Chapter 8. Was There Protection?

 I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER

Chapter 8. Was There Protection?

I awakened the next morning full of apprehension. Today the family would come again, either en masse or one at a time. Either way I dreaded the awful confrontation. I dreaded the accusations, the angry warnings, the lures and threats which I knew were coming. Above all, I hated hurting them.

 Not quite believing that God would answer my request, I had Raisham bring out my clothes, chose the most attractive, issued word to the servants that I would be happy to see all visitors today and then went to the drawing room. There I sat on one of the white chairs and read while Mahmud played with his toy cars, weaving them in and out of the paisley design of the large Persian carpet on the floor.

 The hands of the clock moved to ten o’clock, eleven, and eventually noon. Well, I thought, it looks as if they plan an afternoon visit. 

Lunch was served and then while Mahmud napped I continued waiting. At last at three o’clock I heard the sound of a car stopping outside. I was steeling myself for battle when the car drove away! What was happening? I asked the maid and she said it was just someone making a delivery. 

Evening darkened the tall windows of the drawing room and shadows gathered high on the ceiling. Then there was a phone call for me. I glanced at the clock; it was seven. Were they phoning instead of coming in person? 

I picked up the phone to hear a soft voice I recognized very well—Marie Old. She sounded quite worried. Word of my conversion was certainly out already, as yesterday’s invasion of relatives showed. So why the concern? 

“Are you all right?” Marie said. “I’ve been anxious about you.”

 I assured her that I was fine. As soon as I hung up the phone, I called for my shawl and asked that the car be made ready. At this time of the year, my family did not normally visit after eight o’clock so I felt it was safe to leave. Odd, how not one relative had called or visited, since they had all been anxious to see me the previous day. 

I wanted reassurance from one of my Christian family. The Olds? Why had Marie called so mysteriously? I drove to the Olds’ house and was surprised to find it completely dark. 

And then, quite unexpectedly, quite abruptly, I was alarmed. As I stood at the gate leading into their yard I could feel fear settle over me, touching me with clammy, cold horror. Dark thoughts came at me from dark corners of the yard. Surely I had been foolish to come out alone at night! What was that back in the shadows? My heart raced.

 I turned. I was about to run for the car. And then I stopped. No! This was no way to be acting. If I were a part of the Kingdom, I had a right to the King’s protection. Standing there in the awesome darkness, still very much afraid, I deliberately willed myself back into the King’s hands. “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” I said over and over again. Incredibly the fear lifted. As soon as it had come, it was gone. I was free!

 Almost smiling now, I turned toward the Olds’ house. After a few paces, I saw a crack of light coming between two drawn curtains in the living room. I knocked.

 The door slowly opened. It was Marie. When she saw me she gave a sigh of relief and quickly drew me into the house and hugged me. 

“Ken! Ken!” she called.

He was there in a moment. “Oh, thank God!” he exclaimed. “We were quite worried about you.” Ken told me that the Pakistani Padri at my baptism had become quite concerned for my safety and had told them that they had made a mistake in leaving me alone.

 “So, that’s why you were so concerned on the phone, Marie!” I suppressed a nervous laugh. “Well, I expect the whole country will soon know about my conversion, but thank you anyhow. So far, nothing has happened. Even my family didn’t show up and you can’t know how grateful I am for that answer to prayer.”

 “Let’s thank the Lord,” Ken said, and the three of us knelt together in their living room as Ken thanked God for my protection and asked Him to continue to watch over me. 

So, I returned home, the richer for having called on God’s help in the face of fear by taking advantage of the name of Jesus. My servants said there had not been a phone call all that evening. Well, I thought as I prepared for bed, watch out for tomorrow.

 Again, I waited in the drawing room all day, praying, thinking, studying the pattern of the Persian carpet. There was not a word from anyone. 

What was going on? Was this some kind of a cat and mouse game? 

And then I thought to check with the servants. In Pakistan if you want to know anything, ask a household servant. Through an uncanny grapevine, they know everything about everybody. 

