CONFESSION

CONFESSION

“Are you there, God? It’s me.”

Those were the opening words of a letter written during a lull in a major battle in World War II. The soldier had just turned eighteen and wrote this under extreme duress, knowing he may only have a few hours to live. Yet, the penmanship was perfect, the writing arrow straight, but the attitude was one of defiance, realization, and acceptance.

I am restoring this letter, which has been covered in years of dirt and grime, so it can be read and framed, but there are other watermarks and stains that I would never remove.

***

Are you there, God? It’s me. I don’t have much time right now, but I needed to write this to you.

Look, I know I haven’t been very good at talking with you or even getting to know you. I guess I was too busy being a kid. But I turned eighteen, and suddenly I’m not a kid anymore. One minute I’m sitting with friends blowing out candles, and the next…I’m halfway around the world, crouched in this hellish place, covered in mud and blood.

You see, we do stupid things down here that make no sense. Right now, the whole world has gone crazy, again! Everyone is fighting everyone else. We already had one world war, and here we are fighting a second one.

I’m sorry for asking this, God, but why do you allow stuff like this to happen? I mean, there are bodies as far as I can see — ours and theirs— covering the fields around this place.

And two of those bodies belonged to my best friends. They will be coming to you tonight, if they’re not already there. Breaks my heart, but I don’t have the time to cry.

They told us there would be a lull in the fighting for the next few hours (maybe) and that we should write to our families, cause the next phase of this battle would be really bad. Since I don’t have anyone to write to, I wanted to write to you…to explain why I stopped talking to you.

You see, God, I tried to talk to you when I was very young. When my Momma was so sick, I pleaded with you not to let her die, but when she did, I was mad at you for a long time. When I was a little older, they told me you didn’t help cause you didn’t exist, and like a fool, I believed them. (well, maybe not entirely)

Then the older I got, I understood how much pain she was in and that it would have only gotten much worse, and that you really did help her because she was no longer suffering.

Then last night, just before this battle started, I dared to stand up in this trench and look at your sky—with the most amazing sunset I’d ever seen. I figured right then that if you could create something like that, and help my Momma, you must be real, and they had lied to me. Funny, I had to come all this way into this nightmare before I took the time to see you and all you’ve done.

I wanted to ask you, God, if you could please be forgiving of my friends when they show up at your house. They were really good people. They are Benny Catlen and Jason Saunders, who we called Spider. Jason is lying on his back, only about twenty feet from this foxhole. He tried to get back here but didn’t make it. He called for me when he got hit, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do for him. We were all pinned down by bullets falling like rain. The sound of his last call to me will haunt me the rest of my life—or the next hour, whichever comes first.

And Benny. We called him Cat. The funniest man I ever knew—King of the one-liners. I never would have made it this far without him, nor would any of the other guys. He kept all of us grounded, even through some of the worst firefights of this war. He was always whistling Glenn Miller tunes.

Benny loved sweets, and every time a few of us went out on reconn, Benny would yell, “Bring me back a donut.” It was his way of saying we’d make it back. The guys considered it good luck to hear him call it out.

But, God, the blood that’s covering me…well, it’s Benny’s. They just took him away. He was talking to me one minute, and the next minute, he was falling on top of me with blood gushing everywhere.

His body, or most of it, remained lying in the mud about ten feet from me for the duration of the first attack. Do you know how hard it was to look over and see him there? Benny and I had known each other since the second grade. He was more my brother than my friend. And now he’s gone—just like that. The blood stain on this letter is from him.

Anyway, it’s nearing the “Zero Hour,” so I need to prepare. I am so glad I got to meet you today, God. I should have done this a long time ago. I am no longer afraid, now that I know you are there, and I wanted you to know how much I like you.

But look, this battle will be a horrible fight. Over half of our people are already with you, or some may be in that other place. So, there aren’t many of us left to finish this fight. Which means, I just might be coming to your house very soon. I wonder, God, would you wait for me by your door, please? And will my Momma be there? I’m scared, but more than anything, I hurt so bad, not from injuries but from the loss of my friends.

Spider is still lying out in that bloody field—I’m so sorry I couldn’t help him. And Cat was lying so close to me, but I couldn’t help him either. I can’t get what happened to him out of my mind.

Oh, look at me, now! I’m crying! Me! I never cry, but I’m shedding tears like water for my friends, and knowing I may be joining them very soon. I can’t stop crying. I can’t help it, and my tears are smudging the ink.

Things are starting to heat up again, so I have to go now. Goodbye, God. I’m scared of the battle, but after meeting you, I’m not afraid to die.

And please tell Benny, I’ll bring him a donut.