“The Spirit Helps Us in Our Weakness”

 

 On October 31, 2001, I wrote a paper for my mentor at that time on the theme of Prayer and Meditation. The horror of 9/11 was fresh in our experience.  There have been so many other tragedies in the world since that time –but this reflection so many years ago still resonates for me. 

Here is what I wrote:

There were three weeks between the time of the great trauma of September 11 and our spiritual direction session.  Yet, the effects had not worn off, nor I suspect, they will never be far from our consciousness.  As I thought about our upcoming meeting, I wondered what would be different this time.  I thought back over the preceding weeks and was aware that during the immediate post-attack period I was constantly in prayer.  Or at least I thought of it as prayer, and it felt so. 

Even when I was not consciously in verbal or mental prayer utterances, I could not escape the gnawing feelings inside.  Tears came, stories touched me and contrasting feelings surged through my innards – often just a sense of wondering – almost a blank – asking what the meaning of this could possibly be.  No answers to the questions of why.  I was aware at times that this was prayer as I tried to continue my daily routine.  Usually, verbal interactions were inadequate.  “It’s really unbelievable, isn’t it?”  “It’s terrible, just awful!”

What kept coming to me was something I read recently about prayer being our deepest desire and longing coming up against the deepest needs of the world.  In that sense there is no escaping prayer.  There were, in fact, more calls for prayer from public figures during this time than I can ever remember hearing before.  I wondered “what are people doing now when they pray?”

Perhaps the hardest this to get into my mind is the idea that prayer is initiated by the Spirit.  All my life I have heard and followed the opposite approach that says I have to - “go to prayer”, “Pray for so and so”, “Let us pray”, or “Don’t forget to say your prayers”. 

Marjorie Thompson wrote, “Like the spiritual life itself, prayer is initiated by God.  No matter what we think about the origin of our prayers, they are all a response to the hidden workings of the Spirit within” (Soul Feast, p. 31) So I think that what has been happening for me is simply an attuning of self to the internal communication and ponderings already going on, that is, the working of the Indwelling Spirit. 

Most of the members of the group are pastors.  They are used to prayer, frequently called upon to lead in prayer, and, I think, they are practitioners of daily prayer in their own lives.  They are accustomed to voicing prayers of petition, praise, adoration, thanksgiving and confession.  But the usual list does not include the prayer of lamentation.  The many prayers voiced during these days publicly, were about petition and intercession – supplications for the suffering of survivors and the nation. 

This is a time of deep pain, mourning and questioning – also of anger and calls for revenge.  Yet is it not also a time to listen, to be still, to be “attentive to the presence of God”?  as Douglas Steere calls it.

Before we began our usual time of silence, I asked who wanted to go first today.  Even as I asked that I knew I wanted Jane to be the first to share and I asked her if she would.  She is always very honest about her personal spiritual life, and I suspected she would set a good tone.  So, after ten minutes of silence, she began, and it was so – a good tone.

There are five in this group besides me as the facilitator.  I have been with three of them for a year already, but the other two are recent members.  They are just finding their way as to how this method works, so I wanted them to have the chance prayerful listening before they talked.

Jane shared her feelings of horror and sadness in reaction to the attacks.  In addition, being single and living alone, she has felt isolated and lonely throughout these days and weeks.  Being the only woman in the group and the only single person, her sharing often reflects this reality.  I am not sure if the rest of us can fully empathize or understand her, though she often expresses how meaningful the spiritual direction group is for her.

One of her comments stands out.  She said that even though she led others in prayer during those days, as expected by virtue of her role as pastor and chaplain, she found she did not easily pray herself.  She expressed some of the same numbness I have felt; a sense of being transfixed while watching and hearing about this tragedy day after day.  I got the feeling, though it was not explicitly stated, that the others identified strongly with what Jane said.

The time of response and feedback was quite tender and respectful, reflecting what we have heard so much about since the attacks – that life is precious and fragile, and that we are now more mindful of how special and sacred our relationships are.