Finally, I pinned down Nur-jan: “Tell me, what happened to my family?”

 “Oh, Begum Sahib,” she answered, suppressing a nervous giggle, “the strangest thing happened. It was as if everybody was busy at once. Your brother had to go to the annual Winter Cricket Tournament.” I smiled; to my brother, cricket was more important than a sister who was on her way to hell. “Your Uncle Fateh had to go out of the province on a court case, your Aunt Amina needed to go to Lahore; two of your cousins were called out of town on business, and . . .”

 I stopped her; she need not go on any further. The Lord had said He would scatter them and scatter them He did. I could almost hear my Lord chuckle. It wasn’t, I felt sure, that the concerned members of my family would leave me alone, but now they would come one by one. 

And so it was. The first emissary was my Aunt Amina, a regal woman, still beautiful in her seventies. For years we had a close relationship of love and trust. Now as she walked in, her magnolia complexion was paler than usual and her gray eyes were rimmed with sadness. 

We chatted a bit. Finally I could tell she was coming to the real reason for her visit. Clearing her throat, she sat back and, trying to sound casual, asked: “Er . . . Keechi . . . uh . . . I have heard . . . that . . . you have become a Christian. Is it true?” 

I only smiled at her. 

She shifted uneasily in her chair and continued. “I thought people were spreading false rumors about you.” She hesitated, her soft eyes imploring me to say that it wasn’t true. 

“It is no lie, Aunt Amina,” I said. “I have made a complete commitment to Christ. I have been baptized. I am now a Christian.” 

She slapped her hands over her cheeks. “Oh, what a great mistake!” she cried. She sat very still for a moment, unable to add anything. Then, slowly gathering her shawl around her, she stood and with frozen dignity walked out of my house. 

I was crushed, but I asked the Lord to protect her from the devastating hurt she was feeling. I knew I had to discover His own prayer for my family. Otherwise, I would leave a swath of damaged loved ones behind me. “Lord,” I said, “the ideal thing of course would be to have every one come to know You. But I know that even if they aren’t converted, I know You still love them, and right now I ask that You touch each of these dear ones of mine with Your special blessing, starting, if You will, with my Aunt Amina. Thank You, Lord!” 

Next day I had to say the same prayer. This time it was for Aslam, a dear elderly male cousin who came to see me. A lawyer, he lived about 45 miles from Wah. As the son of my father’s brother, he had inherited many of my father’s characteristics, the same warm smile, the gentle sense of humor. I was fond of Aslam. From his attitude, I was sure that he had not heard the full particulars of my problem. 

We exchanged a few pleasantries, and then Aslam said: “When is the family meeting? I’ll pick you up and we’ll go together.” 

I chuckled. “I don’t know when the family meeting will be, Aslam, but I do know that I’ll not be invited because the meeting is about me.” 

He looked so confused I knew that I had to explain everything. “But please go to the meeting, Aslam,” I said, when I had finished. “Maybe you can put in a good word for me.”

I watched him sadly make his way out of the house; it was obvious, I thought, that a climax was approaching. I had better get to Rawalpindi and Lahore as soon as possible. I didn’t want Tooni and my son Khalid to hear garbled stories about me. There was nothing I could do in person about my daughter Khalida, for she lived in Africa. But I could face Khalid and Tooni. The very next day I set off for Lahore. Khalid had done well and his home reflected it. He was living in one of my houses, a lovely town bungalow surrounded by wide verandas and an immaculately groomed lawn. 

We drove through his gate, parked by the entrance and walked up onto the broad veranda. Khalid, well alerted by family and by a long phone call from me, hurried out to greet me. “Mother! How glad I am to see you,” he said, though I sensed he welcomed me with a little embarrassment. We talked all that afternoon about what I had done, but in the end I knew Khalid did not understand at all. 

