i dared to call him father: the miraculous story of a...

TomygrandsonMahmudmylittleprayerpartnerwhohasbeenasourceofjoyand

comforttomethroughmanylonelyhours.

Foreword9

1.AFrighteningPresence15

2.TheStrangeBook26

3.TheDreams33

4.TheEncounter39

5.TheCrossroads52

6. Learning to Find HisPresence60

7. The Baptism of Fire andWater70

8.WasThereProtection?81

9.TheBoycott94

10. Learning to Live in theGlory105

11.WindsofChange123

12.ATimeforSowing131

13.StormWarnings142

14.Flight160

Epilogue170

My initial impression ofMadame Bilquis Sheikh ofPakistan was of her large,expressive, luminous eyes. Isaw pain written there, andcompassion, and raresensitivitytotheworldofthespirit.

Awomanofmysteriousage

withhintsofgrayinherhair,she was wearing a beautifulsari with dignity and grace.There was about her theunmistakable aura of havingbeen born to wealth andposition. Her voice was thedeepest with the mostresonant timbre I have everheardinawoman.

Our firstmeeting tookplacein the mirrored dining room

of a Bel Air, California,restaurant. That day I heardthe outline of MadameSheikh'samazingstory.Manyanother's adventure canperhaps equal hers indramatic content, but few inone respect: only rarely doesthe sovereign God interruptthe flow of history to reachdownandrevealHimselftoahuman being in suchunmistakable fashion as He

didwith her. The element ofinitiative from the Godwardsidewas so startlingas tobereminiscentofSaulofTarsus'experience on the road toDamascus. As I heard therecital of these extraordinaryevents, I knew then that thisstory must be given to theworld.

Twoyearshavepassedsincethatfirstmeeting.Icouldnot

have known that day thatBilquis Sheikh was tobecome not only a cherishedfriend,butaveritablemotherintheLordtome.

As the events unfolded thatknit our lives together, Idiscovered a woman whoknowsbutonepassion-tobeacatalyst to mediate the Lordshe loves to each hungryheart she encounters. To

make this possible the sameLord has given her Hisspecial gifts of spiritualperceptionalongwiththegiftofknowledge.

One day in October, 1976,Bilquis telephoned me inFlorida from her home inCalifornia. "I pick up thespirit that you are troubledabout something.What is it?AndhowcanIhelp?"

I was astonished at thisperception. "You're right, Iamtroubled,"Itoldher."I'vejustlearnedthatImusthaveamajor operation. The doctorstrikesmeassomethingofanalarmist,but='

After gathering all the facts,MadameSheikhsaidthatshewould seek Jesus' word onthis-and hung up. By then Iknew that whenever my

friend said she would prayabout something, that meantthat she would be down onher knees before Him,sometimesforhours.

The next day she calledback.Overthemilesthedeepvoice spoke reassurance."You have nothing at all tofear. The operation will gosmoothly in all respects, andthe surgeon will find

everythingbenign."

Andthat'sexactlythewayitturnedout.

At another time Bilquistelephoned Dick and BettySchneider in Virginia.Though Dick was workingsteadilyon themanuscriptofIDaredToCallHimFather,he had had no personalcontactwithMadameSheikh

for a number of days."Something is wrong therewith you two," she began."There is some emergency.Tell me about it, dearfriends."

There was indeed! TheSchneiders have two sons incollege. One of them hadbeenviciouslybeatenupafterhehadprotested seeing threeburly upperclassmen

physically as saulting asmaller,bespectacledstudent.The dormitory situation wasnow worrisome, schoolauthoritieshadnotbeenfullyapprised, and there was thedangeroftheSchneiders' sonwantingtoleaveschool.

In this instance MadameSheikhwasable togetGod'sdirectionsonthewisewaytohandle the problem, and it

wasresolvedhappily.

AtsuchtimesIhavemarveledthatanewChristiancouldhavesuchdepthofperceptionintotheworldofspirit.Also,howoddthatGodwouldreachdownforaMuslimwomaninPakistantobringhertoministerintheUnitedStates!Coulditbethattheeasternheritageandpsycheisgenerallymore

fertilesoilforspiritualunderstandingthanthatofwesternman?

Beyondthat, theintensityofMadame Sheikh's passion towitness for her Lord hasfulfilled God's primarycondition for bestowing Hisspecial gifts of the HolySpirit. These gifts, with theunction and authority thatcome with them, are very

apparent to all who hear herspeakacrossthecountry.Yetthe fact that she fits noestablished pattern puzzlesmany who are morecomfortable when any givenleadercanbetagged.

One Christian leaderdemanded in a letter that shestatewhetherornotshewasaCharismatic. She sat at herdesk thinking about this

question and how even asingleword can divide thosewholoveChrist.Playfully,onimpulse she picked up aquarter from her purse andsaid, "Well, Father, Youdecide."

She flipped the quarter intothe air saying, "Heads, I'mCharismatic; tails, I'm not."The silver coin spun blithelyintheair,thendroppedtoher

carpet. She could scarcelybelieve what she saw.Kneeling down to makecertain, she chuckled. WhatbetterproofcouldshehaveoftheLord'ssenseofhumor?

Thequarterhadlandedonitsedge in the thick folds andwasstandingstraightup.

The lesson, Bilquis says, isthattheimportantthingisnot

how we worship or whatwords we use, or what tagswetieon,butdoweloveourneighbors?AreweguidedbyHisHolySpirit?DoweobeyHim implicitly?Doweweepfor those who do not knowChrist? Do we long to shareourknowledgeofHim?

MadameSheikhhasfoundinAmericaasurprisinghungerforJesus.Surprisingtoher

becauseinavisionshehadhadinPakistanbeforeemigratingtothiscountry,shehadseenAmericaasalandofmanychurches,theirsteeplesrisingaboveeverytownandcity.ShehadassumedfromthisthatAmericamustbealandcompletelydevotedtoGod.

But then in the vision therehad also been a flock of

hungry white geese. Aftertraveling the length andbreadth of the country, shenow knows that the geeserepresented all those in thisland who have not heard ofHim.

Vividly, she described to usherfirstSundayintheUnitedStates....Shehadsteppedoutofherhotel to see thestreetsfilledwithtraffic."Theymust

allbeontheirwaytochurch,"shethought.Shewastolearn,however, that most of thesepeople were on their way tothebeaches,golfcourses,andpicnicgrounds.

It is for these people thatMadame Sheikh yearns aswell as for the future of thisnation.

In a sense she is now a

woman without a country,partly because she hasGod'sbroad perspective on ourworld. In another sense shecarries her beloved Pakistanwith her wherever she goes.Having had to leave behindher little plot of earth on theother side of the world withhergarden,shehasbeenbusycreating another one on thehillsidebehindthelittlehousein California which she

shares with her grandsonMahmud. So beautiful hasthat littlegardenbecomethatneighbors on her street whohad given up on the barrenhillside behind their homes,inspired by Madame Sheikh,are now creating their owngardens.

Bilquis told me how as sheworked amongst her flowersrecently, she was thinking

about the EnglishmissionaryWilliam Carey with whomshe had come to feel veryclose, even though he died143yearsagoinIndia.

HelovedtheEnglishdaisieswhich bloomed in themeadowsofhishometownofPaulerspury,Northamptonshire.Inhislateryears in India, some friendssent him a few seeds of his

favorite flower, andMadameSheikh has carefully copiedinto her journal the letter hewroteatthattime:

I shook the bag over apatch of earth in a shadyplace.Onvisitingthespota few days afterwards, tomyinexpressibledelight,Ifound a bellis perennis ofour English pasturesspringing up. I do not

know that I ever enjoyed,since leaving Europe, asimple pleasure soexquisite as the sight ofthisEnglishdaisyaffordedme, having not seen onefor thirty years and neverexpectingtoseeoneagain.

Bilquis Sheikh wept whenshe first read that letter. Shefinds the flowers in theUnited States very lovely,

withmanyof them the samekindsthatgrewinhergardensin Wah. But there remainsthat residue of nostalgia forher homeland. She keepshoping to see certain of theWahflowersthatdonotgrowhere; keeps hoping thatsomedaysomeoneinPakistanwillsendhersomeseedstoo.

Meanwhile,weintheUnitedStates are richer for her

presence among us. EachtimeIamwithher,eachtimeIhearherdeepvoiceoverthephone, I am reassured thatGod is still a sovereignGod,that He is still in control ofourworld.

CATHERINEMARSIIAIL

EvergreenFarm,Virginia

October15,1977

The strange prickly feelinggrew inside me as I walkedslowly along the graveledpaths of my garden. It wasdeep twilight. The scent oflate narcissus hung heavy inthe air. What was it, Iwondered, that made me so

uneasy?

I'stoppedmywalkandlookedaround.Insidemyhomesomedistanceacrossthebroadlawntheservantswerebeginningtoflickonlightsinthediningarea.Outsideallseemedpeacefulandquiet.Ireachedouttosnipoffsomeofthepungentwhiteblossomsformybedroom.AsIleanedoverto

graspthetallgreenstems,somethingbrushedpastmyhead.

Istraightenedinalarm.Whatwas it? A mist-like cloudacold, damp unholy presence-had floated by. The gardensuddenly seemed darker. Achilling breeze sprang upthrough theweepingwillowsandIshivered.

Get hold of yourself,Bilquis! I scolded. Myimagination was playingtricks onme. Nevertheless, Igathered my flowers andheaded quickly toward thehousewherewindowsglowedin warm reassurance. Itssturdy white stone walls andoaken doors offeredprotection.AsIhurriedalongthe crunchy gravel path Ifound myself glancing over

my shoulder. I had alwayslaughed at talk of thesupernatural. Of course therewasn't anything out there.Wasthere?

Asifinanswer,Ifeltafirm,veryrealanduncanny taponmyrighthand.

Iscreamed.Irushedintothehouse and slammed the doorbehind me. My servants ran

to me, afraid to make anycomment at all, for I musthave looked like a ghostmyself. It wasn't untilbedtime that I finally foundthe courage to speak to mytwohandmaidsaboutthecoldpresence. "Doyou believe inspiritual things?" I asked, onconcluding my story. BothNur-jan and Raisham, one aMuslim,theotheraChristian,avoided answering my

question but Nur-jan, herhands fluttering nervously,askedmeifshecouldcallthevillage mullah, a priest fromthemosque,whowouldbringsome holy water to cleansethe garden. Butmy commonsense had returned and Irebelled at submitting to thesuperstition of the ignorant.Besides, I didn't want anywordof this to spread in thevillage.Itriedtosmileather

concern, and toldher, a littletooabruptly I'mafraid, that Ididn'twant any holyman onmy grounds pretending toremove evil spirits.Nevertheless, after themaidsleft the room, I foundmyselfpicking up my copy of theKoran. But after strugglingthrough a few pages of theMuslimHolyBook,Iweariedofit,slippeditbackwithinitsblue silken case, and fell

asleep.

I slowly awakened the nextmorning like a swimmerstruggling to the surface, athin high chant piercing myconsciousness:

The sing-songwords driftedthrough the filigree of mybedroomwindow:

It was a comforting sound,this Muslim call to prayerbecause it seemed so utterlynormal after the previousnight. It was a call I hadheard almost withoutexception every morning ofmy46years.Ienvisionedthesourceoftherollingchant.

Somemomentsbeforeinthe

littlenearbyPakistanivillageofWah,ouroldmuezzinhadhurriedthroughthedooratthebaseofanancientminaret.InsideitscoolinteriorhehadtrudgedupcurvingstonestepswornsmoothbythesandalsofgenerationsofMuslimholymen.Atthetopoftheprayertower,Icouldimaginehimhesitatingatthecarvedteakdoorleadingtotheparapetto

catchhisbreath.Then,steppingoutsidetotherailing,hethrewbackhisbeardedheadandinsyllablesfourteenhundredyearsoldcalledthefaithfultoprayer.

The haunting cry floatedthrough the morning mistacross cobblestone lanes inWah still cold from the

October night, drifted acrossmy garden to curl along thehouse's old stone walls nowruddyinthelightoftherisingsun.

As the last wisps of theancientchanthungaboveme,I remembered the eerieexperience in the garden thenight before, and quicklyturned to morning routinesthatwouldbecomfortingjust

because they were soordinary.Isatupandreachedfor the golden bell on mymarble bedside table. At itsmusicaltinkle,mymaidNur-janhurriedinoutofbreathasusual.Bothofmyhandmaidsslept in a room adjoiningmine and I knew that theyhad already been up for anhour, waiting for my call.Morningteainmybedwasamust. Nur-jan began laying

out my silver brushes andcombs. She was a willingteen-aged girl, plump andgiggly, but a bit clumsy.When shedroppedabrush, Iscoldedhersharply.

Raisham, my otherhandmaid, older and quieter,a tall graceful woman, slidinto theroombearinga largecoveredteatray.Sheplacediton my bed table, drew back

thewhite linen to expose thesterling service and pouredmeacupofsteamingtea.

Sipping the scaldingambrosia, I sighed insatisfaction; tea was betterthan prayer. My motherwould have been shocked atmythought.Howmanytimeshad I watched her place herprayer rug on the tiledbedroom floor, then, facing

theholycityofMecca,kneelandpressher forehead to theruginprayer.Thinkingofmymother I looked over to thedressing case on my table.Fashioned centuries ago ofsandalwoodandcoveredwithengraved sterling silver, ithad belonged to Mother andhermotherbeforeher.Nowitwasmyheirloom to treasure.After finishing two cups oftea I leaned forward, a sign

for Raisharn to beginbrushing my graying waist-length hair while Nur-jancarefullyworkedonmynails.

As the two worked, theygossiped in easy familiarityabout news from the village,Nur-jan chattering andRaisham making quietthoughtful comments. Theytalked about a boy who wasleavinghomeforthecityand

agirlsoontobemarried.Andthen they discussed themurder that happened in anearbytownwhereRaisham'saunt lived. I could senseRaishamshudderasthenewscame up. For the victim hadbeen a Christian. She was ayoung girl who had beenstaying in a Christianmissionary's home. Someonehadstumbledacrossherbodyin one of the narrow lanes

crisscrossing her village.There was supposed to havebeen an investigation by theconstabulary.

"Anynewsaboutthegirl?"Icasuallyasked.

"No, Begum Sahib," saidRaisham quietly, as shecarefully began to work abraid in my hair. I couldunderstand why Raisham, a

Christian herself, didn't wanttotalkaboutthemurder.SheknewaswellasIdidwhohadkilled that girl. After all, thegirlhadforsakenherMuslimfaith to be baptized aChristian. So the brother,infuriated by the shame thissin had brought upon hisfamily, had obeyed theancientlawofthefaithfulthatthose who fall away fromtheirfaithmustbeslain.

Even though Muslim edictsmaybe stemandharsh, theirinterpretations are sometimestempered with mercy andcompassion. But there arealways the zealotswho carryouttheletteroftheKoranlawtotheextreme.

Everyone knew who hadkilled the girl. But nothingwouldbedone.Ithadalwaysbeen this way. A year ago,

the Christian servant of oneof themissionaries ended upinaditch, his throat cut, andnothing had been done thereeither.Iputthesadlittlestoryout of my mind and madeready to get up. My maidshurried to the closet andreturned with several silkensaris for my selection. Ipointed to a jewel-embroidered one and afterthey helped drape it about

me, they quietly bowedthemselves out of mychamber.

Sunlightnowfloodedmybedroom,givingitswhitewallsandivory-coloredfurnishingsasaffronglow.Thesunlightglintedfromagold-framedphotographonmydressingtableandIsteppedoverandpickeditup,angry,becauseIhadputthe

picturefacedownthedaybefore;oneoftheservantsmusthavesetitupagain!Theengravedframeenclosedaphotographofasophisticated-lookingcouplesmilingatmefromacornertableinaluxuriousLondonrestaurant.

InspiteofmyselfIlookedatthepictureagain,asonedoeswhen he keeps pressing a

hurting tooth. The dashingmanwith darkmustache andburning eyes had been myhusband, General KhalidSheikh.Why did I keep thispic-turelHatesurgedWithinme as I looked at the man Ionce felt I could not livewithout.When thephotohadbeen taken six years before,Khalid had been Pakistan'sMinisterofInterior.

The glamorous-lookingwomannext tohimhadbeenme. As daughter of aconservative Muslim familywhich for seven hundredyearshadbeen landedgentryin this cool- climatedNorthwest Frontier Provinceof what had once beennorthern India, I had beenhostess to diplomats andindustrialistsfromallovertheworld.Ihadbeenaccustomed

to sojourns in Paris andLondon where I spent mytime shoppingon theRuedela Paix or in Harrods. Thelithsomewoman who smiledfrom the photo no longerexisted,Ithoughtas I lookedin the mirror. The soft paleskinhadbronzed,thelustrousblack hair was now streakedwith gray, anddisillusionment had etcheddeeplinesinherface.

Theworldofthephotographhad crumbled into fragmentsfive years before whenKhalid leftme. Suffering theshameofrejection,Ihadfledthe sophisticated life ofLondon, Paris andRawalpindi to seek refugehereinthequietpeaceofmyfamily's ancestral estatenestled at the foot of theHimalayan Mountains. Theestatecomprisedthelittlehill

countryvillageofWahwhereI had spent so many happydays as a child. Wah wassurrounded by gardens andorchards which manygenerationsofmyfamilyhadplanted. And the big stonepalatialhomewithitstowers,terraces and huge echoingchambers seemed as old asthe snowcrowned Safed Kohmountains which loomed inthe west. However, my aunt

also lived in this house anddesiring further seclusion, Imovedtoasmallerhousethefamily had built on theoutskirtsofWah. Inset likeajewel in twelve acres ofgardens, this house, withbedroomsupstairsandliving,dining and drawing roomsdownstairs, promised thesolaceIneeded.

Itgavememore.ForwhenI

arrived, much of theextensive gardens hadbecomeovergrown.Thiswasablessing, for I buriedmuchofmysorrowin the lushsoilas I plunged into therestoration of the grounds. Imade some of the twelveacres into formal gardenswith walls and flower bedsand left some of the areanatural. Slowly the gardens,with their countless musical

springs, became my worlduntil by then, in the year1966,Ihadthereputationofarecluse who secluded herselfoutside of town nestledamongstherflowers.

Ilookedawayfromthegold-framed photo in my hand,placed it facedownagainonthe table and turned to mybedroom window lookingtoward the village.Wah . . .

the very name of the villagewas an exclamation of joy.Cen turies before, when thiswas but a hamlet, thelegendary Moghul emperorAkbar traveled through hereand his caravan stopped torest by a spring inwhatwasnow my surroundings. Hegratefullysankdownunderawillow,andexclaimedinjoy,"Wahl" thus naming the areaforever.

Butthememoryofthisscenegavemenoreleasefromtheunsettledfeelingwhichhadbeenhoveringovermeeversincethestrangeexperienceoftheeveningbefore.

However, I tried to dispel itas I stood at my window. Itwas morning again, I toldmyself, the next day, a safetime with familiar routines

and warm sunlight. Theprevious night's episodeseemedasreal,butasremote,as a bad dream. I drew thewhite drapes aside andbreathed in deeply of thefreshmorningair,listeningtothe hissing of the sweeper'sbroom on the patio. Afragrance of wood smokefrom early morning cookingfiresdrifteduptomeandtherhythmic thumping of water-

mill wheels sounded in thedistance. I sighed insatisfaction. This was Wah,thiswas my home, this was,after all, safety. This waswhere Nawab MuhammadHayat Kahn, a prince andfeudal landowner, had livedsevenhundredyearsago.Wewere his direct descendantsand my family was knownthroughout India as theHayatsofWah.Centuriesago

the caravans of emperorswould turn off the GrandTrunk Road to visit myancestors.Even inmyearlierdays notables from all overEurope and Asia would takethe same road, once anancient caravan route acrossIndia, to see my family. Butnow, usually only membersofmyfamilywouldfollowitto my gate. Of course thismeant that I didn't seemany

peoplewho were not part ofmy immediate household. Idid not much care. Myfourteen house servantswereenough company. They andtheirancestorshadservedmyfamily for generations. Mostimportant,IhadMahmud.

- Mahmud was my -four-year-old grandson. Hismother, Tooni, was theyoungest of my three

children. A slim attractivewoman,Tooniwasamedicaldoctor at Holy FamilyHospital in nearbyRawalpindi. Her formerhusband was a prominentlandlord. However, they hadan unhappy marriage andtheir relationshipdeterioratedalittleeachyear.Duringtheirlong bitter disagreements,Tooni would send Mahmudto visit me until she and her

husband reached anotheruneasytruce.Oneday,Tooniandherhusbandcame to seeme. Could I keep one-year-oldMahmudforawhileuntiltheysettledtheirdifferences?

"No," I said. "I do notwanthim to become a tennis ball.ButIwillbewillingtoadopthimandraisehimasmyownson." Sadly, Tooni and herhusband never could settle

their differences and theyfinally divorced. However,theydidapprovemyadoptingMahmud,anditwasworkingoutquitewell.Toonicametosee Mahmud often and thethree of us were very close,particularly since my twootherchildrenlivedfaraway.

Later thatmorningMahmudpedaledhistricycleacrossthebrick terrace shaded by

almond trees. He had beenwithme for over three yearsand this livelycherubicchildwith deep brown eyes andbuttonnosewas theonly joyof my life. His pealinglaughter seemed to lift thespirit of this secluded oldhouse. Even so I worriedabout how he would beaffectedbylivingwithsuchadowncast person as me. Itried to compensate by

making sure his every needwas anticipated, and thisincluded his own staff ofthree servants, in addition tomyowneleven,todresshim,bring out his toys and pickthemupwhenhewasthroughplayingwiththem.

But I was troubled aboutMahmud.Forseveraldayshehad refused to eat. This wasparticularly strange, for the

boy was always visiting thebake kitchen to cajole mycooks into giving him sugarbiscuits and snacks. Earlierthat morning I had gonedownstairs, walked throughthe terrazzo entranceway outto the terrace. AfterexchangingawarmhugwithMahmud, I asked his servantifthechildhadeaten.

"No, Begum Sahib, he

refuses," the maid said in anearwhisper.WhenIpressedMahmud to take some food,he just answered that hewasnothungry.

I was really disturbed whenNur-jancametomealoneandsuggested timorously thatMahmud was being attackedby evil spirits. Startled, Ilooked at her sharply,remembering the disquieting

experience of the nightbefore. What did all thismean? Once again I askedMahmud to eat, but to noavail.Hewouldn'teventouchhis favorite Swiss chocolateswhich I had importedespeciallyforhim.Hislimpideyes lookedup tomewhenIofferedhim thepackage. "I'dlove to eat them, Mum," hesaid, "but when I try toswallowithurts."Acoldchill

ranthroughmeasIlookedatmy little grandson, once solivelyandnowsolistless.

I immediately summonedManzur,mychauffeur,alsoaChristian,andorderedhimtoget the car out. Within anhour we were in RawalpinditovisitMahmud'sdoctor.Thepediatrician examinedMahmud carefully and hereported that he could find

nothingwrong.

Fear chilled me as we rodebacktotheestate.Lookingatmy little grandson sittingquietly beside me, Iwondered. Could Nur-janpossibly be right? Was thissomething that went beyondthe physical? Was it . . .something in the spirit worldattackinghim?Ireachedoverand put my arm around the

child, smiling at myself forentertainingsuchideas.Once,I remembered,my fatherhadtold me about a legendaryMuslimholymanwho couldperform miracles. I laughedaloud at the idea. My fatherwas displeased, but that wasthewayIfeltaboutanysuchclaims. Still, today, holdingMahmud close as the carturned off the Grand TrunkRoad onto our lane, I found

myself toying with anunwelcome thought: CouldMahmud'sproblemberelatedtothemistinthegarden?

WhenIsharedmyfearswithNur-jan,herhenna-tippedfingersflewtoherthroatandshebeggedmetocallthevillagemullahandaskhimtoprayforMahmudandsprinkleholywateroverthegarden.

I debated her request. Eventhough I believed in basicMuslimteachings,forseveralyearsIhaddriftedawayfromthemany rituals, the prayingfive times a day, the fasting,the complicated ceremonialwashings.ButmyconcernforMahmud overcame mydoubtsandItoldNur-janthatshe could call the holy manfromthevillagemosque.

The next morning Mahmudand I sat at my windowimpatiently awaiting themullah. When I finally sawhim making his way up thesteps of the veranda, his thinragged coat flapping abouthiminthechillingfallwind,Iwas both sorry I had askedhimandangry that hewasn'twalkingfaster.

Nur-janbroughtthebonyold

man to my quarters, thenwithdrew. Mahmud watchedthe man curiously as heopened his Koran. Themullah, whose skin matchedtheancientleatherofhisholybook, looked at me throughcrinkled eyes, laid a gnarledbrown hand on Mahmud'sheadandinaquaveringvoicebegan reciting the Kul. Thisis the prayer every Muslimrecites when he is about to

begin any important act,whether to pray for the sickor to enter a businessagreement.

The mullah then started toread from the Koran inArabic -the Koran is alwaysread inArabicsince itwouldbewrongtotranslatetheverywords that God's angel hadgiven the prophetMuhammad. I became

impatient.Imusthavestartedtotapmyfoot.

"Begum Sahib?" the mullahsaid,holdingtheKoranouttome. "You, too, should readthese verses." He referred totheSuraFalakandSuraNaz,verses to be repeated whenone is troubled. "Why don'tyou repeat these verses aswell?"

"No,"Isaid,"Iwillnot.Godhas forgotten aboutmeand Ihave forgotten about God!"Butatthehurtlookontheoldman's face I softened. Afterall, he had come here at myrequest and with Mahmud'swelfareinmind."Allright,"Isaid,takingthewornvolume.Iletitfallopen,thenreadthefirstversemyeyesfellon:

I thought of the Christiangirlwho had beenmurdered,and about the mist thatappeared in my gardenshortly after she was killed,and above all aboutMahmud's mysteriousailment. Could they berelated? Surely any angryspiritual power would neverlinkme andMahmudwith aChristian.Ishuddered.

But the holy man seemedsatisfied. Despite myreservations he returned forthree days in a row to reciteversesoverMahmud.

And, just to complete theseries of mysterious,unsettling events, Mahmuddidgetbetter.

HowwasIsupposedtothinkaboutallthesehappenings?

Iwassoontofindout.Forwithoutknowingit,eventshadbeensetinmotionwhichwouldshattertheworldI'dknownallmylife.

After these experiences Ifound myself drawn to theKoran.Perhaps itwouldhelpexplain the events and at thesame time fill the emptinesswithin me. Certainly itscurved Arabic script held

answers which had oftensustainedmyfamily.

IhadreadtheKoranbeforeofcourse.IrememberedexactlyhowoldIwaswhenIfirststartedlearningArabicsothatIcouldreadourholybook:Iwasfouryears,fourmonthsandfourdaysold.ThiswasthedayeveryMuslimchildbegantounraveltheArabicscript.The

momentwasmarkedbyagreatfamilybanquet,towhichallmyrelativescame.Itwasthen,inaspecialceremony,thatthewifeofourvillagemullahbeganteachingmethealphabet.

IespeciallyremembermyUncleFateh(wechildrencalledhimGrandUncleFateh;hewasn'treallymyuncleallolderkinsmenare

calledUncleorAuntinPakistan).GrandUncleFatehwastherelativeclosesttoourfamily,andIrememberclearlyhowhewatchedmeattheceremony,hissensitiveaquilinefaceglowingwithpleasureasIheardagainthestoryofhowtheangelGabrielbegangivingMuhammadthewordsoftheKoranonthatfateful"NightofPower"intheyear610

A.D.IttookmesevenyearstoreadtheholybookthroughforthefirsttimebutwhenIfinallyfinished,therewascauseforyetanotherfamilycelebration.

Always before, I had readthe Koran as an obligation.This time, I felt I shouldreallysearchitspages.Itookmycopy,whichhadbelongedtomymother, relaxedon the

white eiderdown coverlet ofmybed, andbegan to read. Istarted with the initial verse,thefirstmessagegiventotheyoungprophetMuhammadashesatbyhimselfinacaveonMountHira:

At first I was lost in the

beautyofthewords.Butlateron in the book there werewords that did not comfortmeatall:

Myhusband'seyeshadbeenlike black steelwhenhe toldmethathedidn'tlovemeanymore.Ishriveledinsideashespoke.Whathadhappenedtoall our years togetherl Could

they be dismissed just likethat? Had I, as the Koransaid,"reachedmyterm"?

The next morning I pickeduptheKoranagain,hopingtofind in the curling script theassurance I needed sodesperately. But theassurance never came. Ifoundonlydirectivesforhowto live and warnings againstother beliefs. There were

verses about the prophetJesus whose message, theKoran said, was falsified byearly Christians. ThoughJesuswasbornofavirgin,hewasnotGod'sson.Sosaynot"Three," warned the Koranagainst the Christian conceptof theTrinity.Refrain;betterisitforyou.GodisonlyOneGod.

After several days of

applying myself to the holybook, I put it down oneafternoonwith a sigh, gotupand walked down to mygardenwhereIhoped to findsome peace in nature and inold memories. Even at thistime of the year, the lushgreenness persisted,brightened here and there bycolorful alyssum which stillblossomed. It was a warmday for fall and Mahmud

skipped along the pathswhereIhadwalkedasachildwith my father. I couldpicture Father now, walkingbeside me here, wearing hiswhite turban, impeccablydressed in his conservativeBritishsuitfromSavilleRowas befitted a governmentminister.Oftenhewouldcallmebymy full name,BilquisSultana,knowinghowmuchIenjoyed hearing it. For

Bilquiswas the firstnameofthe Queen of Sheba andeveryone knew Sultanasignifiedroyalty.

Wehadmanygoodconversations.Andinlateryearsweenjoyedtalkingaboutournewcountry,Pakistan.Hewassoproudofit."TheIslamicRepublicofPakistanwascreatedespeciallyasahomelandfor

SouthAsianMuslims,"hesaid."We'reoneofthelargestcountriesunderIslamiclawintheworld,"headded,pointingoutthat96%ofourcountry'spopulationwasMuslim,withtherestmadeupmostlyofscatteredgroupsofBuddhists,Christians,andHindus.

I sighed and looked upbeyondmygardentreestothe

lavenderhills in thedistance.I could always find solacewith my father. In his lateryears I had become acompanion to him, oftendiscussing our country'srapidly changing politicalsituation with him andexplainingmyviews.Hewasso gentle, so understanding.But now he was gone. Iremembered standing by hisopen grave in the Muslim

cemetery of Brookwoodoutside of London. He hadtravelled to London forsurgery and had neverrecovered. Muslim customrequiresthatabodybeburiedwithin24hours of deathandby the time I reached thecemeteryhiscoffinwasreadytobeloweredintothegrave.Icouldn't believe I'dnever seemy father again. Theyunfastened the coffin lid so I

could have one last look athim.Butthecoldgrayclayinthat boxwas not him;wherehad he gone? I stood therenumbly wondering about itall as they refastened thecoffin, each shrill squeal ofthe screws biting into thedamp wood sending painthroughme.

Mother, with whom I wasalso very close, died seven

years later, leaving mecompletelyalone.

There in my garden,shadows had lengthened andagainI stood in twilight.No,the comfort I had sought inmemories proved only tobring achings. Softly in thedistance I could hear themuezzin's sunset prayer call;its haunting strains onlydeepened the loneliness

withinme.

"Where? Oh Allah," Iwhispered to the prayerrhythms, "where is thecomfortYoupromise?"

Back in my bedroom thateveningIagainpickedupmymother's copy of the Koran.And as I read I was againimpressed by its manyreferences to Jewish and

Christian writings whichpreceded it. Perhaps, Iwondered, I should continuemy search among thoseearlierbooks?

Butthatwouldmeanreadingthe Bible. How could theBiblehelpsince,ofcourse,aseveryone knew, the earlyChristians had falsified somuch of it. But the idea ofreading the Bible became

more and more insistent.WhatwastheBible'sconceptofGod?Whatdiditsayaboutthe prophet Jesus? PerhapsafterallIshouldreadit.

But then came the nextproblem:wherewouldIgetaBible? No shops in our areawouldcarryone.

PerhapsRaishamwouldhaveacopy.ButIdismissed

thethought.Evenifshedid,myrequestwouldfrightenher.PakistanishavebeenmurderedforevenappearingtopersuadeMuslimstoturntraitor-Christian.IthoughtofmyotherChristianservants.MyfamilywarnedthatIshouldnotemployChristianservantsbecauseoftheirnotoriouslackofloyaltyanduntrustworthiness.ButIdidntletthatbotherme;aslongas

theycouldfulfilltheirduties,Iwassatisfied.Doubtlesstheyweren'tverysincereanyhow.Afterall,whentheChristianmissionariescametoIndia,theyfounditeasytomakeconvertsamongthelowerclasses.Mostofthesewerethesweepers,peoplesolowinthesocialorderthattheirworkwaslimitedtocleaningthestreets,walksandgutters.WeMuslims

calledtheseservileones"riceChristians."Wasn'tthatthereasontheyacceptedafalsereligion,mainlytogetthefood,clothesandschoolingwhichthemissionariesdoledout?

We looked upon themissionaries themselves withamusement; they busiedthemselves so eagerly overthese poor creatures. In fact,

onlyafewmonthsbefore,mychauffeur Manzur, aChristian, asked if he couldshow my garden to somelocal missionaries who hadadmireditthroughthefence.

"Of course," I saidgratuitously, thinkingofpoorManzur who evidentlywanted so much to impressthesepeople.Afewdayslaterfrom my drawing room

window Iwatched theyoungAmerican couple strollthrough the garden. Manzurhad referred to them as theReverend and Mrs. DavidMitchell. Both had palebrown hair, pale eyes andwore drab western clothes.What colorless creatures, Ithought. Even so, I did password on to the gardener togive thesemissionaries someseedsiftheywishedthem.

But thinking of them gaveme my answer to getting aBible.Manzurwouldgetonefor me. Tomorrow I wouldgivehimtheassignment.