William Barry says that if we understand prayer as a personal relationship and follow through on the consequences of that definition, then we will find that strong emotions, even strongly negative or painful emotions, are not foreign to prayer.  Indeed, they are the stuff of prayer.  (Paying attention to God, p. 28) In fact, I have found myself shouting out, verbally or internally, at something or someone in times of anguish – letting go of anger, frustration and sadness.  Was it God I was complaining to?

As each of the others took their turn at sharing and the topics varied – they were not all focused on the tragedy and its aftermath.  One talked about a delicate situation in his marriage, another about the sacredness and beauty of creation as seen through the window now and each day this autumn, and yet another about his continuing struggle with his pastor position and life transition.  It was as if the sharing from Jane and our silence and verbal reactions after that had been a catharsis and expressed for all of us something that struck a chord of truth.  The time together was special while still being about the ordinariness of our lives.

Reflection:

I have spent much time in solitude this month (we were living on our farm in Minnesota and some days went by without seeing any other people while Judy was at work).  I threw myself into hard physical work, but sometimes just sat gazing at the view – looking out on the Aaker farm in the valley below where my ancestors came and settled 150 years ago.  And while uttering short words of supplication, I have been in silent wordless prayer too – at times feeling the presence of God and at other times not so much.  I like the notion of simultaneity; that we can be active and focused on outer tasks while at the same time our inner self is experiencing the Indwelling Spirit.  Sometimes I feel as if I try to grasp and understand too much.  During the last several years I have read many books on prayer and meditation, gone on retreats, met with a spiritual director, and listened to many talks – worshipped regularly.  Yet, I like of the simple answer expressed well by John Main, who wrote: “Meditation is not learning to do, it is learning to be.  It is learning to be yourself, to enter into the gift of your own being”.

Last year at a retreat where centering prayer was being introduced for the first time to some of the participants, one man, who was about the most extraverted person I have met, asked what the goal or benefit of this silent prayer was supposed to be.  Of course, the answer he got was not very satisfactory to him, that there is no explicit goal – we are to be in the “presence”, and that is all it is.

Reading the spiritual leaders and saints of the centuries, I have come to believe that the experience of a “felt union with God” is rare and illusive, even for lifelong practitioners, but when it happens you really know it as the Divine presence.  When I recently heard someone explain that for her the purpose of this kind of prayer and devotion is, ultimately, service to others, that helped put things in perspective for me.  My life has taught me that there is much satisfaction in service to other, and I will continue to strive to follow Jesus in that way as long as I am able – even though inadequate and insufficient to meet the great needs of the world.  The more I study and practice meditation, the more I realize the importance of simplicity.  Indeed, that is really what I seek – simplicity.

Again, to quote from John Main, the English Benedictine priest, “As a goal simplicity is something very unfamiliar to us.  Most of us are carefully trained to see that only complexity is really worthy of respect.  To understand simplicity, we have to enter into it ourselves.  We have to enter the simplicity of God and be simplified ourselves in the process”.  (Moment of Christ: The Path of Meditation, p 26)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Psalm of the Autumn Homecoming

 

Every year with the approach of All Saints Day, I am prompted to reflect on death; remembering the autumns when my parents died - both in late October, Inez in 1976 and Arnold in 1991.  Judy’s parents also died in the autumnal season, Bina shortly after All Saints in 2019, Kermit in October 2003 and Paul in November 1974.  

And just days ago our friend and neighbor Bill Bottorf died.  He was surrounded by his family, much like it was for us when dad died forty-eight years ago.  At Bill’s funeral this beautiful psalm poem was read - words that caused me to ponder the memory of these saints who have gone before and the meaning of re-membering.

Brisk is the breeze of autumn-tide

Which sweeps in its path

Crowds of leaves from countless trees

Collecting them in amber-colored communities

To share bright memories of the summer sun.

 

Fall is homecoming time,

A reunion and return to remember

And so, to re-member what has been dis-membered

By the choice of different pathways

Or severed by the sharp knife of time.

“Dust we are and to dust we shall return”,

Sing orange-brown leaves,

As they circle-dance and cloister

In colonies of the dead.

