“For God so loves Fred and Marina, that He sent me, Rev Dylan Ramsey from my home in Brooklyn, New York, America, to a small bar in Wiesbaden Germany to answer their questions; answered by the very same man that gave them food for thought in the first place. That’s how great God is. Look, I hope I haven’t said too much. When I first started preaching the Lord said to me ‘the less you say, the more they will hear.’ ”
“No, you did your job,” Fred replied. “But I will never believe what you say.”
“Never is a long time,” I said. “Nothing personal but even if you did stop fighting or drinking there are still a lot of sins you would be guilty of. Just read Numbers or Leviticus. And people tend to confuse vice with sin. Drinking may be considered a vice, but it’s not a sin.”
Fred wanted to rebut but the words didn’t come out.
“It is strange we find you sitting here,” Marina stated. “We come here all the time.”
“It’s just a coincidence,” Fred added. “You’re in the American army, there’s an American army base not five kilometers from here. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is God. He loves you and wants to help you any way He can.”
I returned to my martini. Preaching was over for the night. Fred and Marina quieted too. Though the looks on their faces asked a thousand questions, yet they remained silent. God was working on them in His way.
From my days of drink I remembered a long walk in the cold night air helps to alleviate the buzz. The chill and mist in Germany did have a slight effect. But who was I kidding, I was drunk. Around 3:30 am I finally found my way to the base. Slumping in a chair I checked my phone for the first time that evening. No texts from Bethany but one from the chaplain instructing me to preach at the 8:00 AM service. That was just a few short hours from now. I did have some notes somewhere for a sermon. I set my alarm for seven then went to sleep with no trouble.
I was slightly hung over when I awoke. I took a shower as cold as I could stand it, nursed a bottomless glass of Diet Coke than preached without issue. Afterward, I went back to bed to sleep it off.
“Are you still in bed too?” Bethany asked on the Video Chat. “We must be on the same schedule. All this traveling and running around finally caught up with me. I can’t get outta bed.”
“That happens,” I said with a straight face. If she only knew.
“I’m going back to sleep but I just wanted to catch up with you. What’s going on?”
“Preached this morning, then felt like taking a quick nap. That was five hours ago. But technically it is my day off.”
“Mine too. I didn’t want to sleep it away. I only have three more weeks here.”
“You need sleep so you can enjoy it more. You don’t want to go around dragging.”
“I suppose next you’re gonna tell me even Jesus slept,” Bethany said knowing the answer.
“He did.”
“I was just listening to a sermon on that. Jesus was asleep on a pillow when the storm came.”
“And---”
“I’m not gonna preach. The preacher did get into that ‘ye of little faith bit,’ but I kept thinking ‘Jesus was sleeping.’ Jesus went to parties, was always having dinner at a friends’ house; there’s a lot more to Jesus than just helping people. Jesus was a real person.”
“And---”
“And when you walk in his image you don’t have to be feeding the poor or healing the sick. You could just be hanging out with friends.”
“Yeah, fellowship.”
“Even that. When you say ‘fellowship’ I think of something religious. But it could be just doing anything as long as you’re showing the love of Jesus. You could be playing football, driving to get your nails done, anything.”
“Yeah. I once preached on the last supper. I argued that when he said, ‘do this in remembrance of me,’ he might have been talking about just having dinner with friends.”
“I never thought of that. I don’t know if I agree, but that is a different way to look at it. I also wanted to tell you that I love traveling, and want to come back to Japan or go wherever. But when I do, I want you to come along. I just feel that something will happen when we work together. I always felt that way and I know you do too, but now I’m sure of it.”
“I stand in agreement. This gig ends in a few months. I think that’s it for solo missionary. From then on it will be just you and me.”
“Wow!” Bethany said with a smile. “I can’t wait! It’s gonna be awesome!”
“I know.”
“I’m going back to sleep now. It’s like someone stuck a pin in me and all my energy leaked out. It’s crazy.”
“I’ve been there. But make sure you eat.”