So I summoned him to myapartment the next morning.He stood at attention beforeme in his white pantaloons,thenervoustwitchinhisfacemaking me uneasy, as italwaysdid.

"Namur, I want you to getmeaBible."

"ABible?"hiseyeswidened.

"Ofcourse!"Isaid,tryingtobe patient. Since Manzurdidn't know how to read, Iwas sure he didn't own aBible.But I felthecouldgetone for me. When hemumbled something I couldnot understand I repeated,

simply but firmly, "Manzur,getmeaBible."

Henodded,bowedandleft.Iknew why he was resistingmy request. Manzur wasmade of no firmer stuff thanRaisham. They were bothremembering that murderedgirl. Giving a Bible to asweeper was one thing;bringing a Bible to a personoftheupperclasseswasquite

something else.Word of thiscould get him into deeptroubleindeed.

Two days laterManzurwasdriving me to Rawalpindi toseeTooni.

"Manzur,IdonothavetheBibleasyet."

Icouldseehisknuckleswhitenonthesteeringwheel.

"Begum,Iwillgetyouone."

ThreedayslaterIsummonedhimtothehouse.

"Manzur, I have asked youto bring me a Bible threetimes,andyouhavenot."Thetwitch in his face becamemore noticeable. "I'll giveyouonemoreday.IfIdonothave one by tomorrow youwillbefired."

Hisfaceturnedashen.HeknewImeantit.Hewheeledandleft,hischauffeurbootsclickingontheterrazzofloor.

The next day just before avisitfromTooni,alittleBiblemysteriouslyappearedonmydownstairs drawing roomtable. I picked it up, andexamined it closely. Cheaplyboundinagrayclothcover,itwas printed in Urdu, a local

Indian dialect. It had beentranslated by an Englishman180yearsbeforeand I foundthe old-fashionedphraseology difficult tofollow.Manzurhadevidentlygot it from a friend; it wasalmost new. I leafed throughitsthinpages,setitdownandforgotaboutit.

A few minutes later Tooniarrived. Mahmud ran in just

behind her, squealing,because he knew his motherwould have brought him atoy. In a minute Mahmudraced through the Frenchdoors to the terrace with hisnewairplane,andTooniandIsettleddowntoourtea.

It was then that Tooninoticed the Bible resting onthe table near me. "Oh, aBible!" she said. "Doopen it

and see what it has to say."Our family views anyreligious book as significant.It was a common pastime toallow a holy book to fallopen, point blindly at apassage to see what it said,almost like having it give aprophecy.

Lightheartedly, I opened thelittle Bible and looked downatthepages.

Then, a mysterious thinghappened. It was as if myattentionwerebeingdrawntoa verse on the lower righthandcorneroftherightpage.Ibentclosetoreadit:

Romans9:25-26°

I caught my breath and a

tremor passed through me.Whywas thisverseaffectingme so! I will call that mypeople, which was not mypeople....Intheplacewhereitwassaiduntothem,Yearenot my people, there shallthey be called sons of thelivingGod.

A silence hung over theroom. I looked up to seeTooni poised expectantly,

ready to hear what I hadfound. But I could not readthe words out loud.Something in them was tooprofound for me to read asamusement.

"Well,whatwasitMother?"asked Tooni, her alive eyesquestioningme.

Iclosedthebook,murmuredsomething about this not

being a game anymore, andturned the conversation toanothersubject.

Butthewordsburnedinmyheartlikeglowingembers.AndtheyturnedouttobepreparationforthemostunusualdreamsIhaveeverhad.

It wasn't until the next daythat I again picked up thelittle gray Bible. NeitherTooni nor I referred to theBible again after I hadswitched the conversation toanother subject. But

throughoutthelongafternoonthe words in that passagesimmered just below thesurfaceofmyconsciousness.

Early in the evening of thenext day, I retired to mybedchamber where I plannedto rest and meditate. I tooktheBiblewithmeandsettledamong the soft whitecushions of my divan. Onceagain I leafed through its

pages and read anotherpuzzlingpassage:

Romans9:310

Ah, I thought. Just as theKoran said; the Jews hadmissed the mark. The writerof thesepassagesmighthavebeenaMuslim,Ithought,forhe continued to speak of the

people of Israel as notknowingGod'srighteousness.

Butthenextpassagemademecatchmybreath.

Romans10:4°

Iloweredthebookdownforamoment.Christ?Hewastheend of the struggle? Icontinuedon.

Romans10:8-9•

I put the book down again,shaking my head. Thisdirectly contradicted theKoran. Muslims knew theprophet Jesus was justhuman, that the man did notdie on the cross but was

whiskeduptoheavenbyGodand a look-alike put on thecross instead. Nowsojourning in an inferiorheaven, this Jesus willsomeday return to earth toreign for forty years, marry,have children, and then die.Infact,Iheardthatthereisaspecialgraveplotkeptvacantfor the man's remains inMedina, the city whereMuhammadisalsoburied.At

the Resurrection Day, JesuswillriseandstandwithothermentobejudgedbeforeGodAlmighty.ButthisBiblesaidChrist was raised from thedead.Itwaseitherblasphemyor...

Mymindwhirled.IknewthatwhoevercalleduponthenameofAllahwouldbesaved.ButtobelievethatJesusChristisAllah?Even

Muhammad,thefinalandgreatestofthemessengersofGod,theSealoftheProphets,wasonlyamortal.

I lay back on my bed, myhand over my eyes. If theBibleandKoranrepresentthesame God, why is there somuch confusion andcontradiction? How could itbethesameGodiftheGodofthe Koran is one of

vengeance and punishmentand theGod of theChristianBible is one of mercy andforgiveness? I don't knowwhenIfellasleep.NormallyInever dream, but this night Idid. The dream was solifelike, the events in it soreal, that I found it difficultthe next morning to believetheywere only fantasy.HereiswhatIsaw.

I found myself havingsupperwithamanIknewtobe Jesus.He had cometo visit me in my homeand stayed for two days.He sat across the tablefrommeandinpeaceandjoyweatedinnertogether.Suddenly, the dreamchanged.Now Iwas on amountaintopwithanotherman.Hewas clothed in arobe and shod with

sandals.Howwasit thatImysteriously knew hisname, too? John theBaptist. What a strangename. I found myselftelling this John theBaptist about my recentvisitwithJesus."TheLordcame and was my guestfortwodays,"Isaid."ButnowHeisgone.WhereisHe? I must find Him!Perhaps you, John the

Baptist, will lead me toHim?"

Thatwasthedream.WhenIwokeupIwas loudlycallingthe name, "John the Baptist!John the Baptist!" Nur-janandRaisham rushed intomyroom. They seemedembarrassed at my shoutingand began fussily to preparemytoilette.Itriedtotellthemabout my dream as they

worked.

"Oh,hownice,"giggledNur-janasshepresentedmytrayofperfumes."Yes,itwasablesseddream,"murmuredRaishamasshebrushedmyhair.IwassurprisedthatasaChristian,Raishamwouldn'tbemoreexcited.IstartedtoaskheraboutJohntheBaptistbutcheckedmyself;afterall,Raishamwasjustasimple

villagewoman.ButwhowasthisJohntheBaptist?IhadnotcomeacrossthenameinwhatIhadreadsofarintheBible.

For the next three days Icontinued reading both theBible and the Koran side byside, turning from one to theother. I foundmyselfpickinguptheKoranoutofasenseofduty,andtheneagerlyturning

totheChristianbook,dippinginto it here and there to lookintothisconfusingnewworldIhaddiscovered.EachtimeIopened the Bible a sense ofguilt filled me. Perhaps thisstemmed from my strictunbringing. Even after I hadbecome a young woman,Fatherwouldhavetoapproveany book I read. Once mybrother and I smuggled abook into our room. Even

though it was completelyinnocent, we were quitefrightened,readingit.

NowasIopenedtheBible,Ifound myself reacting in thesame manner. One storyrivetedmyattention.Ittoldofthe Jewish leadersbringingawoman caught in adultery totheprophet Jesus. I shivered,knowing what fate lay instore for this woman. The

moral codes of the ancienteast were not very differentfrom ours in Pakistan. Themen of the community arebound by tradition to punishthe adulterous woman. As Iread of the woman in theBible standing before heraccusers,Iknewthatherownbrothers, uncles and cousinsstood in the forefront, readytostoneher.

ThentheProphetsaid:Lethimwhoiswithoutsincastthefirststone(John8:7).

Ireeledas inmymind'seyeI watched the men slinkaway. Instead of supervisingher lawful death, Jesus hadforced her accusers torecognizetheirownguilt.ThebookfellintomylapasIlaythere deep in thought. Therewas something so logical, so

right about this prophet'schallenge. The man spoketruth.

ThenthreedayslaterIhadasecondstrangedream:

I was in the bedchamberwhen a maid announcedthat a perfume salesmanwas waiting to see me. Iarose from my divanelated, for at this time

there was a shortage ofimported perfumes inPakistan. I greatly fearedrunning low on myfavorite luxury.Andso inmydreamIhappilyaskedmy maid to show theperfumesalesmanin.

He was dressed in themanner of perfumesalesmen in my mother'sdaywhenthesemerchants

travelled from house tohouse selling their wares.He wore a black frockcoat and carried his stockin a valise. Opening thevalise, he took out agolden jar. Removing thecap, he handed it to me.As I looked at it I caughtmy breath; the perfumeglimmered like liquidcrystal. I was about totouchmyfingertoitwhen

hehelduphishand.

"No,"hesaid.Takingthegoldenfarhewalkedoverand placed it on mybedside table. "This willspread throughout theworld,"hesaid.

As I awakened in themorning, the dreamwas stillvivid in my mind. The sunwas streaming through the

window, and I could stillsmell that beautiful perfume;its delightful fragrance filledthe room. I raised up andlooked at my bedside table,half expecting to see thegoldenjarthere.

Instead, where the jar hadbeen,nowrestedtheBible!

A tingle passed throughme.I sat on the edge of the bed

pondering my two dreams.Whatdidtheymean?WhereIhad not dreamed in years,now I had two vivid dreamsinarow.Weretheyrelatedtoeach other? And were theyrelated to my recent brushwith the realities of thesupernaturalworld?

ThatafternoonIwentformyusual stroll in the garden. Iwas still bemused by my

dreams. But now somethingelsewasadded. Itwasas if Ifeltastrangedelightandjoy,a peace beyond anything Ihad ever known before. Itwas as if Iwere close to thePresence of God. Suddenly,as I stepped out of a groveintoa sun-floodedopenarea,the air aroundme seemed tobe alive with another lovelyfragrance. It wasn't thefragrance of flowers-it was

toolateforanyofthegardentobeinbloombutaveryrealfragrancenonetheless.

In some agitation I returnedto the house.Where did thatfragrance come from? Whatwas happening to me? WhocouldItalktoaboutwhatwashappening to me? It wouldhave to be someone with aknowledgeoftheBible.Ihadalready swept aside the

thought of asking myChristianservants.Inthefirstplace it was unthinkable toask information of them.They probably had nevereven read the Bible andwouldn't know what I wastalking about. No, I had totalk to someone who waseducated and who knew thisbook.

AsIconsideredthisquestion

a shocking idea came tomind. I fought the thought.ThatwouldbethelastplaceIshouldgoforhelp.

Butanamekeptreturningtome so compellingly that IfinallyrangforManzur.

"Iwantyoutogetthecaroutfor me." And then as anafterthought I added: "I'll bedrivingmyself."

Manzur's eyes widened."Yourself?"

"Yes,myself,ifyouplease."He left, reluctantly. Rarelyhad I taken my car out thatlateintheevening.IhadbeenanofficerintheRoyalIndianArmy women's division inWorldWarIIandhaddrivenambulances and staff carsthousands of miles over allkindsof terrain.Butwartime

wasonethingandeventhenIwas in the company ofsomeone. The daughter ofNawab nobility was notexpectedtodriveherowncarin normal life, especially notatnight.

ButIknewIcouldn'triskManzurknowingwhatIwasabouttodoandresultantservants'gossip.Iwasconvincedtherewasonlyone

sourcewhereIcouldfindtheanswertomyquestions:WhowasJohntheBaptist?Whatwasthisfragranceallabout?

So it was with extremereluctance that evening that Iheaded for the home of acouple I barely knew, theReverend and Mrs. DavidMitchellwho had visitedmygarden that summer. AsChristian missionaries, they

were the last people withwhomI'dwanttobeseen.

My black Mercedes idled inthe driveway. Manzur stoodat the driver's doorwhich hekept closed until the lastmoment protecting the car'swarmth against the chill ofthatautumnevening.Hisdark

eyes were still questioningmy decision, but withoutcomment.Igotintothewarmcar, settled behind the wheeland drove off into thetwilight,theBibleontheseatbesideme.

Everyone knew whereeveryone else lived in thisvillage of Wah. TheMitchells' home stood nearthe entrance of the Wah

cementworksfromwhichmyfamily derived part of itsincome. It served as thecenter of a strange littlecommunity about five milesoutside of town. The homeshad been built as temporaryquarters for British troopsduring World War II. IrecalledfromthefewtimesIhad ventured into the areathat thedrab,uniformhouseshad lost most of their

whitewash; their tin roofsshowed signs of muchpatchwork.Astrangemixtureof expectancy and fear filledme as I drove along. I hadnever been in a Christianmissionary home before. Iwas hopeful of learning theidentity of my mystery man,John the Baptist, and yet Ifearedacertain-whatshouldIcall it, "influence?"-fromthose who might answer my

question.

WhatwouldmyforebearsthinkofthisvisittoaChristianmissionary?Ithought,forinstance,ofmygreat-grandfatherwhohadaccompaniedthefamedBritishGeneralNicholsonthroughtheKhyberPassinoneoftheAfghanistanwars.Whatshamethisvisitwouldbringonmyfamily.Wehad

alwaysassociatedthemissionarieswiththepoorandsocialoutcasts.IimaginedaconversationwithanuncleorauntinwhichIdefendedmyselfbytellingthemofmystrangedreams."Afterall,"IsaidinthesceneIwasplayingoutinmymind,"anyonewouldwanttofindoutthemeaningofsuchvividdreams."

As I approached theMitchells' area in the dimlight of early evening, itwasjust as I remembered it,except that the look-alikebungalows seemed, ifpossible, even more drab.After searchingupanddownnarrow lanes, I found theMitchells' house near thecement works, just where Ithought it would be, a smallwhitewashed bungalow,

sittinginagroveofmulberrytrees. As a precaution Istarted topark somedistanceawayuntil I caughtmyself. Iwas being far too afraid ofwhatmyfamilythought.SoIparked squarely in front ofthe Mitchells', picked up theBible and moved quicklytowardthehouse.Theyard,Inoticed, was neat and thescreened veranda wellmaintained. At least these

missionaries kept their placeingoodrepair.

Suddenly, the house dooropened and a group ofchattering village womenfiled out, dressed in thetypicalshalwarqamiz,aloosepajama-like cotton outfit,with a dupatta (scarf). Istiffened. They would knowme of course; nearlyeveryone in Wah recognized

me.Now the storywould begossipedallovertheareathatBegum Sheikh had visited aChristianmissionary)

AndsureenoughassoonasthewomensawmeinthelightthatcamefromtheMitchells'openfrontdoor,theirchatterceasedabruptly.Theyhurriedpastmetothestreet,eachtouchinghandtoforeheadinthetraditional

salute.TherewasnothingIcoulddobutcontinuetowardthedoorwhereMrs.Mitchellstoodstaringoutintothedusk.UpcloseshelookedjustasIrememberedher,fromseeingheratadistanceabouttown,young,pale,almostfragile.Onlynowshewaswearingashalwarqamizlikethevillagewomen.Assoonasshesawmehermouthfellopen."Why...

why,BegumSheikh!"sheexclaimed,"What?...But....Comein,"shesaid."Comein."

I was glad enough to stepinside the house, away fromthe village women's eyeswhichIknewwouldbefixedonmyback.Wewentintothelivingroom,smallandsimplyfurnished.Mrs.Mitchelldrewup what appeared to be the

most comfortable chair forme near the open fire. Sheherself did not sit down, butstood folding and unfoldingher hands. I glanced at acircleof chairs in themiddleof the room. Mrs. Mitchellexplained that she had justcompletedaBiblestudywithsome localwomen.Shegavea nervous cough. "Uh, willyouhavesometea?"shesaid,brushingbackherhair.

"Nothankyou,"Ireplied."Ihavecometoaskaquestion."I looked about. "Is theReverendMr.Mitchellhere?"

"No. He is on a trip toAfghanistan."

I was sorry. The womanstanding before me was soyoung!Wouldshebeable toanswermyquestions?

"Mrs.Mitchell,"Iventured,"doyouknowanythingaboutGod?"

She sank down into one ofthewoodenchairsandlookedat me strangely; the onlynoiseintheroomwasthelowhiss from the flames in thefireplace. Then she saidquietly, "I'm afraid I don'tknow too much about God,butIdoknowHim."

What an extraordinarystatement! How could apersonpresumetoknowGodljust the same, the woman'sodd confidence gave meconfidencetoo.BeforeIquiteknewwhatwas happening, Ifound myself telling herabout my dream of theprophet Jesus and the mannamed John the Baptist.Strangely, I had difficultycontrolling my voice as I

related the experience. Evenas I told her, I felt the sameexcitement I felt on thatmountain top. Then, afterdescribingthedream,Ileanedforward.

"Mrs. Mitchell, I've heardabout Jesus, butwho is JohntheBaptist?"

Mrs.-Mitchellblinkedatmeandfrowned.Ifeltshe

wantedtoaskifIhadreallyneverheardofJohntheBaptist,butinsteadshesettledbackagaininherchair."Well,BegumSheikh,JohntheBaptistwasaprophet,aforerunnerofJesusChrist,whopreachedrepentanceandwassenttopreparethewayforHim.HewastheonewhopointedtoJesusandsaid:`Look,theLambofGodwhotakesaway

thesinsoftheworld.'HewastheonewhobaptizedJesus."

Whydidmyheartskipattheword"baptized?"IknewlittleabouttheseChristians,butallMuslims had heard of theirstrangeceremonyofbaptism.Mymind flitted to themanypeople who were murderedafter theirbaptisms.And thisalso happened under Britishrule when supposedly there

was freedom of religion.Evenasachild Ihadput thetwo facts together: aMuslimwasbaptized,aMuslimdied.

"BegumSheikh?"

I looked up. How long hadwebeensittingtheresilently?"Mrs. Mitchell," I said, mythroat tight, "forget I am aMuslim. Just tell me: whatdidyoumeanwhenyou said

youknowGod?"

"I know Jesus," Mrs.Mitchell saidand Iknewshethought she was answeringmyquestion.

ThenshetoldmewhatGodhaddoneforherandfortheworldbybreakingthedreadfuldeadlockbetweensinfulmanandHimselfbypersonallyvisitingthisearth

intheflesh,asJesus,anddyingforallofusonthecross.

Theroomwasquietagain. Icould hear trucks passing onthe nearby highway. Mrs.Mitchell seemed in no hurryto speak. Finally, hardlybelievingmyownears,Itooka breath and heard myselfsaying quite distinctly, "Mrs.Mitchell, some peculiar

things have been happeningatourhouselately.Eventsofthe spirit. Good and bad,both.IfeelasifIwereinthemidst of an immense tug ofwar, and I need all thepositivehelpIcanget.Couldyouprayforme?"

The woman appearedstartled at my request, then,collecting herself, she askedifIwantedtostandup,kneel

or sit down as we prayed. Ishrugged, suddenly horrified.Allwereequallyunthinkable.But there was this slender,youthful woman kneeling onthe floor of her bungalow.AndIfollowedher!

"Oh Spirit of God," saidMrs.Mitchell inasoftvoice,"IknowthatnothingIcansaywill convince Begum SheikhwhoJesusis.ButIthankYou

thatYoutaketheveiloffoureyes and reveal Jesus to ourhearts. Oh, Holy Spirit, dothis for Begum Sheikh.Amen."

We stayed on our knees forwhat seemed like forever. Iwas glad for the silence, formy heart was strangelywarmed.

At last Mrs. Mitchell and I

arose. "Is that a Bible,MadameSheikh?" sheasked,noddingtowardthelittlegrayvolume which I clutched tomy breast in one hand. Ishowed her the book. "Howdo you find it?" she asked."Easytounderstand?"

"Notreally,"Isaid."It isanold translation and I'mnot athomeinit."

Shesteppedintoanadjacentroom and returned withanotherbook.

"Here is a New Testamentwritten in modern English,"she said. "It's called thePhillips translation. I find itmuch easier to understandthan others. Would you likeit?"

"Yes,"Isaid,nothesitating.

"Start with the Gospel ofJohn,"Mrs.Mitchelladvised,openingthebookandplacinga bit of paper in it as abookmark. "That's anotherJohn,buthemakestheroleofJohntheBaptistveryclear."

"Thankyou,"Isaid,touched."And now I think I've takentoomuchofyourtime."

As Iprepared to leave,Mrs.

Mitchellsaid:"Youknow,it'sso interesting that a dreambrought you here. God oftenspeaks to His children indreamsandvisions."

As she helped me on withmy coat, I wondered if Ishouldsharesomethingaboutmyotherdreamwithher.Theone about the perfumesalesman. It seemed so ...bizarre.But as had happened

several times already in thisstrange evening, I foundmyself filledwith a boldnessthat seemed almost to comefrom outside of me. "Mrs.Mitchell, can you tell me ifthereisaconnectionbetweenperfumeandJesus?"

She thought for a moment,her hand on the door. "No,"shesaid,"Icantthinkofany.However, let me pray about

it."

As I drove home, Iexperienced for the secondtime that same fragrantPresence I had sensed inmygardenearlierthatdayl

WhenIgothomethatnightIreadalittleoutoftheportionoftheBiblecalled"TheGospelofJohn,"wherethewritertalkedaboutJohnthe

Baptist,thisstrangemancladincamelskinwhocameoutofthewilderness,callingpeopletoprepareforthecomingoftheLord.Andthen,thereinthesafetyofmyownbedroom,seatedonmydivan,surroundedbymemoriesandtraditionsthatweresevencenturiesold,athoughtslippedsidewaysintomymind,unbidden,unwanted,quicklyrejected.If

JohntheBaptistwasasignfromGod,asignpointingtowardJesus,wasthissamemanpointingmetowardJesus,too?

Of course the thought wasuntenable.Iputitoutofmindandwenttosleep.

That night I did sleepsoundly.

Asthemuezzincalledmetoprayerthenextmorning,Iwasrelievedtofindmyselfseeingthingsclearlyagain.WhatabizarreseriesofthoughtsIhadtoyedwithinthenight!Butnowasthemuezzinremindedmewheretruthlay,Ifeltsecureagain,awayfromthesedisturbingChristianinfluences.

Raisham came in just then,

not with tea but with a notewhich she said had just beendeliveredtothehouse.

It was from Mrs. Mitchell.Allitsaidwas:"ReadSecondCorinthians,Chapter2,Verse14."

I reached for the Bible shehad given me and searcheduntil I found the chapter andverse. Then, as I read, I

caughtmybreath:

Thanks be to God wholeadsus,whereverweare,on Christ's triumphantway, and makes ourknowledgeofHim spreadthroughout the world likealovelyperfume)

Isatthereinbed,andre-readthepassage,mycomposureofa minute ago shattered. The

knowledge of Jesus spreadslike a lovelyperfume! Inmydream, the salesman had putthe golden dish of scent onmybedsidetableandsaidthatthe perfume "would spreadthroughout the world." ThenextmorningIhadfoundmyBible in thesamespotwheretheperfumehadbeen laid! Itwasalltooclear.Ididn'twantto think about it any more.Ring for tea, that's what I

mustdo.Ringfor.myteaandbringlifebackintoitsproperfocus quickly beforesomethingelsewentawry.

EventhoughMrs.Mitchellhadinvitedmeback,-Ifeltitbestnottoreturn.ItseemedaprudentlogicaldecisionthatImustnowinvestigatethisBibleonmyown.Ididnotwanttobepushedbyanyoutsideinfluence.However,

oneafternoonNur-janrushedintomyroomwithanoddlookinhereyes."TheReverendandMrs.Mitchellareheretoseeyou,"shegasped.

Myhandflewtomythroat.Whywouldtheycomehere?Iwondered.However,quicklycomposingmyself,Iaskedthemaidtobringthemintothedrawingroom.

Sandy-haired DavidMitchell, a lanky man withcrinkly eyes, radiated thesame friendly warmth as hiswife. The two seemed sohappy toseeme that I forgotmy discomfort over themcomingtomyhouse.

Mrs. Mitchell started toshake hands, then at the lastminutethrewherarmsaroundmeinstead.Iwasstunned.No

one outside the family, noteven our closest friends, hadeverembracedmeinthiswaybefore. I stiffened but Mrs.Mitchell appeared to take nonoticeofmyreaction.Ifound-in retrospect, I have toadmit-that this displaypleasedme.Therecouldhavebeennoshaminhergreeting.

"I'm so happy to meet `theFlower Lady'," David

exclaimed in a jovialAmericanaccent.

I glanced at Mrs. Mitchelland she laughed. "I shouldexplain. When you came toour house, I wanted to letDavid know right away bytelegram for we had oftentalked about you since wevisited your garden lastspring. However, I didn'twanttouseyourrealname,to

protect you. As I waswondering how to refer toyouinthewire,Iglancedoutmy window and saw theflowers that had grown fromtheseedsyour gardener gaveus. The name came to me:`Flower Lady,' and thatbecame our code name foryou."

I laughed. "Well, from nowon,youcancallmeBilquis."

"Andplease,"shesaid,"callmeSynnove."

It was a strange visit. Isuppose Iwas half expectingpressurefromtheMitchellstoaccept their religion, butnothing of the sort occurred.We drank a cup of tea andchatted. I did question Jesusbeingcalledthe"sonofGod,"for to Muslims there is nogreater sin than tomake this

claim.TheKoranstatesagainand again that God has nochildren."And this `trinity'?"Iasked."Godisthree?"

In answer, David comparedGod to the sun whichmanifests itself in the threecreativeenergiesofheat,lightand radiation, a trinityrelationship which togethermakes the sun, yet singly isnot thesun.Andthenshortly

theyleft.

Again for several days Ifoundmyself alonewith twobooks-the Koran and theBible. I continued to readthem both, studying theKoran because of the loyaltyofalifetime,delvingintotheBible because of a strangeinnerhunger.

Yet, sometimes I'd draw

back from picking up theBible.Godcouldn'tbeinbothbooks, I knew, because theirmessages were so different.But when my hand hesitatedat picking up the book Mrs.Mitchell gave me, I felt astrange letdown.For thepastweek I had been living in aworldofbeauty,notavisiblegarden created by me fromseedsandwater,butan innergarden created from a new

spiritual awareness. I firstentered this world of beautyby way of my two dreams;then I became aware of thisworld a second time on thenight I met the indefinablyglorious Presence in mygarden; and I had known itonceagainwhenIobeyedthenudging thatpromptedme tovisittheMitchells.

Slowly, clearly, over the

next few days I began toknowthattherewasawaytoreturntomyworldofbeauty.And reading this Christianbookseemed,forreasonsthatI could not grasp, the key tomyre-enteringthatworld.

And then one day littleMahmud came up to meholding the side of his headand trying not to whimper."Myear,Mum,"hecriedina

pain-filledvoice."Ithurts."

I bent down and examinedhim carefully. His usualruddybrowncomplexionhadpaled, andalthoughMahmudwasnotachildtocomplain,Icould see the tear stains onhislittleroundtancheeks.

I put him right to bed andcrooned softly to him, hisblack hair too stark against

thepillow.Andthen,afterhiseyes closed, I went to thetelephone and rang the HolyFamily Hospital inRawalpindi.Within aminuteTooniwason thephone.Sheagreed that we should checkMahmudintothehospitalthenextafternoonforacompleteexamination the followingday.Iwouldbeabletostayinanadjoiningroomandamaidwould be given a smaller

roomadjacenttothat.

Itwas towardeveningwhenwe checked into thecomfortable arrangement.Toonihadtheeveningfreetospend with us. Soon,Mahmudandhismotherweregiggling over some picturesMahmud was coloring in abook she had brought him. Iwas propped up in bedreadingmyBible. I had also

brought the Koran with me,but by now I read theKoranout of a sense of duty,morethaninterest.

Suddenly, the room lightsflickered, and then went out.Theroomwasdark.

"Another power failure," Isaid, exasperated. "Did youseeanycandles?"

In a moment the dooropened and a nun steppedinside with a flashlight. "Ihope you don't mind thedark," she said cheerily."We'll get some candlesshortly." I recognized her asDr. Pia Santiago, a slightlybuilt, bespectacled Filipinowho was in charge of thewhole hospital. We had metbriefly on a previous visit.Almost at once another nun

cameinwithcandlesandinamoment warm light floodedtheroom.MahmudandTooniresumed theirvisit and Iwasleft to make conversationwith Dr. Santiago. I couldn'thelp notice her staring atmyBible.

"DoyoumindifIsitwithyouforawhile?"Dr.Santiagoasked.

"It would be a pleasure," Isaid, assuming it was just acourtesyvisit.Shemovedtoachairnearmybedandwitharustlingofherwhitehabitsatdown.

"Oh,"shesaid,takingoffherglasses and wiping her browwithahandkerchief,"hasthiseverbeenabusynight."

My heart warmed to her.

Muslims always had respectfor these holy women whogive up the world to servetheirGod; their faithmay bemisplaced, but their sinceritywas real. We chatted but asthe conversation continued, Icouldtellthatthiswomanhadsomething on her mind. ItwastheBible.Icouldseeherglancing at it with mountingcuriosity. Finally she leanedforwardand inaconfidential

toneasked,"MadameSheikh,what are you doing with aBible?"

"I am earnestly in search ofGod," I answered. And then,while the candles burnedlower, I told her, verycautiously at first, then withmountingboldness,aboutmydreams, my visit with Mrs.Mitchell, and my comparingthe Bible and the Koran.

"Whatever happens," Iemphasized, "I must findGod, but I'm confused aboutyour faith," I said finally,realizingthatevenasIspokeI was putting my finger onsomething important. "Youseem to make God so ... Idon'tknow...personal!"

The little nun's eyes filledwith compassion and sheleaned forward. "Madame

Sheikh," she said, her voicefullofemotion,"thereisonlyoneway to find outwhywefeel this way. And that is tofind out for yourself, strangeas thatmayseem.Whydon'tyou pray to theGod you aresearching for? Ask Him toshow you His way. Talk toHim as if He were yourfriend."

I smiled. She might as well

suggest that I talk to the TajMahal.ButthenDr.Santiagosaid something that shotthrough my being likeelectricity. She leaned closerand took my hand in hers,tears streaming down hercheeks. "Talk to Him," shesaid very quietly, "as if Hewereyourfather."

I sat back quickly. A deadsilence filled the room.Even

Mahmud and Tooni'sconversation hung betweenthoughts. I stared at the nunwith the candlelight glintingoffherglasses.

Talk to God as if He weremyfatherlThethoughtshookmy soul in the peculiar waytruth has of being at oncestartlingandcomforting.

Then as if on cue everyone

started talkingatonce.Tooniand Mahmud laughed anddecided that the parasolshouldbecoloredpurple.Dr.Santiagosmiled,rose,wishedusallwell,gatheredherhabitaboutherandlefttheroom.

Nothing elsewas said aboutprayer or Christianity. Yet Imovedthroughtherestofthatnight, and the next morning,stunned. What made the

experience especiallymysterious was that thedoctors could find nothingwrong with Mahmud andMahmudkept saying thathisear did not hurt him one bit.At first, I was irritated at allthe time and trouble this hadtaken. Then the thoughtoccurred to me that perhaps,just perhaps, in some mysticwayGodhadtakenadvantageof this situation to bring me

into contact with Dr.Santiago.

Later that morning ManzurdroveusallbacktoWah.Aswe turned off the GrandTrunk onto our lane, I coulds,-ethegrayroofofmyhomethrough the trees. Usually, Ilooked forward to home as aretreat from the world. Buttoday there seemed to be adifferenceaboutmyhouse,as

if something special wouldhappentomethere.

Wedroveupthelongdriveway,Manzursoundingthehorn.Theservantsranoutandsurroundedthecar."Isthelittleonewell?"theyallaskedatonce.

Yes, I assured them,Mahmud was fine. But mymind was not on

homecoming festivities. Itwas on this newway to findGod. I went up to mybedroom to consider all thathad been happening. NoMuslim, I felt certain, everthoughtofAllahashisfather.Since childhood, I had beentold that the surest way toknowaboutAllahwastoprayfive times a day and studyand think on the Koran. YetDr.Santiago'swordscame to

meagain."TalktoGod.Talkto Him as if He were yourFather."

AloneinmyroomIgotonmykneesandtriedtocallHim"Father."ButitwasauselesseffortandIstraightenedindismay.Itwasrid►.culous.Wouldn'titbesinfultotrytobringtheGreatOnedowntoourownlevel?Ifellasleepthatnightmore

confusedthanever.

Hours later I awoke. It wasafter midnight, my birthday,December 12th. I was 47yearsold. I felt amomentaryexcitement,acarry-overfromchildhood when birthdayswere festivals with stringbands on the lawns, games,and relatives coming to thehouse all day. Now, therewould be no celebration,

perhaps a few phone calls,nothingmore.

Oh,howIhadmissedthosechildhooddays.IthoughtofmyparentsasIlikedtorememberthembest.Mother,soloving,soregalandbeautiful.AndFather.Ihadbeensoproudofhim,withhishighpostsintheIndiangovernment.Icouldstillseehim,impeccablydressed,

adjustinghisturbanatthemirrorbeforeleavingforhisoffice.Thefriendlyeyesunderbushybrows,thegentlesmile,thechiseledfeaturesandaquilinenose.