Crumbled and crushed in time’s crucible

Stroked and soaked by the rain’s wet fingers

We shall once again become rich soil

The stuff of Earth’s dark flesh.

Autumn wind, dance master of fallen leaves,

Sing to me of my reunion

My re-memberment and great homecoming

My return to the luminous flesh of God.

 

From Prayers for the Planetary Pilgrim by Edward Hays

Quit Moments on a Mountainside

 

 

I move my chair into the sunlight for warmth this cool morning

and scan the wall of deep green forests all around.

In preparing myself to do a “sit” for some minutes, I choose a sacred word –

 Welcome Indwelling Spirit

being alert to sensations and feelings –

warmth on my back, a slight tension in my shoulder -

the pure pleasure of being here - peacefulness.

I hear a bird’s dim twitter - a sound in the silence.

Silence is seldom totally silent!

The quiet is disturbed by a squawking crow but soothed by the gurgling brook.

I have nothing else to do at this time but notice.

Voicing my sacred word, I take in the surroundings and the sensations inside.

Tupence comes to sit next to me, her nose and ears alert to her surroundings.

From deep in her throat comes a faint growl

 What is her sensation? Fear? Danger?

 Slowly breathe in – then breathe out - sink into the feelings

Welcome – Welcome - Welcome

Let go.

Let go of my desire for security, affection and control

and embrace this moment - just as it is.

Facing Mortality at 86

 

“Death is no respecter of love.”

While I write this on the eve of my 86^th birthday, two houses away our neighbor and good friend Bill, who is 93, lies in bed weakened by cancer and facing the transience from this life to eternity. We are praying for his comfort and peace at the last.  His wife, Karen, at his side as she has been for 38 years – now caring for his every need as best she can.  Several months ago, our good friend Peter died, also of cancer.  Paula his beloved wife and helpmate for 60 years is now in mourning - left with a lifetime of memories – “I miss, miss, miss him so!” she wrote.

It is a hard thing to lose the love of your life, and this is what the book I just read is mostly about, though it is also about the conversion to Christianity of the author and his wife.

I just finished reading Sheldon Vanauken’s book, A Severe Mercy: A Story of Faith, Tragedy, and Triumph – which has left me with much to ponder as I contemplate the themes of this superb work about life, death and grief, and above all, love.   This is a memoir and true story of Vanauken's marriage and relationship with his wife, Davy. It begins upon their meeting and idealized love where they literally vowed to share everything – and did.  Along the road he explains how they entered into their "pagan love" and formed a “shinning barrier” against all that would separate them.  But they moved on to a different understanding of their relationship during their time in Oxford where he studied literature and history, and, because of the people who become their friends and extensive reading, explored and chose to become Christians.  One of the authors they read happened to be right there at Oxford, CS Lewis.  Thus began a lifelong friendship with an exchange of many letters, about 20 of which are included in the book.

Back in the States Davy is stricken by a viral disease of the liver which is terminal, and Sheldon deals with deep questions of why this young woman has to die.  The second half of the book is about her death and the way of grief.

The quote above is one short line out of many notable quotes from the book.  Another, which references the title of the book, came from a letter to him from CS Lewis, who told Vanauken… “You have been treated with a severe mercy. You have been brought to see (how true & how very frequent this is!) that you were jealous of God. So, from US you have been led back to US AND GOD; it remains to go on to GOD AND US.” 

Then the author goes on to say, “That death, so full of suffering for us both, suffering that still overwhelmed my life, was yet a severe mercy. A mercy as severe as death, a severity as merciful as love.”

Severe Mercy was published in 1977 and I’m not sure why it has taken me so long to read it, as it has many quotes and letters from CS Lewis.  While in England in 1960-61 I read and was changed by reading books by Lewis – that is, moved to a more mature understanding of Christianity in my life. But I would guess that many of my Christian friends would not have read Vanauken either, though we were all fans of Lewis. 

