Simply written, I believe there are no accidents. This book was published in 2001, at a time when my mind was spinning in other directions, and before I discovered my own father's Japanese flag from World War II. Thanks to an earlier post about my father, a distant cousin had read this book and emailed me the note, "This book is a must for you."
"In January 1944 when my father crossed the Pacific for the first time, he did not know where he was going. He did not know that he was headed for New Zealand. He did not know that after a year of training and waiting....he and his buddies in the Twenty-first Infantry Division would be transported to northern Luzon, the Philippines, where they would sweat out five and a half months of combat." Louise Steinman's prologue captured my soul and my gut. I could have finished the book in a day and called it a fast read, but I realized that each letter her father wrote home could have been my father writing, so I stopped after each letter and reflected on what I knew about my father's war in the Pacific.
The author basis her true story on hundreds of letters, her father wrote to her mother during World War II, and a flag. After the death of her father in 1990 she and her brother began the process of cleaning out his home. A rusted box was found in the underground storage filled with manila envelopes. Carrying it upstairs to the light she writes, "I opened it (the manila envelope) and found a slippery piece of white silk, folded in eighths. I held it up to the light. Pin pricks of daylight showed through the fragile fabric--tiny holes where the fine strands had given way. The orange-red disc in the center was faded. Brushed over the surface were Japanese characters, and speckled among them, faint drops of red-brown. Could they be blood? Spooked, I quickly refolded it and put it back in the envelope, back in the box."
This is where I stopped reading for the first time. I knew my father, too, had returned from the War with the same flag. For days, I searched my memory for what few facts I might have remembered about my father's experience, but like so many of us born to those amazing men and women, their stories remained hidden from their families.
What I know about my father's war can be seen on the flag he returned with and the story in pictures of his years in the Army-1940--45.
The entries include his departure from Wichita in December 1940, followed by his tour through the Philippines, New Guinea, Japan, New Guinea, and the Aleutian Islands. I have no idea of the order of events nor of the battles.
Reading The Souvenir helped me to understand not only my father, Johnie Stapp, but the men at Miami Golf and Country Club; the men with missing limbs, who leaned next to the Security Bank and begged for food or money; the men who smoked a couple of packs of cigarettes daily; the men who worked hard all day then spent their evenings in the local bars and taverns; the men who had nothing to say about the war they survived.
10 September 1945 (Norman Steinman writes)
When I get home, I never want to be reminded of the Philippines. Everything on this island will always bring back sad memories and remind me of six long months of hell--living in fear--seeing such horrible sights day in and especially the nights of being awake and always on guard wondering and waiting.
Louise Steinman takes the journey into her father's past: to Japan to return the flag to the family of the young Japanese soldier who died; to the American Cemetery in Manila; to Luzon and the battle fields of Balete Pass; and finally to the beauty of the swans in Suibara. The book is worth the time spent in reading, absorbing, and reflecting on life, death, and the grace of unconditional love.
There are no accidents. Louise found her father's flag and told his story which eventually led to helping me understand my father.
Letty Stapp Watt
Johnie Stapp's daughter and historian
The drive from her home of sixty years was only a few blocks to her new apartment at the assisted living community, but it felt like time was holding our breath and would not release it. I could see the tears run down my ninety-one year old mother-in-law's face. For months we'd all prayed for God's help in caring for her. "Alleen, we only want the best for you. You are lonely and scared in your home and afraid to cook. Please give this a chance. You might really like your new apartment." I pleaded. "I don't see how I can." Then she put out her bottom lip and dropped her head in resignation. My heart sank even lower, and I asked myself, "Whatever have we done?"
It was a long slow walk down the hallway, as Alleen pushed her walker with her two sons Jack and John beside her, and me walking behind carrying a few bags of household items. Unbeknownst to her, Jack and I had already moved in a new dusty rose colored love seat, an end table, a small table with two chairs, wall mounted TV, a new twin bed, with bedspread and drapes in shades of watery blues and muted rose, and shower curtain of soft rose tones with raised flowers decorated in pearls and lace adding dimension to the curtain. Now we carried pictures and wall hangings from home, some kitchen ware, lamps, and shelving to call it home.
When she at last looked up after walking into the apartment, her eyes saw the new turquoise watery blue drapes with the winter sun flashing through the shades, then her eyes saw the new rose colored love seat. She looked no more and pushed the walker to the love seat and plopped down. I didn't know whether she'd smile or cry.
One by one her sons carried in framed family pictures, painted artwork from her kids, a prized picture of bears photographed by Art Wolfe, and a few what nots. Alleen is never without words, so when she caught her breath she began, "You shouldn't have. You shouldn't have. This is so pretty. I had no idea you would buy pretty things for my apartment. That's a new dresser isn't it? Now I can open a drawer, and it won't fall out on my foot. Everything I have at home is old and broken." She paused to smile, "I don't deserve this. I've just been a cry baby for months now and made your lives miserable. Why did you do this?" Before we could even speak she continued, "Is this all mine?"
A collective sigh of relief spread throughout the room as John, Jack and I smiled and reassured her how much we loved her. One by one the boxes and sacks were emptied, with Alleen orchestrating the final set up on her new apartment. I unwrapped a twelve inch pale white stone statue of Mary on a donkey holding the baby Jesus with Joseph walking beside them. It had been hidden on a shelf back in Jeannie's old bedroom, but when I discovered it, while packing, it seemed it needed to go to the new apartment. I held it and asked where she'd like placed or if she even wanted it.
She smiled and took a deep breath. "I want it right there on that shelf." She pointed to the half wall shelf dividing the living room and bedroom. "Where did you find that?" Her breathing suddenly became labored, and we all stopped. With her hand on her heart she continued, "I haven't seen it in years. You gave it to me a long time ago, and I just loved it. I worried that we had broken it or lost it somewhere."
I looked again at the statue. I did love its humble beauty. "Are you sure I gave it to you?" "Oh, yes. One year when you lived in Kansas you bought it," she replied. I studied it again, and then recalled how I enjoyed shopping at Stutzman's Nursery at Christmas time when the greenhouse was filled with poinsettias, and the gift shop sparkled with ornaments and Christian decor. We both smiled at the recognition. "You're right Alleen, I did buy this. I'm so glad you remembered."
She smiled and dropped her head down at a sideways bow. "Thank you. Thank you." She began. "We can leave it there all year to watch over me."
She seemed happy and relaxed for the first time in months and months. I quietly reflected, God does amazing work in our answered prayers.
If you'd like to read the prequel to The Answered Prayer click on the link below to read "The Move."
One Woman's Day story
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