I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER
Chapter 12. A Time for Sowing
The next separation step came in the sad news that the Mitchells were leaving on furlough. It would be some time before they would return to Pakistan.
It was almost two years after Singapore. I was siting in the Mitchells' living room with our small band of Christian professional men and women from the area. It was a sad occasion, the final get-together before David and Synnøve left. I could not help thinking of the first time I hac come to this same low-verandaed house as a hesitant seeker. o much had happened since then Ilooked at the faces of these two who had been so close to me in my introduction to Christ: David and Synnøve who had prayed for me so consistently.
"Im going to miss you terribly, you know that,"' I said as we all stood on the small lawn in front of the Mitchells' house. " How will l ever get along without your fellowship?
"Maybe the Lord is teaching you to get along without it," said Synneve. "He's always stretch- ing us, you know, Bilquis, until we don't have a safe handhold leftexcept Him."
It sounded good, but I still didn't like being stretched and told Synnøve as much. She just laughed. "Of course you don't, dear Bilquis. who ever wants to leave the safety of a womb? Bul adventure lies ahead!"
Synnøve got into their car and closed the door. One more embrace through the window and suddenly the Mitchells' car was rolling dustily away, away from the forlorn whitewashed build ings that had been officers quarters during the war. Their car disappeared around the corner. Adventure, indeed! Here I was a lonesome Christian in a Muslim town. Would I be able to make it.
Several weeks passed, during which time, frankly, it was hard for me to Synnøve promised, or the direction and purpose that Ken Old had foretold when he and Marie left what seemed such a long time ago. The Sunday evening meeting of Christians continued irst in one home then in another of the five of us who were left, but without the leadership of the Olds and Mitchells, the meetings seemed to flounder. Then one night after a listless meeting an idea struck me. Were we making a mistake trying to do things exactly as the Mitchells and the Olds had done? Our little group was surely going to atrophy if we didn't get some new blood in our midst. What would happen- wandifelt my puise quicken just at the thought what would happen if we asked people to join the fellowship who were not professionals -not doctors and engineers and missionaries? Suppose we asked Chris- tians and non-Christians alike, the sweepers, the lower classes, to join in fellowship. Perhaps in my own home since was large and convenient When I suggested the idea to our fellowship there was some initial resistance, then skeptical agreement. we decided to go ahead. Through direct invitations and through the grapevine also, I passed word along that a Christian evening would be held at my house Sunday night
I was surprised at how many people turned up. Most were from Rawalpindi where word had traveled. And, just as I hoped, not al were Christians either. Many were simply hungry to fing out more about the Christian God. With those of us from the original group as leaders, we sang and prayed and tried to do what we could to minister to the individual needs of the maids and day laborers and schoolteachers and business people who also came to the house.
Soon there was a fresh feeling to the Sunday fellowship. The responsibility was awesome I and the others who were leaders in this small group spent hours on our knees, hours close to the Lord and the Word, trying to be sure that in no smallest way did we diverge from the direction
He wished us to take. All of a sudden the result-less'" period I had been experiencing was eversed. I was able to se actual conversions . The frst to come to the Lord was a young widow and then asked the Lord in. It was extraordinary to see She cried her hurt and lonesomeness out the transformation in her personality, from a gloomy, defenseless creature to a hope-filled child of God. Shortly a mechanic from a nearby garage came into the Lord's Kingdom, then a file clerk, then a sweeper.
And all in my own home. I felt honored indeed, although I kept wondering when I would star to hear from the family about this smudge on our reputation. But no one complained. Not yet anyhow. It was as if the family didn't wantto admit what was happeing.
If opposition to my slowly evolving Christian life was lessening from my family, it was stil coming from within me at times. I was yet a very private person, possessive, counting my land and garden my own.
That summer after the Mitchells left, children from the village (perhaps encouraged by reports of a chan ge in my personality) began coming right onto my property to climb the ber tree (a wild plum) and help themselves toits fruit. The intrusion was bad enough, but when their shouts and squeals interrupted my rest time, I leaned out of my window and ordered the gardener to chase the children away. That very day I had the gardener cut the tree down. That would soive the problem permanently.
As soon as the tree was destroyed I realized what I had done. With the tree gone, so was the stoodinmy window staring at the empty joy and peace of the Lord's Presence. For. long time Place where it had been. How Iwished now that the tree were still there so that I could hear the joyful shouts of the children. I realized what the true Bilquis Sheikh was like. All over again Iknew thati inmy own natural selfI would never be different. It was only through the Lord, through His grace, that any change could ever take place
"O Lord" I said,"let me come back into Your Presence again, please!" There was only one thing to do. Scattered throughout my garden were loquat trees heavy with fruit. The very next day I issued an open invitation to the village children to come and enjoy themselves! And they did toc Even though I'm sure they tried to be careful, branches were broken, flowers trod upon.