“You don’t have to worry about that. But I don’t think I have enough strength to lift a fork to my mouth.”
“Sleep than eat. You’ll be fine.”
“I love you, Dylan.”
“I love you even more, Bethany.”
Those ‘three more weeks’ Bethany spoke about came and went in no time. We text and chatted about her office, my ministerial duties, etc. Even though God had whisked us to exotic locations things were pretty much mundane and routine. As eventful as our lives are it’s amazing how uneventful our days can be. Life is what you make it. And what you make it is up to you.
***
“Did you know your program is under fire?” Bethany asked on Video Chat. She had been back on American soil for about a week.
“No, I’m in a safe zone. No insurgents around here.”
“No, it’s under attack here in America. It’s Faith in Action, right?”
“Yeah, but what are you talking about?”
“Some atheist group found out about it. They say they don’t want government dollars spent on spreading Christianity to Muslim countries.”
“That’s not what we’re doing. As a matter of fact, in one of our first meetings they told us not to; in some countries we could get killed for doing it.”
“It doesn’t matter. That’s what they believe and they’re fighting to stop it. You should check it out online.”
“I’ll do that. Don’t they know the program is almost over? Another four-five months and this ball game is over.”
“They want it stopped now. These people are fanatics. They hear something about Christianity and want to stop it. Some Muslim groups are looking into it too but it’s mainly the atheists.”
“I’ll check it out. How are you doing?”
“Fine. I never thought there’d come a time when I got tired of reading. There are so many books and things I have to read, I just wanna get away; sit by a lake, go riding, but all I do is read.”
“Can’t you take a day or two?”
“I could. I’m ahead in all my work. But I’d need more than a day or two. I wanna read cause I feel like it, not cause I have to.”
“That’s life in the adult world.”
“Oh shut up,” Bethany said without apology.
She made me laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“You,” I replied still chuckling. “Maybe I should leave you alone. This is something everybody goes through. You just have to learn how to work it out.”
“Gee, thanks Dad.”
“Forever the brat.”
“I need a vacation,” she replied ignoring me. “It’s not that things are hard, it’s just that it’s too much! Hey, I’m just venting.”
“What are husbands for.”
“To rub my neck and massage my shoulders and tell me everything is gonna be alright.”
“If these atheists have their way that might happen sooner than you think.”
“Am I crazy for saying I hope they do? I know you have a job to do, an important job. But I miss you.” Bethany started to cry. “I don’t want you to come home early. I want you to do all God has planned. But I need you at my side. I need you just as much as those troops.”
“And I’ll be home soon.”
“I can’t wait.” Her sobs began to cease. “Sorry, I vented. I miss Ava too. I have friends but not like her. But I’ll fine now. All that talk about too much work and now I have to go do it. I have a tutoring session with some high school girls.”
“You never have to be sorry for venting to me. And look at all the times I called you in the dead of night feeling sorry for myself.”
“But that’s to be expected. I’m the strong one in this relationship.”
“What?”
She smiled her devilish smile.
“That’s for calling me a brat. Gotta go!”
SMH.
I checked out Faith in Action online and Bethany was right, site after site lambasting our program, calling for its dismissal, claiming there hasn’t been such proselytizing since white Europeans stormed the shores of Africa. It turns out a Pastor Livingston Joyce, an ultra-Conservative, praised the program on a local TV talk show in Chicago. His rhetoric included comments about how American need more programs like this; geared toward eradicating Islam and bringing, Christianity, the one true religion to the world. His church was mentioned but I didn’t recall any member of FIA belonging to it. And if they did Pastor Joyce would have known the only goal of the program; chaplaincy. It was also a major story on the networks and papers. Though they didn’t mention Shivaughn by name, it was noted that a member was killed in the line of duty. While this was the first I hear about it, this issue had been festering for weeks.