Next I had to see Tooni. I drove to Rawalpindi and went straight to the hospital. I asked that Tooni be paged, and as I waited in her room, I wondered how I should go about telling her. Doubtless she had been hearing stories already. She certainly was aware firsthand that I had been reading the Bible. She may even have overheard fragments of my conversation with the Catholic nun, Dr. Santiago, in this same hospital when Mahmud had been admitted. One thing she surely did not know: how life-changing that visit with Dr. Santiago had been, for it was this little nun who encouraged me to pray to God as my Father. 

“Mother!” I looked up to see Tooni hurrying toward me, her chestnut hair in stark contrast to her white starched uniform, her face beaming, her arms outstretched.

 I rose, my heart pounding. How was I going to break the news to her! I tried to think of gentle ways, but the fear of pressure from Tooni was too much. Without daring to be circumspect, I blurted it out. “Tooni,” I said, “be prepared for a shock, dear. Two days ago I was . . . I was baptized.”

 Tooni froze, her sensitive eyes filling with tears. “I thought it would come to this,” she said, in a voice I could hardly hear.

 I quickly put my arms around her, as I couldn’t bear to see her cry, and tried to comfort her, but with no success. “I can’t go back and pretend to work,” she said. Since she had gotten permission to visit with me, we tried to talk, and though I tried my best to explain the necessity of a baptism, she kept saying, “Oh, Mum, did you really have to go so far?” I decided there was not much point in continuing with the conversation and it would be best to give her time to absorb this. So I gathered my things. 

“Come see me, darling,” I said, “when you feel you can. We’ll talk.” Tooni made no objections at all, so within minutes I was on the Grand Trunk Road headed home. The minute I arrived home my servants clustered around me. Nur-jan was wringing her plump hands and even Raisham’s face was paler than usual. The phone had been ringing all day, relatives had been at the gate since early morning asking for me. Even as the servants chattered, the phone rang again. It was my sister’s husband, who worked with a British oil firm. I had always thought of Jamil as a man of the world, but now his voice didn’t sound very self-assured. 

“Keecha, I have heard the strangest thing and cannot believe it,” he said bluntly. “A colleague told me that he heard you had become a Christian. Of course, I laughed at him and assured him that could never happen.” Word really was spreading rapidly. I said nothing. “Keecha!” Jamil’s voice was insistent. “Did you hear me?” 

“Yes.”

 “That story isn’t true, is it?”

 “Yes.”

 There was another silence. Then: “Well, that’s nice,” Jamil snapped. “You’ve just lost more than you can know. And for what? For just another religious viewpoint. That’s what.” He hung up.

 In ten minutes Tooni was on the phone sobbing. “Mummy, Uncle Jim just called to say that now Mahmud’s father will be able to get him back. He says no court will allow you to keep him!”

 I tried to comfort her but she hung up sobbing. 

Late that night as I was in bed reading and Mahmud was just dropping off to sleep, I heard a commotion outside and in came Tooni and my late sister’s two daughters who were very close to Tooni and very close to my heart. Though disapproving of my actions, their love and concern for me had held firm in all this time of turmoil. I was upset at their driving alone all the way from Pindi at this late hour, but their tense and ashen faces indicated that something was wrong. I had the servants bring in dinner for them, but they just picked at their food and the conversation was trite. All three women kept glancing at Mahmud who was bright-eyed and full of excitement at this unexpected turn of events. It was only after he finally fell asleep that one of the nieces leaned forward anxiously. 

“Keecha, do you realize what this means for other people?” She broke into tears. “Have you thought of anybody else?” Her question was echoed in the brown eyes of my other niece who sat silently across from me.

 I reached across the table and took the girl’s slim hand. “My dear,” I said sorrowfully. “There is nothing I can do but to be obedient.” 

Tooni now looked at me through tearful eyes and, as if she had not heard a word I said, begged me. “Mother, pack up and leave. Leave while there’s something . . . or someone . . . to leave with.” 

Her voice rose. “Do you know what people are saying? You’ll be attacked. Your own brother may be compelled to take action against you!” And then she broke down sobbing. “My friends say you’ll be murdered!” 