One of my cherishedmemories was seeing him atwork in the study. Even in asocietywheresonsweremorehighly regarded thandaughters, Father prized his

childrenequally.Often,asalittle girl, I would have aquestion to ask him and Iwould peek at him fromaroundthe.doorofhisoffice,hesitanttointerrupt.Thenhiseye would catch mine.Putting down his pen, hewould lean back in his chairand call out, "Keecha?"Slowly,Iwouldwalkintothestudy, my head down. Hewouldsmileandpatthechair

next to his. "Come, mydarling, sit here:' Then,placing his arm around me,he would draw me to him."Now, my little Keecha," hewould ask gently, "What canIdoforyou?"

ItwasalwaysthesamewithFather.Hedidn'tmindifIbotheredhim.WheneverIhadaquestionorproblem,nomatterhowbusyhewas,he

wouldputasidehisworktodevotehisfullattentionjusttome.

ItwaswellpastmidnightasIlayinbedsavoringthiswonderfulmemory."Ohthankyou..."ImurmuredtoGod.WasIreallytalkingtoHim?

Suddenly, abreakthroughofhope flooded me. Suppose,

just supposeGodwere likeafather. If my earthly fatherwouldputasideeverythingtolisten to me, wouldn't myheavenlyFather...?

Shakingwithexcitement,Igotoutofbed,sanktomykneesontherug,lookeduptoheavenandinrichnewunderstandingcalledGod"MyFather."

Iwas not prepared forwhathappened.

"Oh Father, my Father ...FatherGod."

Hesitantly,IspokeHisnamealoud. I tried different waysof speaking to Him. Andthen, as if something brokethrough for me I found

myself trusting that He wasindeedhearingme,justasmyearthly father had alwaysdone.

"Father,ohmyFatherGod,"Icried,withgrowingconfidence.MyvoiceseemedunusuallyloudinthelargebedroomasIkneltontherugbesidemybed.Butsuddenlythatroomwasn'temptyanymore.Hewasthere!Icould

senseHisPresence.IcouldfeelHishandlaidgentlyonmyhead.ItwasasifIcouldseeHiseyes,filledwithloveandcompassion.HewassoclosethatIfoundmyselflayingmyheadonHiskneeslikealittlegirlsittingatherfather'sfeet.ForalongtimeIkneltthere,sobbingquietly,floatinginHislove.IfoundmyselftalkingwithHim,apologizingfornothaving

knownHimbefore.Andagain,cameHislovingcompassion,likeawarmblanketsettlingaroundme.

NowIrecognizedthisasthesame loving Presence I hadmet that fragrance-filledafternoon inmy garden. Thesame Presence I had sensedoftenasIreadtheBible.

"I amconfused,Father ..." I

said."Ihave togetone thingstraightrightaway."Ireachedover to the bedside tablewhereIkepttheBibleandtheKoran side by side. I pickedup both books and liftedthem, one in each hand."Which, Father?" I said."WhichoneisYourbook?"

Then a remarkable thinghappened.Nothinglikeithadever occurred in my life in

quite thisway. For I heard avoice inside my being, avoice that spoke to me asclearlyas if Iwere repeatingwords in my inner mind.They were fresh, full ofkindness,yetatthesametimefullofauthority.

"InwhichbookdoyoumeetMeasyourFather?"

I found myself answering:

"In the Bible." That's all ittook. Now there was noquestion in my mind whichonewasHisbook.Ilookedatmywatchandwasastonishedto discover that three hourshad passed. Yet I was nottired. I wanted to go onpraying, Iwanted to read theBible,forIknewnowthatmyFather would speak throughit. Iwent tobedonlywhen Iknew I must for the sake of

myhealth.But the very nextmorning I told my maids tosee that I was not disturbed,took my Bible again andreclined on my divan.Starting with Matthew, Ibegan reading the NewTestamentwordbyword.

IwasimpressedthatGodspoketoHispeopleindreams,fivetimesinthefirstpartofMatthew,infactlHe

spoketoJosephonbehalfofMary.HewarnedtheWiseMenaboutHerod,andthreemoretimesHeaddressedJosephconcerningtheprotectionofthebabyJesus.

I couldn't find enough timefor the Bible. Everything Iread,itseemed,wasdirectingme to take some kind ofcloserwalkwithGod.

I foundmyself standingatagreatcrossroads.SofarIhadmet, personally, the FatherGod. In my heart I knew Ihad to give myself totally toHisSon Jesusor else to turnmybackonHimcompletely.

AndIknewforcertainthateveryoneIlovedwouldadvisemetoturnmybackonJesus.Intomymindcrowdedthememoryofaspecial,

preciousdayyearsbeforewhenmyfathertookmetoourfamilymosque,justthetwoofus.Westeppedintothesoaringvaultedchamber.Takingmyhand,Fathertoldmewithgreatprideandwithstrongidentificationthattwentygenerationsofourfamilyhadworshippedthere."Whataprivilegeyouhave,mylittleKeecha,tobepartofthisancienttruth."

And I thought of Tooni.Surelythisyoungwomanhadenoughworries already.Andthereweremyotherchildren;although they livedfaraway,they too would be hurt if I"became a Christian." Andthen there was my UncleFateh, who had watched soproudly the day I was fouryears,fourmonths,fourdaysold and began learning toread the Koran. And there

wasbelovedAuntAminaandall my other relatives, somehundred"uncles,""aunts"and"cousins." In the east, thefamily becomes biraderi, onecommunity, with eachmember responsible to theother. Icouldhurt the familyinmanyways, even interferewith the opportunities of mynieces getting married, astheywouldhavetoliveintheshadow of my decision if I

chosetojointhe"sweepers.

But most of all I worriedabout my little grandson,Mahmud;whatwouldhappento him! My heart caught atthe thought of Mahmud'sfather.Hewasaveryvolatileman,whomight easily try totake the boy from me if IbecameaChristian, thereforeclearly demonstrating that Iwasunstable.

ThatdayasIsatreadingandthinking in my quiet room,these thoughts seared myheart. Suddenly, therealizationofthepainImightinflict on others became toomuch forme and I stoodup,crying.Ithrewawraparoundmeandwalked into thecold,winter garden, my refugewhere, it seemed, I couldthinkbest.

"Oh Lord," I cried, as Ipaced the graveled path,"couldYoureallywantmetoleavemy family?CanaGodof love want me to inflictpain on others?" And in thedarkness ofmy despair, all Icould hear were His words,the words which I had justreadinMatthew:

Anyonewhoputshisloveforfatherormotherabove

his love for me does notdeservetobemine,andhewholovessonordaughtermore than me is notworthyofine....

Matthew10:37-38

This Jesus did notcompromise.Hedidnotwantany competition. His werehard, uncomfortable words,

wordsIdidnotwanttohear.

Enoughl I couldn't take thepressure of the decision anylonger.OnimpulseIranbackto the house, summonedManzurandannouncedtothesomewhat startledhousekeeper that Iwasgoingto Rawalpindi. I would begone for a few days. Shecould reach me at mydaughter'sif therewereneed.

Manzur drove me intoRawalpindiwhereIdidspendseveral days feverishlyshopping, buying toys forMahmud, perfumes and sarisfor myself. Not surprisingly,as I continued my spree, Ifound myself drifting awayfrom the warmth of HisPresence. Once when ashopkeeperspreadoutapieceof cloth and showed me thegems embroidered in a rich

design, I suddenly saw theshape of the cross in thepattern. I snapped at theshopkeeperandfled.Thenextmorning Iwentback toWahneither determined to remaina Muslim nor determined tobecomeaChristian.

Then one evening as Irelaxed before the fire, Ifound myself picking up theBible again.Mahmudwas in

bed.Itwasquietinthelivingroom. A wind in the gardenrattled the windows, the firesnappedandhissed.

I had read straight throughall theGospelsand theBookofActs, and that night I hadreached the last book in theBible. I was fascinated byRevelation, even though Iunderstood very little of it. Iread as if directed, strangely

confident. And then abruptlyI came to a sentence thatmade the room spin. It wasthe 20th verse of the thirdchapterofRevelation:

See, I stand knocking atthedoor.Ifanyonelistenstomyvoiceandopensthedoor, I will go into hishouse and dine with him,andhewithme.

AnddinewithHim, andHewithme!

Igasped,lettingthebookfallinmylap.

Thiswasmydream,thedreamwhereJesuswashavingdinnerwithmelAtthetimeIhadhadnoknowledgeofabookcalledRevelation.IclosedmyeyesandonceagainIcouldseeJesussitting

acrossthetablefromme.IcouldfeelHiswarmsmile,Hisacceptance.Why,theglorywastheretooljustasithadbeenwiththeFather.ItwastheglorythatbelongedtoHisPresencel

NowIknewthatmydreamhadcomefromGod.Thewaywasclear.IcouldacceptHim,orrejectHim.Icouldopenthedoor,askHimto

comeinpermanently,orIcouldclosethedoor.Iwouldhavetomakemyfulldecisionnow,onewayortheother.

I made up my mind andkneltinfrontofthefire.

"Oh God, don't wait amoment.Pleasecomeintomylife. Every bit ofme is opento You." I did not have tostruggle,orworryaboutwhat

wouldhappen.IhadsaidYes.Christ was in my life now,andIknewit.

How unbearably beautiful.Within a fewdays I hadmetGod the Father and God theSon. I got up and started toprepare for bed, my mindwhirling.Did Idare takeonemorestep?Irememberedthatin the book of Acts, atPentecost, Jesushadbaptized

His followers with the HolySpirit. Was I supposed tofollow this same pattern?"Lord," I said, as I laid myhead back on my pillow, "Ihave no one to guide meexceptYouYourself. IfYouintend forme to receive thisBaptism in the Holy Spiritthen of course I want whatYou want. I am ready."KnowingIhadplacedmyselfcompletely in His hands, I

driftedofftosleep.

Itwas still darkwhen Iwasawakenedinastateofvibrantexpectancy that morning ofDecember24,1966. I lookedatmy luminescent clock andthe hands pointed to 3:00A.M. The room was bitterlycold but I was burning withexcitement.

I crawled out of bed and

sanktomykneesonthecoldrug.AsIlookedup,Iseemedto be looking into a greatlight. Hot tears flowed downmyfaceasIraisedmyhandsto Him and cried out: "OhFather God, baptizemewithYourHolySpirit!"

ItookmyBibleandopenedittowheretheLordsaid:

Johnusedtobaptizewith

water,butbeforemanydaysarepassedyouwillbebaptized-withtheHoly

Spirit.

Acts1:5

"Lord," I cried, "if thesewordsofYoursaretrue,thengivethisbaptismtomenow."I crumpled facedownon thechilled floor where I laycrying."Lord,"Isobbed,"I'll

neverwanttogetupfromthisplace until You giveme thisbaptism." Suddenly, I wasfilled with wonder and awe.For in that silent pre-dawnroom I saw His face.Something surged throughme, wave after wave ofpurifying ocean breakers,floodingmetothetipsofmyfingersand toes,washingmysoul.

Then the powerful surgessubsided, the heavenly oceanquieted. I was completelycleansed.Joyexplodedwithinme and I cried out praisingHim,thankingHim.

Hourslater,IfelttheLordliftmetomyfeet.Hewantedmetogetupnow.Ilookedoutthefiligreedwindowsandsawthatitwasnearlydawn.

"Oh, Lord," I said, as I layback in my bed. "Could theheaven you speak of be anybetter than this? To knowYouisjoy,toworshipYouishappiness, to be near You ispeace.Thisisheaven!"

I doubt if I slept two hoursthatearlydawn.Innotimeatall mymaidservants came intohelpmedress.Forthefirstmorning that I could

remember, I did not say onecross word to them. Insteadtherewas an air of calm andpeace in the sun-floodedroom. Raisham actuallyhummed a song as shebrushed my hair, somethingshehadneverdonebefore.

All that day I roamedthrough my house, silentlypraising God, hardly able tocontainthejoywithinmyself.

Atlunch,Mahmudlookedupfrom his pancakes and said:"Mum, you look so smiley;whathashappenedtoyou?"

I reached over and tousledhis shiny black hair. "Givehim some halwa," I told thecook. This dish made fromwheat, butter and sugar washis favorite sweet. I toldMahmud that we would becelebrating Christmas at the

Mitchells'home.

"Christmas?"saidMahmud.

"It's a holiday," I said, "alittle like Ramazan." That,Mahmud did understand.Ramazan was the month ofthe Muslim year whenMuhammad receivedhis firstrevelation.Sofor thismonth,eachyear,Muslimsfast fromsunrise to sunset each day

untilatlastthedrumsthunderin the mosques and we loadourselves with delicacies,sweet and sour fruit, spinachleaves dipped in batter andfried, delicately cookedeggplant, succulent kabobs.Christmas I supposed wouldindeed be a little likeRamazan. And I was right.When David met us at thedoor of theMitchells' house,the scentofdeliciouscooked

foodsfloatedaroundhim,andlaughtersoundedfromwithintheroom.

"Come inl Come inl" heexclaimed, drawing us intothe living room filled with aholiday spirit. A Christmastreeglowedinthecornerandthe laughter of the twoMitchellchildren, just a littleolder thanMahmud, rangoutfromanother room.Mahmud

happily joined them at theirplay.

I could not contain my joyany longer. "David!" I cried,using his first name withoutthinking, "I am a Christiannow!Ihavebeenbaptized intheHolySpirit!"

He stared at me for amoment, then drew me intothe house. "Who told you

about the Holy SpiritBaptism?"heasked,hisgrayeyes wide. He beganlaughing joyously andpraising God. Hearing his"Hallelujah!" Synnoverushed into the room fromthe kitchen and David againasked:"Whotoldyou?"

"Jesus told me," I laughed."IreaditintheBible'sBookof Acts; I asked God for it

andreceivedit."

Both David and Synnovelooked bewildered. But thensuddenly they rushed to me.Synnoveputherarmsaroundme and broke into tears.David joined her. Then thethree of us stood there, armsaround each other, praisingGodforwhatHehaddone.

That night I began a diary

into which I put all thewonderful things the Lordhad been doing for me. If Ishoulddie-and I had no ideawhat might happen to meonceword got out that I hadbecome a Christian-at least Iwanted this record of myexperiencetoremain.AsIsatat my desk writing myexperiences, I did not realizethat He was makingpreparations to begin my

education.

Several surprises werewaiting forme over the nextseveral days, following mythreefoldencounters.

Foronething,IfoundIwasexperiencingdreamsorvisions,butquiteunlikethe

twodreamsthathadstartedthiswholeincredibleadventure.Infactmyfirstexperienceleftmeshaken.IwasrestinginbedoneafternoonthinkingofmyLordwhensuddenlyIfeltasifIwerefloatingrightoutmywindow.IfeltsureIwasnotasleepandfoundmyselfpassingrightthroughthewindowfiligree,andIcaughtaglimpseoftheearthbelow.

IbecamesofrightenedthatIcriedoutinfear,andsuddenlyIfoundmyselfbackinbed.Ilaythereslightlydazed,breathingshallowly,feelingatinglinginmylegsasiftheyhadbeenasleep,andthenthebloodwasrushingback.

"What was it, Lord?" Iasked. And then I realizedthat He had given me a

special experience. "I'm sosorry, Lord," I apologized,"but You have picked up acoward."

Late that night it happenedagain.OnlythistimeItalkedto God through theexperience and told Him Iwasn't afraid. As I slippedback through my window Icould only think I had been"floating" in a spiritual way.

"ButwhatisYourreason,myLord?"Iasked.

TurningtotheBibleIsearchedHisWordforsomethingofthis,forIbegantofearthatitmightbesomethingnotoftheLord.

IsighedinreliefwhenIreadin the Acts of the Apostles(8:39)wheretheSpiritof theLordsuddenlywhiskedPhilip

away to the disfant city ofAzotus after he had baptizedtheEthiopianeunuch.

Then I was given furtherconfirmation when I readPaul's second letter to theChristians at Corinth. Inchapter 12, in speaking ofvisions and revelations fromthe Lord, he wrote of being"caught up into the thirdheaven." He felt that only

God knew whether or not itwas an actual physicalexperience, and I felt thesame about mine. As Pauladded: "This man heardwords that cannot . . . betranslated into humanspeech."

I heard words, too, that Icannot translate but I shallnever forget the scenes.DuringonesuchexperienceI

saw a steeple soaring intoheaven; suddenly before mewere hundreds of churches,newones,oldones,churcheswith different architecturalstyles, and then a beautifulgoldchurch.Again the sceneshifted and I saw downtownareas of cities rolling beforeme,modern centers and old-fashioned village squares. Itwas all so clear; I coulddiscerntheskyscrapers,clock

towers, and quaint ornatebuildings.

ThenmyheartshookasI'sawamanridingaredhorse,hisrighthandwieldingasword;hegallopedabouttheearthundercloudmasses.Sometimesheroseuntilhisheadtouchedtheclouds,andsometimeshissteed'sflashinghoovesscrapedtheearth.

I couldn't get over thefeeling that these must havebeen given to me for aparticular, still unknown,reason.

I also found as I read theScriptures that it was anexperience completely unlikeany other time I had spentwith the Bible. Somethinghappened to me as I wentthrough the book; instead of

reading the Bible, I foundmyselflivingit.ItwasasifIsteppedthroughitspagesintothat ancient world ofPalestine when Jesus Christwalked the stony roads ofGalilee. I watched as Hepreached and taught, as Helived out His message ineveryday situations, and asHedisplayedthepoweroftheSpirit,andfinallyasHewentto the cross and passed

victoriously through theexperienceofdeath.

I also discovered to mysurprise that the effect ofBible reading was beginningtobefeltbyothers.Thiswasbrought home to me onemorning when my maidswere preparing my toilette.Nur-jan was arranging thesilvercombsandbrushesonatray when she accidently

spilledthewholething.Therewas a great clatter. Shestiffened, her eyes wide; Iknew she was expecting myusualonslaught.AndindeedIwasabouttoscoldherwhenIcaught myself. Instead, Ifound myself saying, "Don'tworry, Nur-jan. They didn'tbreak."

Then there was a peculiarboldness that began to take

shape in my life. Up untilthen I had been afraid to letanyone know of my interestin Christ. For one thing, Idreadedthethoughtofpeoplemaking jokes about the"sweeper Begum." Of moreconcern, I was afraid myfamily would ostracize me;Mahmud's father might eventry to take him away. I wasevenfearfullestsomefanatictake to heart the injunction:

he who falls away from hisfaithmustdie.

So I was really not anxiousto be seen at the Mitchells.The group of women whocame out of David's andSynnove's house that firstnight still gave me concern.My own servants certainlyknew that something unusualwashappeningtome.WhenIput all this together I was

living in a state of constantuneasiness, not knowingwhenthepressureagainstmewouldbegin.

ButaftermythreeencounterswithGod,Ifoundmyselfmakingasurprisingadmissiontomyselfoneday.AsfarasIwasconcerned,mydecisiontobecomeaChristianwasnowpublicinformation.AstheBible

says,Iwas"confessingJesuswithmylips.""Well,"IsaidtomyselfasIstoodatmybedroomwindowoneday,"we'lljustlettheresultsfallwheretheymay."

I didn't expect results quiteso quickly. Soon afterChristmas, 1966, thedownstairsmaid came tomewith her eyebrows arched,"Mrs.Mitchell is here to see

you,Begum,"shesaid.

"Oh?"Isaid,tryingtosoundcasual, "show her in." Myheartpoundedas Iwalked tothedoortomeetmyguest."Iam so honored to have youvisit,"Isaid,makingsurethatthe maid, hovering in thebackground,heardme.

Synnove came to invite meto dinner. "There will be a

few others there, people weare sure you would like tomeet,"shesaid.

Others? I felt the old wallrisewithinme.Synnovemusthavecaught thehesitant lookinmy eyes for she sought toreassure me. "Most of themare Christians," she said."Some are English, someAmericans. Would youcome?" her eyes pleaded

hopefully.

Andofcourse-withmoreenthusiasmthanIfelt-IsaidthatIwouldbedelighted.

IwonderedwhymanyChristiansweresooftenshylIhadbeenincontactwithChristiansbefore,usuallyatstatedinnerpartiesIhadhostedaswifeofagovernmentofficial.The

dinnerswereformalevents,servedbyuniformedservants,amidstBelgianlace,withcenterpiecesoffreshflowers;lengthyaffairs,withnumerouscourseseachservedseparatelyonitsownSpodechina.ThereweremanyChristiansofdifferentnationalitiesamongtheguests,butnotoneofthemevermentionedhisfaith,evenwhenitwouldhavebeena

naturalpartoftheconversation.ThepeopleI'dmeetattheMitchell's,Ifelt,wouldnotbesobackward.

The next day I drove thenow becoming familiar routetotheMitchells'house.Davidand Synnove greeted mewarmlyandintroducedmetotheir friends. Iwonderhow Iwould have felt if I'd knownat the time how large a role

some of these people weregoingtoplayinmylife.

The first couple were Kenand Marie Old. Ken was anEnglishman whose blue eyestwinkled humorously behindthick glasses. Hewas a civilengineer who wore an air ofinformality as easily as heworehisrumpledclothes.HiswifeMariewasanAmericannurse with a practical air

offset by a beautiful smile.The others were warm andfriendlypeople,too.

And then to my horror Ifound myself the center ofattention.Everyonewaseagertohearaboutmyexperiences.WhatIexpectedtobeaquietdinner turned out to be aquestion and answer period.The dining room wasstilleven the several children

satquietly-asItoldaboutmydreams, and about myseparate meetings with thethreepersonalitiesofGod.Atthe end of the dinner Davidcomplimentedhiswifeonthemeal but saidhe felt that thespiritual nourishment of mystorywasevenricher.

"Iagree,"saidKenOld."I'veseenyoubefore,youknow.Iused to live inWah. Iwould

passyourgarden in theearlymorning and admire yourflowers.Sometimesyouwerein the garden but I must sayyou don't look like the samewoman." I felt sure I knewwhat he meant. The BilquisSheikh of a few months agohad been an unsmilingperson. "You are like achild," Ken went on to say,"who has suddenly beengivenagift.InyourfaceIsee

an incredible wonder at thatgift. You treasure it morethan anything you have everpossessed."

Iwasgoingtolikethisman.

I had enjoyableconversationswiththeothers,andIrealizedthatIhadbeenright. These Christians wereverydifferentfromChristiansI had met at other dinner

parties. Before the eveningwas over, each person hadtold a little about what theLord was doing in his life.David was right. The mealwas excellent, but the truefeeding came from thePresenceinthatlittlehouse.Ihad never known anythingsimilar, and I found myselfwishingIcouldgetthissamefeedingregularly.

Which is why, as I wasabout to leave, the commentfrom Ken struck me withsuch impact. Ken and Mariecame up and took my hand."You'll need some regularChristian fellowship now,Bilquis,"saidKen."WillyoucometoourhouseonSundayevenings."

"Could you?" asked Mariehopefully.

And that is how I beganregular meetings with otherChristians. Sunday eveningswemet at theOlds' house, abrick dwelling whose livingroom could barely hold thedozen people who crowdedin.OnlytwowerePakistanis,the rest were Americans andEnglishmen. I met newpeople, too, such as Dr. andMrs. Christy. This thinenergeticlooking American

doctor was an eye specialistand his wife a nurse. Bothwere on the local missionhospitalstaff.Atthemeetingswe sang, read the Bible, andprayedforeachother'sneeds.It quickly became the highpointofmyweek.

ThenoneSundayIdidn'tparticularlyfeellikegoing.SoIranguptheOldsandgavesomeexcuse.Itseemed

alittlething,butalmostinstantlyIbegantofeeluneasy.Whatwasit!Iwalkedthroughthehouserestlesslycheckingontheservants'work.Everythingwasinorder,yeteverythingseemedoutoforder.

ThenIwenttomyownroomandkneltdowntopray.AfterawhileMahmud crept in, soquietly that I didn't know he

wasthereuntil I felthis littlesofthandinmine."Mum,areyouallright?"heasked."Youlook funny." I smiled andassured him that, yes, I wasall right. "Well you keepwalkingaroundlooking.Asifyou'dlostsomething."

Thenhewasgone,skippingoutthedooranddownthehall.IlookedasifIhadlostsomething?1Mahmudwas

right.AndIknewrightthenwhatitwasIhadlost.I'dlostthesenseofGod'sglory.Itwasgone!Why?DidithavesomethingtodowithmynotgoingtothatmeetingattheOlds'?WithmynothavingfellowshipwhenIneededit?

With a sense of urgency IphonedKen and said that I'dbethereafterall.

What a difference.Immediately I felt, actuallyfelt, the return of warmth tomy soul. I did go to themeeting, as I promised.Nothing unusual took placethere,yetagainIknewIwaswalking in His glory. Kenhad apparently been right. Ineeded fellowship. I hadlearned my lesson. Idetermined from then on toattend regularly unless Jesus

Himselftoldmenottogo.

As I drew a little closer toGod,hereastep,thereastep,I found myself hungeringeven more for His wordthrough the Bible. Everyday,as soon as I arose, I wouldbeginreadingitwithanever-failingsenseofnowness.TheBible became alive to me,illuminating my day,shedding its light on every

step I would take. It was, infact,my lovely perfume.Buthere too I found a strangething.OnedayMahmudandIwere to go to see hismotherfortheday.Iwaslategettingto bed the night before andreally didn't feel like gettingup at dawn to have an hourwith the Bible, so I toldRaishamtowakemewithmytea just before we weresupposedtosetoff.

Ididn't sleepatallwell thatnight. I tossed and twistedand had bad dreams. WhenRaisham came in, I wasexhausted.AndInoticedthattheentiredaydidn'tgoright.

Strange!WhatwastheLordsayingtome?ThatHeexpectedmetoreadtheBibleeveryday?

That was the second time

whenIseemedtobesteppingoutof thegloryof theLord'sPresence.

But the experience,nonetheless, left me with astrange sense of excitement.For I had the feeling that Iwas sitting on an importanttruth without realizing it.ThereweretimeswhenIwasin the Presence andexperienced that deep sense

of joy and peace, and therewere times when I lost thesenseofHisPresence.

What was the key? Whatcould I do to stay close toHim?

IthoughtbackoverthetimeswhenHehadseemedunusuallyclose,waybacktomytwodreamsandtotheafternoonwhenIsensedthe

exquisitefragranceinmywintergarden.IthoughtaboutthefirsttimewhenIhadgonetotheMitchells'andaboutthelatertimeswhenIhadreadmyBibleregularly,andgonetotheSundaymeetingsattheOlds'.AlmostalwaystheseweretimeswhenIknewtheLordwaswithme.

AndIthoughtaboutopposite

times too, moments when IknewthatIhadlostthissenseofHisnearness.HowdidtheBible put it? And grieve notthe Holy Spirit of God(Ephesians4:30,xJv). Is thatwhat happened when Iscolded the servants? Orwhen I failed to nourish myspirit with regular Biblereading?OrwhenIjustdidn'tgototheOlds'?

Partof thekey to staying inHis companywas obedience.When I obeyed, then I wasallowed to remain in HisPresence.

I got out my Bible andsearchedinJohnuntilIfoundtheversewhereJesussays:

Whenamanlovesme,hefollowsmyteaching.Thenmy Father will love him,

and we will come to thatman and make our homewithinhim.

John14:23

Thatwas theBible'swayofexpressingwhat Iwas tryingto say. To stay in the glory.ThatwaswhatIwastryingtodol

And thekeywasobedience.

"OhFather,"Iprayed,"Iwantto beYour servant, just as itsays in theBible. IwillobeyYou. I'vealways thought it asacrifice to give up my ownwill. But it's no sacrificebecause it keepsme close toYou. How could YourPresencebeasacrificel"

Ihadnevergotusedtothosetimeswhen the Lord seemedto speak so directly to my

mind, as I am convinced Hedid right then. Who else butthe Lord would have askedme to forgive my husbandlLove your former husband,Bilquis.Forgivehim.

ForamomentIsatinshock.FeelingHisloveforpeopleingeneralwasone thing,but tolove this man who had hurtmesomuch?

"Father, I just can't do it. Idon'twant toblessKhalidorforgive him." I recalled howonce I had childishly evenasked the Lord not ever toconvert my husband becausethenhewouldhave thesamejoy that Ihad.AndnowGodwas asking me to love thissameman?Icouldfeelangerrisingwithinmeas I thoughtof Khalid, and quickly puthimoutofmymind."Maybe

Icouldjustforgethim,Lord.Wouldn'tthatbeenough?"

Wasitmyimaginationordidthe glow of the Lord'sPresence seem to cool? "Ican't forgive my husband,Lord.Ihavenocapacitytodoso."

Myyoke6easyandmyburdenislight(Matthew11:30).

"Lord,Ican'tforgivehim!"Icried. Then I listed all theterriblethingshehaddonetome. As I did, other woundssurfaced, hurts that I hadpushed into the back of mymind as too humiliating tothink about. Hate welledwithin me and now I felttotally separated from God.Frightened, I cried out like alostchild.

And quickly, miraculously,Hewasthere,withmeinmyroom.Flingingmyself atHisfeet,Iconfessedmyhateandmyinabilitytoforgive.

Myyokeiseasyandmyburdenislight.

Slowly, deliberately, Iswung my terrible burdenover to Him. I let go of myresentment, my hurt, and the

festering outrage, placing itall in His hands. Suddenly Isensed a light rising withinme, like the glow of dawn.Breathingfreely, I hurried tomy dresser and took out thegoldframed picture andlookeddownatKhalid'sface.I prayed: "Oh Father, takeaway my resentment and fillmewithYourloveforKhalidin the name ofmy Lord andSavior,JesusChrist."

Istoodthereforalongtime,lookingatthepicture.Slowlythe negative feeling withinmebegantofade.Initsplacecame an unexpected love, asenseofcaringforthemaninthe photo. I couldn't believeit. Iwasactuallywishingmyformerhusbandwell.

"Oh bless him, Lord, givehim joy, let himbe happy inhisnewlife."

AsIwilledthis,adarkcloudliftedfromme.Aweightwasremoved frommysoul. I feltpeaceful,relaxed.

Once again I found myselflivinginHisglory.

And once again I foundmyselfwantingnevertoleaveHis company.As a reminderto myself of this desire, Iwent downstairs, late as it

was, and found some hennadye. With it I drew a largecross on the back of bothhandstoremindmealways.

Never, if I had anything tosay about it, would I againdeliberately step away fromHiscompany.

Itwouldtakemealongtime,Iwassure,tolearntheskilloflivingintheglowofHis

Presence,butitwasatrainingtimeIwelcomedwithimmenseexcitement.

And then one night I had aterrifying experience. I didnotknowIwouldbehearingfromanotherside.

I had been sound asleep thatnightinJanuary1967whenIwasstartledawakebymybedshakingviolently.

Anearthquake?Myheartwasgrippedbyanamelessterror.AndthenIsensedahorriblemalevolentpresenceinmyroom;onethatwasdefinitelyevil.

Suddenly I was thrown outofmy bed;whether Iwas inmy physical body or spirit Ido not know. But I waspushedandthrownaboutlikea straw in a hurricane. Theface of Mahmud flashedbeforemeandmyheartcriedoutforhisprotection.

This must be death comingfor me, I thought, my soulquaking. The awful presence

engulfed me like a blackbillowing cloud andinstinctively I screamed outto the One Who now meanteverything to me. "Oh LordJesusl" At this I was shakenmightily,asadogravageshisprey.

"AmIwrongtocallonJesus?"IcriedtoGodinmyspirit.AtthisagreatstrengthsurgedthroughmeandI

calledout:"IwillcallonHim!JesuslJesuslJesus!"

At this the powerfulravagingsubsided.Ilaythereworshipping and praising theLord. However, sometimearound 3:00 in the morning,myeyelidsbecametooheavyandIslippedtosleep.

IwasawakenedinthemorningbyRaishambringing

memymorningtea.Ilaythereforamomentfeelingsuchasenseofrelief.AsIclosedmyeyesinprayer,IsawtheLordJesusChriststandingbeforeme.Heworeawhiterobeandapurplecape.Hegentlysmiledatmeandsaid,"Don'tworry;itwon'thappenagain."

IfeltthenthatmyharrowingexperiencewasSatanic,atest

Jesuspermittedformyowngood.Irecalledthecrythatcamefromdeepwithinmysoul:"IwillcallonHisName,-IwillsayJesusChrist."

My Lord was still standingbeforeme. It is time for youto be baptized in water,Bilquis,Hesaid.

Water baptism! I had heard

the words distinctly, and Ididn'tlikewhatIheard.

AssoonasIcouldIdressedand asked Nur-jan andRaisham to see that I wasn'tdisturbed until lunchtime. Istoodatthewindowthinking.The morning air was cool;and pale steam drifted upfrom the garden springs. Iknewthat the significance ofbaptism is not lost on the

Muslimworld.A person canread the Bible withoutarousing too much hostility.Butthesacramentofbaptismis a different matter. To theMuslim this is the oneunmistakable sign that aconvert has renounced hisIslamic faith to become aChristian. To the Muslim,baptismisapostasy.

So, here was a difficult

testing point. The issue wasclearlydrawn.Would I yieldtothefearofbeingtreatedasan outcast, or worse, as atraitor, or would I obeyJesus?

FirstofallIhadtobecertainthat Iwas really obeying theLord, and not some illusion.ForIwasfartoonewatbeinga Christian to trust "voices."How could I test my

impression better thanthrough theBible. So Iwentback to my Bible and readhow Jesus Himself had beenbaptizedin theJordan.AndIlookedagainatPaul'slettertotheRomans where he talkedabout the rite in terms ofdeath and resurrection. The`old man" dies, and a newcreaturearises,leavingallhissinsbehind.

Well,thatwasthat.IfJesuswasbaptized,andiftheBiblecalledforbaptism,thenofcourseIwouldobey.

ThatverymomentIrangforRaisham.

"Please ask Manzur to getthe car ready," I said. "I'mgoing to visit the Olds afterlunch."

v Shortly I was once againseated in Marie and Ken'ssmall living room when Iburst forth inmy usual way."Ken," I said, facing himsquarely, "I'm sure that theLord has told me to bebaptized."