"I think I see what Youre doing, Lord," I said one afternoon after the children had gone home and I was surveying the damage. "You found the garden itself to be a place that stood between us. You are weaning me even from the garden! You've taken it away to give to others. But look how they were enjoying itl lt's Your garden . I give it up to them with great pleasure, Thank You for using this to bring me back into Your comforting Self"
He did return too. Until, that is, I once again needed a pruning, This time it wasn't the garden, it was my precious rest.
One cold November afternoon I was resting when Mahmud slipped into my room. He was growing up and his good-humored features foretold a handsome young-man-to-be. But now his face was concerned
"Mum, there's a woman outside who wants to see you she's got a baby in her arms."
I lifted my head. "Mahmud," I said, forgetting my own instruction to Nur-jan and Raisham, "you're eight years old now! You know that ] don't want to see anyone at this time of day."
Mahmud had hardly left the room before the thought struck me; What would the Lord have done? And, of course, Iknew what He would have done. He would have gone to the woman im mediately, even if it were the middle of the night.
I called to Mahmud, who had not gone far enough to miss hearing me. Once again he stuck his brown face through the door.
"Mahmud," I sad, "what does the woman want?"
"I think her baby is sick," Mahmud said, coming now into the room. I could see the concern ir his eyes.
"Well, bring her to the entrance then," I directed as I prepared to get up from my bed.
In a moment I joined Mahmud, the woman and her child. The woman was dressed in the coarse, baggy clothes of a peasant. She might have been the baby's grandmother. She had a wizened face, shrunken shoulders and her clothes sagged around a thin frame. Only when she lifted her face and stared at me with deep brown eyes could I see that she herself was little more thana child.
"What can Ido for you?" I asked, my heart melting,
"I heard about you in my village, and I walked here."
The place she mentioned was t welve miles away. No wonder the poor thing looked so tired. I sent servants for tea and biscuit s. I wondered if she were still nursing the baby; in some villages mothers nurse their children up to three years of age. The baby's eyes stared listlessly, its tiny mouth still. I laid hands on the child's forehead to pray for him; it was hot and dry. As Ilaid hands on the mother's head to pray, I could feel generations of my family wincing, My heart went out to these lit tle ones, the mother and the child, as I asked God for healing in the name of jesus. When the maid came I told her also to bring some vitamins for the mother. They stayed for half an hour, the mother tellin g me of her life with a husband who had been crippled in an ac rident, the new babv, not enough food. And indeed she was nursing the babv-it was the chear est way to feed him . Wwhen the mother finally rose to go, I restrained her with a gesture.
"No" I whispered. "Not yet We must find some way to see to it that you and the baby are taken care of," Immediately as I said this, the old Bilquis Sheikh began to grow nervous. Whatif word got out to the other needy people in Wah that the Begum Sahib in the big garden provided a soft touch? Wouldn't we be swamped with lines of other skinny, emaciated, sickly, desperate people?
But even as my heart whispered this question, I knew that I had no choice. Either I had meant it or I had not meant it when I gave myself and all that I possessed to the Lord
"...and, of course, your husband needs attention too. Let's get you all to the hospital. And let's get some decent food into your bodies. Then, if your husband still can't find work, let me know."
That's all there was to the visit I made arrangements for the hospital to bill me and waited But the woman never retured. I was a little surprised. When I asked the servants if they knew what had happened to her, they- as usual- had the answer. She and the baby and her husband had indeed gone to the hospital and now they were all better. The husband hadt work My ego bridled at firstat the ungratiefuiness ofthis woman for not returning to give thanks, but the Lord checked me. "Is that why you helped her? So that you could be thanked? I thought thanksgiving was supposed to go to Me!"
And of course He was right. I went back in my mind to the place where I first felt that I had taken care of this woman. Then I asked the Lord to forgive me, and never to allow me to fall into that trap again.
"Lord,"I sighed, your arm must be tired from picking me up so often."
It seemed through those days that ] would have little moments of success in the job of living close to the Lord, only to be brought back to ear th quickly with resounding failure I wondered if this were the pattern usually followed in the Christian life. Since I had no one to talk to then, had to carry these questions secretly.
One morning while Nur-jan was administering my toilette a redbird fluttered to the window- sill. "Oh!" I exclaimed, look at what the Lord has sent us this morning!
There was silence as Nur-jan quietly went on brushing my hair. I was a bit surprised, Nur-jan was normally so talkative. Then she observed shyly, "Begum Sahib, do you know that when you start talking of the Lord your whole appearance changes?"
That afternoon I placed an order for several more Bibles at the Christian bookshop in Islama- bad. They were a special kind of Bible, designed for children. I had discovered the usefulness of these Bibles with Mahmud. I discovered also that the servants around the house were pickin g up the brightly illustrated little book. When the Bibles arrived, I made a special point of giving one to Nur-jan. Imagine my joy when one day she came to speak to me privately.
"Begum Sahib,"' Nur-jan said, her plump face fullof emotion , "1 have something to tellyou. Do you remember how you have so often told us that if we want to know this Jesus all we have to do is ask Him to come into our heart?" At this she broke into tears. well I did, Begum Sahib. And He did come in. I have never felt such love, ever, in my whole life!"
