A GIFT OF FRIENDSHIP

The Christmas season is one of the most enjoyable times of the year for most people. Times are tender. People are kind, courteous and receptive to the needs of others. It also can be the worst time of the year, unfortunately for some, as they recall the blessed memories of those who were once with them. There are those who find themselves lonely, discouraged, burdened or troubled. There are those who expect no gifts nor can give none. There are whose life has lost much of its meaning. There are those that are much in need of a friend.

Everyone likes a Christmas story. Most everyone has one to share. I have mine. It is true. It took place a very long time ago in a far away place. I would like to share it with you.

I was assigned to the 101st Airborne Division in Vietnam. Two days before Christmas a directive came down from headquarters, asking for three volunteers to rig and move some equipment by "sling-loading," a method of external transport from a helicopter. The movement was to take place the day after Christmas. That meant that the equipment had to be rigged on Christmas Day. It also meant leaving on Christmas Eve to get to the site where the equipment was located.

I was somewhat depressed as I looked around the open squad bay lined with bunk beds. Some were sleeping, some reading, few talking, while others listened to Christmas music coming from the radio. I was tired of the small talk, the impersonal people and the hostile environment in Vietnam. It bothered me that some had become callous and even appeared to be blood-thirsty to kill "Charlie" (the Viet Cong). I felt sorry for them but realized that I had become insensitive to things that once mattered but no longer affected me. I, too, had changed and was no better than anyone else. It was a dreary down-day, to say the least, as it was with a heavy downpour of rain. The wooden floor was wet with mud from those coming inside without removing their footwear or wiping their feet. I felt dirty like the mud on the floor. How much my presence or absence meant to any of the others was, indeed, questionable. I readily volunteered for the assignment.

On Christmas Eve we gathered the necessary slings and rigging equipment to do the job, and were taken to the rigging site. The night was miserable! We slept under a poncho and were wet, muddy and cold. Morning came without a break in the weather. We had gotten little sleep, if any. Quite frankly, we did not want to be there; especially, with each other. We argured and complained about the most trivial things, just about anything to vent our frustration and discontentment.

As we reached for our C-rations, one pulled out a can of turkey load from his pack. He held it high in the palm of his hand and said, "Hey guys, look at this will you. Eat your heart out. This may be Christmas Day but these aren't biblical times either ... times when Christ blessed the fish and the loaves of bread to feed thousands of people. And besides, even if He were around today, this would be the last place on earth He'd be. We are in hell guys! You realize that dont you? No God anywhere would come near a damned place where everyone is looking everywhere just to kill somebody." As he opened the can of turkey he looked at us and we looked at him but not a word was spoken. He asked, "What have you guys got to eat anyhow?" The other had spaghetti and I had beans. "Okay, you win ... only because it is Christmas." The can of turkey was small but we shared it with everything else by dividing the contents of our meal

I had never felt anything move me more in my entire life as it did upon saying that prayer; in asking to bless the food, to bless each other; to bless our loved ones back home, and thanking God for the birth of His Son on this special day long ago, for the everlastingness of life for all mankind. We ate in silence. It was a good meal.

Something happened that was profoundly felt by all three of us. One put it into words by saying, "I strangely feel good!" The other commented that he, too, couldn't explain the wonder of contentment that suddenly overwhelmed him. And I felt a most wonderful cleansing feeling sweep through my entire body and mind. The feelings were unbelievably profound. Thoughts, too, were rich and deeply felt.

We started talking. Laughter came easy and frequent as the tears as we shared stories about home. Each story was different but much the same; all consisting of love, compassion and joy. We apologized for the things we had previously said to one another. Then one said something with such overpowering sincerity that his voice cracked upon saying each word. "I want you both to become my friend ... I regret that my friendship is all I have to offer you." The spirit of Christmas touched our hearts and we made a committment to become friends. The maladies and miseries earlier in the day turned out to be remarkably wonderful. An exhange of ideas, of thoughts and feelings were shared and we no longer felt downhearted and discouraged. The loads were rigged in record time. The helicopters came early the following morning and carried us and our loads back to base camp. The mission was a success.

Our friendship grew. It was a comfort having someone to count on, someone with unquestionable sincerity and trust as a friend. There were a lot of good times, because of them, in the midst of the living hell in Vietnam. Sometimes the most valuable thing you can offer someone is just your presence whether a single word is spoken or not. We frequently talked about life, of its values and even tried to make some sense out of what was going on all around us. We always talked about our loved ones; especially our children, our innocent little ones who still dreamed, wondered and believed in good things. And we talked about the Presence we each had so deeply felt in the rain on that special Christmas Day. Somehow, deep down inside, we knew that was to be our last Christmas together, although we agreed to spend the next Christmas in the States together with our families.

I truly believe none of us expected to make it out of Vietnam alive. We learned to appreciate most the days as if each new day were to be our last. When you fact death, you know life; and when about to lose it, you love life.

Things were subject to change without notice. We knew that. We knew that things couldn't continue to go on with us without change as we saw death all around. It would seem that the Creater knew us well and planned wisely with grand politeness when He drew the curtain of the future before us and gave us faith to live each hour of each day without knowing what the future would hold for any of us. One was shot and killed a month after that special Christmas Day. The other was killed a week before he was due to board the "freedom bird" home. I sometimes wonder why it was me to live and not one, or both, of them. I do believe one of us had to live to tell this story.

After they were gone, I felt very much alone. I often recalled the times when we knealt down on our knees in prayer in the darkness of the night, each time feeling much better. Alone, now, prayer was a great source of strength and comfort.

In my mind and heart since, I share every Christmas Day with them, in solitude, with tears in my eyes. I feel the emptiness of their absence with some intuitive awareness of how much they must be missed by their families.

In the silent, thoughtful hours, there comes the quiet conviction of loved ones waiting, friends waiting, in a place where there are no wars; where no one can evade the spiritual truths of life -- of its everlastingness -- in all its beauty and purity.

(It was Christmas Day of 1966)


Return to the Library