He looked at me for a longmoment,hisbrow furrowing,perhaps trying to fathom thedepth of my intention. Then

Kenleanedforwardandsaid,very,veryseriously:"Bilquis,are you prepared for whatmayhappen?"

"Yes,but..."Istartedtoanswer.Keninterrupted,hisvoicelow.

"Bilquis, a Pakistani I mettheotherdayaskedifIwereasweeperinmyowncountry."Helookedatmelevelly."Do

yourealize that fromnowonyouwouldnotbe theBegumSheikh, the respectedlandowner with generationsofprestige?Fromnowonyouwill be associated with thesweeperChristianshere?"

`"Yes," I answered. "I doknowthat."

His words became stillfirmerandIsteeledmyselfto

lookdirectlyathim.

"And do you know," hecontinued, "that Mahmud'sfather can easily take himaway from you? He couldlabelyouanunfitguardian."

My heart was stung. I hadworried about this, buthearing Ken say it aloudmade the prospect sound allthemorepossible.

"Yes, I know, Ken," I saidweakly. "I realize manypeople will think I amcommitting a crime. But Iwant to be baptized, I mustobeyGod."

OurconversationwasinterruptedbytheunexpectedarrivaloftheMitchells.Kenimmediatelytoldthemwehadsomethingimportanttodiscuss."Bilquis,"hesaid,

"wantstobebaptized."

Silence.Synnovecoughed.

"Butwedon'thaveatankforit,"saidDavid.

"How about the church inPeshawar?" asked Marie."Don'ttheyhaveatank?"

My heart sank. Peshawar isthecapitalof theNorth-WestFrontier Province. In every

senseoftheworditisfrontierterritory, a provincial townpopulated by conservativeMuslims noted for theirquickness to take action.Well, I thought, there goesany secrecy I might want tokeep.Thewhole townwouldknowwithinanhour.

It was left that Ken wouldmake arrangements for us togo to Peshawar. We should

hearfromthepastorthereinadayortwo.

Thateveningmyphonerang.ItwasmyGrandUncleFateh.Ilovedthiselderlygentlemandearly.Hewasalwayssointerestedinmyreligiousinstruction.

"Bilquis?"Myuncle'sauthoritativevoicesoundedupset.

"Yes,Uncle?"

"IsittruethatyouarereadingaBible?"

"Yes." I wondered how heknew. What else had heheard?

Uncle Fateh cleared histhroat. "Bilquis, don't evertalkabout theBiblewithanyof these Christians. You

know how argumentativethey are. Their argumentsalwaysleadtoconfusion."

Istartedtointerrupthimbuthe rode over my words."Don'tinviteanyone...,"heemphasized "... anyone toyour house withoutconsultingme!Ifyoudo,youknow that your family willnotstandbyyou."

UncleFatehwasquietforamomentashepausedtocatchhisbreath.Itookadvantageoftheopening.

"Uncle, listen tome."Therewas a strained silence on theother end of the wire. Iplunged ahead. "Uncle, asyou'll remember, no one hasever entered my homewithout an invitation." Myuncle would remember, all

right; I was well known forruthlessly refusing to seecallerswho had not arrangedtheirvisitsbeforehand.

"You know," I concluded,"that Iwillmeetwhomever Ilike.Goodbye,Uncle."

Ihungupthephone.Wasthisanomenofthingstocomeasfarastherestofmyfamilywasconcerned?If

UncleFatehreactedsostronglyjusthearingthatIreadtheBible,whatwouldhappenwhenheandtherestofmyfamilylearnedaboutmybaptism?Ididn'tliketothink.

Whichonlyaddedfueltomydrivetobebaptizedrightaway.Iwasn'tsureIcouldresistpressurefromscoresofpeopleIloved.

NowordcamefromKen.

The next morning as I wasreadingtheBible,Iagainranacross the story of theEthiopian eunuch to whomPhilip had brought themessage of God. The firstthingtheeunuchdid,assoonashesawwater,wastojumpdownoutofthecarriagetobebaptized.ItwasasiftheLordwastellingmealloveragain,

"Get your baptism and get itnowl" I felt sure He meantthat if Iwaitedmuch longer,something or someonemightpreventit.

I leaped from my bed,realizing with fresh powerthat huge forces weremarshallingtoblockmefromwhat the Lord wanted me todo. I put down the Bible,summoned my maids who

quickly dressed me andshortly Iwas speeding to theMitchells'.

"David,"Isaid,whilewewerestillstandinginthedoorway,"isthereanyanswerfromPeshawar?"

"No,notasyet."

My voice rose. "Can't youbaptize me here? Today?

Now?"

David frowned. He usheredmeinoutofthecoldmorningair. "Now, Bilquis, we can'tbe in too much of a hurryaboutsuchabigstep."

"ImustobeymyLord.Hekeepstellingmetopresson."ItoldhimaboutmymorningBiblereading,andaboutthenewinsistencefromtheLord

thatHewantedmebaptizedbeforeanythinghappenedtome.

David held out his hands inhelplessness. "I must takeSynnove up to Abbottabadthis afternoon and there isn'tanything I can do now,Bilquis."

Heputhishandonmyarm."Bepatient,Bilquis. I'm sure

we'll hear from Peshawartomorrow."

IdroveovertotheOlds'.

"Please," I cried asKenandMarie greeted me, "is thereany way for me to bebaptizedimmediately?"

"Weaskedourpastor,"Kensaid,takingmebythearmandleadingmeintotheliving

room."HesaysthewholematterhastogothroughtheSession."

"Session?" I echoed. "Whatisthat?"

He explained that his pastorwanted to baptize me but hehad to get approval from hischurch's governing board."Thiscouldtakeuptoseveraldays," he added, "and

meanwhile anything couldhappen."

"Yes," I sighed, "wordwould get out." My mindraceddesperatelyoverall thepossiblecircumstances.

Then Ken told me an-amazing thing. In themiddleof the night he had heard aman's voice directing him to"Turn to page 654 in your

Bible." What a strange way,he thought,of giving aBiblereference. It was job 13 and14, and the verses shone outfrom the page. He read theversesthathadsoblessedhimandwhich seemedmeant forme. They started: Whereforedo I take my flesh in myteeth,andputmylifeinminehand?Thoughheslayme,yet0111trustinhim.

Was I ready for even this, Iwondered?Wasmytrust thatstrong? I stood up and tookKen's arm. "Give me mywaterbaptismnow.Andthen,though He kill me, I amready. I'll be better off inHeavenwithmyLord."

I slumpeddown intoachairand looked up at Ken,apologizing. "I'm sorry,Ken.I'm getting upset. But one

thingIknow: theLordsaidIshould be baptized now. Ishallputittoyoubluntly.Areyougoingtohelpmeornot?"

Kensatbackinhischair,ranhis hand through his sandybrown hair. "Of course," hesaid, lookingatMarie. "Whydon'twe go to theMitchells'and see if there isn'tsomethingwecando?"

We drove back across thewindingstreetsofWah.Forawhilewesatquietlywith theMitchellsintheirlivingroomin prayer. Then Ken sigheddeeply, leaned forward andspoke to all of us. "I'm surewe all agree God has beenguiding Bilquis in a mostunusual way up until now.Andifsheinsistsherurgencyto be baptized is from God,thenletusnotbeahindrance

to her." He turned to David."You'regoingtoAbbottabad.Why don't Marie and I takeBilquis up there today, meetyou and Synnove, andarrange for Bilquis' baptismthere this afternoon? We'llforgetaboutPeshawar."

Suddenly,itseemedtherightthingtodoandweallstartedmaking preparations. Ihurried home, had Raisham

pack an extra set of clotheswhich the Olds said I wouldneed."Somethingwaterwon'thurt,"Kensaid.

Yet in themidstofall this Istillfeltuneasy.Ievensensedthewaningofmyclosenesstothe Lord. Hadn't He in somany ways given me aspecific urgent instruction?Hadn't He directed me tohavemywaterbaptismnow?

A thought flicked throughmymind.Idispelledtheidea.Itwasunthinkable.

But when the thoughtpersisted I askedmyLord inprayer:"Woulditbeallright,FatherGod?"

And thus on January 24,1967, began a most unusualbaptism.

Raishamstoodbeforeme,inanswertomycall.

"Yes,Raisham,"Isaidagain."Pleasefillthetub."

She turned to her duty, apuzzled expression on herface;neverhadItakenabathatthishouroftheday.

Raishamannounced thatmytub was ready; I dismissed

her.What I proceeded to domay have some theologicalproblems. But I wasn'tthinking in theological terms.I was simply trying to beobedient to a strong urgewhich was backed up byScripture. I was supposed tobebaptizednow,andwiththeimpediments that I feltmarshallingthemselves,Ihaddoubts about waiting evenuntiltheafternoon.

So, because I wanted morethan anything else in theworld to stay in the Lord'sPresence, and the way to dothatwasthroughobedience,Iwalkedintothebathroomandsteppedintothedeeptub.AsIsatdown,waterrosealmostto my shoulder. I placedmyhand on my own head andsaid loudly: "Bilquis, Ibaptize you in the name oftheFatherandoftheSonand

oftheHolyGhost."Ipressedmyheaddowninto thewaterso that my whole body wastotallyimmersed.

I arose from the waterrejoicing, calling out, andpraising God. "Oh Father,thankYou. I'mso fortunate."Iknewthatmysinshadbeenwashed away and that I wasacceptable in the sight of theLord.

I did not try to explain toRaishamwhatIhaddoneandin her usual reservedmannershe pointedly did not ask.Within a few minutes I wasdressed,waiting for theOldsto takeme tomy baptism inAbbottabad. Again I didn'tknow what the theology ofthe situationwas. Ididknowmy motives. These Christianfriendshadtakensuchcareofme, helping me. They had

gonethroughalotformeandI didn't want to confusematters further. I would goahead with the baptism,although some untrainedinstincttoldmeIhadalreadydonewhattheLordwantedofme. I tried to read the BiblebutmySpiritrejoicedsothatIwasunabletoconcentrate.Iwas back in theGlory again,just as I always was when Iobeyed Him explicitly, with

theBibleasmyonlycheck.

"Begum Sahib, BegumSahib?"

Ilookedup.ItwasRaisham.The Olds were downstairs,waiting.

I told Mahmud I would beawayfortherestoftheday.Ifeltitbetterifhewerenottooinvolved in an event that

might have unpleasantconsequences. Then I wentdowntojoinKenandMarie.

It was a two-hour drive toAbbottabad,alongaroadthatwaslinedwithfirsandpines.I didn't mention my tubbaptism. Instead I told aboutthe many times I hadtravelled this same road onfamily outings, followed byseveral autos piled highwith

luggage. Silently I wonderedifIshouldfeeldisloyaltothisoldheritage.

Wearrivedat themissiontofind the Mitchells waitingwith a Canadian medicaldoctorandhiswife,BobandMadeline Blanchard, whowere our hosts. Along withthem stood a Pakistani man."This gentleman," saidSynnove, "is Padri Bahadur,

theministerwhowillbaptizeyou."

Ilookedaroundattheothers,including anAnglican doctorand another Pakistaniminister.

"Perhaps this is prophetic,Bilquis," said Synnove."Perhaps through you manyChristians will be drawncloser, for this may be the

first time in Pakistan thatBaptists and PresbyteriansandAnglicanshaveallgottentogether in a commonbaptism."

There was an air ofexcitement about the room.Doors were closed, shadeswere drawn and I imaginedwhat it was like back in thefirst century when Christianshad their baptisms in the

catacombsunderRome.

As we prepared for theceremony, I looked aroundandasked, "Butwhere is thetank?"

Itdevelopedtherewasnone.KensaidthatIwouldhavetobesprinkled.

"But Jesuswas immersed intheJordan,"Isaid.

We had crossed a river justbeforearrivingatthemissionstation. "Why not take meback to the river?" I asked,but thenIrememberedthat itwas bitterly cold and otherswould have to get into thatwater too and I didn't pressthe point. Especially since IwascertainthatIhadalreadyreceivedthesacrament.

AndsoIwasbaptizedagain,

thistimebysprinkling.WhileI was being sprinkled, IthoughthowtheLordmustbechuckling. After theceremony, I lookedup to seetears streaming down thefaces of others in the room."Well," I laughed, "all thiscrying certainly doesn'tencourageme!"

"OhBilquis,"sniffedSynnove,cominguptothrow

herarmsaroundme.Shecouldn'tgoon.

"Congratulations," said eachoftheothers.Synnovesangahymn, Ken read from theBible,andthenitwastimetoheadforhomeagain.

It was a quiet drive. Therewasnoanxietyamongstus;itfelt good just to be withChristians. We all said

goodbye again amid tears,andIwentintomyhouse.

The comfortable mood wasshatteredassoonasIsteppedthrough the door. Thehousekeeperrusheduptome,eyes wide, anxiety in hervoice.

"Oh Begum Sahib, yourfamily has been here askingabout youl They say they

know that you are mixingwithChristiansand...."

I put up my hand. "Nowstop!" I commanded,silencingthechatter."Tellmewhocame."

As the housekeeper recitedthe names of those who hadcometomyhousethatday,anew apprehension filled me.These were the senior

members of my family,uncles,elderlycousins,aunts,people who would come tomyhouseinthismanneronlyon a vitally importantconcern.

Myheartsank.ThatnightIatewithMahmud,tryingnottoshowmyownfears,butjustassoonashewenttobedIretiredtomyownroom.Ilookedoutthefiligreed

window;thesnowhadstoppedfallingandunderthewintermoonIcouldmakeouttheoutlinesofthegardenIloved.AllaroundmeIsensedthecomfortoftheoldhouseIlovedsomuch,mysanctuary,myretreat.

Andnow?WouldIevenbeabletokeepmyhome?Itwasastrangethought,forIhadalwayshadthesecurityof

family,moneyandprestige.YetIfeltwithoutdoubtthatitwasalsoapropheticthought.TheforceswhichIknewtobemarshallingagainstmehadalreadybeguntoexpressthemselvesthroughmyfamily.Muchofmy"power,"muchofmy"security"layinthefamily.Whatwouldhappenifsuddenlytheyallbegan,atonce,toopposeme?

SurelythiswastheveryreasontheLordinsistedthatIhavemybaptismquickly,immediately.Heknewme.HeknewwhereIwasmostvulnerable.

Istoodtherelookingout thewindow. Shadows fromswaying treesplayed throughthefiligree.

"OhLord,"Iprayed,"please

don'tletthemdescendonmeallatonce.Pleaseletthemcomeoneatatime."

No sooner had I breathedthesewordswhentherewasaknock at the door. Thedownstairs maid came in tohand me a package. "Thiswas just delivered for you,"she said. Impatiently I toreoff the wrapping to find aBible. Inscribed on the fly

leaf was: To our dear sisteronherbirthdayItwassigned:"KenandMarieOld."

Iheldittomybreast,thankingGodforsuchgoodfriends.ThenIopeneditandmyeyewasattractedtoapageonwhichthesewordsseemedtostandout:Iwillscatterthemabroad...

At themoment themeaning

ofthesewordswasamysterytome.

Iawakened thenextmorningfull of apprehension. Todaythefamilywouldcomeagain,either en masse or one at atime. Either way I dreadedthe awful confrontation. Idreaded the accusations, theangrywarnings,theluresand

threats which I knew werecoming. Above all, I hatedhurtingthem.

NotquitebelievingthatGodwould answer my request, Ihad Raisham bring out myfinest saris, chose the mostattractive, issuedword to thegate servant that I would behappy to see all visitorstoday, and then went to thedrawingroom.ThereIsaton

one of the white silk chairsand read while Mahmudplayed with his toy cars,weaving them in and out ofthepaisleydesignofthelargePersianrugonthefloor.

Thegiantcarvedclockinthehall struck ten o'clock,eleven, and finally noon.Well, I thought, it looksas iftheyplananafternoonvisit.

Lunch was served and thenwhile Mahmud napped Icontinued waiting. At last atthree o'clock I heard thesound of a car stoppingoutside.Iwassteelingmyselfforbattlewhen thecardroveawaylWhatwashappening?Iaskedthemaidandshesaiditwas just someone making adelivery.

Eveningdarkenedthetall

windowsofthedrawingroomandshadowsgatheredhighontheceiling.Thentherewasaphonecallforme.Iglancedattheclock;itwasseven.Weretheyphoninginsteadofcominginperson?

IpickedupthephonetohearasoftvoiceIrecognizedverywell-MarieOld.Shesoundedquiteworried.Wordofmyconversionwascertainlyout

already,asyesterday'sinvasionofrelativesshowed.Sowhytheconcern?

"Are you all right?" Mariesaid. 'I'vebeenanxiousaboutyou.

IassuredherthatIwasfine.As soon as I hung up thephone, I called formywrapsandaskedthatthecarbesentaround. At this time of the

year, my family did notnormally visit after eighto'clocksoIfeltitwassafetoleave. Odd, how not onerelativehadcalledorvisited.

I wanted reassurance fromone of my Christian family.The Olds? Why had Mariecalled so mysteriously? Idrove to theOlds' house andwas surprised to find itcompletelydark.

And then, quiteunexpectedly, quite abruptly,Iwas alarmed.As I stood atthe gate leading into theiryard I could feel fear settleover me, touching me withclammy cold horror. Darkthoughts came at me fromdark corners of the yard.Surely I had been foolish tocome out alone at night!What was that back in theshadows?Myheartraced.

I turned. Iwas about to runforthecar.

AndthenIstopped.NolThiswasnoway tobeacting. If IwereapartoftheKingdom,Ihad a right to the King'sprotection. Standing there inthe awesome darkness, stillvery much afraid, Ideliberately willed myselfback into the King's hands."Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." I said

over and over again.Incredibly the fear lifted. Assoon as it had come, it wasgone.Iwasfreel

Almost smiling now, Iturned toward the Olds'house. After a few paces, Isaw a crack of light comingbetween two drawn curtainsinthelivingroom.Iknocked.

The door slowly opened. It

wasMarie.Whenshesawmeshe gave a sigh of relief andquickly drew me into thehouseandhuggedme.

"KenlKen!"shecalled.

He was there in a moment."Oh thank God!" heexclaimed. "We were quiteworriedaboutyou."KentoldmethatthePakistaniPadriatmybaptismhadbecomequite

concerned for my safety andhad told them that they hadmadeamistakeinleavingmealone.

"So, that'swhyyouwere soconcerned on the phone,Marie!" I suppressed anervous laugh. "Well, Iexpectthewholecountrywillsoon know about myconversion, but thank youanyhow. So far, nothing has

happened. Even my familydidn't show up and you can'tknow how grateful I am forthatanswertoprayer."

"Let's thank the Lord," Kensaid,andthethreeofusknelttogether in their living roomas Ken thanked God for myprotection and asked Him tocontinuetowatchoverme.

So, I returned home, the

richer for having called onGod'shelpinthefaceoffearby taking advantage of theName of Jesus. My servantssaid there had not been aphone call all that evening.Well, I thought as I preparedfor bed, watch out fortomorrow.

Again, I waited in thedrawing room all day,praying, thinking, studying

the white mosaic floor tilesand the paisley print of thePersianrugs.Therewasnotawordfromanyone.

What was going on? Wasthis some kind of a cat andmousegame?

And then I thought tocheckwiththeservants.InPakistanifyouwanttoknowanything,ask a household servant.

Through an uncannygrapevine, they knoweverythingabouteverybody.

Finally,IpinneddownmyhandmaidNur-jan:"Tellme,whathappenedtomyfamily?"

"Oh Begum Sahib," sheanswered, suppressing anervousgiggle,"thestrangestthing happened. It was as if

everybodywasbusyatonce.Yourbrotherhadtogototheannual Winter CricketTournament."Ismiled;tomybrother, cricket was moreimportant than a sister whowasonherwaytohell."YourUncleFatehhad togooutoftheprovinceona court case;your Aunt Amina needed togo to Lahore; two of yourcousins were called out oftownonbusiness,and..."

I stopped her; she need notgo on any further. The Lordhad said He would scatterthemandscatterthemHedid.I could almost hearmyLordchuckle. Itwasn't, I felt sure,that the concerned membersofmyfamilywouldleavemealone, but now they wouldcomeonebyone.

And so it was. The firstemissary was my Aunt

Amina,aregalwomaninherseventies whose easternbeauty somehow alwayslooked out of place in mydrawing room with itsmodernwesternfurniture.Foryears we had a closerelationshipofloveandtrust.Now as she walked in, hermagnolia complexion waspaler thanusualandhergrayeyes were rimmed withsadness.

We chatted a bit. Finally Icould tell shewas coming tothe real reason for her visit.Clearing her throat, she satback and, trying to soundcasual,asked:"Er...Bilquis...uh...Ihaveheard...thatyouhavebecomeaChristian.Isittrue?"

I.onlysmiledather.

She shifted uneasily in her

chair and continued. "Ithought people werespreading false rumors aboutyou." She hesitated, her softeyesimploringmetosaythatitwasn'ttrue.

"Itisnolie,AuntAmina,"Isaid."IhavemadeacompletecommitmenttoChrist.Ihavebeenbaptized.IamnowaChristian."

She slapped her hands overhercheeks."Oh,whatagreatmistake!" she cried. She satvery still for a moment,unabletoaddanything.Then,slowly gathering her shawlaround her, she stood andwith frozen dignity walkedoutofmyhouse.

I was crushed, but I askedthe Lord to protect her fromthe devastating hurt she was

feeling. I knew I had todiscover His own prayer formy family. Otherwise, Iwould leave a swath ofdamaged loved ones behindme."Lord," I said, "the idealthing of course would be tohave every one of thesepeople come to know You.ButIknowthat if theyaren'tconverted, I know You stilllove them, and right now Iask that You touch each of

thesedearonesofminewithYour special blessing,starting,ifYouwill,withmyAunt Amina. Thank You,Lordl"

Next day I had to say thesameprayer.Thistimeitwasfor Aslam, a dear elderlymalecousinwhocametoseeme.A lawyer,he livedabout45 miles from Wah. As thesonofmyfather'sbrother,he

had inherited many of myfather's characteristics, thesamewarm smile, the gentlesenseofhumor.IwasfondofAslam. From his attitude, Iwas sure that he had notheard the full particulars ofmyproblem.Weexchangedafew pleasantries, and thenAslamsaid:

"Whenisthefamilymeeting?I'llpickyouupand

we'llgotogether."

v I chuckled. "I don't knowwhenthefamilymeetingwillbe,Aslam,butIdoknowthatI'llnotbeinvitedbecausethemeetingisaboutme."

He looked so confused Iknew that I had to explaineverything."Butpleasego tothe meeting, Aslam," I said,when I had finished. "Maybe

you can put in a good wordforme."

I watched him sadly makehis way out of the house; itwasobvious,Ithought,thataclimax was approaching. Ihad better get to Rawalpindiand Lahore as soon aspossible. I didn't want Tooniand my son Khalid to heargarbled stories about me.TherewasnothingIcoulddo

in person about my daughterKhalida, for she lived inAfrica. But I could faceKhalid and Tooni. The verynextdayIsetoff forLahore.Khalidhaddonequitewellinbusiness, and his homereflected it. A lovely townbungalow, it was surroundedby wide verandas and animmaculatelygroomedlawn.

We drove through his gate,

parked by the entrance andwalked up onto the broadveranda. Khalid well alertedby family and by a longphone call from me, hurriedout to greet me. "Mother!How glad I am to see you,"he said, though I sensed hewelcomed me with a littleembarrassment.Wetalkedallthat afternoon about what Ihad done, but in the end Iknew Khalid did not

understandatall.

Next I had to see Tooni. IdrovetoRawalpindiandwentstraight to the hospital. Iasked that Tooni be paged,and as I waited I wonderedhowIshouldgoabouttellingher. Doubtless she had beenhearing stories already. Shecertainlywasaware firsthandthat I had been reading theBible. She may even have

overheard fragments of myconversation with theCatholicnun,Dr.Santiago,inthis same hospital whenMahmud had been admitted.One thing she surely did notknow:howlife-changing thatvisit with Dr. Santiago hadbeen,foritwasthislittlenunwho encouraged me to praytoGodasmyFather.

"Mother!"Ilookeduptosee

Toonihurryingtowardme,herchestnuthairinstarkcontrasttoherwhitestarcheduniform,herfacebeaming,herarmsoutstretched.

Irose,myheartpounding.HowwasIgoingtobreakthenewstoher!Itriedtothinkofgentleways,butthefearofpressurefromTooniwastoomuch.Withoutdaringtobecircumspect,Iblurteditout.

"Tooni,"Isaid,"bepreparedforashock,dear.TwodaysagoIwas...Iwasbaptized."

Tooni froze, her hand halfextended, her sensitive eyesfilling with tears. Sheslumpedonthecouchnexttome. "I thought it would becomingto this,"shesaidinavoiceIcouldhardlyhear.

I tried to comfort her, with

nosuccess. "There'snopointinpretendingtowork,"Toonisaid.Soshegotpermissiontoleave early and together wedrove over to her apartment.Tooni'sphonewasringingasshe unlocked the door; sherushedin,pickedthereceiverup, and turned to me. "It'sNina."Thiswas aniecewhoalso lived in Rawalpindi."She wants to know if it'strue."She turned back to the

phone as Nina had evidentlystarted talking again; evenfrom where I stood I couldhearNina'svoicerising.ThenTooni said softly: "Yes, it'strue Nina. She's done it."Nina must have slammeddown the phone, becauseTooni took the receiver fromher ear, looked at it,shrugged, and slowlyreplaced it on its cradle. Itwould be best to give her

time to collect her thoughts.SoIcollectedmythings.

"Come see me, darling," Isaid,"whenyoufeelyoucan.We'll talk." Tooni made noobjections at all, so withinminutes I was on the GrandTrunk Road headed home.The minute I arrived homemy servants clustered aroundme.Nur-janwaswringingherplump hands and even

Raisham'sfacewaspalerthanusual. The phone had beenringing all day, relatives hadbeen at the gate since earlymorningaskingforme.Evenas the servants chattered, thephone rang again. It wasmysister's husband, Jamil, whoworked with a British oilfirm.IhadalwaysthoughtofJamil as amanof theworld,but now his voice didn'tsoundveryself-assured.

"Bilquis, I have heard thestrangest thing and cannotbelieve it," he said bluntly."A business friend told methatheheardyouhadbecomea Christian. Of course, Ilaughed at him and assuredhimthatcouldneverhappen."

Wordreallywasspreadingrapidly.Isaidnothing.

"Bilquisl"Jamil'svoicewas

insistent."Didyouhearme?"

"Yes."

"Thatstoryisn'ttrueisit?"

"Yes."

There was another silence.Then: "Well, that's nice,"Jamil snapped. "You've justlostmorethanyoucanknow.And for what? For just

another religious viewpoint.That'swhat."Hehungup.

Intenminutes'fooniwasonthephonesobbing."Mama,UncleNawazjustcalledtosaythatnowMahmud'sfatherwillbeabletogethimback.Nawazsaysnocourtwillallowyoutokeephiml"

Itriedtocomfortherbutshehungupsobbing.

Late that evening whileMahmudandIweredininginmy bedroom, Tooni and twoof my nieces came to thehouse. Iwas startledby theirashenfaces.

"Please sit down and joinme," I said. "I'll have theservantsbringyourmealup."

Tooni andmy nieces justpicked at their food. I was

happy to see the two younggirls, but it was clear theyweren'thappytoseeme.TheconversationwastriteandallthreewomenkeptglancingatMahmudandmakingobliquesuggestions that he go awayto play. It was only after hefinally did leave that one ofthe nieces leaned forwardanxiously.

"Auntie,doyourealizewhat

thismeansforotherpeople?"She broke into tears. "Haveyou thought of anybodyelse?" Her question wasechoed in the brown eyes ofmy other niece who satsilentlyacrossfromme.

I reached across the tableand took thegirl'sslimhand."Mydear,"Isaidsorrowfully."ThereisnothingIcandobuttobeobedient."

Tooni now looked at methroughtearfuleyesand,asifshe had not heard a word Isaid, begged me. "Mother,pack up and leave. Leavewhilethere'ssomething...orsomeone...toleavewith."

Her voice rose. "Do youknow what people aresaying? You'll be attacked.Your own brother may becompelled to take action

against you!" And then shebroke down sobbing. "Myfriends say you'll bemurdered,Mommy!"

"I'msorry,Tooni,butI'mnotgoing to run away," Ianswered gently. "If I leavenow I'll be running for therest of my life."Determinationrosewithinmeas I spoke. "If He wishes,God can easily take care of

meinmyownhouse.Andnoone,noone,"Isaid,"isgoingto push me out." I sat up inmy chair, suddenly feelingvery dramatic. "Let themcomeandattack!"

And then, as I sat therefeeling so fiercely sure ofmyself, something happened.The warm personal Presenceof God was gone. I sat,almost in panic, oblivious to

the voices rising around me.ButjustassuddenlyIrealizedwhat had happened. The oldme, full of pride andstubbornness,hadtakenover.I was deciding what wouldhappen, that no one wouldpushmeoutofmyhome.

I sank back in my chair,barely aware that Tooni wasspeakingtome.

"...allright, then,Mommy,"Tooni cried. "So you'vebecomeaChristian.Mustyoubecome a Christian martyralso?"Sheknelt bymychairand laid her head on myshoulder. "Don't you realizethatweloveyou?"

"Ofcourse,dear,ofcourse,"I murmured, stroking herhair. Silently I asked Hisforgiveness for being so

headstrong. Wherever Hewanted me to go was fine,even if it meant leaving myhouse. As I said this in myheart I once again felt thePresence of the Father. Thewhole exchange had takenbut a few minutes, but evenas the threewomensitting infrontofmecontinuedtalking,I was aware that life wasgoingonatanotherleveltoo.The Lord was right then, at

that moment, working withme, teaching me. He was inthe very process of showingme how to stay in HisPresence.

"... so we will, then? Allright?" It was Tooni's voiceand I had no idea what shewas asking me to agree to.Fortunately she went on. "IfMahmud's father comes afterhim,youcanletmetakehim.

Ihaven'tbecomeaChristian,"sheaddedpointedly.

Eventually the three girlsquieteddown.Iaskedthemifthey wouldn't like to spendthenightandtheyagreed.AsI bid Tooni and my niecesgoodnight,I thoughthowourroles had changed. Once Iwassoprotectiveandworriedover them; now we wereequally worried for each

other. That night I prayed:"Lord, it's so difficult to talktoapersonwhodoesn'thavefaith inYou. Please helpmyfamily.I'msoworriedforthewelfareofmylovedones."

AsI drifted off to sleep, Iagainseemedtohaveleftmybody as if floating. I foundmyself standing on a grassyslope surrounded by pinetrees. A spring bubbled near

me. All about me wereangels, so many that theyseemedtoformahazymist.Ikepthearingonename,"SaintMichael!". The angels gaveme courage. And then I wasbackinbed.Igotupand,stillsensingthisspiritualstrength,went to Mahmud's room. Ipointedtohiminhisbedandthen went to my daughter'sandnieces'roomsanddidthesame. I went back to my

bedroomandgotdownonmyknees."Lord,"Iprayed,"Youhave shown me so manyanswers, now show me, Ipray, what You are going todo with Mahmud. I wouldlike to give Tooni someassurance."

IfelturgedtoopenmyBibleand this passage leaped upfrom the page: Genesis22:12-"Lay not thine hand

upon the lad, neither do thouanythinguntohim...."

"Oh, thank You Father," Isighed.

At breakfast I was able toassure Tooni. "Darling,nothingisgoingtohappentoyour son; you never needworry." I showed her theScripture given to me.Whether my faith was

contagious or Tooni wastouchedby theHolySpirit, Idon't know.But her face didrelax and she smiled for thefirsttimeintwodays.

Mydaughterand'niecesleftmyhouseonasomewhatlesssombernotethatday.Buttheflowofotherrelativesandfriendscontinued.

A few days later Raisham

announced that there wereseven people, all very dearconcerned friends downstairswanting to see me. I didn'twant to face them withoutMahmud. The boy shouldknow everything that wasgoingon.SoIfoundhimandtogether we went downstairsto the drawing room. Therethey sat in straight-backedformalityfarforwardontheirchairs.Aftertheteaandcakes

and small talk, one of thosepresent cleared his throat. Isteeled myself for what Iknewwascoming.

"Bilquis," said a friend I'dknown since childhood, "welove you and we have beenthinking over this thing youhave done and we have asuggestion which we thinkwillbeofhelptoyou."

"Yes?"

Heleanedforwardandsmiled.

Don'tdeclareyourChristianitypublicly."

"Youmeankeepmyfaithasecret?"

"Well..."

"Ican't,"Isaid."Ican'tplay

games with God. If I mustdie,Idie."

Allsevenofthemseemedtoedge closer to me. An oldfriend ofmy father glared atme.Iwasabouttoglarebackbut caught myself. Theythought they hadmywelfareatheart.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I justcan't do what you ask." I

explained that my faith hadquickly, in littlemore than amonth, become the mostimportant thing inmy life."Icannotkeepquietabout it," Isaid. I quoted them theScripture where the Lordsays: "Every man whopublicly acknowledges me Ishall acknowledge in thepresence of my Father inHeaven, but the man whodisowns me before men I

shall disown before myFather in Heaven" (Matthew10:32,33).

"But," said another elderlygentleman,"youareinaverypeculiar situation. I'm sureyour God wouldn't mind ifyoukeptquiet.Heknowsyoubelieve in Him. That'senough." He quoted theKoran law on apostasy."We're afraid," he said, "that

someonewillkillyou."

Ismiledbutnooneelsewassmiling.Itwasapointlessdiscussion,astheysaw.WhentheyrosetogoIwasgivenmyultimatum.

"Remember, Bilquis, if yougetintotrouble,noneofyourfriendsorfamilycanstandbyyou. The ones who care themost will have to turn their

backsonyou."