Vanauken tells of how he and his wife Davey when they were studying in Oxford, met and were influenced by Lewis as they moved to make the choice to become Christians.  The writing about it is poignant and thought provoking. One which I have seen referenced many times but didn't realize it came from Vanauken is this:

 “The best argument for Christianity is Christians: their joy, their certainty, their completeness. But the strongest argument against Christianity is also Christians--when they are sombre and joyless, when they are self-righteous and smug in complacent consecration, when they are narrow and repressive, then Christianity dies a thousand deaths.  But, though it is just to condemn some Christians for these things, perhaps, after all, it is not just, though very easy, to condemn Christianity itself for them."

There is an abundance of reviews of this classic online, written by both Christian and secular reviewers. Many tell of how the book impacted them personally. There were numerous touching images, some written in poems by both Sheldon and Davey, and intimate scenes like the one of the moment Davey dies.

While facing the reality of the death everyone faces, I am thankful to have come to 86 years of life in a good place physically, emotionally and spiritually.  Life is full of blessings that I am aware of every day, especially that of having the love of my life, Judy, at my side every day. I am comforted by the promise of the Gospels.

 

A Sit

 

That’s what it is called; the twenty minutes of silence observed during the contemplative practice known as Centering Prayer.  A few days ago, I did a sit with a group doing centering prayer at a local Roman Catholic church.  These practitioners, a mixture of Protestants and Catholics, seem to have been together for a while, so no instructions were given.  After a brief introduction by a newcomer (me) and a short reading, they listened for the reverberating gong from a brass bowl as a signal to begin twenty minutes in silence.  I knew what the instructions are though: choose a sacred word and sitting comfortably with eyes closed, silently introducing that word as a symbol of your consent to God’s presence and action within.  When thoughts, feelings, images and reflections come to mind “return ever-so-gently to the sacred word”. 

Not so easy as you’d think. My friend Bruce, who does thirty minute sits every day, and has been doing so for 7 or 8 years, says, “you can’t NOT think” – and I know that from experience.  My brain is very active and typically takes me to everything from my not so urgent “to do” list to an internal conversation with someone to whom I am explaining centering prayer.  You are supposed to just say your chosen word internally when required, and I find I need it almost constantly, sort of like a mantra. The idea is not to try to empty the mind, but to use the sacred word to bring you back and remind you of the divine presence.   – a presence which is always there, whether we recognize it or not.

After this recent session, I commented to Mark, sitting next to me, that as a daily practice (a whole 20 minutes!) this would be quite difficult for busy working people who are running headlong through their daily lives, barely keeping up with all the demands of their schedules.  Smiling, Mark replied, “yeah, but that sort of gets to the WHY of centering prayer, doesn’t it?”  Indeed, in a world of harried schedules, multiply demands on time, burnout and anxiety, WHY NOT take 20 minutes out of the day to be quiet, be in silence in the divine presence.  That’s a logical reason but not seen as “practical” for most.

Contemplative prayer might have been a part of the human experience since the beginning of civilization, and in the Christian tradition such practice can be traced to Jesus and to the desert fathers and mothers in Egypt in the first centuries after Christ.  I have wondered what Jesus was doing where it is recorded that…. Very early in the morning while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place and prayed” Mark 1:35.  My image is that he was in need of a quiet time to simply be present to and with God.  I don’t see him as presenting a long list of verbal petitions but just resting in that present moment and in deep communion with his Heavenly Father.  

Centering prayer is the name of the contemplative prayer practice developed by several Trappist monks, Thomas Keating and William Menninger, at St Benedict’s Monastery in Snowmass, Colorado.  One of the rules, or guidelines, is to make CP a daily practice, not just a “try it out” type of experience to see if it “works” for you.  I must acknowledge that I have dipped in and out of contemplative practices in the past but have never been a consistent practitioner.  I have gone to retreats and read about it, including some of the mystics, like Thomas Merton and the anonymous medieval English classic, “The Cloud of Unknowing”.  I can grasp the concept of and desire a closer union with God but sometimes the writing is obscure, and it is a slow read for me, which I must take in sips rather than gulps.  But Merton did very concretely say, “if you have never had any distractions, you don’t know how to pray”.  Well, that’s pretty consoling, actually.