Regardless of these tabloid reports, I had a job to do. I continued with the troops, never giving this story another thought. Three weeks later the news finally came, Chaplain Lewis called me into his office and explained effective immediately the program had been terminated. The details were still being worked out but within ten days I would be returning to the States. Somewhere along the way there would be a debriefing. And I would be paid in full for my remaining four and a half months. I guess getting rid of Christianity was more important than saving the government a couple million bucks.
I Video Chatted Bethany the news. Part of her was glad I was coming home another part sad citing the enemy had won.
“He’s the father of all lies,” Bethany said. “People fought and told the truth about your program, but the lies won out. That’s crazy.”
“Maybe he won the battle, but he didn’t win the war. Always, ‘greater is he that is in me, than he that is in the world.’ ‘What satan means for evil God will turn to good.”
“Is that Biblical? I always hear people say it but I don’t remember it in the Bible.”
“It’s paraphrased from the Bible. Check out Genesis 50:20.”
“How do you feel about this?”
“It all works out for the best. God always wins. I can only speak for myself but I know I did everything God call me to do during my time here. If it’s over it, it’s over.”
“I am glad you’re coming back. I need your kind of thinking. When will you be here?”
“That hasn’t been decided yet. But it should be within ten days, maybe less.”
“Just in time for Christmas. My classes will be over! We can spend the holidays together!”
“Like I said everything works out with God. He always wins.”
Off to the mess hall. I wasn’t hungry but in the mood for a cup of coffee and pastry. In the days ahead I would have to get used to paying for things like this---no more walk in and take what you want. But, for the while it’s free. I took advantage and over indulged; large coffee and three pastries.
I was about to text Bethany when I heard a cry from behind…
“Dylan, Dylan!” a familiar voice shouted with excitement.
I turned, it was Rabbi David.
“David!” I exclaimed jumping to my feet.
We hugged. Long lost band of brothers now rejoined.
“I arrived from Korea this morning,” he explained. “This is the last stop. I’m here to debrief then back to Chicago. How ‘bout you?”
“I’ve been in Germany for a few months. You’re debriefing here? My CO wasn’t sure.”
“That’s what they told me.”
“But Korea.”
“I was there for two months. Before than Alaska. But most of my time was on a ship with the Navy. Maybe eight months as chaplain on the USS Eisenhower in Hawaii, then off the coast of Iraq. You know Miriam and I met on a cruise. That was the last time I was on a ship before now. You get a different perspective on life living on the water.”
“That must have been something.”
“Not much engagement with the insurgents. But oh those boys on those ships! Did they keep me in prayer!”
“I would have liked that. I didn’t know it was part of the program. All I saw was Germany or the desert.”
“You the desert, me the water. You did your part, I did mine. I see you still enjoy your coffee and cake. Not much has changed in two years. We’re right back where we started.”
“Yes and no,” I said rather melancholy.
“This is true,” David said in reflective agreement. “Come, I’ll have a cup of coffee, perhaps a Danish, not as many as you of course, and we’ll sit and talk.
I would enjoy that perhaps even more than the formal debriefing. David returned with his coffee and a small cheese Danish. We sat and talked.
“So,” David began, “was it all you thought it would be? Great moments of theological debate, of solitude wrestling with the love of God versus the love of life?”
“Not really.”
“Like the great writer Charles Dickens said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
“That’s it to a tee.”
“You were right about the counseling. And I found so many Christians interested in Israel and Judeo-Christian thought. Even I was surprised. The questions. I had to call my rabbi a time or two. It was mainly the Christians. I did encounter a handful of Jewish boys. They didn’t have a rabbi back home; they didn’t want one out here. So it was me and the correlation of the New Testament with traditional Jewish thought.”
“I would have loved it,” my thoughts drifting to great teachings and discussions.
“It’s funny we didn’t exchange numbers, we could have kept in touch.”
“I never thought of that. People come and go so freely in my life. And I thought we’d probably work together.”
“I’m also to blame. But what’s done can’t be undone.”
“Lady Macbeth,” I exclaimed “Act 5 scene I, 63-4.”
“A Shakespearian scholar!”