I nodded. I well understoodtheir words. I wished nowthatIhadsentMahmudouttoplay in the garden so that hewould have heard none ofthis. When I looked at him,though, sitting on his littlechair beside me, he justsmiled. "It's all right," heseemedtobesaying.

Therewerenear tearsas thegroup prepared to leave. Aclose friend of my motherkissed me. "Goodbye," shesaid. She repeated the wordwith a strange emphasis.Then she broke into tears,pulled herself away andhurriedoutthedoor.

The house seemed like atomb after they left. EvenMahmud's usual noisy play

wassubdued.

Three weeks passed whenthe only sound in my housewas the hushed voices ofservants. If it weren't for theMitchells and the Olds andfor our regular Sundayeveningmeetings,Iwonderifthefreeze-outmightnothaveworked.

Each day the family battle

linewas seenmore clearly. Isawitintheangeronthefaceof a cousin I met in thebazaar.Ifeltitinthescornfulglance of a nephew I passedonthestreetinRawalpindi.Itwasthereinthecoldvoiceofanauntwhocalledtosaythatshewouldn'tkeepaluncheonappointment.Theboycotthadbegun. My phone remainedsilent, and no one pulled thebellcordatmygate.Notone

memberofthefamilycametocall, even to scold. I could,not help but recall a versefromtheKoran(Sura74-20):If you renounced the faith,you would surely do evil inthelandandviolatethetiesofblood. Such are those onwhom Allah has laid Hiscurse leaving them bereft ofsightandhearing.

In a very real way this was

happening. Ihadviolated theties of blood and Iundoubtedlywouldnotseeorhear from my familyanymore.

'Thenormalchatterandlaughteroftheservantshadquietedastheyslippedinandoutofmyrooms.Icouldhardlygetthemtotalktomebeyondtheusual,"Yes,BegumSahib."

And then one morning theboycott took a strange turn.Therewasa soft clickofmydoor and I turned to seeNurjan quietly enter toministermytoilette.Itwassounlike her usual exuberance.Raisham stepped in evenmore solemn than usual. Astheyproceeded to their tasks,theydidnot speakand Iwasbotheredby thehaunted lookonbothoftheirfaces.

I waited for some word butNur-jan continued her taskssilently, without the usualgossip or chatter. Raisham'sfacewasgraven.Finally,witha little of the old fire in myvoice,Isaid:

"All right, I can tellsomething iswrong. Tellmeaboutit."Thebrushinghaltedas I heard the news. Exceptfor Raisham, standing before

me now, all of my Christianservants, including Manzur,had fled my house in themiddleofthenight.

What did it mean, thisdefection? Four servantsquittingl In a town likeWahwhere any job was hard tocomeby,theirdecisionswerehardtounderstand.

It was fear of course.Manzurwas afraid because Iasked him to getme a Bibleand had him driveme to thehome of missionaries. Theother threeChristian servantsmust have picked up hisconcern. They must haveheard the rumblings of avolcano which would soonerupt and didn't want to becaughtintheoverflow.

But what about Raisham,this Christian servant whonow began to brush my hairagain? I could feel hergracefulhandstrembleasshestartedherwork.

"Andyou?"Iasked.

Shebitherlipasshecontinuedherbrushing."Iprobablyshouldn'tstay,"shesaidsoftly."It'sgoingtobe

..."

"Very lonely," I concludedherstatement.

"Yes,"shesaid,swallowing,"and..:'

"And you're afraid. Well, ifyou left,Raisham, Iwouldn'tblameyou.Youhavetomakeup your own mind, just as Idid. If you do stay though,

remember that Jesus told uswe would be persecuted forHissake."

Raisham nodded, her darkeyesmoist.Shetookahairpinout of her mouth andproceeded to do up my hair."Iknow,"shesaidsadly.

Raisham was quiet the restof the day. Her concernaffected Nur-jan who was

approaching quiet hysteria.The next morning when Iawakened I could hardlybringmyself to ring the littlebell.Whowould bewithmenow? My bedroom dooropened slowly and Nur-jancame in. Then, in the neardarkness of winter's earlyhours another form followed.ItwasRaishaml

Later,ItoldherhowmuchI

appreciated her staying. Sheblushed. "Begum Sahib Gi,"she answered softly, addingthe affectionate thirdsalutationwhichmeans,Mayyou have long life, "as youservetheLord,soIwillserveyou."

WiththerestofmyChristianservants gone, my housebecame even quieter, partlybecause I did not replace

them all. My needs weresimpler now that no familycame by. I decided not torehireChristiansforawhile.Ifound a new chauffeur, aMuslim named Fazad and anewMuslimcook's assistant,butIhirednooneelse.Iwasespecially glad for Mahmudwho continued to playhappily in the house orgarden. I encouraged him toinvite friends over from the

village, which suggestionMahmud accepted quickly.Most of the children wereslightly older, five or six,whileMahmudwasstillonlyfive. But Mahmudneverthelesswastheirnaturalleader; I didn't think it wassimplythathewastheirhost,rather that seven hundredyearsofleadershipwasinthechild's genes and could nomorebedeniedthancouldhis

limpidbrowneyes.

How much of this heritagewas I putting in jeopardy?How much of the boy'srightful family ties was Ithreatening?Justyesterdayhehad asked again when hiscousin Karim was going totake him fishing. Karim hadpromised to teach Mahmudthemysteries of catching thetrout that slipped among the

mossy rocks of our gardenstream which joined theTahmraRiver.

"Muml"Mahmudhadasked."When is Karim going tocome?"

I looked down at the boywhoseeyeswereshining,andI just didn't have theheart totellhimthathis fishingpartywould never take place.

MahmudcouldnothavebeenverydrawntoChristianitysofar. I read him Bible storieswhichhelovedsomuchthatImovedhisbedtimefrom8:00to 7:30 so we could haveplenty of time for them. Butwhat were a few storiescomparedwith a fishing trip.And friends. For bit by bitMahmud's friends began tostop coming over. Mahmudcouldn't understand this, and

when I tried to explain it tohim he looked at me inpuzzlement.

"Mum," he said, "who doyoulovebetter,meorJesus?"

What should I saylEspeciallyrightnowwhenhewaslonely."Godhastocomefirst, Mahmud." I said,paraphrasing the Lord'swarning that unless we put

family afterHim,we are nottruly His own. "We have toput God first," I said, "evenbefore the people we lovemostintheworld."

Mahmud seemed to acceptthis. He seemed to belisteningwhenIreadhimtheBible.Once, after I had readtohim,"Comeuntomeallyewho are heavy laden and Iwillgiveyourest,"Iheardhis

nap-timepleas:"Jesus,I loveYou and I will come untoYou,but...pleasedon'tgiveme rest. I don't like resting."Hewouldevenfoldhishandsand pray, but I knew that itwashardonhimbeingaloneandseeingmealone.Notonerelative, friend oracquaintanceturnedoffoftheGrandTrunkRoad anymoretoward my house; never didthephonering.

Then at 3:00 one morningmy white bedside phone didclamor. I reached toward theinstrument, my heartpounding.Noonewouldcallat this hour unless there hadbeen a death in the family. Ipicked up the phone and atfirst heard only heavybreathing. Then three wordswere thrown at me likestones:

"Infidel.Infidel.Infidel."

The phone went dead. I laybackonmybed.Whowasit?Oneofthefanaticsmyunclesconstantlywarnedme about?Whatmighttheydo?

"Oh Lord, You know that Idon'tminddying.But I'manawful coward. I cannot standpain. You know how I faintwhen the doctor gives me a

needle.Oh, I pray that Iwillbe able to bear pain if itcomes."Tearsfilledmyeyes."Iguess I'm notmade of thestuff of martyrs, Lord. I'msorry. Just let me walk withYou throughwhatevercomesnext."

What did come next was athreatening, anonymousletter."Let'sbeclear.Thereisonly one word to describe

you.Traitor."Thentherewasanotherletterandshortlystillanother. They all containedwarnings. I was a turncoatand I would be treated assuch.

Late one afternoon in theearly summer of 1967, aboutsix months after myconversion, I stood in mygarden with the crumpledremains of one such letter in

my fist. It was particularlyvitriolic, calling me worsethan an infidel, a seducer ofthe faithful. True believers,thelettersaid,hadtoburnmeoutlikegangrenewasburnedoutofahealthylimb.

Burnmeout?Wasthismorethan just a figure? I walkedfurther into the garden,aroundwhichglowedbedsoftulips, hyacinth and alyssum.

Spring had blossomed intosummer. Quinces flourishedin thegarden, and the lastofthe white petals were fallingfrom the pear trees. I turnedandlookedbackatmyhouse."They wouldn't touch myhouse!"Iexclaimedinwardly.They wouldn't burn out aBegumlBut, as if to confirmthat I could no longer counton the protection of positionand wealth, a caller came to

pay me a visit. He wasannouncedbyaservant.

"GeneralAmar iswaiting toseeyou,Begum,"shesaid.

My heart jumped. I lookedthrough the garden gate andsure enough, there stood afamiliar olive drab commandcar.GeneralAmarwasadearold friend from my Armydays.DuringWorldWarII,I

hadbeenassociatedwithhimandnowhewasatopgeneralin the Pakistani Army. Wehad kept in touch with eachother through the years,particularly when myhusband was Minister of theInterior and worked closelywith him. Was he, too,comingtocondemnme?

Soon I could hear hisfootsteps crunching on the

pathway of the garden as hestrodetomeetme,allspitandpolish in a natty khakiuniform,jodhpursandleatherboots. He took my hand,leanedoverandkissedit.Myapprehension lessened;evidently he was not on amissionofbattle.

He looked at me, his darkeyesglintinghumorously.Asalways the General came

right to the point. "Is it truewhatpeoplearesaying?"

"Yes,"Isaid.

"Whatmadeyoudothis?"heexclaimed. "You've putyourself in a very dangeroussituation) I've heard rumorsthatsomepeoplewant tokillyou)"

Ilookedathimsilently.

"Allright,"headdedashesatdownonagardenbench,hisleatherbeltcreaking."YouknowI'mlikeabrothertoyou?"

"Ihopeso."

"And,asabrother,Ifeelfondlyprotectivetowardyou?"

"Ihopeso."

"Then,rememberthatmyhomeisalwaysopentoyou."

Ismiled.Thiswasthefirstkindthinganyonehadsaidtome.

"But,"thegeneralwentontosay, "there is something youshould know. That offer is apersonal one." He reachedovertoablossom,pulledittohim and sniffed it, then

turned back to me, adding,"Officially, therewouldn't bemuchIcoulddo,Bilquis."

"I know." I took theGeneral's hand, we got uptogether, strolled onto theterrace and inside the house.As we walked I told himthingshadnotbeeneasy.

"And they won't get easier,my dear," my friend said in

hismatterof factway.Later,after I hadordered tea in thedrawing room,heaskedwitha quizzical smile: "Tell me,Bilquis,whydidyoudoit?"

Iexplained what hadhappened and found thatGeneral Amar was listeningcarefully.Howextraordinary)HereIwas,without realizingit, doing what themissionaries called

witnessing. I was speakingaboutChristtoaMuslim,andahighofficialatthat.Andhewas listening) I doubt that Ireally reached General Amarthatafternoonbuthewasinareflective mood half an hourlaterwhenhebidmegoodbyeinthesummertwilight,againpressinghislipstomyhand.

"Remember, Bilquis," hesaid huskily, "anytime you

needmyhelp . . . anything Icandoasafriend..:'

"Thankyou,Amar,"Isaid.

He turned, his boot heelsclicked down the hallwaytiles and out into the earlyevening darkness to hiswaiting command car. Andour solitary, strangely sad,visit was over. "I wonder ifI'll ever see him again," I

thought.

Forthefirst timeduringthisboycott, during theanonymous letters and phonecalls, during the warnings ofold friends, I was learningwhatitwastolivefromhourtohour.Itwastheoppositeofworrying. It was waiting tosee what He was going toallow. For I was convincedthatnothingoccurredwithout

His permission. I knew, forinstance,thatpressureagainstme must become moreintense. If that did happen,then Hewould have allowedit and Imust learn to searchforHisPresence in themidstof seeming disaster. I wouldjustlivehourtohour,stayingnear Him. Yes, that was mykey. Learn to keep Hiscompany, so that whateverhappened, whenever it

happened, Iwould still be inHisglory.

With the increasing familypressure, I thought I knewhow King David felt when,fleeing from his son,Absalom, he picked up hislyre and sang: "But thou, 0Lord,artashield forme;myglory ..." (Psalms 3:3). Theglorywhich, Iunderstand,heconsidered the unspeakable

blessedness, joy, and felicityofthesaintsinheaven.

Forthemomentthepressurefrommyfamilywas,still,theboycott.Notonememberofthefamilycametocall,eventoscold.Withrareexceptionsnoneofmyoldfriendscalledeither.Thesneersinthemarketplacecontinued.Sodidthecalculatedexclusionfromgreatmomentsinthe

family:births,deaths,weddings.WheneverIallowedmyselftodwellonthelonelinessthiscaused,I'dfeeltheglorybegintofade,andimmediatelyI'dturnmythoughtsbyasheeractofwilltothetimesJesustoohadfeltlonely.

Ithelped.ButIfound,alittleto my surprise, that Idesperately needed simple

companionship. I who hadbeen so aloof was now inneed of closeness. Not eventhe Olds and the Mitchellscame to the house anymore.For their own protection Iadvisedthemnottovisitme.

One gray afternoon Iretreated to my bedroom toread the Bible. It wasunusually cold for earlysummer.Asharpwindrattled

mywindows. As I started toread, I felt a warmth on myhandandlookeddowntoseeapatchofsunlightrestingonmyarm. Iglancedoutof thewindowjustintimetoseethesun disappear again behindthe clouds. For just oneminute, it seemed He hadreached down and touchedmyhandforcomfort.

Ilookedup,"OhmyLord,"I

said. "I am so lonely; evenmycheeksfeeldriedupfromlack of talking. Please sendsomeonetotalktotoday."

Feeling somewhat foolishforaskingforsuchachildlikething,IreturnedtomyBible.After all, I hadHis companyand that should be enough.But in a little while I wasstartled tohearanoddsoundinthehouse,oddsinceithad

been absent so long. Therewerevoicesdownstairs.

IthrewonmyrobeandflewoutintothehalltomeetNur-jan running towardmy roomout of breath. "Oh, BegumSahib," she squealed, "theOldsarehere."

"PraiseGod,"Iexclaimedandhurriedtomeetthem.OfcourseIsawKenandMarie

atourSundayservicesintheirhouse,butthiswasdifferent,amidweekcall.Marierushedtome,takingmyhand."Wejusthadtoseeyou,Bilquis,"shesaid,herblueeyessparkling."Fornoreasonatallexcept-welovebeingwithyou."

Whatavisitthatwas.IrealizedaswetalkedthatIhadbeenmakingamistake

notaskingpeopleovertovisitme.Pridehadkeptmefromadmittingtheneed.SuddenlyIhadaninspiration.WhynotinvitepeopletomyhouseonSundayforthemeetings?Butwouldn'tthisbeheapinggunpowderontheflames?Itriedtoquenchthethoughtbutitwouldnotgoaway.JustasmyfriendswereabouttoleaveIsaid,quickly:

"Would you like to comeherethisSundaynight?"

TheOlds lookedatmeabitshocked.

"Imeanit,"Isaid,extendingmyhandssideways."Thisoldhouseneedssomelife."

Andsoitwasdecided.

ThateveningasIpreparedtoretire, I thought how

wonderfully the Lordprovides for us. When myfamilyandfriendsweretakenfrom me, He replaced themwith His own family andfriends.Isleptpeacefullyandawakened to the feel of awarm sun streaming throughmy window. I got up andopened thewindow, revelingin the softbreeze thatdriftedin.InitsearthygardenaromaIcouldsmellthewarmbreath

ofthefullsummernowuponus.

I couldn't wait for Sundayeveningtocome.BySaturdayafternoon that old housewasfilled with flowers; everyfloor, every window wasscrubbed until it shown. Ihinted to Raisham that shemight like to join us but shebecame a bit flustered; shewasnotreadyforsuchabold

stepyetandIdidn'tpress.

SundaycreptbywhileIkeptMahmud out of the drawingroom, straightened thePersian carpet, constantlyrearranged the flowers, andfound a speck of dust hereand there to wipe away. Butat last I heard the gate openandcarscrunchupthedrive.

The eveningwas everything

I had hoped for, with songand prayer and telling eachother what the Lord wasdoing.Just twelveofus,plusMahmud, sitting aroundcomfortably in the drawingroom, but I'd have swornthere were a thousand othergueststoo,unseen,welcome.

The evening had anotherpeculiar purpose too, one Ihadnotforeseen.Itturnedout

that my Christian friendswere still quite worried forme.

"Are you being extracareful?" It was Marietalking.

"Well,"Ilaughed,"thereisnotmuchIcando.Ifsomeonewantstoharmme,I'msurehe'llfindaway."

Ken looked around thedrawing room and out thelarge glass doors into thegarden. "You really don'thave much protection here,"he said. "I hadn't quiterealized how vulnerable youare."

"Howaboutyourbedroom?"askedSynnove.Everyonefeltitwisetolookovermyroom,sowealltroopedup.Kenwas

particularlyconcernedbythewindows,lookingoutonthegarden;theywereprotectedonlybyaglasspaneandfiligreescreen.

Heshookhishead."Itreallyisn't safe, you know. Youshoulddosomethingaboutit,Bilquis; have some kind ofheavy metal grill installed.Anyone could get throughthis."

I said I would see to it thenextday.

Was it my imagination ordidHisgloryfadejustalittleasImadethe'promise?

EventuallywesaidgoodbyeandIretiredhappierthanIhadbeeninalongtime.Thenextday,however,asIwasabouttosendfortheironworkerinthevillage,I

wasonceagainawareofthequicklyrecedinggloryoftheLord.Why?WasitbecauseIwasabouttotakeanactionthatwasbasedonfear?ItcertainlydidseemthateverytimeIstartedtocalltheironworkermyactionwasstopped.

And then I realized why.When word got around thevillage that Iwas havingmy

window barred, everyonewould realize that I wasfearful. I could just hear thegossip. "Hal What kind ofreligion is Christianity,anyway.WhenyoubecomeaChristian you becomefearful?" No. I decided, Iwould not have the windowbarred.

That night I went to bedconfidentthatIhadmadethe

rightdecision.Ifellasleepatonce but suddenly I wasawakened by a sound. I satup, startled, butwithout fear.Before me appeared abreathtakingsight.

Through the walls of myroom,inasupernaturalway,Icouldseemywholegarden.Itwas floodedwith a heavenlywhitelight.Icouldseeeveryrose petal, every tree leaf,

every blade of grass, everythorn. And over the gardenhung a calm serenity. In myheart I heard my Fathersaying, "You did the rightthing, Bilquis. I am withyou."

Slowly the light faded andthe room was dark again. Iswitched on my bedsidelamp, lifted my arms andpraisedGod."OhFather,how

canIthankYouenough?Youhave so much concern foreachofus."

ThenextmorningIcalledallof my servants together andtold them that they couldsleep in their own homesfromnowon if theychose todo so. Only Mahmud and Iwouldsleepinthebighouse.The servants exchangedglances, some in surprise,

some in joy, one or two inalarm. But I knew one thingat least had beenaccomplished. The decisionput an end to any thought ofprotecting myself. And withthe decision the glory cameback and stayed for a longertime than usual. Perhaps thiswas necessary for the nextturnofevents.

OnemorningwhenRaisham

was brushing my hair sheremarked casually: "I hearthat your Aunt's son, Karim,hasdied."

I shot out of my chair andlooked at her incredulously."No," I gasped. Not Karim,who was supposed to takeMahmudfishing!Hewasoneof my favorites! What hadhappened?WhydidIhavetofind out about even Karim's

death through the servants!With steely willpower I gotcontrol of myself and forcedmybodyback down into thechair so that Raisham couldgoonwithherwork.Butmymindracedon.Thiscouldbejust a rumor, I thought.Raishamcouldhavemistakenthe name. My heart rose alittle.Later,Iaskedanelderlymember of the staff to findout for me what had really

happened. She went into thevillage and in an hourreturned,downcast.

"I am sorry, Begum Sahib,"she said. "But it is true. Hedied last night from a heartattack and the funeral istoday."

Then,thisservantwhohadafacility for learningeverything, gave me news

thathurtevenmore.Myaunt,theservant toldme,knowinghow much I loved her son,had specifically asked myfamily to "be sure and tellBilquis that my boy hasdied." No one followed herwishes.

Later I sat at my windowpondering it all. I had beenexcluded from family eventsforsixmonths,butneverhad

theboycotthurtasitdidnow.

As I sat rocking softly Ibegan to pray for His helpand, as always, the helpcame.Thistimeitwasasifawarm cloak were placedgently onmy shoulders.Andwith that sensation came anunusual plan of action. Theveryideashockedme. Itwasso bold I knew itmust be oftheLord.

As I sat at the windowoverlooking my garden,where Karim and I hadplayed as children, a strongmonsoon wind blowing upfrom India bent the tops ofthetrees.InitIseemedtobecatching an extraordinary

message which I could notbelieve I was correctlyhearing.

"You can't really be tellingmethatLord,"Isaidsmiling."I'mjusthearingvoices!Youdon'twantmetogotoKarims funeral. It would beunseemly.Itwouldbeinpoortaste. I would end upoffending people who are inmourning."

Even as I objected, Irecognized once again thesense of His Presencebeginning to fade.Immediately,withthissign, Ibegan towonder if perhaps Ireally were being told to dothisextraordinarything,togostraight into the face of thehostilitiesoftheboycott.

Finally, breathing a deepsigh, Igotup frommyplace

at thewindow, shrugged andsaid aloud, "I'mbeginning tolearn, Lord.My sense of theright thing to do is nothingcomparedwithYourslI'llgo,since You are telling me togo."

And,of course, the senseofHis Presence returned. Whatan extraordinary series ofexperiences I was havingwiththiscomingandgoingof

His glory. Still, I had thefeeling that Iwas just on theverge of understanding whatthis was all about. Howwould I be able to learn tostay in His Presence for anever increasingpercentageoftime? I did not realize thatover the next two months Iwas to have a series ofexperienceswhichwouldtakeme a step further in thislearningprocess.

I stood in the cobblestonelane in front of Karim'shouse, hesitating. In spite ofmypromise toobey, I feltasif I were a lonesome dovebeing thrown to a thousandcobras.Taking a deep breathI headed toward the stonehouse which stood amongothers like it. I walked intothe courtyard and steppedonto the veranda, subject tothe stares of the village

people who were sittingaround quietly. Iwent insidethe old-fashioned house withits carved ceilings and whiteplastered walls where Karimand I had so often laughed,playedandrompedtogether.

Therewas no laughter now.On top of the gloom of thefamily in mourning wasadded the chill of a score ofcontemptuous glances

directed my way. I lookedtowardacousinwithwhomIhadbeenveryclose.Oureyesmet for a minute; my cousinquickly turned her head andbegan talking with aneighbor.

NowsquaringmyshouldersIsteppedintothelivingroomofKarim'shouse,thensatdownononeofthethickcottonmattresseswhichhad

beenplacedonthefloorsurroundedbybolstersandcushionstoleanon.Ismoothedthesariaroundmylegs.Suddenlypeopleseemedtowakeup,realizingwhoIwas.Thequietsoothingconversationthathadfilledtheroomsuddenlyhalted.Eventhewomensayingtheirbeads,eachbeadsignifyingaprayertoAllah,ceasedandlookedup.Theroom,which

hadbeenhotwiththeearlysummerheatandwiththescoresofbodiespackedshouldertoshoulder,suddenlyseemedchilled.

I said nothing, made noattempttobesociable,simplylowered my own eyes andsaid my own prayers. "LordJesus," I whispered to myheart, "do be with me as IrepresentYoutothisgroupof

dearfriendsandrelativeswhoare so saddened by Karim'sdeath."

After fifteen minutes thequiet flow of conversationbegan again. It was time topay my respects to Karim'swife.Holdingmyheadhigh,Iarose from the mattress andstepped into the adjoiningroomwhereKarim'sbodylayin its tall, deep coffin,

structured according to theMuslim belief that a deadpersonmustbeable to situpwhen the angels came toquestionhimbeforeheentersheaven. I gave mycondolences toKarim'swife,then looked at the quiet faceof my dear cousin shroudedinthenewwhitecottonburialclothandwhisperedtomyselfa prayer to Jesus for thisman's spirit. Oh, how I

wishedIhadbeenabletotalktohimbeforehedied.

A low humming filled theroom as close familymembers prayed for Karim.The ladies stood and readversesfromtheKoran.Itwasall part of the life and deathrhythmwhichIknewsowell.I was turning my back on itall.Beforesunsettoday,therewould be a procession to the

cemetery with all of thefamily following the bier.Atthegraveside thepallbearerswouldplacethecoffinontheground and the priest wouldcall out, God is most great.Lord, this isThy servant, theson of Thy servant. He usedtotestifythatthereisnoGodbut Thee, and thatMuhammad is Thy servantandThymessenger...

As I stood listening to thesoft moaning in the room, IsawKarim'smother kneelingat the bier. She lcoked soforlorn, I suddenly felt anoverwhelming urge to go toherside.DidIdare?Woulditbe an affront? Should I sayanything to her about Jesus?Probably not. Just my beingthere as a Christian wasbringingJesustohersideinacaringway.

SoIsteppedovertoKarim'smotherandputmyarmsaroundher,tellingherinasoftcrooningvoicehowsorryIwas."KarimandIweresoclose.MayGodblessyouandcomfortyou."Karim'smotherturnedherfacetome.Herdarktear-filledeyesthankedmeandIknewthatJesuswaseventhencomfortinghersorrow-filledheart.

ButKarim'smotherwas theonly one in the room whoseemed to acceptwhat Iwasdoing. As I left her andreturned to sit down amongthe mourners, one malecousin-acloseone too-madequite a show of rising to hisfeet and shuffling out of theroom. Another cousinfollowed.Andthenanother.

I sat there struggling with

the emotions of my ownsorrow for Karim and hisfamily on the one hand andwiththisdeepembarrassmenton the other. My heartpounded. The hostility wasreaching through myprotection. It was all I coulddo to keep seated for theappropriate amount of timeuntil I could stand,makemygoodbyesandwalkoutoftheroom. Finally when I did

leave I felt every eye in thehouseholdstaringatme.

InmycarIsatforamomentatthewheel,tryingtocollectmyself.Ihadobeyed,but thecost was high. Certainly Iwould prefer to haveremainedathomeratherthanwalk right straight into themawofthisopenanger.

If I thought Iwouldhave to

walkthroughthisvalleyonlyonce I was wrong. A fewweeks later, just asmidsummer's heat wasbeginning to settle over ourdistrict, another cousin died.Again, I heard of his deaththrough my household.Again, obeying the Lord'sdirection, I found myselfreluctantly walking into aroomfullofmourners, to thechilly discord of hate. As an

act of will I focused myconcern away from myselfand toward the one personthere who was reallybereaved,mycousin'swidow.Shehadachildjustgoingonfive, the same age asMahmud. She looked soforlorn standingbyherself atthecoffin that Iwept for herandforherhusband.

And then just as I had done

at Karim's funeral, I foundmyself being propelledtowardthisdesperatewoman.As I approached our eyesmet, and I saw hesitationcross her tear-stained face.Then, with a look of suddendetermina tion, knowinglygoing against the will of herfamily,sheextendedherhandto me. As I held her brownandshakinghand inmyownI wept in silence. We

exchanged only one or twowords, but my heart waspraying fervently that theHoly Spirit would reach intoher bereavement and keepHis promise, even to thisMuslim dear one, "Blessedaretheywhomourn."

"Thank you, Bilquis, thankyou," the widow said in awhisperasatlastshereleasedmyhand.Iembracedherand

walkedoutoftheroom.

Oddly, therewere twomorefunerals in quick succession.This was quite unusual evenfor a family of our size. Butin each case I was told veryclearly,verydistinctly,bytheLord to get out of my safelittle house and go into theplacewhere I was needed. Iwas not to do too muchtalking.Iwastoletmycaring

presencebeitsownwitness.

And all the while the Lordwasworkingwithme.Hehadsomuchtoteachme,andHewas using these funerals asHisclassroom.

It was during one of thesevisits toa family funeral thatI discovered the next greatsecret of staying in HisPresence.

At aMuslim funeral no onecooksoreatsuntilthebodyisburied. This usually amountstoaday'sfastingandisreallynot an ordeal. However, thatday, as I sat isolated in thecrowded room, I suddenlyfoundthatIwantedmyusualafternoon tea. It wassomething, I said to myself,which I simply could not dowithout.

Finally,unabletocontrolmydesire, I stood and mumbledan excuse. I had towashmyhands,Isaid.Islippedoutofthehouseanddownthestreetto a small cafe. There I hadmyprecious teaand returnedtothemourners.

ImmediatelyIfeltastrangealoneness,asifafriendhadleftmyside.OfcourseIknewwhatitwas.The

comfortingPresenceofHisSpirithadleftme.

"Lord," I said to myself,"whathaveIdone?"

AndthenIknew.Ihadtoldalie when I was excusingmyself.

"But itwasonlyawhite lie,Lord," I said. I sensed nocomforting from the Spirit.

Justadeadness.

"But Lord," I pressed, "Idon't have to follow thoseMuslim mourning practicesanymore.Andbesides,Ijustcan'tdowithoutmy tea.Youknowthat."

NosenseofHisSpirit.

"ButFather,"Ipressedon,"Icouldn'ttellthemthatIwent

outforteaandcake.Thatwouldhavehurtthem."

NoSpirit.

"All right,Father," Isaid."Iunderstand. Itwaswrong forme to lie. I realize that Iwasseeking the approval of menand that Imust live only forYour approval. I am trulysorry,Lord.IhurtYou.WithYour help I will not do that

again."

And with those words Hiscomforting Presence floodedmeagain, like rain fallingona parched lake bed. I wasrelaxed. I knew that He waswithme.

And thatwas how I learnedto move back into HisPresencequickly.WheneverIdid not feel His nearness, I

knewthatIhadgrievedHim.I would search backwardsuntilIspottedthetimewhenIlastknewHisPresence.ThenI would review every act,everywordor thoughtuntil Idiscoveredwhere I had goneastray. At that point I wouldconfess my sin and ask Hisforgiveness.

I learned to do this withincreasing boldness. Through

theseexercisesinobedienceIlearnedthebeautifulsecretofrepentance. Repentance, Idiscoverd, was not tearfulremorsesomuchasadmittingwhere I had gonewrong andavowingwithHis help neverto make that mistake in thefuture.As I realizedmyownweakness, I could call uponHisstrength.

ItwasduringthistimethatI

discoveredtherewasnosuchthingasaninnocentwhitelie.AlieisalieandisalwaysofSatan, the father of lies. Heuses "harmless"white lies togetusstartedinthisinsidioushabit. Lies pave the way forgreater temptations to come.Satan whispers that a whitelieis"consideration"forotherpeople.Webendourselvestotheworld instead of to JesuswhoistheTruth.

ThoughI learned this lessonat the funeral of a relative, itwas the beginning of a newkindoflifeforme,onewhereI attempted to weed out alllying. From that day on Iwould try and catch myselfevery time I was about tocommit a white lie. Once amissionary friend invited metoagatheringwhichIdidnotwanttoattend.Iwasallsettomake the excuse that I had

another engagement. Awarning signal soundedwithin me and I stoppedmyselfjustintime.Instead, Ifound that Icouldbe truthfuland still not hurt anyone'sfeelingbysimplysaying,"I'mverysorry,butIwon'tbeabletobethere."

Or,therewasthedaywhenIsatdowntowritealettertoafriend in London and almost

automatically began writingthat I had been out of townfor some time and had notbeen able to answer his lastletter.Istopped,penpoisedinmidair.

Outoftown?Ihadbeenhereall the time. I crumpled thepaper, dropped it into thewastebasket and startedagain. "Dear Friend: Pleaseforgivemefornotanswering

yourwonderful letter sooner...."

Littlethings,certainly.ButIwaslearningthattobecarefulinsmall thingsmade itmucheasier to handle the largertemptations as they came.Besides, life was so mucheasier when I didn't have tospendalotoftimecontriving.

Slowly, surely, it began to

dawnonmethatIwastryingto live with Christ as myconstant companion! Ofcourse, it justwasn't possibleto do this. So often I caughtmyself falling into my oldwayslButIkepttrying.

And in the process Idiscovered the practical sideof the promise, "But seek yefirstthekingdomofGod,andhis righteousness; and all

these things shall be addedunto you" (Matthew 6:33,KJv). For, as I made theattempttoputGodfirst,someof my other heartfelt needsweregivenbacktome.

One afternoon Raishamcame to my room with astartled expression on herface.

"There's a lady in the

drawing roomwaiting to seeyou,"shesaid.

"Whoisit?"Iasked.

"Well, Begum Sahib, if I'mnot mistaken it's the motherofKarim."

Surely she must bemistaken! Karim's motherwouldnotbecominghere!

I walked downstairs

wonderingwho then it couldbe.But,asIturnedthecornerinto the drawing room, sureenough there stood themother of my dead cousin.Hearingmy steps she lookedup, came over and threw herarmsaroundme.

"Bilquis," Karim's mothersaid, tears forming in hereyes, "I just had to comepersonally to tell you

something. At first, at thefuneral, I didn't see youamong all the people. But Ineed to tell you how muchcomfort you were. It's ... Idon't know . . . somethingnew. Something warm andspecial."

Andat last I sawwhyIhadnotbeenallowed to speakofJesus directly to Karim'smotherduringthetimeofher

crushing bereavement. Forthatwouldhavebeen to takeadvantage of her. Nowhowever the situation wasquite different. Gently andsoftly there in my drawingroom I spoke to her abouthowmuchJesusmeanttomeand howHe was slowly andinexorablychangingsomanyof my old imperious ways,replacing them with Hiswarmhumanpersonality.