My main spiritual practice has been a form of lexio divina, the four-part practice of praying the scriptures 1. listen/read; 2. meditate on its meaning for you; 3. prayers that arise from that Word, and finally 4. contemplacio – sitting wordlessly and resting in God’s presence.  Contemplation, however, does not necessarily flow naturally out of the other three in a single sitting.  For me, contemplation seems best at a separate time and sometimes comes on walks, not sits.

Recently I’ve been prompted (by the Holy Spirit?)  to give more attention to contemplative practice, and I have been attracted by a somewhat newer outgrowth of Centering Prayer, called Welcoming Prayer, a practice of letting go in the present moment in the ordinary routines of daily life.  Ample information on both Centering Prayer and the Welcoming Prayer can be found on the Contemplativeroutreach.org website.   While Centering Prayer is a silent, receptive practice which is done every day for a determined length of time, the practice of the Welcoming Prayer is active consent-on-the-go and in the midst of daily life and can be much shorter.  I won’t say much more here as this is getting too long already.  Suffice it to say, I have found Welcoming Prayer to be a helpful and healthy, body focused practice that can be employed, as they say, “on the go”. 

I close with a short exercise that can lead to a quieting of the mind and heart, Psalm 46:10 Breathing slowly and say slowly the words,

“Be still and know that I am God”,

                Then say,

Be Still and Know that I am….

Then,

Be still and know that….

Then,

Be Still and Know….

Then,

Be Still….

Finely,

Be…                              Then stay in silence for a few minutes.

Let's Have a Little Compassion

 

This week I gave a hand to help Abdul Yaftali, an Afghani man.  He arrived in Albuquerque with his family, his wife Fawiza, five-year-old son Sayed and baby Dau about three months ago.   Sayed, quite small for his age, has severe dental problems and I gave them a ride to a dental appointment.  Abdul showed me the inside of the boy's mouth and I cringed to see badly decayed baby teeth.  Abdul told me about the dire circumstances of his father and brothers back in Afghanistan – his father, a retired police officer from the former government, is denied a pension and not allowed to work by the Taliban government. Abdul had worked for a Non-Governmental Organization in Afghanistan that focused on the needs of women, but the Taliban had made it impossible to continue their program and he lost his job.

 Abdul, who speaks passable English, has a part time job in a restaurant and takes an occasional extra job cleaning someone’s house.  He gets around town mostly on his bicycle but sometimes has to take Uber – quite a drain on his meager income.  BUT he has an offer of a full-time job at Amazon with good pay but can't take it without having a car. Amazon is way out of town.  

I told Bill and Karen our good friends and neighbors about Abdul and his circumstances.  I knew Bill has had to stop driving recently.  At the age of 93 he is getting frail and has some physical limitations.  Bill has a small car and says he would sell it to Abdul.

So, I brought Abdul to Bill and Karen's house where he test drove the car and was very excited and hopeful.  Then we sat down to talk, and Bill told Abdul he would give him a good deal.  Abdul was excited but quite anxious because he only has a little savings - maybe able to put together a thousand dollars.  That would mean he would have very little to go on for living expenses. 

Bill told him he would sell Abdul the car for $250.  Abdul stared at him smiling, but since his English is not totally fluent, he asked Bill to say that again.  Bill repeated and went on to explain that there would be a delay as they have lost the Title doc and would have to get that replaced.  Meanwhile, Abdul seems a bit perplexed and writes on his phone for me, "he mean 250?"  I nodded, and we went on listening to Bill.  

Soon Karen stopped Bill and said "esta llorando!" – (her first language is Spanish).  I looked at Abdul. He had his face buried in his hands, and yes, he was crying - sobbing in fact.  He couldn't believe it and was overwhelmed with the generosity being shown him.  He quickly regained composure but was unable to say anything more than "thank you" over and over - other words failed him.

