A Long Letter From College
Roever – XXX – XXX – XXX – XXX –
1977-12-06_Tom to Family Part 2
Dear Family,
Well, hope you’re all fine.
Sorry it took so long to get you a letter (did you get it from Jo Ann?) Here’s another. It might be the last before I come home. I’ll have to let you know the details of how I’ll be getting home, of course, so possibly next week I’ll write or call.
I’ve been studying. My eyes were closing and my back was tired, so I climbed up on the bed to rest awhile. Next week is finals. I’m starting to study now so that I’ll be ready. I’m committing myself to making an A on every test. For every test I make less than an A on I will owe Mother 1 hour of free labor. Now you know that that is incentive for me. You hold me to it, Mom.
Last Friday was witnessing as usual. We didn’t have a CMF service, so we went out earlier than usual, and came back earlier, too. Since we had a couple hours before curfew I took my loaf of bread downstairs where we buttered it, heated it in the Micro-wave, and had a bread-party. Cinda had some home-grown honey that everyone else used on their bread but which, to me, tasted like dead bees.
The group, by the way, was Joe, Carol and Wayne (from Chicago), Cinda and a girl named Debbie (and me). After the bread feast, which we all enjoyed, we played on the fence for awhile, seeing who could travel the farthest on the top rail. I was easily the winner, as I had been practicing. In the remaining 35 minutes before curfew, all of us hyper-energized, throwing jokes around like hot potatoes, laughing and bustling, we went down to the pond, ran around, found a set of see-saws, made use of them, and hurried back to beat the clock. How’s that for an evening? That’s only the prelude.
Wayne and I went upstairs (Joe was already up there) and a group of us began talking. We went in a guy’s room to hear some music for awhile. Finally, I thought I should be getting to bed. This was about 12:30. I stopped by Tony’s room to say hello, and wound up visiting there for awhile. Whenever I leave his room, Tony walks me home as far as the soda machine. We decided to each have a soda, so we sat down to chat while we drank our early morning refreshment. Keith, walking by, heard us, and sat down to join the conversation. With a third bull the session began all over again with a new topic and renewed impetus. It was nearly 2:30 AM before good sense prevailed. Keith and I departed from Tony and made our way down the dark halls to 2 West. Outside our doors we narrowed the dialogue down to a reasonable conclusion, rounding it off to a decision to finish in the morning. Tired, but not sleepy, I entered my room quietly to not wake David, found a book I wanted to read, and took it to the reading room down the hall...
At 3:00 I vaulted delicately onto my bunk, quite tired from the busy week of studies. Zonk.
Tonight’s a movie I’m required to see for Western Civ. should be good. Thursday night is the “Men’s Party”—we’re going to have a movie: “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken” with Don Knotts. This should be good if it is not too heavy on theological explanation and hermeneutical exegesis. The cost is 25¢.
Oh—I received a surprise in the mail—$20, from an unnamed friend!
We had an excellent chapel servie recently. One of the most stunningtrue stories I’ve ever heard. A Vietnam veteran—a phosphorous grenade went of in his hand. Sixty percent of his skin was destroyed—and muchmore damage done. He was thrown into the water, on fire, and underwater he continue burning, as phosphorous burns underwater. His boat was sunk and it settled ontop of him. Pinne underwater he was both burning to death and drowning. He knew that he no longer had a face, and knew he had no reasonable chance to surive. But verses from the Bible went through his ind; he had hope. Somehow he got himself out from beneath the boat. He swam with “supernatural srength,” piecees of his skin falling off behind him. “I was beside myself,” he told us.
He staggered up pn the beach, and, before falling, shoute, as a declaration, that he id not blame God. “I still believe in your, Go!” A friend he had been praying for and sharing his faither with the past few years, seeing hi friend’s body incredibly disfigured (and still on fire) falling to the ground, and hearing the proclamation of loyalty to God, at that moment dropped to his knees and asked Jesus to gorgive him and accept him.
Everyone though Reever (the preacher’s name) was dead. When they got him on a stretcher, his body, still burning, burned a hole in it and he fell through to the sand. They had to wrap him in a woolen army blanket to get him to the helicoper. All this time, Reever was conscious, yet they thought he was dead. When, in the helipoter, he managed to croak, “I ain’t dead,” he so scared the pilot and meic that he thought they were going to wreck the helicopter and he would be the oly survivor. He was taken to a hospital in Japan. The doctors there examined him hurriedly—they had a lot of other patients. Reever’s tongue had swollen so much that air couldn’t gt down his throat; but a hole had burned straight through his chest, and he was beathing through that. Occassionaly, a little spit of phosphorous flame would leap fro the cavity. He overhead the dotors.