"It's true," Karim's mothersaid. "You did care. Youreally wanted to share mysorrow."

It was a short visit but awonderful one. Encouragingin two directions: First, thatanother human being hadactually noticed a change inme; and second, I hoped thatthis was the beginning of abreakinthefamilyboycott.

It didn't happen quicklythough.Everytimethephonerang it was one of mymissionary friends. So onemorning just beforeMahmud's sixth birthday,when the phone rang Iexpected to hear Marie.Instead I heard the friendlyvoice of the mother of thesecondcousinwhohaddied.

"Bilquis?"

"Yes."

"Bilquis,Ijustwantedtosayhow much I appreciate thehelpyougavemyson'swife.Shetoldmeyoureallyspoketoherheart."

How interesting. For I hadsaid little. It was Christ whohaddonetheconsoling.

We exchanged a few

pleasantwordsandthenhungup.

Once again I could not helpbut be amazed at how Jesushad done the work throughme when I said little ornothingaboutHimdirectly.Itwas my being there,representingHisSpiritinthistimeofneedthathadbeenthehelper.

Over theweeks a few otherfamily members came forshortvisits.They'ddropbytoseeMahmudonhisbirthday,bringinghimsweetsandtoys.Ostensibly the reason fortheirvisitwastoseetheboy.Actually,Iknew,itwasjustagoodexcuse.Theyreallyhadcome to soften some of thehurtoftheboycott.Thevisitswere always strained andshort. But they were bright,

welcome chinks in theterrible wall that had beenraisedaroundme.

Almost a year had passedsinceIhadmadethedecisionto accept Christ's call. Howthetimewasflying(Soonmybirthdaywouldbehereagain.One year since I had givenmyself totheLord.AndnowIwas looking forward tomyfirst real celebration of

Christmas. I had of courseseen Christmas celebrationswhen I was in Europe. Butnever had I known whatChristmas was like viewedfrom the heart. I borrowed acreche from the Mitchells.Whentheycametothehousewith the little manger scenethey also brought a small firtree, and we all sang, "0Christmas Tree ... 0Christmas Tree . . . ," while

Mahmud squealed withdelight. The servants put thetree in thedrawingroomandwealldecorateditwithpaperribbons.

Therewassomethingwrong,however.

Much as I enjoyed thesefestivities, therewasn'tmuchrealmeaninginthem.IbegantowonderifIcouldcelebrate

Christmas in a way thatexpressedthechangethathadcomeintomylife.

Andthenanideacametomind.Whynotthrowapartyforeveryone-missionaries,andpeoplefromthevillage,eventhesweepers.ImmediatelyIheardthewarningvoiceofmyfamilycautioningmenottomakeadisplayofmyfaith;andIalso

heardtheGeneral'svoicewarningmethathecouldnolongergivemeofficialprotectionifIgotintrouble.IknewtheideaofsuchaChristmaspartywouldbeathreattomany.Yet,aftermuchprayeritseemedtomemyPresencewasstrongestwhenIbegantomakeplansfortheunusualgathering.

So I went ahead on

ChristmasDayand threwthepartywhichcausedsuchastirin Wah. The village peoplearrivedearlyandcongregatedaroundthetreeinthedrawingroom. Then the missionariescame. Synnove led everyonein song. And then to myastonishment one of theservants announced that anaunt and some cousins fromRawalpindi had arrived on adrop-invisit!

Myheartleaped.Howwouldthey reactl I need not haveworried-they reacted intypical upper class-fashion,I'm afraid. First their jawsdropped, then they quietlyretiredtoanotherroomwherethey sat alone in strainedsilence.

I did not want to ignoreeither group so I spent mytime going from room to

room. It was like runningback and forth from a hotshowertoacoldshower.

Finally, perhaps because ofmy own persistence, a fewmembersofmyfamilybegantorelax.Someevenwentintothe drawing room and joinedthefestivitiesaroundthetree.By the end of the party theywere passing small talk withtheOldsandtheMitchells,if

notwiththesweepers.

Thepartyheralded, Ihoped,thestartofadifferentkindofyear.Notaneasierone,justadifferent one. Becauseimmediately in front of melay many confusingcrossroads which could leadme into trouble if I took awrong turn. For along withthe smattering of relativesand friends who were now

returning, came a differentkind of visitor. They werepeople who were determinedto convert me back to theMuslim faith. I had a feelingthat there were interestedonlookers,anxioustoseehowIwould react to these voicesbeckoning me back home.Should I keep a discreetsilence, or should I reallyspeakmymind?

The answer came to me,again, in terms of myPresence. For whenever Itried to be devious I feltuncomfortableandalone.Butwhenever I answered theloaded questions forthrightlyandinlove,thenIfeltthattheLord Himself was right withme.

One afternoon, for instance,therewasasoftknockonmy

door. I was surprised, for itwas two o'clock in theafternoon.

"Yes?" The door opened. ItwasRaisham."BegumSahib,youhaveavisitor."

Therewasahesitancyinhersoftvoice.IhadtoldRaishamthat I preferred not to bebothered between noon andthree in the afternoon. Itwas

notanorderhowever.Ayearago I would have orderedRaishamsharplynottobotherme for any reason betweennoon and three. Now Iexplained to her that I nolonger considered time assomething I owned; itbelonged to the Lord. Ifsomethingcameupwhichsheherself thought I should seeto, thenofcourse shewas tocome to my room no matter

whatthehour.

"BegumSahib,themanisanEnglishman." There was aglint of amusement in herbrown eyes. "He says hewantstotalkaboutGod."

"All right," I said,wondering. "I'll be rightdown."

Waiting for me in the

drawing room was a pale,sandyhaired Englishman. Iwas interested in noting thathe wore typical Pakistaniclothes, a white shirt andbaggy trousers.Withhispaleface and white clothes healmostblendedintothewhitewalls of my drawing room.After apologizing fordropping in without anappointment, he came to thepoint. He said that he had

travelled all the way fromKarachi to see me; since hehad converted fromChristianity to Islam,members of my familythought we had interests incommon. "Ah," I said tomyself, "now I understand.KnowinghowmuchIliketheBritish, they think I will beimpressed by an Englishmanwho has left his ChristianityforIslam."

My visitor hemmed andhawed and launched into thepurposeofhisvisit.

"Begum,"themansaid,"onethingreallydisturbsmeaboutMuslims who convert toChristianity. It is the Bible.We all know that theChristianNewTestamenthasbeenchangedfromwhatGodgave."

HewasexpressingIslam'smainchargeagainsttheBible,thatithadbeensoalteredthattoday'sversionisuntrustworthy.Theoriginal,Muslimsclaim,hadagreedwiththeKoran.

"I hope youwon't think I'mbeing facetious," I said. "Ireally do want to knowsomething. I've heard oftenthat the Bible was changed

but I've never been able tolearn who changed it. Whenwere the changes made andwhat passages werecorrupted?"

My visitor leaned back andlooked up to the carvedceiling beams, his fingersdrumming the arm of hischair. He did not answer. Itwasunfairofme Iguess.Asfar as I knew there were no

answerstothesequestions.

"You see," I went on,drawing on research I hadmade,"intheBritishMuseumthere are ancient versions ofthe Bible which werepublished nearly threehundred years beforeMuhammad was born. Onevery issue betweenChristianity and Islam theseold manuscripts are identical

with today's Bible. Theexpertssaythatineverybasicessentialtoday'sBiblehasnotbeen changed from theoriginal.Thisisimportantformepersonally.For,tometheBible has become an aliveWord. It speaks to my souland feeds me. It helps guideme...."

Myvisitor got to his feet inthemiddleofmysentence.

...andso,"Iwenton,"Ifindit quite important to know ifthere really are places whereI'm fooling myself. Can youtellme?"

"You talk about the `Word'almost as if it were living,"myvisitorsaid.

"I believe that Christ isliving, if that's what youmean,Isaid."TheKoranitself

saysthatChristwastheWordofGod. I would love to talkwithyouaboutitsometime."

"Imustbegoing."

Andthatwasthat. Isawmyvisitortothedoorandinvitedhimback.Heneverdidreturnbut others came, some wellprimed for battle and withsuch misconceptions) I'llnever forget the man who

accused Christians ofworshipping three separateGods.

"Yourso-calledTrinityconsistsofGod,Mary,andJesus("hesaid."YouChristianssaythatGodtookawifewhowasMaryandfromtheirunionJesuswasborn.Allahcan'thaveawife("helaughed.

Iprayedquickly.Andaclearlineofthoughtcametomind.

"Do you read theKoran?" Iasked.

"Ofcourse."

"Well then, do youremember how the KoransaysthatChristwasgiventheSpirit of God?" I had oftenwondered how the Koran

could have such marveloustruths as this. "You perhapshave heard of Sadhu SundarSingh, the devout Sikh towhom Jesus appeared in avision. This is how Jesusexplained the Trinity to him:`Just as in the sun there areboth heat and light, but thelight is not heat and the heatisnot light,butbothareone,though in their manifestationthey have different forms, so

I and the Holy Spirit,proceeding from the Father,bring light and heat to theworld....YetWearenotthreebutOne,justasthesunisbutone.'"

It was quiet in the roomwhen I finished. My guestwas deep in thought. Finallyhe arose, thanked me forgiving him time and silentlyleftthehouse.

As I watched his forlornfigure walk down thegraveleddrivewayitoccurredtome towonderwhethermylittle visits with people likethe Englishman and thiszealotwerereallybeingusedbytheLord.Ihadnowayofknowing, for I never heardfrom either of them again. Itdidn't matter. I perhapsshouldnotevenwonderaboutresults. The only thing that

did matter to me wasobedience. If the Lord askedme to talk to these people,thenthatiswhatIshoulddo.

As the winter rolled intospring, the Lord seemed togive me other ways ofspeaking too. I went toLahore andafter a good butstrangely uncommunicatingvisit with my son Khalid-Ipurchased a hundred copies

of the Bible to give away toanyonewhowas interested. Ialso bought a quantity ofChristian tracts. I gave themaway at every opportunity,even leaving them in publicrestrooms. I'm not at all surethis did any good. Once,when I went back to therestroom, I found my littlestackhaddwindledbutthenIlooked in the wastebasket.There,crumpledup,werethe

copiesofmytracts.

"It seems so pointless,Lord," I said. "Am I doingwhat You want? Why is it,Lord," I said raising myhands to my waist insupplication, "that not onesingle time have I been ableto see the results of talkingabout You?" There was theEnglishconvert toIslam,andthe General, and all the

servants who had fled, andthe hundreds of times I hadtalked with members of myfamily and with friends-notone of these times borevisiblefruit."It'ssopuzzling,Lord! I just don't understandwhyYouaren'tusingme."

As Iprayed the sensationofChrist's Presence grew everstronger in that room. Heseemedtofilltheatmosphere

with strength and comfort. Iheardinmyheartthedistinctsuggestion, "Bilquis, I haveonlyonequestiontoaskyou.Think back over those timeswhen you have talked withyour friends, and with yourfamily. Think back over thetimes you have acceptedpeople who have come toargue. Have you felt MyPresenceduringthosevisits?"

"Yes Lord. Yes indeed Ihave."

"Myglorywasthere?"

"YesLord."

"Then that's all you need. Itis so often this way withfriends. And family. Theresults are not your problem.All you have to worry aboutis obedience. Seek My

Presence,notresults."

SoIcontinuedonmycourse.The odd thing is that itbecame an increasinglystimulating and invigoratingtime. Once the Lord hadtaken my eyes off the"results" and turned them toHis Presence, I could enjoymeeting friend after friend,relative after relativewithoutthe slightest feeling of

frustration. I learned to takeadvantage of opportunities.Whethertheconversationwasonpoliticsorclothes,IwouldaskGodtopromptaquestionwhich would give me anopening. For example, oncewhenIwastalkingtoaniece,theconversationdriftedtomyformer husband, who wasnowPakistan'sambassadortoJapan.

"What if Khalid came toyour house?" she smiled,liftinganeyebrow.

I looked at her directly. "Iwouldwelcomehim.Iwouldserve him tea." My niecelookedatmeincredulously."Ihave forgiven him," Icontinued. "And I hope thathehasforgivenmeforallthatIdidwhichhurthim."

"How can you forgive thatwayl"Mynieceknewthatthebreakup had been mostdifficult.

I explained that I certainlycould not forgive inmyownstrength.IhadaskedJesustohelpme."Youknow,"Isaid,"Jesus invited us all to cometo Him with our burdens.Jesustookmyburdenofhatefromme."

My niece sat quietly for awhile. "Well," she said, "thatis a Christianity I have notheard about. If you're goingto talk like that I'llbeoneofthe first to come and learnaboutyourJesus."

Even here I wasdisappointed. I had highhopes. I believed that indeedmy niecemight return to thesubjectbutsheneverdid.

I did have times when theglory left me during thisperiod. It always occurred inthesamefashion.Iwouldslipinto Satan's trap ofconvincingmethatIsoundedpretty good! My argumentswerereallyquiteprofoundl

Onedayforinstanceafriendaskedme,"Whydoyouhavetobesoexclusive?You'llhavetoadmitthatweall

worshipthesameGod,whetherChristian,Muslim,Hindu,BuddhistorJew.WemaycallHimbydifferentnamesandapproachHimfromdifferentdirections,butintheendit'sthesameGod."

"You mean He is like amountain top to whichdifferentpathslead?"

Hesettledbackbalancinghis

cup of tea and nodded. AndthenIflewtotheattack.

"Well,"Isaid,"Hemaybeamountaintopbutthereisonlyone path to Him, throughJesus Christ. The Lord said:`I am the way, the truth andthe life.' Not just a way," Iaddedsharply,"buttheway."

My friendputdownhis cupof tea, grimaced and shook

his head. "Bilquis," he said,"didanyoneevertellyouthatyou still come across ashaughty?"

AndinstantlyIknewthattheman sitting front of me wasspeaking for God. Myarguments were right. TheywereBiblical and sound.Butthe Spirit had left. Bilquiswasright.Bilquiswasstatingtruth.Quickly I saidaprayer

of repentance and asked theLordtotakeover.

"I'm sorry," I laughed. "If IcomeacrossassmugbecauseI'm a Christian, then I'm notacting as Christ would want.ThemoreIlearnaboutChristthe more I need correcting.The Lord has so much toteach me and I know He isspeaking right now throughyou."

My visitor left, perhapscloser to the Lord, perhapsnot. I doubt that I shall everknow. But I do know that Iwas, step by painful step,learningtolistenandtoobey.

AndthenonenightIhadanotheroneofthosefrighteningexperienceswhichcameonlyafterIhadbecomeaChristian.Iwasinmyroompreparingforbed

whenIsuddenlyfeltapowerfulpresenceofevilatmybedroomwindow.InstantlymymindturnedtomyProtectorandIwaswarnedfromgoingnearthewindow.Idroppedtothefloorinprayer,askingmyLordtocovermeasamotherhencoversherchicksandIfeltthestrongcloakofHisprotection.WhenIarose,thepresenceatthewindowwas

gone.

The next morning, I droveovertotheMitchells.Thesunshone brightly on their streetbutIwasstillshakinginside.Yet, as I walked up to theirdoor, I felt hesitant aboutmentioningwhathappenedtome for fear they wouldn'tunderstand.

At the door, Synnove

hugged me, then steppedback, her blue eyesquestioningme.

"What'swrong,Bilquis?"sheasked.

"Well," I ventured, "whydofrightening things keephappening after one becomesaChristian?"

She ushered me into the

living room where we satdown.

"I don't really know whatyoumean," she saidpuzzled."Has someone threatenedyou?"

"Not someone," I answered,"something."

"Oh?"shesaid,andaroseandgotherBible."Here,"she

said,sittingdownandflippingthroughitspages,"inEphesians6itspeaksaboutthatkindofthing."Sheread:"Weareupagainsttheunseenpowerthatcontrolsthisdarkworld,andspiritualagentsfromtheveryheadquartersofevil."

Shelookedupatme.

"That must be it," I said

telling her something aboutwhathappenedthatnight.

Shelistenedthoughtfully,andthensaid,"Whydon'tyoutalktotheOldsaboutit?"

"Well," I said, giving anervous laugh, "I don't knowifIwanttoeventalkaboutitanymore."

And that's how I felt at the

beginningofourget-togetherwith theOlds that evening. Idecidednottobringitup.I'dsimplymakeafoolofmyself,Ithought.Itwasprobablyjustmyimagination.

However, as I sat talkingwith Marie Old on a sofabeforethefire,Icouldn'thelpmentioningit.Itriedtosoundlighthearted.

"The strangest thinghappened to me last night,Marie,"Isaid."Ihadthemostfrightening experience and Ican'texplainit."

Herhusband,Ken,inhisusualrelaxedmanner,hadbeensittinginawindowseatbehindusreadingabook.Hearingme,helaidhisbookdown,lookedupandsensingmyreluctancetotalkaboutit,

he,inhisownquietway,gentlydrewmeintoexplainingthewholeepisode.

WhenIfinished,Itriedtolaugh."Andthenagain,"Isaidlightly,"Imayhavehadtoomuchcurryatdinnerlastevening!"

"Don't minimize the thingsthe Lord will bring youthrough," he said quietly.

"Supernatural things dohappen." He walked aroundthe sofa and sat in a chairfacing us. His face wasserious.

He explained thesupernatural presence of evilandhowGod can allow it tocomeuponapersonasatest.As an example, Ken pointedoutintheOldTestamenthowGodpermittedSatantoattack

job and howHe allowed theEvil One to tempt Christ inthewilderness.Bothofthese,Ken pointed out, were tests.And in each case, he added,Satan's intended victimemerged victorious becauseofhisoutspokenfaithinGod.I couldn't help rememberingthe attack I suffered thesecond night before mybaptism.

Slowly, the learningcontinued.ButwhatIdidnotknow as I gratefullyconsidered Ken's comfortingteaching, was that the Lordhad already started a processwhichwas to leavememoreand more alone, yet notlonely;moreandmorecutofffrommyfamily,yetpartofagreat, supportive family;more and more cut off fromthe roots which meant so

muchtomeinWah,yetwithdeepening roots in a newCity.

It was because of theseupcoming tests of endurancethatHehadbeenplacingme,time after time, in situationswhereIhad todependsolelyonHim.

The weaning process beganone Sunday a few weekslater, during our regularprayermeeting.Ithoughtthatboth the Olds and theMitchells seemed unusuallysomberthatevening.

"What's wrong?" I asked aswe walked into the Olds'drawingroom.Kenleanedhishead back and stared at theceiling.

"MarieandIareleavingonayear's furlough," he saidabruptly.

My first reaction was panicat the thought ofabandonment. What would I

everdowithout theOldslOfcourse I would still have theMitchells, but I depended onboth families, together, to bemy support. The Mitchellshadbroughtme intomy firstcontact with the church; theOldshadwalkedcloselywithme. Was this just abeginning?HowlongbeforeIlostbothfamilies?

Marie must have read my

heart. For she stepped overand took my hand. Tearsfilledhereyesasshespoke.

"Mydear,"Mariesaid,"youmust realize that it willalwaysbethisway.Thosewelove will always be leaving.Only Jesus stays with youforever."

Ken now joined his wife atmyside.

"There's another thing,Bilquis,"Ken said. "You canbe sure the Lord never leadsyou out of a safe situationunless He has a purpose.Becauseofthat,youcanstartrejoicing now, even in themidstofthehurt."

We had only a few weeksmore together, the Olds, theMitchells and I. Thedeparture date grew closer,

carrying with it a sense ofdoom. We all tried to befaith-filled about the vacuumthat would be created byKen'sandMarie'sleavingbutit was play-acting, not at allreal.

ItwasasaddaywhentheMitchellsandIandothersinoursmallChristiangroupwenttotheOlds'houseforagoodbyesend-off.Wedidour

bestevenatthislastmomenttomakeitacelebration,butourheartswereheavy.Wetriedtoseethemomentasachancenotto"letthemgo"butto"sendthemout."

Itwas a brave show.But inour hearts, as we saw theOlds' heavily-loadedautomobilelumberofftowardthe Grand Trunk Road, itseemed to us all that life

couldneveragainbeasrich.

As I drove back tomy ownhomethatdayIhadastrangesensation of being on myown, now, alone in a hostilecommunity. How ridiculous.The Mitchells were still inWah,afteralll

Theweaning process took anewandunexpectedturnlateone morning, some months

after the Olds left, when Dr.DanielBakshphonedme.Hesaid he and Dr. StanleyMooneyham, representing agroup called World Vision,headquartered in California,U.S.A., would like to visitme. I had never heard of hisorganization but my doorswere open to anyone, evenpeople who were curious tosee what a Muslim-turned-Christianlookedlike.

Both arrived a few dayslater. When we finisheddinner, Dr. Mooneyhambegan to speak and it wasclearthathewasnocuriosity-seeker. He was interested inmyconversion,allright,butIsensed that he would havebeenequallyinterestedintheconversion of my gardener.Aswesippedtea,hecametothepoint.

"Will you come toSingapore,Madame Sheikh,"Dr. Mooneyham asked, "totestifyfortheLord?"

"Singapore?"

"BillyGrahamisarrangingalarge conference there calledChrist Seeks Asia. It will befor Asiatic Christians of allkinds-Indonesians, Japanese,Indians, Koreans, Chinese,

Pakistanis. Your testimonywillbeaninspirationtous."

Itdidn'tsoundright.IhadenoughtodorightthereinWahwithouttakingoffforotherpartsoftheworld.

"Well," I said, "I'll prayaboutit."

"Pleasedol"Dr.Mooneyhamsaidandthen

shortlyhebidmegoodbye.

Long after Dr. Mooneyhamleft, I sat on the verandathinkingandpraying,asIhadpromised, about theinvitation. One side of mesaid that I should takeadvantageof theopportunity.Another side of me said Ishouldnoteventhinkofit.

Andthenanideaoccurredto

me.

My passport. Of course. Itwas just about to expire. ItwouldhavetoberenewedifIwere to go to Singapore. Atthat time in Pakistan therewasmuch red tape involvingpassports. The situation wasimpossible.Somepeoplesenttheirpassports in for renewalandnevergotthemback.

WhynotletthissituationactasavoicefortheLord?IfHewanted me to go, He wouldtake care of this passportdetail.

That very afternoon I filledoutthenecessaryinformationandpostedthepassporttotheproper officials.As I slippedit in themail box I had verylittledoubtthatthiswouldbemy "No" to the Singapore

trip.

Aweeklateranofficial-lookinggovernmentenvelopecameinthemail.

"Hmm," I smiled, "this willbethefirststepingettingmyrenewal,somemoreforms tofill out.And so itwill go onformonths."

Iopenedtheenvelope.

There, all renewed andofficially stamped, was mypassport.

So it was, a few monthslater, that I said goodbye tosixyear-old Mahmud anddrovedowntoLahore.ThereI had a short visit with myson, Khalid, before going onto Karachi where I wouldboard the jet for Singapore.Although it was now 1968

and a year and a half hadpassed since the Lord metme,Khalidwasmuchliketherest of my family, nowshowing little interest in mydiscovery.Isuspectedthatheconsidered me, at 48,embarked on a strange kindof trip. But I was to berespected as his mother, andwehadanenjoyablevisit.

LaterasIboardedthejetin

KarachiandconsideredtheprojectIwasjustnowundertaking,IhadtheimpressionthatKhalidwasright.WhatintheworldwasIdoingonthisairplaneheadedforSingapore!TherewerealotofChristiansaboardandIwasn'ttoosureIlikedwhatIsaw.Ishrankfromtheirexuberance.TheyweresingingGospelsongs,shoutingbackandforthto

eachotheracrosstheaisles,sometimesraisingtheirhandsandcrying,"PraisetheLord!"Iwasembarrassed.Therewasanartificialqualityaboutthejoy,notunliketheforcedgaietyIhadoccasionallyseenamongconventioneersonthestreetsofLondon.IfoundmyselfmutteringthatifthiswaswhatitmeanttotravelinChristiancircles,Iwasn'tinterested.

What made the momentworse was that, for reasonswhich I could not define, Ifelt this trip held a personalsignificancebeyondmysafaritoSingapore. Itwasas if thetrip were prophetic,foretelling the type of life Iwouldbecalledupontolead.

"Oh no, Lord," I said tomyself."Youmustbeplayingwith mel" Prophetic in what

sense? That I was going tohave to spend a lot of timeamongextroverts,travelinginjet airplanes?Back inWah Iwas just getting comfortableinmyroleasaChristian,butthat was in a provincialvillage. There I was incontrol, at least. Christianitytomewasaveryprivate joy,to be shared on my ownterms.Idefinitelydidnotlikethe idea of parading myself

before hundreds, perhapsthousandsofstrangers.

AstheplanetookoffIstaredout of thewindow,watchingPakistan fall away belowmeinto the mist. Even though IknewthatIwouldbecomingback within just a few days,somethingwarnedme that ina very real sense this was abeginning.Although Iwouldreturn to my home in the

physical sense, in anothersense I would never comeback. This-this group ofChristiansonanairplane-wasmyhomenow.

What could I possiblymeanby thatl The idea appalledme.

From the Singapore airportwe went straight to theconference hall where the

meetings were already inprogress.

Andsuddenly,quitetomysurprise,IfoundthatIwashavingaverydifferentreactiontothisgroupofassembledChristians.

There were thousands ofmen and women in theconference hall, the largestnumber of people I had ever

seen gathered in one place.As I walked into the hall,everyone was singing "HowGreat Thou Art." I felt thefamiliar Presence of God'sSpiritandhadneverknownitto be so palpitating. Almostinstantly Iwanted to cry, notoutofsadnessbutoutofjoy.NeverbeforehadIseensucha large crowd of peoplepraising the Lord. I couldhardly grasp it. So many

people, from so manycountries! Different races,different dressl Galleries ofpraising Christians seemingtoriseforever.

Now thiswasdifferent!Notatalllikethegroupofpeopleon the airplane. I thenrealized what I had beenexperiencing on the plane.Everything was suddenlyvery clear. Those people on

the jetliner had been shy,nervous,perhapsevenafraid.Afraidof thenewness, afraidof flying.Theywerebluffingand posturing, not in theSpiritinspiteofthelanguage.They were no more movingintheSpiritthanIwaswhenIscoldedoneoftheservantsorreacted violently to an unclewhenhe tried topressuremebackintoIslam.Theproblemhad been their language.

Christian talk fooled me. Ishould have recognized theirChristianese as such,coveringupahurting.

But here in this conferencecenter it was different.Socializingwasover,worshiphad begun. If the prophecy Ihad felt meant being withgroups like this, that I couldappreciateandaccept.

One thing still botheredme.Was I really supposed tostand up in front of thesethousandsofpeopletotalk?Itwasone thing tospeakaboutmy experiences to people Iknewpersonally inWah.Buthere? With all thesestrangelooking people fromsomanydifferentcontinents?Ididnotfeelatallsafe.

I hurried over to my hotel

whereItriedtosettledown.Ilooked out the window atteeming Singapore. HowdifferentSingaporewas fromLondon and Paris. Peoplejostled each other on thestreets, hawkers sang theirwares and automobilesthreaded through the melee,constantly sounding horns.The very press of peopleseemed to menace me herejustasitdidintheconference

hall. I shuddered, thrust thecurtainclosedandretreatedtothe other end of the roomwhereIsatdownandtriedtocalmmyself.

"OhLord,"Icried,"whereisYourcomfortingSpirit?"

And suddenly I recalled achildhood experience ofwalking with my fatherthrough the marketplace in

Wah.Father cautionedme tostay by his side but, alwaysactive, I wanted to run off.One day I did. A flowerdisplay caught my attentionandIranovertoit.SuddenlyI realized thatmy fatherwasnot at my side. Panic filledmeandIburstintotears."OhFather,"Isaid,"comefindmeand I won't ever run awayfrom you again!" Even as Ispoke, there he was, his tall

slenderfigurecomingquicklytowardmethroughthecrowd.I was with him again! All Iwanted now was to stay byhisside.

As I sat in thehotel room, Irealizedthat infactIhadleftmyheavenlyFatheragain.Byallowing myself to becomeanxious, I had run off fromHis comforting Presence.When would I learn that I

cannotworryandtrustGodatthe same timel I relaxed inmy chair and felt at peaceagain.

"OhthankYou,Father,"I'saidweepinginrelief."PleaseforgivemeforsteppingawayfromYou.Youarehere,Youareinthathall.I'llbesafe."

A few minutes later in the

hotel lobby, I felt a hand onmy arm and heard a familiarvoice. I lookedaround to seeDr.Mooneyham.

"MadameSheikh,sogoodtohave you here!" Dr.Mooneyham seemed happyenough to see me. "Are youstillwillingtospeak?"Itwasas ifhehadbeenreadingmymind.

"Don'tworryaboutme,"Isaid,smiling."I'llbefine.TheLordishere:'

Dr. Mooneyham just stoodthere,studyingmyface,as ifmakingadecisionabouthowto interpret my words. Afterall, I had been usingChristianese too, and hewasn'tgoingtotakeitatfacevalue,possiblyletitfoolhimas it had fooled me on the

airplane. Dr. Mooneyham'seyes were reading my verysoul. Then suddenly heseemedsatisfied.

"Good," he said abruptly."You're slated for tomorrowmorning." He looked at hiswatch. "You'll have lots ofprayersupport."

Dr.Mooneyhamhadunderstoodmecorrectly.The

senseofsecuritylastedthroughthenextmorningtoo,whenindeedIdidgetupinfrontofthosethousandsofpeoplegatheredintheauditoriumtospeakofthewaytheLordhadfoundmeinsuchastrangeway.Itwasnotatalldifficultspeaking.HewaswithmeasIstumbledandfumbledmywaythroughthetalk,embracingmeandencouragingme,assuringme

thatHewasdoingthecommunicatingandnotI.Andaspeoplesurroundedmeinlovingfellowshipaftermytalk,itwasasifIhadtakenthefirststepinanewkindofworkfortheLord.

The Lord also arranged mymeeting a man who wouldbecomeveryimportantinmylife, though I didn't realize itat the time. Iwas introduced

toDr.ChristyWilson,akindgentlemanwhowaspastorofa church in Kabul,Afghanistan, whichministered to foreignnationals.Wefoundarapportin the Lord's Spirit as wediscussedhiswork.

Then, the meetings wereover and I was on my wayback to Wah. Once again Isensedthatthewholetriphad

a strangely foretellingcharacter,asifGodhadaskedme to come with Him toSingapore so that I couldlearn more about a type ofworkHewantedmetodo.

Well, I said to myself, atleast I'll be headquartered inWah. Perhaps I wouldn'tmindtoomuch,goingoutonan occasional trip from mycomfortable and secure

ancestralhome.

Butas thecar turnedoff theGrand Trunk Road towardour house in the trees, I hadno way of knowing that theweaningprocesswasgoingtoshattermoreofthatsecurity.

The next separation stepcameinthesadnewsthattheMitchells were leaving onfurlough. It would be sometimebeforetheywouldreturntoPakistan.

Itwasmorethanayearafter

Singapore.IwassittingintheMitchells'livingroomwithoursmallbandofChristianprofessionalmenandwomenfromthearea.Itwasasadoccasion,thefinalget-togetherbeforeDavidandSynnoveleft.IcouldnothelpthinkingofthefirsttimeIhadcometothissamelow-verandaedhouseasahesitantseeker.Somuchhadhappenedsincethen.Ilooked

atthefacesofthesetwowhohadbeensoclosetomeinmyintroductiontoChrist:tallDavid,hishairgraying,andearnestSynnovewhohadprayedformesoconsistently.

"I'm going to miss youterribly, you know that," Isaid as we all stood on thesmall lawn in front of theMitchells'house."HowwillIever get along without your

fellowship!"

"MaybetheLordisteachingyoutogetalongwithoutit,"saidSynnove."He'salwaysstretchingus,youknow,Bilquis,untilwedon'thaveasafehandholdleftexceptHim."

It sounded good, but I stilldidn'tlikebeingstretchedandtold Synnove as much. She

just laughed. "Of course youdon't,dearBilquis.Whoeverwantstoleavethesafetyofawomb. But adventure liesahead("

Synnove got into their oldcar and closed the door.Onemore embrace through thewindow and suddenly theMitchells' car was rollingdustily away, away from theforlorn whitewashed

buildings that had beenofficers' quarters during thewar. Their car disappearedaroundthecorner.Adventure,indeed! Here I was alonesome Christian in aMuslim town. Would I beabletomakeitalone?

Several weeks passed,duringwhichtime,frankly,itwashard forme to sense theadventureSynnovepromised,

or the direction and purposethat Ken Old had foretoldwhenhe andMarie leftwhatsemed such a long time ago.TheSunday eveningmeetingof Christians continued, firstin one home then in anotherof the five of us who wereleft, but without theleadership of the Olds andMitchells the meetingsseemedtoflounder.

Then one night after alistlessmeetinganideastruckme. Were we making amistake trying to do thingsexactly as the Mitchells andtheOldshaddone?Our littlegroup was surely going toatrophyifwedidn'tgetsomenewbloodinourmidst.Whatwould happen-and I felt mypulse quicken just at thethought-whatwouldhappenifwe asked people to join the

fellowship who were notprofessionals-not doctors andengineers and missionaries?Supposewe askedChristiansand non-Christians alike, thesweepers, the lower classes,tojoininfellowship.Perhapsinmyownhomesinceitwaslargeandconvenient.WhenIsuggested the idea to ourfellowship there was someinitial resistance, thenskeptical agreement. We

decidedtogoahead.Throughdirect invitationsand throughthe grapevine also, I passedword along that a ChristianeveningwouldbeheldatmyhouseSundaynight.

Iwassurprisedathowmanypeople turned up.MostwerefromRawalpindiwherewordhad travelled. And, just as Ihoped,notallwereChristianseither. Many were simply

hungrytofindoutmoreabouttheChristianGod.Withthoseofus fromtheoriginalgroupas leaders, we sang andprayed and tried to do whatwe could to minister to theindividualneedsofthemaidsand day laborers and schoolteachers and business peoplewhoalsocametothehouse.

