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From Page 1Journey To Witnessweeks). I knew men who were four star generals, but most of them were sergeants andbelow; and I learned to love them all.During this time, God was there, but mostly I put himout of my mind, because, after all how could a loving God permit all the atrocities that were happening? And most of the atrocities were’t caused by the VC, they were caused by our own people.HELICOPTER and jeepaccidents, murders and deaths by drug overdose far outnumbered the deaths inactual combat. And some of my friends were killed and some were wounded.And what do you say to a friend who has lost both legs, and wonders if his wife will take him back, and at the same time is planning to go into auto mechanics? I listened and held his hand until he went to sleep, and walked down the wary to say “Hi” to another Gl who knew me from one of our many trips to the front lines. He asked me what I thought of him now that his face was badly scarred. I listened and cared; and at the end of my year’s tour an amazing thing happened.DURING THAT year I hadworked in four different areas, and in each I had made friends. But I used to notice how often the men didn't even notice when a Red Cross girl left. My last three months were spent in Cam Ranh Bay, one of the places from which the men left the country. And the amazing thing was that man after manwould see me and say:“Hey, aren’t you the nutwho cheered us up on New Year’s Eve when we were on patrol and feeling blue?” “Hey, Rachelle, arc you still here? I thought you left thecountry six months ago, whenyou left Phan Rang!” Hey, you saved me from drugs.Thanks, or “Thanks for caring when I was down and out. You helped me stay faithful to my wife because you were a friend.” I couldn’t believe it!When had I done all thosethings?After leaving Vietnam, I went to several Asian countries before going to Thailand, where Thai friends were awaiting my arrival. I lived there three months, teaching English in a Buddhist monastery school, starting a nursery school ... and after that I began what turned out to be a year of travelling across Asia on buses, trains, oxcarts, cars, trucks, motorcycles.BUT IT was in Madras, India, that God touched me again and called my name loud enough for me to hear it! It was on the top of St. Thomas Mount, where tradition has it that St. Thomas the apostle was martyred for Christ — St. Thomas, the doubter! I don’t know exactly what happened, but after seeing that Mount with its simple Church, I felt God’s hand on me. I returned there and met the priest and a young Franciscan Sister, who was one of several who took in babies left on the streets.Almost everywhere I wentpeople were curious and kind: they took me in; fed me; asked me to help them practice English; wondered why I, a white person, was travelling with them, the dregs of mankind,on a third class train.They stared, they asked, they were kind; and I noticed that many Buddhists and Hindus were kinder than most Christians I knew. I began to wonder how people without Christ could live more peacefully and happily in their poverty than many Christians in their wealth.I wanted to run again; but found, instead, that Francis Thompson was right when he described God as The Houndof Heaven” in his well known poem.ISRAEL was the last Asian country I visited. It was thesummer of 1971, and I hadn’t been in any one place more than 4/} months since August of 1969. I was worn out from travels, questions, constant bothering. And I was worn out with wondering about poverty, people I met and places I saw.In Israel I got a job for six weeks, taking care of babies in the nursery of the Hospice of St. Vincent de Paul, which is run by the Daughters of Charity. It’s a poor house which cares for over 400 homeless, blind, crippled and insane people. The Sisters (except for one English Sister) and workers at the Hospice spoke nothing but Arabic and French, and making myself understood was quite a feat in itself.But they were kind to me, and I was taken to see some of the holy places with the.Later, I guided several people about the country and went to see places I had missed. But I didn’t findGod or Christ there among the money changers and the beggars and the gawking pilgrims that filled most of the holy places.(To be continued next week.)
Newspaper Details
Marquette Upper Peninsula Catholic
Marquette, Michigan, US
Fri, Apr 25, 1975
Page 3
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GB 01 May 2021
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