I couldn't believe my ears. I threw my arms about the girl and embraced her. We danced a lit tle crying waltz around the bedroom.
"What an incredible piece of news, Nur-jan. Now we are three Christians- you and Raisham and I. We must celebrate!"
So Raisham and Nur-jan and I all had tea together. It wasn't the first time I had drunk tea with people of the serving class. But it still gave me a slight shock. As the three of us Christians daintily sipped our drinks and nibbled at our cake together, chatin g like old friends, 1 found my mind wandering What had happened to the woman who had retreated to this place, to hide from wealthy society? Here she was, sitting with the maids. How my family and friends would
be scandalized. How my old friends and family would wonder! I thought back to the way I used to vent my frustrations in sharp orders and outbursts of temper. If I noticed dust on a chair rung, if the servants chattered too loudly in the kitchen, if my lunch were delayed a moment, the whole household could depend on an outburst. The Lord had really been working with me, and felt His company with great satisfaction.
It was not that I wanted to become a saint. But I was beginning to learn that my responsibility of being a representative of jesus Christ would not allow me to do any thing that would dishonor His Name. And He was also teaching me that one's actions spoke louder than words when it came to witnessing for Christ.
But then I noticed a strange thing at our evenin g meetings. Nur-jan was not among those who were now joining us in my drawing room. How odd! One day after she had done my hair I asked her to stay behind for a moment. Wouldn't she like, I said, to join us this Sunday .
"But Begum," Nur-jan said, startled her face whitening, "1 just cannot talk about what hap pened to me, or go to a meeting. My husband is a devout Muslim. We have four children. IfI say that I have become a Christian he wil just turn me out.
"But you have to dedlare your faith," linsisted. There is no other way."
Nur-jan stared at me unhappily, then left the room, shaking her head and mumbling, I could just barely make out the words, But it can't be done.
A few days later I was visitin g the Reverend Mother Ruth whom I had come to know at Mahmud's Catholic school. I always enjoyed talking to her. The Reverend Mother mentioned how many people in Pakistan are secret believers.
"Secret believers!" I exclaimed. "I do not see how that is possible. If you are a Christian, why aren't you shouting the news!"
"Well," said Mother Ruth,"look at Nicodemus." "Nicodemus?"
"He was a secret believer. Check chapter thre of the gospel of john."
I opened my Bible then and there and began to read how this Pharisee came to Jesus late one night to find out more about His kingdom. I had often read this stirring chapter but not until then did I realize that of course Nicodemus was a secret believer.
"Perhaps at a later date Nicodemus expressed his belief openly," the Sister said. "But as far as the Scriptures show, he was careful not to let his fellow Pharisees know."
The next day I called Nur-ian into my room and read the verses about Nicodemus to her. I'm sorrvy I made you uncomfortable," I said. 'In time the Lord may show you how to declare your faith. In the meanwhile, just listen carefully to His leading.
Her face brightened. Later I watched her humming happily at her work. "I hope I did the right thing, Lord," I said. What I have to watch is that I not set myself up in judgment against anyone."
Just a few davs later I discovered for mvself, with new intensitv, how difficult it was to be come a Christian in this part of the world.
One afternoon the phone rang' It was one of my uncles, a relative who had been particularly sharp with me. Even as the family boycott began to thaw slightly, this uncle had never been ir touch, never spoken. His voice on the phone was sharp.
"Bilquis?"
"Yes."
"I heard that you are leading others astray, You are taking them from the true faith."
"Well, dear Uncle, that's a matter of opinion."
I could imagine the man's face getting flushed with the anger that showed in his voice. It's one thing for you to make these decisions yourself. Quite another for others to follow. You must stop this, Bilquis."
"Uncle, I appreciate your concern, but I must remind you that you are to run your life andI will run my own.
The very next day when my new chaufeur was driving me home from a visit with Tooni, a man stood in the road and tried to stop the car. My chauffeur knew that I often stopped for hitch hilkers. But he did not want to stop this time. "Please don't ask me to stop, Begum," he said in a determined voice He swerved around the man, his tires squealing on the edge of the highway.
"What do you mean?" I leaned forward in the seat. you don't think that man was trying 2 to, .2 "Begum "Yes?"
"Begum,its just that.." The man lapsed into silence, and all my questioning could not drag any further information out of him.
But it was just a week later that another one of my servants slipped into my room minutes after I had retired for my afternoon rest.
She closed the door behind her.
"I hope you wil not mind;" she said in a low whisper. "But I simply must warn you. My brother was in the mosque in Rawalpindi yesterday. A group of young men began talking abou the damage you are doing. They kept saying something would have to be done. Soon. To shut you up"
The girl's voice was shaking.
"Oh Begum $ahib," she said, "must you be so open? We are afraid for you and for the boy.
My heart skipped. Now it was my turn to wonder whether it had not been best to remain a secret believer in this land, and yes, even in this family where Jesus was anathema.