Soon there was a freshfeeling to the Sunday

fellowship.Theresponsibilitywas awesome. I and theothers who were leaders inthis small group spent hourson our knees, hours close totheLordandtheWord,tryingtobe sure that innosmallestwaydidwediverge from thedirection He wished us totake. All of a sudden the"resultless"periodIhadbeenexperiencing was reversed. Iwas able to see actual

conversions. The first tocome to the Lord was ayoung widow. She cried herhurt and lonesomeness outandthenaskedtheLordin.Itwas extraordinary to see thetransformation in herpersonality, from a gloomy,defenseless creature to ahope-filled child of God.Shortly a mechanic from anearby garage came into theLord's Kingdom, then a file

clerk,thenasweeper.

Andallinmyownhome.1felthonoredindeed,althoughIkeptwonderingwhenIwouldstarttohearfromthefamilyaboutthissmudgeonourreputation.Butnoonecomplained.Notyet,anyhow.Itwasasifthefamilydidn'twanttoadmitwhatwashappening.OnedayItrippedonatileinmyterrace,fell

andsufferedaslightbonefracture.Myfamilydidn'tcome;theytelephonedinstead.Butatleasttheyweretelephoning)

If opposition to my slowlyevolving Christian life waslessening frommy family, itwas still coming fromwithinmeat times.Iwasyetaveryprivate person, possessive,countingmylandandgarden

myown.

Acrossthelawnfrommyhouseisaroadleadingtotheservants'quarters.Growingnexttothisroadisatreecalledtheber,whichhasaredfruitsimilartothecherry.ThatsummeraftertheMitchellsleft,childrenfromthevillage(perhapsencouragedbyreportsofachangeinmypersonality)

begancomingrightontomypropertytoclimbtheberandhelpthemselvestoitsfruit.Theintrusionwasbadenough,butwhentheirshoutsandsquealsinterruptedmyresttime,Ileanedoutofmywindowandorderedthegardenertochasethechildrenaway.ThatverydayIhadthegardenercutthetreedown.Thatwouldsolvetheproblempermanently!

As soon as the tree wasdestroyed I realized what Ihaddone.Withthetreegone,so was the joy and peace ofthe Lord's Presence. For along time I stood in mywindow staring at the emptyplacewhereithadbeen.HowI wished now that the treewerestilltheresothatIcouldhear the joyful shouts of thechildren. I realized what thetrueBilquis Sheikhwas like.

AlloveragainIknewthat inmy own natural self I wouldneverbedifferent.ItwasonlythroughtheLord,throughHisgrace, that any change couldevertakeplace.

"Oh Lord," I said, "let mecome back into YourPresenceagainplease!"Therewas only one thing to do.Scattered throughout mygardenwerelargetreesheavy

with summer fruit. The verynext day I issued an openinvitation to the villagechildren to come and enjoy!And they did too. Eventhough I'm sure they tried tobe careful, branches werebroken,flowerstrodupon.

"IthinkIseewhatYou'redoing,Lord,"Isaidoneafternoonafterthechildrenhadgonehome,andIwas

surveyingthedamage."Youfoundthegardenitselftobeaplacethatstoodbetweenus.Youareweaningmeevenfromthegarden!You'vetakenitawaytogivetoothers.Butlookhowtheywereenjoyingit!It'sYourgarden.Igiveituptothemwithgreatpleasure.ThankYouforusingthistobringmebackintoYourcomfortingSelf."

Hedidreturntoo.Until,thatis,I once again needed apruning. This time it wasn'tthe garden, it was mypreciousrest.

One cold Novemberafternoon Iwas restingwhenMahmud slipped into myroom. He was becoming ayouth now and his good-humored features foretold ahandsome youngman-to-be.

But now his face wasconcerned.

"Mum, there's a womanoutsidewhowantstoseeyou.She'sgotababyinherarms."

Iliftedmyhead."Mahmud,"I said, forgetting my owninstructions to Nur-jan andRaisham, "You're eight yearsold nowl You know that Idon't want to see anyone at

thistimeofday."

Mahmud had hardly left theroom before the thoughtstruck me: what would theLord have done? And, ofcourse, I knew what Hewould have done. He wouldhave gone to the womanimmediately, even if it werethemiddleofthenight.

I called to Mahmud, who

had not gone far enoughdownthehalltomisshearingme. Once again he stuck hisbrownfacethroughthedoor.

"Mahmud," I said, "whatdoesthewomanwant?"

"I think her baby is sick,"Mahmud said, coming nowintotheroom.Icouldseetheconcerninhiseyes.

"Well bring her to thereception room then," Idirected as I prepared to godownstairs.

InamomentIjoinedMahmud,thewomanandherchild.Thewomanwasdressedinthecoarse,baggyclothesofapeasant.Shemighthavebeenthebaby'sgrandmother.Shehadawizenedface,shrunken

shouldersandherpantaloonsbaggedaroundathinframe.OnlywhensheliftedherfaceandstaredatmewithdeepbrowneyescouldIseethatsheherselfwaslittlemorethanachild.

"What can I do for you?" Iasked,myheartmelting.

"I heard about you in myvillage,andIwalkedhere."

The place she mentionedwas twelve miles away. Nowonderthepoorthinglookedsotired.Isentservantsforteaand sandwiches. I wonderedif she were still nursing thebaby; in some villagesmothers nurse their childrenup to threeyearsofage.Thebaby'seyesstaredlistlesslyatthecrystalchandelier,itstinymouth still. I laid hands onthe child's forehead'to pray

for him; it was hot and dry.As I laid hands on themother's head, I could feelgenerations of my familywincing. In the old days, Iwould have been horrified ifeven this peasant's shadowhadfallenonme.

My heart went out to theselittleones,themotherandthechild, as I asked God forhealing in thenameof Jesus.

When the maid came I toldher also to bring somevitamins for the mother. Wevisited for half an hour, themother tellingme of her lifewithahusbandwhohadbeencrippled in an accident, thenew baby, not enough food.And indeed she was nursingthe baby-it was the cheapestway to feed him. When themother finally rose to go, Irestrainedherwithagesture.

"No,"Iwhispered."Notyet.We must find some way toseetoitthatyouandthebabyare taken care of."ImmediatelyasIsaidthis,theold Bilquis Sheikh began togrow nervous. What if wordgotouttootherneedypeopleinWahthattheBegumSahibin the big garden provided asoft touch? Wouldn't we beswamped with lines of otherskinny, emaciated, sickly,

desperatepeople?

But even as my heartwhispered this question, Iknew that I had no choice.EitherIhadmeantitorIhadnot meant it when I gavemyself and all that IpossessedtotheLord.

"...and,ofcourse,yourhusbandneedsattentiontoo.Let'sgetyoualltothe

hospital.Andlet'sgetsomedecentfoodintoyourbodies.Then,ifyourhusbandstillcantfindwork,letmeknow."

That's all there was to thevisit.Imadearrangementsforthe hospital to bill me andwaited.Butthewomanneverreturned. I was a littlesurprised. When I asked theservants if they knew whathad happened to her, they-as

usualhadtheanswer.Sheandthebabyandherhusbandhadindeed gone to the hospital,andnowtheywereallbetter.The husband had work. Myego bridled at first at theungratefulnessof thiswomanfor not returning to givethanks,but theLord checkedme. "Is that why you helpedher? So that you could bethanked? I thoughtthanksgivingwassupposedto

gotoMe!"

AndofcourseHewasright.Iwentbackinmymindtotheplacewhere I first felt that Ihadtakencareofthiswoman.Then I asked the Lord toforgive me, and never toallowmetofallintothattrapagain."Lord,"Isighed,"Yourarm must be tired frompickingmeupsooften."

Itseemedthroughthosedaysthat I would have littlemomentsofsuccessinthejobof living close to the Lord,only to be brought back toearthquicklywithresoundingfailure. I wondered if thiswere the pattern usuallyfollowedintheChristianlife.Since I hadnoone to talk tothen, I had to carry thesequestionssecretly.

OnemorningwhileNur-janwasadministeringmytoilettearedbirdflutteredtothewindowsill.

"Ohl" I exclaimed, "look atwhattheLordhassentusthismorning!"

TherewassilenceasNur-janquietlywent on brushingmyhair. I was a bit surprised;Nur-jan was normally so

talkative. Then she observedshyly, "Begum Sheikh, doyouknowthatwhenyoustarttalking of the Lord yourwholeappearancechanges?"

Thatafternoon.IplacedanorderforseveralmoreBiblesatthemissionshopinIslamabad.TheywereaspecialkindofBible,designedforchildren.Ihaddiscoveredtheusefulnessof

theseBibleswithMahmud.Idiscoveredalsothattheservantsaroundthehousewerepickingupthebrightlyillustratedlittlebook.WhentheBiblesarrived,ImadeaspecialpointofgivingonetoNur-jan.Imaginemyjoywhenonedayshecametospeaktomeprivately.

"Begum Sahib," Nur-jansaid, her plump face full of

emotion,"Ihavesomethingtotell you. Do you rememberhowyouhavesooftentoldusthat ifwewant to know thisJesus,allwehavetodoisaskHimtocomeintoourheart?"At this she broke into tears."Well I did, Begum Sahib.And He did come in. I havenever felt such love, ever, inmywholelife!"

I couldn't believemyears. I

threwmyarmsabout thegirlandembracedher.Wedanceda little crying waltz aroundthebedroom.

"Whatanincrediblepieceofnews, Nur-jan. Now we arethree Christians you andRaisham and I. We mustcelebrate!"

SoRaishamandNur-janandIallhadteatogether.Itwasn't

the first time Ihaddrunk teawith people of the servingclass. But it still gave me aslight shock. As the three ofus Christians daintily sippedourdrinksandnibbledatourcake together, chatting likeoldfriends, I foundmymindwandering. What hadhappened to thewomanwhohad retreated to this sameestate, to hide from wealthysociety?Hereshewas,sitting

with the maids. How myfamily and friends would bescandalized. How my oldfriends and family wouldwonder!Ithoughtbacktotheway I used to vent myfrustrations in sharp ordersand outbursts of temper. If Inoticed dust on a chair rung,if the servants chatted tooloudly in the kitchen, if mylunch were delayed amoment,thewholehousehold

coulddependon anoutburst.The Lord had really beenworking with me, and I feltHis company with greatsatisfaction.

It was not that I wanted tobecome a saint. But I wasbeginning to learn that myresponsibility of being arepresentativeof JesusChristwould not allow me to doanything thatwoulddishonor

HisName.AndHewas alsoteachingmethatone'sactionsspoke louder than wordswhen it came to witnessingforChrist.

But then I noticed a strangething at our eveningmeetings. Nur-jan was notamong the dozen villagerswho were now joining us inmydrawingroom.Howodd!One day after she had done

my hair I asked her to staybehind for a moment.Wouldn't she like, I said, tojoinusthisSunday?

"ButBegum,"Nur-jansaid,startled, her face whitening,"Ijustcannottalkaboutwhathappened to me, or go to ameeting. My husband is adevoutMuslim.Wehavefourchildren. If I say that I havebecome a Christian he will

justturnmeout."

"Butyouhavetodeclareyourfaith,"Iinsisted."Thereisnootherway."

Nur-jan stared at meunhappily,thenlefttheroom,shaking her head andmumbling.Icouldjustbarelymake out the words, "But itcan'tbedone."

A few days later I wasvisiting theReverendMotherRuthwhom I had also cometo know at the Holy FamilyHospital. I always enjoyedtalking to her. TheReverendMothermentionedhowmanypeople in Pakistan are secretbelievers.

"Secret believers!" Iexclaimed."Idonotseehowthat is possible. If you are a

Christian why aren't youshoutingthenews!"

"Well," said Mother Ruth,`lookatNicodemus."

"Nicodemus?"

"He was a secret believer.Check chapter three of theGospelofJohn."

I openedmyBible then andthere and began to read how

this Pharisee came to Jesuslate one night to find outmore about His kingdom. Ihad often read this stirringchapterbutnotuntil thendidI realize that of courseNicodemus was a secretbeliever.

"Perhaps at a later dateNicodemus expressed hisbeliefopenly,"theSistersaid."But as far as the Scriptures

show, he was careful not tolet his fellow Phariseesknow."

The next day I called Nur-janintomyroomandreadtheverses about Nicodemus toher. "I'm sorry I made youuncomfortable," I said. "Intime theLordmayshowyouhowto declare your faith. Inthe meanwhile, just listencarefullytoHisleading."

Her face brightened. Later Iwatched her bumminghappilyatherwork."IhopeIdid the right thing, Lord," Isaid."WhatIhavetowatchisthat I not set myself up injudgmentagainstanyone."

Just a few days later Idiscovered for myself, withnewintensity,howdifficultitwas tobecomeaChristian inthispartoftheworld.

One afternoon the phonerang.Itwasoneofmyuncles,a relative who had beenparticularly sharp with me.Even as the family boycottbegan to thaw slightly, thisuncle had never been intouch, never spoken. Hisvoiceonthephonewassharp.

"Bilquis?1"

"Yes."

"I hear that you are leadingothers astray.You are takingthemfromthetruefaith."

"Well, dear Uncle, that's amatterofopinion."

I could imagine the man'sface getting flushed with theanger that showed in hisvoice. "It's one thing for youto make these decisionsyourself. Quite another for

others to follow. You muststopthis,Bilquis."

"Uncle, I appreciate yourconcern but I must remindyou that you are to run yourlifeandIwillrunmyown."

Theverynextdaywhenmynew chauffeur was drivingme home from a visit withTooni, a man stood in theroadandtriedtostopthecar.

My chauffeur knew that Ioftenstoppedforhitchhikers.But he did not want to stopthistime.

"Pleasedon'taskmetostop,Begum," he said in adetermined voice. Heswerved around theman, histiressquealingontheedgeofthehighway.

"Whatdoyoumean?"I

leanedforwardintheseat."Youdon'tthinkthatmanwastryingto...?"

"Begum..."

"Yes?"

"Begum, it's just that . . ."the man lapsed into silenceandallmyquestioningcouldnot drag any furtherinformationoutofhim.

But it was just aweek laterthat another one of myservants slipped into myroom minutes after I hadretiredformyafternoonrest.

Sheclosedthedoorbehindher.

"I hope youwill notmind,"she said in a low whisper."ButIsimplymustwarnyou.My brother was in the

mosque in Rawalpindiyesterday.A group of youngmen began talking about thedamage you are doing. Theykeptsaying somethingwouldhave to be done. Soon. Toshutyouup."

Thegirl'svoicewasshaking.

"OhBegumSahib,"shesaid,"must you be so open? Weareafraidforyouandfor the

boy."

Myheartskipped.Nowitwasmyturntowonderwhetherithadnotbeenbesttoremainasecretbelieverinthisland,andyes,eveninthisfamilywhereJesuswasanathema.

Twomonths passed after thereport of threats against me.Nothing occurred morethreatening than hostileglances from a few youngmen,andIbegantowonderifthealarmsweregroundless.

Now it was Christmastimeagain,afewyearsafterIhadfoundtheBabeofBethlehem.Even though some familymembers had been visitingme, the warning phone callfrommy uncle reminded methat relationships within myfamilywerestill strainedandIfeltitwouldbeagoodideatohaveadinnerpartyformyrelativesandfriends,toseeifnow we could do something

furthertohealthebreach.

SoIspentconsiderable timemaking up a guest list. Thenone evening, before going tobed,IslippedthatlistintomyBible for safekeeping,intending to have theinvitations sent out the nextmorning.

But that was never to takeplace.

ForwhenIopenedtheBiblethe nextmorning to take outthe list my eyes fell on apassage.Incredibly,itread:

Whenyougivealuncheonor a dinner party, don'tinviteyourfriendsoryourbrothers or relations orwealthyneighbors, for thechances are they willinvite you back, and youwill be fully repaid. No,

when you give a party,invite the poor, the lame,thecrippledandtheblind.That way lies realhappiness for you. Theyhavenomeansofrepayingyou,butyouwillberepaidwhen good men arerewarded-,at theresurrection.

Luke14:12

"Lord, is thatYourwordforme?"Iwondered,holdingtheBible in one hand and theguest list in the other. Sureenough,mostofmy relativesand neighbors and friendswere well-to-do. I had toldmyself this was anopportunity to get Muslimand Christian together, butactually I saw that pride hadbeen showing through. Iwanted todemonstrate tomy

family that I still had friendsamongthewealthyclass.

Icrumpledupthelist.

Instead, I did exactly whatthe Bible said. I made up alist of widows, orphans,unemployed and poor peopleofthevillageandtheninvitedall of them to attendChristmas dinner. Thisincluded everyone, even all

the beggars. Imade some ofthe invitationsmyself, othersI passed along through myown staff. News like thistravels fast and soon myservants were bringing backword that the whole villagewas planning to come. For amomentIhadmisgivings.Allthosepeople.IthoughtofthepairofsilkhandmadePersianrugs I had recently orderedfor the living room.Ohwell,

I thought, I could put thegoodthingsupoutofthewayduringthattime.

So we started preparations.Mahmud's eight-year-oldenthusiasmwas infectious ashehelpedmegatherpresentsfor the people who wouldcome. We found woolenshirts for the boys, brightlycolored garments for theyounggirls,rollsofred,pink

and purple cloth for thewomen,warmpantaloonsforthemen,wrapsandshoesforthechildren.TheservantsandI spent hours wrapping thegifts,tyingthepackageswithsilverribbons.

One day there was a knockon the door. A group ofwomenfolk from Wah werestanding outside. Theywantedtohelp."Notforpay,

Begum," their spokesmanexplained. "We just want tohelpyouputonthedinner."

Suddenly the wholecelebration had become acommunity affair. Fordecoration, I asked a familyof potters in the village tomake lamps, the small oilpottery lamps still commonlyusedinthatpartofPakistan.Iordered 500 of them. I had

the village women come tothe house, where we madewicksby twistingcotton intostrands. As we worked,natural opportunities arose totalk about Christ. As weplaced the lamps around thehouse,for instance,I toldthestory about the wise andfoolishvirgins.

The food was anotherexciting project. Again the

village women helped meprepare typical Pakistanisweets and sliced almondsand the delicious legus nuts.They pounded silver paperinto strips so thin we couldstickthemonthesweetmeatsasacolorfulfoil.

The village people began toarrive at the house onDecember the 24th andcontinued coming for what

turned out to be a week'sfestival.Howbeautifulallthelampswere decorating everycranny, sitting cheerily alongrailsandsills.Mahmudhadawonderful time playing withthe village children. I hadnever seen these children'seyes sparkle so, nor, for thatmatter, Mahmud's. Squealingandlaughingfilledthehouse.From time to time Mahmudwould come to me with

requests.

"Mum,"hewouldsay,"thereare five more boys standingoutside;cantheycomein?"

"Of course," I laughed,patting him on the back andfeeling sure that there weremore children in our houserightnow than lived inallofWah.When I talkedwith thevillagers about how Christ

hadinstructedustotreateachother in this way theirresponsewas,"DidHereallywalkwithpeoplelikeus?"

"Yes," I said, "and todaywhatwedoforothers,wedoforHim."

Finally, after the festivitieswere over and I was able toslump down in a chairwithout worrying about

sitting on a sleeping child, IsighedincontentmenttoGod."Is thiswhatYouwantedmetodo?"AndIseemedtohearthesoftresponse:"Yes."AndthenInoticed:Ihadforgottento put up the new Persianrugs. Yet they seemed nonetheworseforwear.

Many of the poor neverforgot that party. About amonth later, I heard through

one of the servants about afuneral inWah. The wife ofthe local mullah complainedloudly that I had made amistake losing my faith.Someone else, however,replied: "Have you seen theBegum Sahib lately? Haveyou done any of the thingsshe has done since shebecame a Christian? If youwant to learn anything aboutGod, why don't you go see

her?"

Buttherewasanothersidetothis experience too. For Ilearnedthattherewereforcesin Wah which did not takekindlytotheparty.

"BegumSahib,"anoldretainerwhoworkedinourgardenstoppedmeoneday.Hetouchedhisforehead."Aminuteplease?"

"Ofcourse."

"Begum Sahib Gi, there istalk in the town that youshould know about. OnespeaksabouthowtheBegumhasbecomeaproblem.Thereare those in the village whosay they will have to dosomethingaboutyou."

"Aboutme?"Isaid."Idon'tunderstand."

"NeitherdoI,BegumSahib.But I just feel you shouldknow...."

Warnings like this,sometimes coming closetogether, sometimes spreadmonths apart, began to occurwith increasing regularityover the next year. It wasalmost as if the Father weretrying to prepare me for adifficulttimetocome.

One day, for instance, threesmallboyscametoourhousefrom the village. Later Iwondered if theywereGod'smessengers, arriving in theselittle forms. For Mahmudcame to me with news fromthe boys. He was shiveringand his eyes were widewithfear.

"Mum,Idoyouknowwhatmyfriendssaid?Theysaid

thatinthevillagepeoplewereplanningtokillyou.TheywilldoitafterFridayprayers."Hebegansobbing."Ifyoudie,Iwillkillmyself!"

WhatwasItodolIgatheredMahmud's eight-year-oldform inmyarms, strokedhistousledblackhairandtriedtocomfort him. "My dearchild,"Isaid,"letmetellyou

a story." And I recounted tohim the tale of Jesus' firstsermoninNazareth,whenthecrowd became so angry anddetermined to stone Him."Mahmud," I said, "Jesuspassed through the midst ofthem. There wasn't a thinganyonecoulddotoJesusuntilandunlesstheFatherallowedittohappen.Thesameistruewith you and me. We haveHis perfect protection. Do

youbelievethat?"

"Doyoumeanwewillneverbehurtorharmed?"

"No,Idon'tmeanthat.Jesuswas hurt.But onlywhenHistime had come to suffer.Wedo not need to live a life ofconstant fear that somethingterriblewillhappentous.Forit cannot happen to us untilour moment has come. And

maybethatwillneverhappen.Wewill simply have to waitandsee.But inthemeantimewe can live in greatconfidence. Do youunderstand?"

Mahmud looked at me andhis brown eyes softened.Suddenlyhe smiled,wheeledon the spot and ran off toplay,shoutinghappily.Itwasthe best answer to my

question he could possiblyhavegiven.

I wish I could say that Imyself felt as confident. Notthat I disbelievedwhat I hadsaid toMahmud. It was thatmy faith was not yetchildlike. I rose and carriedmyBibleoutintothegarden.My heart was not exactlylight. How dare they try toforcemefrommyland!

The fall weather was crispand dry; as I slowly walkedalong the graveled path, Icouldhearafishsplashinmylittle stream and the far-offcall of a bird.Chrysanthemums and othersummer leftoverscheered thepath. I breathed the pleasantsparkling air. This was myland, and my people. Thiswas my country. My familyhad served it well for seven

hundred years. This was myhome,andIcouldnot,wouldnotleaveitl

Yeteventsweretakingplacewhichwere totallyoutofmycontrol, and which did notbode well for my stubborndetermination to stay in myhome.

In December of 1970, fouryears after my conversion,

Pakistanhad its firstnationalone-man-one-voteelection. ItlookedasifthePeople'sPartywouldcarrytheday.Andthatwas not exactly good newsfor me. For none of myhighly placed friends werealso friends of this party."Islam our Faith,Democracyour Policy, Socialism ourEconomy" was the newparty'sslogan.Itwasaslogandesignedtoappealtotheman

on thestreet. Iknow that thecommon ordinary Pakistanifelt a new sense of power.Was this good for me?Probably itwas good for thenewBilquis,buttherewasaninherent danger too. Fornothing fires the zeal of afanatic more than the beliefthathisgovernmentwillbackhim in his exploits. My oldreputation was certainly notthat of a democrat; socialism

did not fit the ageoldtraditions of our family; andIslam?-well, now I was atraitor.

I followed the eventssomewhat from a distance.One day, however, an oldgovernment friend of myfather's from Sardar arrived.Despite his despair over mynewfaith,hehadtriedtostayclose to me. From time to

time he would call or visitjust to make sure thateverythingwasallright.

Nowhesatwithmeonthewhitesilk-covereddivaninourdrawingroom,sippingtea.

"Bilquis,"hesaid,hisvoicelow,"areyouawareofwhatishappeningandhowitcanaffectyou?"

-"DoyoumeanwiththePakistanPeople'sParty?"

"Theywontheelectionofcourse.HowmuchdoyouknowaboutZulfikarAliBhutto."

"Iknewhimwell,"Isaid.

"Don't you read the paper?Listentotheradio?"

"No, you know I don't take

timeforthat."

"Well, I advise that you dotake time. The governmentsituationhaschanged.Idoubtif you can count on him asyou did on previouspresidents," he added. "Youhave, my dear, lost whatinfluence you may have hadin high circles. That era isover."

HalfanhourlaterasIwavedmy old friend out of thedrivewayandreturnedtocallthe maid to clean up, Irealized that a strange thinghad happened with my oldfriend's visit. It was as if hehad spoken for the Lord,preparingmeforthefactthatmy protective, influentialfriends were gone, bringingme one more step towardtotaldependenceontheLord.

It wasn't too long before Ibegan sensing a growinghostility. I saw it in the eyesof men as I walked inWah.I'llneverforgetthechangeintheattitudeofaminorofficialwithwhom I discussed taxesonmyproperty.Inthepasthehad been a servile man,bowing and touching hisforehead. Now the littlefellow was openly hostile. Itwas evident in his clipped

remarks and thecontemptuouswayheslappedthe forms down in front ofme.

And later as I was strollingalong the road outside myhouse,Iglimpsedamanwhousuallywentoutofhiswaytospeak to me. Now I noticedsomethingquitedifferent.Hecaught sight of me, quicklyturnedhisheadandbegan to

studythehorizonasIpassed.Inwardly, I chuckled. "Lord,don't we all behave likechildren!"

Interestingly, the newgovernment seemed to havelittle effect upon myhousehold staff. Except forNur-jan,whowasstillquietlyenjoying her new walk withJesus,andRaisham,myotherChristian servant, my entire

staff were faithful followersof Muhammad. Yet a realaffection existed between us.More than once my Muslimservants slipped into thebedroom to plead with me."Please, Begum Sahib Gi,"they said in low voices, "ifyoushouldhavetoleave...orifyoushoulddecidetoleave...don'tworryaboutus.We'llfindwork."

WhatadifferentrelationshipIhadwithmystaffnowthanashortfouryearsbefore.

Dreams, too, played aremarkable role during thattime. Dreams had alwaysbeen a part of my Christianexperience,eversincethedayIfirstmetJesus,whocameina dream to feast at the tablewith me. Now these strangeandmystic experiences, such

as Paul said he experienced,becameevenmoreactive.

One night I found myselftaken out in spirit andcrossingtheoceanataterrificmomentum.LikethespeedoflightIcametowhatIfeltwasNew England, though I hadnever been to America. Icame before a house, orwasit a nursing home? I floatedintoaroomwithtwinbeds.In

onelayamiddle-agedwomanwith a round face, clear blueeyes and a mixture of grayandwhiteshorthair.Awhiteembossed cotton spread in atriangularpatterncovered thebed. Shewas obviously veryill;Isensedshehadcancer.Anurse sat in a chair reading.And then I saw my Lord inthe corner of the room. Ikneeled down before HimandaskedwhatIshoulddo.

"Prayforher,"Hesaid.SoIwent to thewoman'sbedandprayed fervently for herhealing.

-InthemorningIsatatmywindow still awed by whathad happened in that roomacrossthesea.WhydidJesusask me to pray for thewoman? He was right there.YetHehadaskedmetoprayforher.Iwasbeginningtoget

a glimmer of a tremendousrevelation. Our prayers arevital to our Lord. He worksthroughthem.Iwasledtothefifth chapter of James:Believingprayerwillsavethesick man; the Lord willrestorehimandany sins thathe has committed will beforgiven.... Tremendouspower is made availablethroughagoodman'searnestprayer....

Thusourprayerreleasesthispowerintothepersonforwhomweplead.

Another time I envisionedwalkingupagangplankas ifboarding a ship. Thegangplank led into a room.Christ was standing in theroom.Heseemedtobegivingme in structions. Then Iwalked back down thegangplank.At theendof it a

lady was waiting, dressed inwestern clothes, a skirt andjacket. She appeared to havebeen waiting for me. Shecame up to me, linked herarm in mine and started totakemeaway.

"Where are we going,Lord?" I asked over myshoulder. But He would nottellme.

The dream seemed to besaying that Iwould be goingonanothertrip.Althoughthistime I would be going to anunknown destination, Jesuswould be watching over thejourney.ThedreamleftmeinastateofpreparednesssothatIwasnotstartledbythenewsanoldfriendbroughtme.

In March 1971, just a fewmonths after Bhutto had

takenoffice,IhadavistfromYaqub, an old governmentfriend.He had been close toour family for years. In fact,when my husband wasMinister, there was a timewhen Pakistan was in aneconomic decline with aserious trade imbalance.Yaqub and I had helpedinaugurate a self-helpprogram which came to becalled the Simple Living

Plan. The basic idea was toencouragePakistan industriesto produce our own goods,lessening the need forimports.

Wehad followedeachotheraround the country helpingsmall factories and cottageindustriesgetstarted.Wehadencouraged local people toweave fabric and then startproduction of clothing. We,

ourselves, had voluntarilyenteredanausterityprogram,wearing homespun garments.Itwasalltothegood,fortheSimple Living Plan was asuccess. As local factoriesbegantothrive,theeconomiccondition of Pakistanimproved. Through the yearssince, Yaqub wouldoccasionally visit me todiscuss politics and worldaffairs.Heknewagooddeal

aboutourfamilyholdings,forhe had visited the manyestates we had throughoutPakistan, and he knew thatmost of our funds were tiedupinrealestate.

"Bilquis," he said, in a tonethat was apologetic, "somefriends and I have beentalkingand...er,thesubjectof your financial health hascome up. Have you

considered selling some ofyour land? I'm not sure howsafeitisforyoutohaveallofyour funds tied up in realestate,withBhuttopromisinglandreform."

WhatathoughtfulthingforYaqubtodo.Andnotwithoutriskeither.Withthegrowinghostilitytowardtherulingclassofyesterday,hisgovernmentstaffcaroutside

myhousecouldeasilyservetobringcriticismonhisownshoulders.

"Thankyou,Yaqub," I said,trying to control my voice."ButasthingsstandnowIamdetermined. Nothing-nothingat all will force me to moveoutl"

It was an infantile thing tosayofcourse.TheoldBilquis

with her imperious, stubbornway was showing through.Nonethelessitwasanattitudewhich did not surprise myfriend at all. "That's theanswer I expected, Bilquis,"Yaqub said, stroking hismoustache and laughing."Just the same, the timemaycomewhenyoumaywant toleave Pakistan. If you needhelp..."

"Ifthetimedoes,mygoodfriend,Iwillbesuretorememberyouroffer."

Another dream: this timefrom Raisham, usually soreserved.

"Oh Begum Sheikh," mymaid cried, kneeling her tallslender formby thedivanonwhich I sat in my bedroomthatcoldnightImettheLord.

"I've had a horrible dream.CanItellyouaboutit?"

"Ofcourse."

I listened closely. Raishamtold me that in her dreamsomeevilmenhadcomeintothe house and were holdingme prisoner. "I fought withthem,"shecried."Icalledout`Begum, runl' And in thedreamI sawyou runningout

ofthehouseandescaping."

Themaid's darkbrowneyesweremoistwithtears.ItwasIwho had to comfort her. Butforme thiswas not difficult.InthewordswhichIspoke,Ifound myself listening toadvicewhichIshouldtaketoheart. "My dear," I said, "Ihavebeenhearingmuchfromthe Lord lately about thepossibility of having to flee.

Andthismayoccur.Iatfirstrefusedtobelieve.ButnowIambeginningtowonder."

"Itispossible,"Isaid,liftingher pale chin upwards andsmiling, "that I may have togo. But if I do, it will be inthe Lord's timing. I amlearning to accept that. Canyoubelieveme?"

The little maid was silent.

Thenatlastshespoke,"Whata wonderful way to live,BegumSahib."

"Itisindeed.Itistheonlyway.Nothing,anylonger,isinmyowncontrol."

AndalthoughIdidbelieveeverythingIsaid,astheyoungmaiddisappearedfrommybedroom,Ifoundmyselfnotquiteasinchargeofmy

emotionsasImayhavesounded.Fleeing?Runningaway?Me?

The series of message"experiences" began to comemorerapidlyintheautumnof1971.OnedayNur-jan cametomebreathlessandtautwithemotion.

"What is it,Nur-jan?" I saidas she started to brush my

hair,herhandstrembling.

"Oh,BegumSahib,"Nur-jansobbed, "I don't want you tobehurt."

"Hurtbywhat?"

Nur-jan'driedhereyes.Shetoldmethatherbrother,herownbrother,hadbeentothemosquethepreviousday,andthatagroup¶menhadsaid

thatatlastthetimehadcometotakeactionagainstme.

"Do you have any idea ofwhattheymeant?"

"No,-BegumSahib,"Nur-jansaid.-"ButIamafraid.Notonlyforyoubutfortheboy,too."

"A nine-year-old child?Theywouldn't..."

"Begum-Sahib,thisisnotthecountryitwasevenfiveyearsago,"saidNur-janseriously,sounlikeherusuallybubblyself."Pleasebecareful."

And indeed, it wasn't but afew weeks later that ithappened.

It had been such a lovelyday. Autumn was in the air.

The monsoon season wasover and the weather wascrisp and dry. Nothinguntoward had happened fordays on end and I foundmyselfsayingthatafterallwewere living in amodem age.It was 1971, not 1571. Holywarswereathingofthepast.

Iwentuptomyroomformyprayerhour.

Butsuddenly,withoutknowingwhy,IhadthestrongesturgetogetMahmudandtorushoutsidetothelawn!

