weren’t there when Buchenwald’s gates were opened.”
“No. I wasn’t. But can I tell you something, Jim? And forgive me if I sound harsh, but you always tried to handle everything yourself. When we were all offered a week’s leave from the battlefront, you wouldn’t take it. You exhausted yourself as you went about playing God, trying to save as many lives as you could because you didn’t think God was doing a very good job of it. You were angry with Him, so you tried to be a medic on your own strength instead of asking for His help. Is it any wonder you burned out? You kept saying that all of our days are written in His book, but you seemed determined to rewrite that book your own way. If God wasn’t going to act and straighten everything out, then you would do it yourself.” He waited as if expecting an argument. Jimmy was staring down at his feet. “Does anything I’m saying make sense to you?” Bill asked.
“I... I’ll have to think about it,” he said softly. I heard a rumble of distant thunder and turned to look behind us. The sky was darkening as an afternoon thunderstorm approached. It wouldn’t be much longer before we got drenched.
Bill pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Jimmy. “In the meantime,” he said, “I want you to carry this with you and pull it out and read it at least once a day—no, don’t read it now. Wait until you’re by yourself. I watched you put a lot of splints on broken bones so they could heal. You applied tourniquets above deep wounds so the bleeding would stop. Use these verses in the same way, Jim. Apply them to your broken heart and wounded spirit until time and God do their healing work.”
I was curious to know what the verses were but I didn’t ask. We stood and made our way back to the car. The first spitting drops of rain had started to fall. Thunder rumbled and echoed between the mountains, louder now. I loved that majestic sound. “The angels in heaven are rearranging their furniture,” my mama used to say when I was small.
“You know,” Bill said before we climbed into the car, “the cross made no sense to Jesus’ disciples the day after it happened. Jesus’ brutal death seemed senseless. That’s where we are right now. The war is over but we’re living in those days between the cross and the empty tomb. I can’t explain why millions of people suffered and died. But I do know that death never has the final word. Easter Sunday brings life in all its triumph. We just need to trust and wait a little longer, Jim. God is at work. We will see His redemption and restoration one day.”
* * *
A few days before Labor Day, we were sitting around the supper table when Jimmy’s mother announced that she would like to celebrate that day with a picnic. “We’ll have hamburgers and hot dogs and potato salad,” she said. “And play horseshoes on the lawn like we used to—remember? I think we need to give summer one last hurrah before it comes to an end. Jimmy, maybe you could invite your Army friend—what was his name? The one who lives in Milford?”
“You mean Frank Cishek?” I asked. “That’s a great idea.”