“Not really. I don’t even know why I know that. I’ve read him but never studied him. I probably used that quote in a sermon.”
“I would love to hear you preach someday. You have great thoughts, eloquence in speech. Your congregation must love you.”
“I don’t have a congregation.”
“You don’t? All this time I thought you had a church. I just assumed. Such a waste of a gift. I think you should have your own church. The program’s over. Your schooling is over; at least in the classroom. So what’s stopping you? You have progressive thoughts. People need to hear them. Maybe they’ll believe them, maybe they won’t. But they should be heard.”
“David, are you prophesizing?”
“Me, I’m just an old rabbi from Chicago speaking with the voice of his heart and from what his ears have heard. Call it what you will.”
“You’re not old.”
“You say that only cause I precede you by a year perhaps two.”
“I say it cause it’s true.”
“Such a nice man. And returning to his nice young lady; Bethany, see I remember. A nice girl with a nice Jewish name that you met at a nice Christian university. A match made in Judeo-Christian heaven.”
I smiled.
“You know Bethany always wanted me to plant a church.”
“That settles it. So what do we talk about now?”
***
Lt. Buddy Cavett hastily approached me with a smile that should have been stuffed with canary feathers. Though our past conversations were little more than polite greetings, he was always in attendance when I preached or conducted Bible study.
“Rev Ramsey, you’re a Brooklynite, right?” he said with a slap to my back.
“You know it.”
“Chaplain tells me you’re shipping out soon. You need a place to stay for a few weeks? My wife runs our realty company back in the States. She emailed me this morning and said she had a cancellation on a short-term sublet. It’s a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights all furnished. I’d like to sow it into your life. It’s only until Jan. 15. Sorry, it couldn’t be longer. But. At least you’ll have a place to stay once you step off the plane.”
“Really! Bethany would love that! What am I saying I would too! I never lived in Brooklyn Heights, always wanted to.”
“Well, you got it, Brother! It’s the least I can do. You don’t know what your sermons did for me.”
“Thank you, Lt.!”
“I’ll make the arrangements right now. She can Fed Ex the keys to me and you’ll have them before you leave.”
With that, he left even happier then when he arrived. This conversation was the most words we ever exchanged. That’s God at work.
Debriefing would take place in three days over two days. All remaining members of the program would be flying into Wiesbaden. The first day was a group debriefing, the next an individual. It’s funny, officially the program was over; I was a free man. But as clergy I’m still on the job; paid or not. David and I walked the compound speaking to the troops. There were no office house, no services to prep for; just spreading the word of God wherever we walked.
Day One of Debriefing lasted five hours. Debriefing is necessary; a group of people that shared a similar experience get together to share those experiences. Because of it, you know you were not alone with the thoughts and feelings you had. However, debriefing can be looked at as therapy. Unless one goes on their own accord, they are less likely to share. There are the Super Christians; ones who will cite ‘For God did not give us a spirit of fear…’ ‘the full armor of God was always around me so I had nothing to fear.’ And the ones that won’t share their true feelings for it might comprise their Christianity. Both were present in this session.
For those of us that did share it was as David expressed from Dickens, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of time.” All witnesses death and devastation. All had feelings of loneliness, missing those back home or just wanting to be back home. Yet all knew they were fulfilling God’s purpose. We spoke about the death of Shivaughn. Since she came late to the program no one knew her personally. It was never mentioned that I was with her at the time of death. Maybe our counselor didn’t know. I didn’t volunteer that information.
Day Two was a brief debriefing. Past physical, part mental evaluation, part exit interview explaining our valuable but limited ‘veterans’ rights.’ Valuable because we had extended mental health care. The warning signs of PTSD were stressed. It was something that might develop over time and if we noticed it seek counseling.
The earliest flight out was going to Chicago. I booked it then would take a flight back to New York. I guess the majority of the program wanted the quickest way out for they were also on the flight. With a little maneuvering, I got to sit with the only one who belonged on the flight, David. I fought the effects of the Dramamine to spend the long fight chatting with my great friend. Also accompanying us on the flight, a casket housing the body of Pvt. Elliott Ryan.
