Introducing Darlene Deibler
By Sarah Mockler
Darlene felt the room sway as her hand groped for the barracks ladder. Her husband’s last words to her before he was carted away to his eventual death rang in her ears. Darlene’s surroundings screamed a different reality. The Japanese prison camp had every appearance of being Godforsaken. And now this — Russell was gone.
Gone before they could unpack their wedding gifts (which still sat in trunks at the ravaged missionary base camp that was probably all but destroyed). Gone before they could celebrate their fifth wedding anniversary. Gone before they could cradle their own children. Gone before Darlene could say goodbye. Just gone.
In a way that only sudden grief can evoke, a continuous stream of a thousand golden-tinged memories flooded her mind and combined with a second stream; a lifetime of “to-be” memories she would never experience. And the tears came unbidden. And Darlene felt they would never stop.
Why hadn’t she memorized every line of his face when he had said those words to her? It could have provided her with an extra measure of comfort now. Darlene berated herself as she rested her forehead on the cold ladder rung. These tidings of her husband’s death were anything but welcome, but Darlene’s heart was forced to receive the blow — she was a widow at only 26 years old. How could she overcome this evil?
Immediately His voice resonated within her soul, “My child, did I not say that when thou passest through the waters I would be with thee, and through the floods, they would not overflow thee?”
With that, Darlene’s head lifted as a ribbon of purpose came winding its way through her conscious — she could give her life for those living. The inmates around her still needed her help. There was still work to be done. Peace blanketed her heart.
Mechanically, Darlene went through the tasks of the day, mutely receiving others’ whispered condolences and gestures of grief. Still, she ached for the moment when she could collapse in a heap upon her rack and pour out her aching heart to the God of all Comfort.
“Mr. Yamaji wants to see you,” one of her fellow prisoners nervously whispered.
Darlene heart twisted. What for?
Yamaji, the camp commander with the maniacal temper who beat the women prisoners to within an inch of their life as one possessed. The man of impossible expectations who once demanded that each prisoner bring him 100 dead flies per day in an attempt to cut down on the dysentery. An embodiment of evil as she had seen him permanently deform prisoners in a fit of rage. She knew the force of his hand and felt the jarring blow of their previous interactions. What was he angry about now?
Still, what did she have to lose? Darlene made her way swiftly to the Japanese commander’s office and made the perfunctory bow upon her entrance. Yamaji rose from his desk and began to pace back and forth while rattling off statements in a military fashion.
Darlene tried to follow his train of thought, but she was struggling. Just what was Mr. Yamaji trying to say?
“You are very young. Someday the war will be over and you can go back to America … All I ask of you is that you don’t lose your smile.”
His speech ceased with his pacing and the meaning behind his words presented itself. He was expressing sympathy; trying to give a measure of comfort when he had no idea that Darlene didn’t grieve as those who don’t have hope — as those like Mr. Yamaji.
Suddenly, she saw the risk as well as the personal sacrifice of the opportunity before her. Here was a man in need of truth, a man in need of forgiveness, a man in need of hope — a hope that she had burning brightly within her. Wasn’t she commanded to “always be ready”? It was a fact that the tide of the war was beginning to turn, and Darlene suspected it was only a matter of time before this camp would be in the evil annals of history.
Darlene stood at a crossroads. She had a choice to boldly share truth with her enemy, or not. And while the world was at war in the natural realm, a second, smaller war waged within her own breast. Images of her dear Russell and of unimaginable suffering come to life assailed her. She had every reason to reply with the standard, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” But Yamaji needed more than that. He needed to know that Someone had already paid his debts — and there were many.
He doesn’t deserve such mercy, Darlene agonized. But then again, neither did she. Because perhaps the one thing that Yamaji and Darlene had in common was that they both had been, or were, enemies of the Cross of Christ. Perhaps Darlene was here, standing in this office as a bereft widow, for such a time as this. After all, there was still time for Yamaji to be reconciled by Christ’s death and saved by His life. Scripture ran through Darlene’s mind:
“If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap coals of fire on his head. Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
The current of truth kept flowing:
Love your enemies.
Bless those who curse you.
Do good to those who hate you.
Pray for those who persecute you.
What better way to love, bless, do good, and then pray for Mr. Yamaji than to share the Gospel with him? Yes. She would overcome evil with good. And not just good, but with the good news.
Darlene drew a breath, not knowing if it was to be one of her last, and discovered a boldness that hadn’t existed minutes before. Her heart beat wildly not from nervousness, but from excitement and passion as she gave the Gospel in her grief.
On the receiving end, Yamaji’s soul quaked. Not even the Emperor spoke with such assurance. If fear of death from such a speech couldn’t stop her, then nothing could. Darlene was as one immortal. He felt the frailty of his own humanity and could see the pit of his own sin opening up to swallow him whole with the newfound realization that he had grossly offended a holy God — the God Darlene was speaking of with such reverence and love.
“He died for you, Mr. Yamaji, and He puts love in our hearts — even for those who are our enemies…”
Darlene was surprised to find that her words … were genuine. For in the place of bitterness and unforgiveness Darlene found love — genuine love — for Yamaji’s lost soul.
With absolute certainty, Darlene finished, “That’s why I don’t hate you, Mr. Yamaji. Maybe God brought me to this place and this time to tell you He loves you.”
Darlene’s words had touched a place in Yamaji’s heart he didn’t know existed — his soul. A foreign emotion swept over him, releasing tears he had never cried. He had to leave her presence, which was really His presence.
The door clicked shut, but Yamaji’s cries could still be heard. In his absence, Darlene prayed intensely for his salvation, but when time passed and he still hadn’t reappeared, Darlene slipped away to her bunk leaving Yamaji in the best hands — the Lord’s. Only time would tell if the Gospel had made a lasting impression on his soul.
This article was originally published in Issue 49.
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