Later taking him back to his apartment he told me he has only one relative in the US, a cousin in California and he had asked him to help him buy a car.  He knows he has money, but he refused to help.  Abdul said, "and these people are helping me and don't even know me"

This Sunday the sermon focused on the word compassion and where the Scripture says, “and Jesus had compassion on the crowd”.  Compassion literally means "suffering with" – it has all to do with empathy and love. Passion refers to the sufferings of Christ between the night of the last supper and his death. 

The words passion and compassion are used in various ways in our normal discourse, like in what we are passionate about, or strong emotional reaction or intense sexual love. Indeed, political passions are running hot and heavy in our country right now. How we long to hear more rational and calmer words of compassion – expressions of feeling with and reaching out to the needs of others.  

I thought of this this encounter with Abdul, Bill and Karen this week and how I had seen their compassion demonstrated right before my eyes. 

 

 

 

Stories From the ‘60s in America and the War in Vietnam.

 

On a recent extended road trip, we occupied many hours listening to two books that brought back vivid memories of the 1960s and feelings about our experiences with and in Vietnam (1966-68) during what is referred to by Americans as the Vietnam war and by Vietnamese as the American war in their country. The first was the current best-selling novel, The Women by Kristen Hannah.  The other was Dust Child by Vietnamese author, Nguyen Phan Que Mai.

After reading a book, I read reviews online, usually looking at the Goodreads site.  An indication of the popularity of The Women is that it currently has over 60,000 reviews, and over 70% are fives, on a five-star scale.  I read only a sample, and I wished I would have found a review by a woman who actually had an experience as a nurse in operating rooms in a Military hospital in Vietnam during the war- but didn’t see one. 

Dust Child is also well reviewed and liked by reviewers.  It presents a different perspective – taking a look at the often-fraught relationships between Vietnamese women and American soldiers during the war. The novel follows both the perspective of that generation – trying to find a better future – and that of the servicemembers being forced, decades later, to confront their past decisions and betrayals.

We are familiar with both authors, having previously read Nguyen Phan Que Mai’s best-selling novel, The Mountains Sing, a suspenseful and moving saga about a Vietnamese family in North Vietnam torn apart by the various paths its members took during the war and struggling for reconciliation after the war.  I think it’s the best novel I’ve read depicting the war from a Vietnamese perspective, though Le Ly Hayslip’s memoir, When Heaven and Earth Changed Places, is equally riveting and based on her real-life experiences during the war and afterward in the US.  We have read several of Hannah’s novels, - notably one of them, The Great Alone, also has echoes of the effects of the Vietnam war on the human psyche, featuring a returned POW who was prone to bouts of anger (PTSD?) and moves his family to a remote part of Alaska.

The Women brings a well-deserved focus to the contributions of women, specifically military nurses, in Vietnam during the war.  The story follows a young woman, 21-year-old Frankie who misses her brother after he heads off to Vietnam with the navy and is challenged by the notion that “women can be heroes, too”.  Her father and mother don’t agree.  She enlists with the Army since that is the only branch that will get her over there quickly.  Part one is full of war and all the chaos and human tragedy that it entails, especially in the operating room where Frankie is assigned to an evac hospital at Pleiku, in the central highlands near much intense combat.

According to a Vietnam Women’s Memorial Foundation statement, approximately 10,000 American military women were stationed in Vietnam during the war, and we know from experience that numerous other women served as physicians, social workers and medical personnel, including my wife, Judy, a nurse.   The churches in the US sent many nurses to work in the Vietnam Christian Service program with which we worked.  One of them, Gloria Anne Redlin, died from gunshots fired by South Vietnamese soldiers in a dreadful fog of war incident at a checkpoint, an accident of war that should not have happened. (see my blog post August, 2023)

Kristen Hanna has a tendency to be overly dramatic, and not being a nurse herself, got a few aspects of RN training and nursing wrong (according to my nurse wife).  Hannah was born in 1960, so obviously doesn’t have the visceral lived experience of what it was like in the US or in Vietnam during the timeframe of the novel, though she did good research and read a lot of books by people who did.  