Somewhere along the flight David dozed off. My fight against drowsiness had won. Through the dark and the quiet I was wide awake. I streamed on my IPad and found a program on TBN. Tony Orlando was being interviewed. I thought about a line from the song he sang long ago; “I’m coming home; I’ve done my time.” How befitting. I’m coming home; I’ve done my time; no more school, no more long mission trips, no more trips to war-torn countries. I’m coming home; I’ve done my time.
Book Three
Learning to Dance in the Rain
I slept for most of the plane ride to NYC. As if on cue, I awoke during the d escend. It was close to ten years since I set foot in the Big Apple. From here I couldn’t tell how much it changed. But I know it had. Nothing in New York stays the same.
Bethany was driving from school to meet my plane. The last time we met at the airport all I could think about was a good ole American Swiss burger. This time I didn’t want a burger or a bath. I just wanted to hold my Doll in my arms. I needed her soft flesh in my hands, her body against mine. The time was at hand. Bethany was standing in front of me.
“Hey, stranger,” she said with a smile.
“Come here,” I growled, dropping my bags and grabbing her.
There was passion in our embrace. Bethany was my permanence in a world of change.
“Look how beautiful you look in your little cap,” I said, remarking on her perfectly lovely her face that stood out under her wool sock monkey Carnegie cap.
“I hope you like what’s under the cap,” she said with a mischievous smile.
“I love what’s under the cap.”
“You better look.”
Searching my eyes for approval, Bethany cautiously removed her headgear. Gone was the shiny black hair that danced with every turn of her head. Now just buzzed remnants remained, leaving the true beauty of Bethany’s face.
“Wow!” I said, my eyes lighting up.
“This girl at school cut off her hair to make wigs for people going through chemotherapy. That touched me.” She rubbed her hand over her head. “I didn’t want to show you on Video Chat. I was watching that movie you like Casablanca and that guy said to that woman before they went to the airport ‘the less time to think the better.’ So viola. What do you think?”
“Like it,” I said while I ran my hand along the nubs on the back of her head. “Bethany, you’re beautiful!”
I was aroused. I thrusted her in my arms.
“Wow! If I knew you would act like this, I would have cut off my hair years ago.”
“You know me and short hair on women.”
“But this is no hair.”
“Yeah!” I panted then kissed her again.
“I love you, Dylan,” she said, her cheek resting against mine. “I missed you.”
“Well, I’m back for good.”
We held each other for an endless moment.
“Where do we go from here?” Bethany asked when we finally unlocked. “You said you have a place?”
“Yeah,” I said grabbing my bags.
Bethany reached down and took one from me. It was a little too heavy for her, but she wanted to help.
“We have a place in Brooklyn for a few weeks,” I added.
“You wanna drive? You know New York better than I do.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t drive when I lived here. Busses and trains I know; driving the surface streets is something else. But I’ll drive. You’re the tourist; enjoy the city.”
“You need the GPS?”
“I was praying you’d have one.”
Once outside the New York air hit me like a bullet. It was relatively mild for December; 45 degrees read a neon sign. It wasn’t the air but the excitement of the city. New York has an energy all its own. One feels it just stepping thru the doors of Kennedy. We found her car and headed to my beloved borough.
I didn’t like driving and I especially didn’t like driving at night. But I wanted Bethany to see the Manhattan skyline after dark; the city lights, the Christmas lights. It’s an experience in itself.
Maybe we were both weary from our journeys but we said very little during the drive. Every now and then Bethany would ask a question about the city, about my trip. We spent the time sneaking glances at each other.
Finally, I pulled up to a mansion looking brownstone on Columbia Street in Brooklyn Heights.
“Is this where we’re staying?” Bethany asked with wide-eyed anticipation. “It looks like a haunted house.”
I had the same feeling about the brownstones in Brooklyn Heights. They were big and old and filled with history. Maybe some of their historical tenants never left.