What-afoolishthingtodo.ButtheurgewassodefinitethatIdasheddownthehall,wokeMahmudupfromhissiesta,andwithoutexplanationhurriedthegroggyandprotestingchild

downthehall.

Stillfeelingfoolish,Idasheddown the stairs, threw openthe French doors and ranoutside.

The moment I stepped ontothe terrace, I smelled acridsmoke.Someonewasburningpine boughs. We had alongstandingrule thatnoonewasallowed toburn trashon

my land. Iwent in search ofthe gardener and when Iroundedthesideofthehousewas instantly filled withhorror.

There, heaped against thehouse,was amoundofdriedpine boughs, ablaze. Thecracklingflames,hotandfast,raced up the side of thebuilding,leapinghigh.

I screamed. The servantscame running. Soon somewere rushing back and forthto the streams with bucketsfilledwithwater.Others hadunreeled thegardenhoseandwerespraying the flames butour water pressure was low.For amoment it looked as ifthefirewasgoingtocatchthetimberswhichstuckoutfromtheendof thebuildingunderthe roof. They began to

smoke and smoulder. Therewas no way to throw waterthat high. The only way wecould keep the house fromburningdownwas to quenchtheflamesthemselves.

On we raced, against time.The ten servants which wereon the staff formed a line tothestreampassingbucketsofwater from one person toanother, sloshing it over in

theirhurry.

Oneveryoneworkedforhalfan hour, until finally theleaping flames began to bebrought under control. Westood,aboutadozenofus,inacirclearoundthefire.Allofuswere perspiring, all of usshaking. In another fewminutes the house wouldhave been ablaze, impossibletoquench.

I caught Nur-jan's eye. Sheshruggedeversoslightlyandnoddedherhead.

Iknewexactlywhatshewasthinking.Thethreathadbeencarried out. I looked at thewooden roof beams, theirends charred black, and thesootstainsonthewhitewallsof my house. I thanked theLord that nothing else hadhappened and shuddered to

think of what could havehappened if I had not beendirected outside at that verymoment.

An hour later, after thepolice had come toinvestigate,make their notes,question me and the staff, Iwasonce again seated inmyroom.IpickeduptheBibletosee if the Lord had anythingspecialtosaytome.

One phrase leaped off thepage.

"Haste thee, escape thither;for I cannot do anything tillthou be come thither"(Genesis19:22).

I put the book down andlooked up. "All You have todo now is showme the wayYouwantmetoleave.Willitbeeasy,orwillitbehard?

"And above all, Lord," Isaid, this time with tearssuddenly filling my eyes,"whatabout theboy?Canhecome too? You have beenstripping me of everything.Doesthatincludethechildaswell?"

Onedaysixmonthslater, inMayof1972,theLordspoketo me still again throughanother dream. Raisham

came to me with worrywritteninhereyes.

"Begum Sahib," Raishamsaid,"isthecashboxsafe?"

She was referring to theportablestrongboxinwhichIkeptthehouseholdcash.

"Of course it's safe," Ianswered."Why?"

"Well," Raisham explained,

obviously trying to controlhervoice,"Ihadadreamlastnight in which you weremotoringon a long trip.Youhadthecashboxwithyou."

"Yes?" I said. This wasn'ttoo unusual, since I oftencarried thecashboxwithmeontrips.

"Butthedreamwassoreal,"Raisham insisted. "And the

sad part is that as you weretraveling,peoplestoppedyouandstolethecashbox."

ShetrembledandonceagainI had to comfort her withassurance that the lossofmymoneywould leadme into astill closer dependence onGod. After she went back toherworkIthoughtaboutthatdream.Coulditbeprophetic?Coulditbetellingmethatmy

financeswouldbetakenfromme? Would I soon becompletely on my own,hurtling into the unknownwithnomeansofsupport?

Thesewereastonishingdays.For just twomonths later,ona hot July day in 1972, aservantcametoannouncethearrivalofmysonKhalid.

"Khalid?"Mysonstill lived

inLahore.Whyaspecialtrip,especially in this intenseheat?Whatwas so importantthat it could not be handledonthetelephone?

Khalidwaswaitingformeinthe drawing room. "Sonl" Iexclaimed as I walked in."How great to see youl Butwhydidn'tyouphone?"

Khalidcameoverandkissed

me.Heclosedthedrawingroomdoorand,withoutpreamble,heplungedintothepurposeforhisvisit."Mother,I'veheardafrighteningrumor."Hestopped.Itriedtosmile.Khalidloweredhisvoiceandwenton,"Mother,thegovernmentisgoingtoexpropriatemuchprivateproperty."

Mymindwentbacktothe

visitfrommygovernmentfriendwhohadsaidthesamething,morethanayearearlier,backinMarch,1971.Washispropheticvisitcomingtopassnow?KhalidtoldmethatBhuttowasstartinghislandreformsandthatitwasverylikelythatmypropertieswouldbeamongthefirsttobenationalized.

"WhatdoyouthinkIshould

do?"Iasked."Willtheytakeitallorjustpart?"

Khalidgotupfromhischairandwalkedovertothegardenwindow, deep in thought.Turningbacktomehesaid:

"Well, Mother, nobodyknows. Perhaps it would bebest to sell some of yourproperties in small lots. Thatway the new owner will be

protected from a totalgovernmenttakeover:'

ThemoreI thoughtabout it,the more I felt Khalid'ssuggestion made sense. Wedrove over to discuss theissue with Tooni, all of usagreeing that this was theright way to proceed. It wasdecided then. Khalid wouldgobacktoLahore.Wewouldjoin him there to arrange the

paperwork. Tooni, Mahmudand-Iwouldfollowshortly.

So it was that one hotmorning in July of 1972, thethree of us found ourselvesnearly ready for the drive toLahore to see real estateagents about my properties.AsIsteppedoutofthehouseIwasstruckbythebeautyofmy garden. Summerblossomswereat theirheight

and even the springs seemedtotinklelouderthanusual.

"We'll be back in a fewweeks," I said to theassembled staff on the frontsteps of the house. Everyoneseemed to accept the idea.Everyone that is but Nur-janand Raisham. Nur-jansuddenly burst in tears andrushedaway.

SadlyIwentuptomybedroomtopickupanitemIforgot.WhenIturnedagainintothehalltogobackdownstairs,Raishamwasstandinginfrontofme.Shetookmyhand,hereyeswetwithtears.

"God go with you, BegumSahibGi,"shesaidsoftly.

"And he with you," I

answered.

Raisham and I stood in thehall silently together, sayingnothing but understandingeverything. Somehow IsensedthatIwouldneverseethistallslenderpersonagain-shewithwhomIhadbecomesoclose.Isqueezedherhandand whispered, "There is noonewhocandomyhair likeyou."

Raishamputherhandstoherface and rushed away fromme. I was about to close thebedroom door whensomething stopped me. Iwalked back into the roomand stood there. A hushsettled over the white-furnishedroom.Themorningsun flooded in from thegardenwindow.ThisiswhereIhadcometoknowtheLord.

I turned my back on theroom and on my preciousgarden,where I had so oftenknown the Lord's Presence,andheadedoutsidetothecar.

There were people I wouldbe extremely glad to see inLahore. First, of course,Khalid, his wife and theirteenaged daughter. Thenthere was the possibility ofseeingtheOlds.Ihadwritten

that I would be coming toLahore. Their new missionwas in a village somedistance from the town,but Ihoped that I could see theseoldfriends.

Lahore,asusualinJuly,wasbroiling, its ancient streetssteamed with rain from thelastmonsoon.Aswethreadedourwaythroughthecrowdeddowntown streets, a

loudspeaker on a minaretaboveuscrackled,thenbrokeinto the metallic voice of amuezzin's noontime prayer.Trafficsuddenly lightened ascars and trucks pulled to thecurb. Drivers climbed downtothesidewalk,laidouttheirprayer mats and beganprostratingthemselves.

Tooni could only stay withus for a very short time

because of prior obligations.After we got the necessarypaperwork done and had ashort visit,Khalid took us tothe railroad station so thatToonicouldcatchhertrain.Itwasapoignantmomentatthestation,more poignant than Icould understand. Accordingto plan, Mahmud would beseeing his mother again injust a few days. Yet we allsensed something unusual

about the leave-taking.Mahmud, lanky for nearlyten, tried to hold back thetearsashekissedhismother.Tooni cried openly as sheembracedtheboy.SuddenlyIfound myself crying too andwe all three hugged eachother there on the stationplatform.

Finally, Tooni threw herdark chestnut hair back and

laughed: "Ohcomeon,we'renothavingafuneral."

I smiled, kissed her again,and Mahmud and I watchedher climb aboard the coach.As the engine tooted and thecarsslowlybegantoleavethestation, a pang caught myheart. I searched for Tooni'sface in the coach window.We located her and bothMahmudandIblewkisses.

Hungrily, I fastened Tooni'sfaceinmymind,etchingitinmymemory.

The next day I spent timewith realtymenwho advisedme that my property salewould take several weeks.Khalid assured us that wewouldbewelcomeaslongaswewantedtostay.

Theone thing thatdisturbed

mewasthatIwouldnothavespiritual fellowship. I knewnow why disciples went outtwo by two. Christians needeachotherforsustenanceandcounsel.

IcalledtheOlds.Howgreatit was to hearMarie's voicelWe laughed together andcried together and prayedtogether on the phone.Though their schedule

prevented them from comingto Lahore, they could ofcourse put me in touch withChristians in town. Mariementioned especially acollege professor's wife,PeggySchlorholtz.

Strange! Why did my heartbeatfasteratthename?

Withinminutes,PeggyandIwereonthephonewitheach

other.Withinhours,shewasinKhalid'sdrawingroom.Whenshesawmeherfacebrokeintoasmile.

"Tell me, Begum Sheikh,"she said, "is it true that youmetJesusforthefirsttimeinadream?HowdidyoucometoknowtheLord?"

SothereinthedrawingroomI toldPeggy thewhole story,

justas ithadbegunsixyearsbefore. Peggy listenedintently.When I finished shetookmyhand _ and said themostamazingthing.

"I wish you would come toAmericawithmel"

I looked at her,dumbfounded. But again myheartwasracing.

"Imeanit,"saidPeggy."I'mleavingsoontoputmysoninschool.I'llbeintheStatesforfourmonths.Youcouldtravelwith me and speak to ourchurchesthere!"

Shewas so enthusiastic thatIdidnotwant todampenherspirits."Well,"Isaidsmiling,"I do appreciate yourinvitation. But let me prayaboutit."

The next morning a maidbroughtanotetome.Ireaditand laughed. It was fromPeggy. "Have you prayedyet?" I smiled, crumpled thenote and did nothing. It wasjust toopreposterous to thinkabout.

Unless. . . . Suddenly theevents of the past two yearscrowded into my mind in amomentous sweep. The

dreams. The warnings. Thefire.My determination to dowhatever the Lord wanted-even if it meant leaving myhomeland.

No,IhadnotreallycommittedPeggy'svquestiontotheLord.ButIdidnow.IplacedthetripinHishands.ItwasdifficultbecauseIknewwithapartofmewhichIcouldnotunderstand,thatifI

leftitwouldnotbejustforfourmonths.Itwouldbeforever.

"Lord,Iwillsayitonceagain.YouknowhowmuchIwanttostayinmyland.Afterall,I'm52yearsold,andthat'snottimetostartalloveragain.

"But,"Isighed."But...thatisnotthemostimportant

thingisit?AllthatreallymattersisstayinginYourPretence.Pleasehelpme,Lord,nevertomakeadecisionthatwouldtakemeawayfromYourglory."

Odd, how after the Lordchanged my mind aboutleaving Pakistan, suddenroadblocksemerged.

One, for instance, thatseemedinsurmountablewasa

regulation that citizens ofPakistan are only allowed totake five hundred dollars outof the country. As mydependent, Mahmud couldtake 250 dollars. How couldMahmud and I possibly livefor four months on 750dollars?Thisbyitselfseemedenough to keep us fromconsidering Peggy'ssuggestionfurther.

Thenafewdayslater,Peggyinvitedme toherhome for avisit. As we chatted, Dr.Christy Wilson's name cameup in the conversation. Sheknew him too. I was quiteconcerned about him since Ihadheardhehadbeenejectedfrom Afghanistan by theMuslim government whichthenhaddestroyedthechurchhe had built in Kabul forforeignnationals.

"Do you have any ideawhereheis?"Iasked.

"Notreally,"Peggysaid.

Justatthatmomentthephonerang.Peggywenttoanswerit.Whenshereturned,hereyeswerewide,"Doyouknowwhothatwas?"shesaid."ItwasChristyWilson!"

After we got over our

startled,laughingsurprise,webegan toaskourselves if thiswere more than"coincidence." Dr. Wilson,Peggy said, was just passingthroughLahore.Hewantedtocome out for a visit. Ofcourse I was glad, for itwouldbegoodtocatchuponnews, but I had an intuitivesense that more than casualvisitingwasgoingtooccur.

WehadamarvelousreunionatPeggy'shousethenextday.I brought Dr. Wilson up-to-dateoneventsinWahandinmyownlife.ThenPeggytoldhim about trying to persuademe to come to the UnitedStates. He became quiteenthusiasticabouttheidea.

"There are several problemsthough," Peggy said. "Thefirst is the regulation that

Bilquis can take only fivehundred dollars out of thecountry."

"Iwonder...,"Dr.'Wilsonsaidstrokinghischin."Ihavesomefriendswhomight....PerhapsIcouldsendawire....IknowamaninCalifornia..."

After a few days Peggyphoned,allexcited."Bilquis,"

sheshouted."It'sallarrangedlDr.BobPierceofSamaritan'sPurse will sponsor youl Doyouthinkyoucouldbereadytoleaveinsevendays?"

Seven days! Suddenly theenormity of the idea ofleaving my homeland sweptover me. For I still feltconvincedthatifIdidinfactleave, it would be forever. Iunderstood what Rudyard

Kiplingmeantinhislines:

...mygarden...myhome... my family. ... Could Iseriouslycontemplateleavingthem?

Yes, I could. I couldconsider nothing else if Iweretrulyconvincedthatthis

were God's will. For I knewwhat would happen if Ideliberately disobeyed. HisPresencewoulddisappear.

Over the next twenty-fourhours another confirmationappeared to come through.Khalidtoldmeatsupper thatthere was only one minordetaillefttocover,thenallofthe real estate problemswould be over. "I think you

cansayquitesafely,Mother,"Khalidsaid,"thatasof todayyouhavedivestedyourselfofthe properties you wanted tosell."

Then suddenly doorsslammed. Not by God, so itseemed, but by my country.Forstillaregulationcamein,totheeffectthatnoPakistanican leave the country unlessall of his income taxes have

been paid. Mine had beenpaid,butIneededastatementto that effect. Ihad toget anIncome Tax ClearanceCertificate. Only with thiscould I buy tickets for theUnitedStates.

Four of my seven daysbefore departure were gone;only three were left now asmy sonKhalid and I walkedinto thegovernmentoffice to

get theClearanceCertificate.Khalid and I thought therewould be no problems at all,since my papers were inorder.

The office was on a busystreet in downtown Lahore.However,whenIsteppedintothat building, somethingstruck me as strange. It wasfar too quiet for the usualbureaucratic office where

clerksranhitherandyonandsomeonealwaysseemedtobearguingwithastaffmember.

Khalidand'Iweretheonlyonesintheofficeexceptforabald-headedclerkwhosatatthefarendofthecounterreadingamagazine.Steppinguptohim,ItoldhimwhatIwanted.

He looked up only partially

and shook his head. "Sorrylady,"hesaidputtinghisheadbackdownintothemagazineagain,"there'sastrikeon."

"Astrike?"

"Yes, Madame," he said."Indefinitely. No one is onduty. There's nothing anyonecandoforyou."

Istoodstaringattheman.

ThenIwithdrewafewfeet."OhLord,"Iprayedaloud,butinsuchawaythatonlymysoncouldhearme,"haveYouclosedthedoor?Butwhydidyouencouragemesofar?"

Thenathoughtstruckme.HadHereallyclosedthedoor?"Allright,Father,"Iprayed."IfitisYourwillthatMahmudandIgoto

America,You'llhavetobetheonetoarrangeformyclearance."AstrongsenseofconfidencefilledmeandIfoundmyselfaddressingtheclerk.

"Well, you seem to be onduty," Isaid."Whycan'tyougivememyclearance?"

The man glanced up fromhis magazine with a dour

expression. He seemed thetype who was always happytosayno.

"Itoldyou,lady,there'sastrikeon,"hegrunted.

"Well, then, let me see theofficerincharge."OnethingIhad learned in mygovernment work was thatwhen I wanted somethingdone, I should always go to

thehighestauthority.

The clerk sighed, slappeddown his magazine andescorted me to an officenearby. "Wait here," hegrunted again, thendisappeared into the office.From it I could hear a lowmurmur of voices, then theman emerged and motionedmein.

KhalidandIfoundourselvesfacing a handsomemiddleaged man sittingbehind a scarred desk. Iexplainedmyneed.Heleanedback in his chair, twirling apencil."I'msorryMadame. ..Madame...whatdidyousayyournamewas?"

"BilquisSheikh."

"Well, I'm very sorry.

There'sabsolutelynothingwecan do during this strike...."But suddenly a light ofrecognitionfloodedhiseyes.

"You aren't the BegumSheikh who organized theSimpleLivingPlan?"

"Iam."

He slammed his fist on thetable, then shot up. "Well!"

hesaid.Hedrewachairoverandaskedme to sit down. "Ithink that was the mostwonderful program ourcountryeverhad."

Ismiled.

Then the officer leanedacross his desk in aconfidential manner. "Nowlet's see what we can do foryou."

He got me to explainprecisely what the problemwasandItoldhimthatIwassupposed to be inKarachi tocatch a plane for the UnitedStates in three days. Theman's face tookona resolutelook. Standing up, he calledout to the clerk on thecounter. "Tell that newassistanttocomeinhere."

"I have," he said tome in a

very lowvoice, "a temporarystenographer. He is not partof the regularwork staff andisn'tonstrike.Hecantypeupthe Certificate. I myself willput on the seal. I'm glad tohelp."

AfewminuteslaterIhadtheprecious Certificate in myhand, fully executed. As Ileft, I confess, I waved thepaper at the surprised little

clerkwholookedupfromhismagazinejustlongenoughtosee my smile and hear my"Godblessyou."

Asweleftthegovernmentofficebuildingafewminuteslater,anastonishedKhalidmentionedtomethatithadtakenonlytwentyminutestocompletetheentirebusiness."Thatwaslessthanitwouldhavetakenifeveryonehad

beenondutyl"hesaid.

My heart singing, I tried toexplain to Khalid that theLord wants ourcompanionship. When weplay,Hewants toworkwithus. It was the Moses' RodPrinciple.IfIhadjustputtheproblem in the Lord's handswithout stepping out in faithmyself, I might never havegottentheClearance.Ihadto

stepoutbydoingeverythingIcould. Ihad toask tosee theman in charge. Just as Godrequired Moses to strike therockwith a rod, He asks us,too, to participate in theworkingofmiracles.

Khalidseemedabittakenabackbymyenthusiasmbutrecoveredandaddedwithasmile:"Well,I'llsayonething,Mother.Inoticethat

insteadof`thankyou'youalwayssay`Godblessyou.'Andwhenyousaythat,it'sthemostbeautifulthingI'veeverheard."

NowthatallmypaperswereinorderIwonderedifIcouldtakeaquicktripbacktoWahtosaygoodbye,forby thenIwas convinced that this tripwould be formore than fourmonths. However, when I

brought up the subject,Khalidsaid:

"Didn't you hear about theflood?"

Heavy rains had struck theportion of Pakistan betweenLahore and Wah. Manysquare miles of land wereflooded. All traffic wassnarled.The government hadtakenovertransportation.

My heart sank. I would noteven be allowed to saygoodbye. The Lord wasasking me to make a cleanbreak,likeLotbeingtoldnottolookback.

I had planned to leaveLahore on Friday morning,two days off. I would fly toKarachi, the jumping-offplace for the United States.Peggy and her son would

begintheirtripinNewDelhi.Their Pan American NewYork-boundplanewouldstopatKarachiandMahmudandIwouldjointhemontheplanethere.On Thursdaymorning,however,anunusuallystrongurge swept over me not towait. My anxiety centeredaround Mahmud. Surelygrapevine efficiency hadtaken the news back toWahthatwewerenotonasimple

visit to Lahore but were onour way out of the country.Wasn't it probable thatrelatives might try to takeMahmud away from my"corrupting" influence!WouldI be stoppedon somepretext or other? A strongsenseofdangerspurredme.

No,Iwouldn'twait.Iwouldleavethatveryday.IwouldgotoKarachi,staywith

friends,andlielow.

So that afternoon, after aflurry of packing, Mahmudand I said quick farewells toKhalid and his family andhurried to the airport. Weflew out of Lahore with adefinite sense of relief. Wewereonourway!

Karachi was, as Iremembered it, a rambling

desert and seashore townnestled against the IndianOcean. It was a hodgepodgeof the old and new, ofgangling camels brushingagainst Rolls Royces, ofbuzzing fly-filled bazaarsnext to smart shops offeringthe latest Parisian fashions.Perfect. The town was solarge we would just beswallowedupinit.

WewerestayingwithfriendsandIwasshoppingdowntown,preparingforourdepartureforAmericathenextday.Suddenlyastrangeoppressioncameoverme.IclosedmyeyesasIleanedagainstawallforsupportandprayedformyLord'sprotection.IwasgiventhestrongleadingthatMahmudandIweretomovetoahotelthatnight.Itriedtoshakeit

off."Thisissilly!"Itoldmyself.ThenIrememberedthestoryoftheWiseMenbeingwarnedinadreamtoleaveearlybyanotherroute.

Shortly, we were checkedinto the Air France Hotel atthe Karachi Airport. I tookMahmud to the room asquickly as possible, orderedour meals sent up, andtogether we simply waited.

Mahmud seemed restless."Why do we have to be sosecretive,Mum?"heasked.

"I just thinkwe ought to bequiet for a little while, that'sall."

Thatnightbeforetheflight,Ilay awake in bedwondering.Whywas I so apprehensive?Therewas no real reason forit. Was I letting my nerves

takeover?WasIoverreactingtothethreatsofthepast?Thefire? I slept fitfully and onlyfor a few hours. By twoo'clock in themorning Iwasup and dressed, againproddedbya strong senseofurgency. Again I feltridiculous. It was unlike me.TheonlywayIcouldexplainitwasthatthehourhadcomeformetoleavethehotelandIwas being propelled by the

Lord. I hustled a groggyMahmud into his clothes,then gathered our bags,placing themby the door forthebellmantopickup.

Itwasthreeo'clockinthemorning.Theflightwasatfive.Mahmud,stillsleepy-eyed,stoodwithmeinfrontofthehotelwaitingforataxitotakeustotheterminal.Ilookedatthewaningmoon

andwondered,wouldthisbethelasttimeIwouldseethismooninmyowncountry?Anearlymorningbreezewaftedascentofnarcissus,probablyfromaflowerbox,andmyheartcriedout,forIsensedthatIwouldneverseemygardenagain.

Finally thedoorman flaggedacab.MahmudandIclimbedin. I prayed as we wove our

way through traffic. Even atthis early hour the airportavenues were busy. As carspulled alongside at stoplightsInervously sankbacka littledeeper into the seat. "We'rejust being quiet for a littlewhile," I quoted myself,trying to sound as reassuringto my own ears as I had toMahmud.No, thatwasn't theway.What I reallyneeded todo was to pray. "Lord, do

take away this nervousness.Nervousness is not foundedin You. I cannot trust Youand worry at the same time!Andyet if this urgency is ofYou, Lord, there must be areasonandIwillobey."

Wepulledintotheterminalandgotoutontoabustlingsidewalkwheretherumblingthunderofjetenginesandthecacophonyofhundredsof

voicesblendedinanatmosphereofurgency.MyheartcaughtasIlookedupandsawmycountry'sflag,thestarandcrescentonitsgreenbackground,snappinginthebreeze.Iwouldalwaysrespectthatflag,mypeople,andtheirMuslimfaith.Aporterhurriedourluggageovertothecheck-incounterwhereIwasgratefultoseeitdisappearintoseeming

safety.

Just 40 pounds of luggageeach.I smiled as I thought ofourfamilytripsonotherdaysto the interior whenthousands of pounds ofluggagewere takenfor justafew week's stay and mysisters still cried for theclothes that we couldn't takealong.

We had an hour to waitbefore plane time. KeepingMahmudclosetome,Ifeltitbestforustomixinwiththecrowd in the terminal so wewouldn't be noticed. But Icouldn't shake the sense ofimpending danger. Again Iscolded myself for needlessworry.TheLordisincharge,I told myself. He is guidingme out of this situation, andallIneedtodoisobey.

Then Mahmud asked to goto the restroom. We walkeddown the hall to the men !sroom.Iwaitedinthecorridor.

Suddenly the loudspeakercalledoutourflight.

"Pan Am flight for NewYork City now ready forboarding.

My heart jumped. Where

was Mahmudl We must begoing!

Finally themen's roomdooropened. No, it was aturbanned Sikh who steppedout.

Ifoundmyselfedgingtothedoor.WhatwasIdoing!CertainlynowomaninaMuslimcountrywouldbecaughtgoingintoamen's

roomeventolookforanine-year-oldmissingyoungster.

Now they were calling ourflight again. "Pan Am flightfor New York City is nowready for departure. Allpassengersshouldbeaboard."

OhnolMyheartcried.Ihadtodosomething.Ipushedthemen's room door back andshouted,"Mahmud!"

Alittlevoiceanswered,"I'mcomingMum...."

I breathed a deep sigh andfell back limply against thewall. Soon Mahmud cameout. "Wherewereyou?Whatkeptyoul"Icried.

IVomatter. I didn'twait foran answer but grabbed theboy's hand and ran.Nowwerushed down the long hall to

the boarding gate.We foundourselves among the lastpassengersgettingaboard.

"Wow, Muml" criedMahmud."Whatashipl"

Whatashipindeed.The747airliner was huge. We werebothexcited.Ihadneverseensuchabigplanebefore.

As I was about to step

aboard I hesitated for amoment,at this last touch ofPakistan'ssoil.

Butwehadtokeepmoving.Inside the plane, whichseemed likeanauditorium tome, a stewardess directed ustoward our seats.WherewasPeggy? What would I do intheStateswithouther?

And then, there she wasl

Workingherwayuptheaisletoward us. Peggy threw herarmsaboutme.

"Oh precious ladyl" shecried. "I was so worried. Icouldn'tseeyouinthecrowdat the boarding gate!" Iexplainedwhathadhappenedand Peggy seemed relieved.She introduced us to her sonwhowaswith her. "Too badwe can't sit together," she

said."Wejusthadtotaketheseatstheygaveus."

Frankly,itwasjustaswell.Mythoughtswerenotsocialatthattime.TheywereontherealizationthatIwasleavingmyhomeland.Ifeltsad,certainly,butatthesametimecomplete.Icouldn'tunderstandit.

SoonMahmudwasbeing

Mahmud.Hemadefriendswithastewardesswhotookhimintothecockpitforavisit.Mahmudcamebackenthralled.Iwaspleased.Thestewardessaskedustoputonourseatbelts.Ilookedoutthewindowtoseethefirstraysofdawnspearingtheeasternsky.Theenginesrumbledandasurgeofexcitementfilledme.Ourshipbegantolumberdowntherunway.Ilooked

behindmebutcouldnotseePeggy.

ButMahmud'sfacewasthere,nexttome.Anditshonewithexcitementasthejetenginesexplodedintothunderattakeoff.ItookMahmud'shandandbegan-to-pray.

"Whatnow,Lord?AgainIhavesuchafeelingof

completion)Youhavebroughtmeoutofmyhomeland,likeAbram.Notknowingwhatcomesnext,yetcomplete.Satisfied,becauseIamwithYou."

Even embarrassment overmy fears and nervousnessdidn't bother me now. All Iknew was that I had obeyedtheLordineveryway.AndIhad to admit that I would

neverreallyknowwhatmighthave happened if I had notfollowedHiseverycommandandmovedasIdid.

Tinylightswhiskedbythewindowsandsuddenlytherumblingofwheelsbeneathusceased.Wewereairborne!Inthelightofearlydawn,IcouldseetheshorelineofPakistanontheIndianOceanrecedingbelowus.

IheldoutmyhandtoHim.Hewasmyonlysecurity.MyonlyjoywasstayinginHisPresence.AslongasIcouldstaythereIknewthatIwouldbelivingintheglory.

"ThankYou,God,"Ibreathed."Thanklox;forlettingmetravelwithYou."

1978-Six years have passedsinceIwatchedmyhomelanddisappear in the mist. Theknowledge that I would notsee Pakistan again wasprophetic.

I have not been back. Theshort visit has been extendedformanyreasons.Firstofall,

my friends have warned thatit is best for me andMahmud-a strapping youngman of fifteen and nowknownasDavid-nottoreturn.I have been given similarmessages from others inauthority inmyhomeland. In1976 there was ameeting ofthe Islamic World Congressat which a resolution waspassed calling for thewithdrawal of all foreign

Christian institutions,missionaryradio stations andpersonnel. It's evident that Iwould not be welcome backinPakistannow.

Mostimportant,theLordhasmade it clear that I remainhere;thereseemstobeaneedin America to hear mymessage. I was first shownthis in a vision shortly afterarriving in theUnited States.

TheLordwasstandinginmyroom.He askedme to speakof His burden for thechurches,that therewouldbeaseparationof thesheepandthe goats and that thejudgment would begin at theHouse of theLord. I cringedbeforethetask;itwasnotmyplace to tell others theirshortcomings. Iwas a visitorin this country and a newChristian. So I asked: "Why

me,Lord?"

In answer, His eyes filledwithsuchconcernandagonyfor thechurches that I fell tomy knees and promised toobey. However, human andweak as I am, I was stillhesitant.WasthisreallyfromtheLordorwasitjustme?SoIputouta fleece, saying: "Ifyou take me out in spirit,Lord, then nothing in the

world will stop me fromspeakingout"Assoonasmyhead touched the pillow, IwastransportedinspiritandagreatlightenvelopedmeasifIwerebeinganointedfor thetask.

Clearly and unmistakably,the Lord commanded me tohonor and glorify His nameand to speak of His mercyandlovebeforechurchesand

groupseverywhere.

Then, as if in furtherconfirmation ofHis directionfor me, practically all of thevisions that I had back inPakistan have come to pass,just exactly as I saw themyears ahead of time. I haveseen in real life some of theAmericancitiesandchurchessoclearlyshownearlierinmydreams.

AmoststartlingconfirmationthattheLordcanspeaktousthroughvisionswasgiventomebyMrs.HaroldB.Wold,whosehusbandispastoroftheLighthouseMissionChurchinPortland,Oregon.ShewrotemeofavisionshehadinAmericaaboutthesametimethattheLordfirstspoketomeinPakistantenyearsbefore."Iwaswalkingand

prayinginmylivingroom,"shewrote,"whensuddenlythepowerofGodcameuponmesostronglythatIfeltasifmyfeetweren'ttouchingthefloor.InfrontofmeIsawthemostbeautifulvision.Itwasawomanofadarkerskin,wearingasari,andsomehowIknewshewasofnobility.Shewasfacingmeandstoodforquitealongtime,andIknewthatwhenImetherI

wouldrecognizeher.Whenyoucametoourchurchtospeak,Irecognizedyouastheladyinmyvision."

Today I live from onemoment to the next, waitingtoseewhattheLordwillnextdowithmeandwithmytime.One thing I know is that ImustwitnesstoHim.Anotheris that I must encourageAmericans toappreciate their

freedom to worship Christ.And Imustpray formyowncoun try. I cannotwitness tothepeople theredirectly.Butwhen people come to visitme, as my daughters Tooniand Khalida have done, andmy son Khalid plans to do,then I can talk freely.Othersof my family and friends Iwillprobablyneverseeagain.ButIprayforthemregularly.I pray for all the Muslim

people, so close to the livingGod yet so far, who believetheir salvation is a never-endingordealofgoodworks.Ipraythat theywillmeet theliving Christ Who is theirsalvation and that they willmeet Him before His secondcoming.

I think about Nur-jan andRaisham and all the otherChristians I left behind. And

when I worry about them intheir lonely walk, I amassuredthatHeiswiththem,too. For He promised: I amnot going to leave you alonein theworld-I am coming toyou(John14:18).

The world and itspossessionsmean little tomenow.When I discovered thatI would not be returninghome, I wrote my family

telling them to take myfurniture and belongings andgive them away or use themas they saw fit. I felt somewrench in this, but therewasnootherway.ThoughImustadmit that there are a fewofmy old possessions that Isometimes find myselfthinking nostalgically aboutthe silver dressing case thatbelonged to my mother andgrandmother, and the two

smallPersiansilk rugs inmydrawingroom.Butthen...itis only momentary, as onedoes when one recalls apleasant moment fromanotherday.

I gave Tooni power ofattorney,andaskedhertoputaside funds for the servants'salaries for a year. They hadall become like family tomeandIwantedtodoasmuchas

I could to get them startedsafelyinnewjobs.

My gardens and house? Iknow that the Wah gardenshave been taken over by thegovernment, as they are ofhistorical significance. Butwhen I ask about my housewhereIfoundtheLord,Igetrather vague answers.Perhaps my family andfriendsare trying tokeepme

from learning just how badthe house is. What theycannot really under stand isthatWah is now behindme.The thingsof theworldhavebecomemeaninglesstome.

For nowmy home is in theLord.My family in Christ ismynewfamily.Iamlivinginthe New Jerusalem. It is aplacewhereIhaveeverythingand at the same time have

nothing. For I have learnedpainfully, step by step, thatwhenwehavenothing at all,that is themoment when theLordcanreallybegintoworkthrough us. For that is themoment when we begin tolive most steadily in Hisglory.

° Modernized to PhillipsTranslation

° Modernized to Phillips'Translation

° Modernized to Phillips'Translation