The story of Frankie, both in-country as a nurse and during the difficult re-entry back home after two terms of service includes multiple heartbreaking experiences.  Just when you think something good might happen, it doesn’t. The tragedies just keep piling up.  We read many instances of gapping wounds, triage of wounded soldiers, rocket attacks, as well as romantic encounters (she chose badly each time), about wanting her father’s approval (It was hard to listen to her father disrespect her time and time again) and about how cold her mother was. We read about her drunken pill popping over and over – but the point is to show how difficult to was to return to the US and the awful reception veterans got when they came back home many with PTSD. And how hard it was for her (and them) to get the help they needed.

Personal memories contradict some of the authors descriptions.  For example, when Frankie arrives at Tan Son Nhut airport in Saigon as a frightened young novice, she sees pedicyclo drivers and children playing in the street as she steps off the plane.  I can assure you that would not have been seen in that heavily guarded fortress like military base.  And she describes flying in and out of locations like Tan Son Nhut, or Pleiku, and other locations– every time with the pop – pop – pop of rifle fire from Vietcong soldiers on the ground.  I flew many times on planes and helicopters out of and into those same towns and cities, even Dak To near the Ho Chi Minh trail, during my stint as program director of Vietnam Christian Service, and never once had that experience.  However, I am sure it was very usual that helicopters were fired on in zones of live combat.  Just no need to dramatize and depict every moment as full of danger.

The ”women” angle of the story has to do with the friendships Frankie made with co-workers Ethel and Barb – supporting relationships to last a lifetime as they each know what the other has lived through.  When she sees the futility of the war and joins the anti-war protests she has these sisters as soul mates.  She tries to look for support elsewhere (VA and others) but she gets turned away for being a woman and not having actually been in combat.  In the end she finds a new purpose and the story takes a somewhat surprising turn toward what she resolves to do and where she ends up living (one of my favorite places).

Of course, this story is told from an American nurse’s experience and perspective, but I would prefer to have had the Vietnamese people humanized and personalized a bit more.  Not one Vietnamese person was given a name, but there is an emotional encounter with an orphan that impacted Frankie. 

In contrast Dust Child tells a story from the point-of-view of three main Vietnamese characters, alternating between two periods in Vietnam: the war years and the present day. In 1969, sisters Trang and Quynh migrate to Saigon from their village and work "bar girls" in Saigon, hoping to earn money to support their poor, ailing parents.

Through the sister’s stories, the novel details how a sex worker industry sprang up around the U.S. military presence, one that easily coaxed young women into its clutches. Jumping to modern-day Vietnam, the novel simultaneously tells the story of Phong, a 40-something Amerasian who is desperate to find his American father in order to give his wife and children a better life in the United States.  He knows he is Amerasian because he is black, but the US embassy will not grant him a visa.

It is estimated that American soldiers left behind more than 20,000 of their children — born to Vietnamese women who lived as laborers or sex workers near military bases. Some veterans came back for their kids, but most did not.   These children, scorned and living on the margins of society are called Amerasians, or worse, cast aside and labeled in Vietnamese "the dust of life."  (Book review By Tom Horgen Minneapolis Star Tribune, March 24, 2023)

These are people whose circumstances have forced them to live and survive from one fragile moment to the next. Thrown into the mix is another protagonist, Dan, a sixtyish white American veteran who's recently traveled back to Vietnam to find out what happened to his lover and their child. 

Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai works wonders taking readers deep inside this under covered part of the war's history.

I recommend both books.  I would give The Women four stars and Dust Child five!

Personal Note:

Judy and I experienced the Vietnam war up close and actively participated in the tumultuous sixties.  So, now having lived well into the 21^st century, I am reflecting on how there is a sense in which the volatile and polarized America in which we currently live can find its roots and be tracked back to the conflicted and polarized 1960s.  Issues of race, political violence, abortion, anti-war protests, and inequality are still being worked out today and so much needs to be done. I found inspiration then in the anti-war, civil rights and environmental movements, in young people engaged in service, in the slow progress towards more gender and income equality, in this fragile political system we have in America, and I still feel that hope today, even in this uncertain time.