“I thought you didn’t believe in haunted houses?” I said pulling into a parking space right in front of the house.
“I don’t but this place could change my mind.”
“We could find a Catholic church and get some holy water to sprinkle around the house.”
“Always think theologically.”
“You knew what I was when you married me.”
“Yeah a nut,” Bethany said smiling her Bethany smile.
“This is a gift from God. You don’t know how hard it is to find a parking space, much less one right in front of your house.”
Bethany stepped out of the car. I followed.
“So this is Brooklyn,” she said leaning against the car looking around. “It’s nice. Did you grow up around here?”
“No, this neighborhood was always rich. These are multimillion dollar homes. And famous authors lived here, Truman Capote, Norman Mailer…”
“So spiritually you live here.”
“Now who’s thinking theologically?”
I leaned against Bethany and tasted her lips.
“Our first kiss in Brooklyn,” she said, her cheeks turning red from the New York air.
“Nice,” I replied.
“Do it again.”
I complied.
“Sweet,” she said resting her forehead against mine. “This is so nice. And it’s so quiet, peaceful.”
“Yeah, this part of Brooklyn is always like this. We have the best of the best. Correction; I have the best of the best.”
That made her smile again.
“Let’s check out this haunted house,” I said.
If there were any ghosts they were living in the lap of luxury. The living room had a working fireplace, a ceiling 30 feet high and crystal chandelier. There was a sweeping spiral staircase that leads to numerous rooms but most importantly, our master bedroom.
“That’s the Brooklyn Bridge, right?” Bethany asked glaring out the bay window that overlooked the Promenade, Brooklyn Bridge Park and lower Manhattan.
“Yeah,” I said wrapping my arms around her.
Bethany rarely wore perfume, but tonight she did; a sweet scent reminiscent of a tropical fruit I couldn’t place. I took a peck on her soft cheek making her smile.
“What are all those schooners doing in the harbor?” Bethany asked of the historical ships docked at Pier 17. “Don’t New York sailors know you don’t need a mast anymore?”
“That’s the South Street Seaport. You can go for a ride on them. You can find anything in New York. And there’s the Freedom Tower. That’s where the Twin Towers were. They knock ‘em down, we put ‘em back up.”
It dawned on me, all the time I was over there, no one ever mentioned the World Trade Center. That was the main reason we were ‘over there.’ How quickly we forget.
“We have to go there. I want to send pictures to my mom and Allie.”
“We will. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. But what about Dad? Doesn’t he rate a picture or two?”
“He’s not into pictures. And besides, a good friend of Dad’s was killed on 9-11. To this day, he won’t read or watch anything about it. He doesn’t even talk about it.”
“He’s not alone. A lot of people are like that.”
“I guess we all have things to work out. Wow, you’re not back more than an hour and I’m already sounding like you.”
Bethany was still wearing her wool cap. I gently removed it.
“Hey, cut it out,” she cried. “My head gets cold.”
“We’re inside. The heat will be up soon.”
I ran my cheek against her closely shaven head.
“Leave my nubs alone,” she purred.
“I think your nubs are sexy.”
“Now you know what it’s like kissing you first thing in the morning.”
I kissed the back of her neck and made my way to the top. Bethany giggled and snuggled deeper into my arms.
“I like you, Dylan. You can love somebody but not like them. I love you and I like you.
“Ditto,” I replied.
“Thank you, Patrick Swayze,” she said turning to be face to face.
“Brat.”
I kissed her lips.
“Solider boy is home,” she whispered.
“’you hungry?” I asked. “There’s no food in the house. We passed a deli. I could run and get some things.”
“Yeah you better.”
“Stay here; relax. I’ll go get it.”
“No, I’m coming too. It will be a few days before I get used to being in this big ole house.”
It’s true; New York is the city that never sleeps. Wherever you live, you’re never a few blocks away from a twenty-four hour bodega. Like most non-New Yorkers, Bethany wanted to take the car for the three-