“There’s nothig we can do for this man. He’s almost dead.”
After some discussion, one of them said, “Well, we ought to at least put the fire out.”
Reever said he somehow survived, “despite the surgery.”
His recovery was a long procss—can you imagine how paintful it would ha e been? When he was able to talk, he asked for a mirror. The sight made him want to die. He ws eventually flown home to America, still far from healted. The thought that had kept him living was that of his “life wie.” Vut he didn’t know how whe woul react. She entered the room. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had been to repulse to stay. But she did not even show surprise. His little 18-year-old wife looked down at the horribly destroyed boy of her husband; her were word, “I love you,” and she kissed him.
He told her, “I’ll never look good again.” He answer: “You never did anyway.”
With a terribly scarred face—100% plastic surgery, a toupee, an artificial ear, only one working finger on his right hand, and neigher thumb left on his hands, the man is happy, and dynamically testifying to eh world that Jesus lives and Jesus loves. The most incredible thing is that for over and hour as this man told us his story of suffering and horror, he had us holdig our sides in laughter!
“I don’t want your prity!” he shouted. “I don’t need it!” He knows the secret of owning joy despire the circumstances of life. He isists he is not preaching something he doesn’t live. He was not there to be pieied or honored—he was there to tell us that God loves us, that God can make life beautiful, that we are special and have have a joy-filled life.
With the index finger of his right hand, and the four digits of his left hand, he played the piano for us (he taught himself since the accident! Some of our music majors were envious of his ability) and sang. His song “God’s love is forever.”
It’s true you’re just eleven,
with a lot more elevens to go,
a lot more growing to do,
and a lot more things to know;
but rememer while you’re eleven
to enjoy…
But even though your number
is a different one this year…
Eleven’s just bigger than ten
and not a teenager yet.
And now you are eleven
So no you’ve reached eleven—
that’s one and one together
two soldiers back to back…
But changing in your number
Doesn’t change you in the heart
You used to write one-zero, Deb,
but you write one-one
and you need an extra finger now
to get the whole job done.
…are changing as you grow
So keep on being Debra
It’s fun to see your number
When when to changer your number
don’t change what your are
Reever said he somehow survived, 'despite the surgery.'
His recovery was a long process—can you imagine how painful it was, would have been? When he was able to talk he asked for a mirror. The sight of himself made him want to die.
He was eventually flown home to America, still far from healed. The thought that had kept him living was his "little wife." But he didn’t know how she would react. She entered the room. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she had been too repulsed to stay. But she did not even show surprise. His little 18-year-old wife looked down at the horribly destroyed body of her husband; her words were, "I love you," and she kissed him.
He told her, "I’ll never look good again." Her answer: "You never did anyway."
With a terribly scarred face—100% plastic surgery, a toupee, an artificial ear, only one working finger on his right hand and neither thumb left on his hands, the man is happy and dynamically testifying to the world that Jesus lives and Jesus loves. The most incredible thing is that for over an hour as this man told us his story of suffering and horror, he had us holding our sides in laughter!
"I don’t want your pity!" he shouted. "I don’t need it!" He knows the secret of knowing joy despite the circumstances of life. He insists he is not preaching something he doesn’t live. He was not there to be pitied or honored—he was there to tell us that God loves us, that God can make life beautiful, that we are special and can have a joy-filled life.
With the finger of his right hand and the four digits of his left hand he played the piano for us (he taught himself since the accident). Some of our music majors were envious of his ability and sang his song: "God’s love is forever."
It’s true you’re just eleven,
with a lot more 11’s to go,
a lot more growing to do,
and a lot more things to know
but remember what you learn to enjoy.
Eleven’s just bigger than ten,
and not a teenager yet.
And now you are eleven
So now you’ve reached eleven—
That’s one and one together...
two soldiers back to back...
You used to write one–z–ev, Deb
but now you write one–one
and you need an extra finger now
to get the whole job done.
Changing then, changing numbers, years,
are changing as you grow.
So keep on being Deboo.
But numbers getting bigger only
show tell
It’s fine to see your number
getting bigger every year
But when you check yr. no.
you don’t change the ‘you’ you are.
But getting bigger numbers
So I hope you like your no.
It’s yours to use all year.