“I’m sorry, Tooni, but I’m not going to run away,” I answered gently. “If I leave now I’ll be running for the rest of my life.” Determination rose within me as I spoke. “If He wishes, God can easily take care of me in my own house. And no one, no one,” I said, “is going to push me out.” I sat up in my chair, suddenly feeling very dramatic. “Let them come and attack!” 

And then, as I sat there feeling so fiercely sure of myself, something happened. The warm personal Presence of God was gone. I sat, almost in panic, oblivious to the voices rising around me. But just as suddenly I realized what had happened. The old me, full of pride and stubbornness, had taken over. I was deciding what would happen, that no one would push me out of my home. 

I sank back in my chair, barely aware that Tooni was speaking to me.

 “. . . all right, then, Mummy,” Tooni cried. “So you’ve become a Christian. Must you become a Christian martyr also?” She knelt by my chair and laid her head on my shoulder. “Don’t you realize that we love you?” 

“Of course, dear, of course,” I murmured, stroking her hair. Silently I asked His forgiveness for being so headstrong. Wherever He wanted me to go was fine, even if it meant leaving my house. As I said this in my heart I once again felt the Presence of the Father. The whole exchange had taken but a few minutes, but even as the three women sitting in front of me continued talking, I was aware that life was going on at another level too. The Lord was right then, at that moment, working with me, teaching me. He was in the very process of showing me how to stay in His Presence. 

“. . . so we will, then? All right?” It was Tooni’s voice and I had no idea what she was asking me to agree to. Fortunately she went on. “If Mahmud’s father comes after him, you can let me take him. I haven’t become a Christian,” she added pointedly. 

Eventually the three girls quieted down and I told them to spend the night to which they agreed. As I bid Tooni and my nieces good night, I thought how our roles had changed. Once I was so protective and worried over them; now we were equally worried for each other. That night I prayed: “Lord, it’s so difficult to talk to a person who doesn’t have faith in You. Please help my family. I’m so worried for the welfare of my loved ones.” 

As I drifted off to sleep, I again seemed to have left my body as if floating. I found myself standing on a grassy slope surrounded by pine trees. A spring bubbled near me. All about me were angels, so many that they seemed to form a hazy mist. I kept hearing one name, “Saint Michael!” The angels gave me courage. And then I was back in bed. I got up and, still sensing their spiritual strength, went to Mahmud’s room. I pointed to him in his bed and then went to where the girls slept and did the same. I went back to my bedroom and got down on my knees. “Lord,” I prayed, “You have shown me so many answers, now show me, I pray, what You are going to do with Mahmud. I would like to give Tooni some assurance.” 

I felt urged to open my Bible and this passage leaped up from the page: Genesis 22:12—“Lay not thine hand upon the lad, neither do thou anything unto him. . . .” 

“Oh, thank You, Father,” I sighed. 

At breakfast I was able to assure Tooni. “Darling, nothing is going to happen to your son; you never need worry.” I showed her the Scripture given to me. Whether my faith was contagious or Tooni was touched by the Holy Spirit, I don’t know. But her face did relax and she smiled for the first time in two days.

My daughter and nieces left my house on a somewhat less somber note that day. But the flow of the relatives and friends continued.

 A few days later Raisham announced that there were seven people, all very dear concerned friends wanting to see me. I didn’t want to face them without Mahmud. The boy should know everything that was going on. So I found him and together we went downstairs to the drawing room. There they sat in straight-backed formality far forward on their chairs. After the tea and cakes and small talk, one of those present cleared his throat. I steeled myself for what I knew was coming. 

“Bilquis,” said a friend I’d known since childhood, “we love you and we have been thinking over this thing you have done and we have a suggestion which we think will be of help to you.” 

“Yes?” 

He leaned forward and smiled. 

“Don’t declare your Christianity publicly.”

 “You mean keep my faith a secret?” 

“Well . . .” 

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t play games with God. If I must die, I die.” 

All seven of them seemed to edge closer to me. An old friend of my father glared at me. I was about to glare back but caught myself. They thought they had my welfare at heart. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I just can’t do what you ask.” I explained that my faith had quickly, in little more than a month, become the most important thing in my life. “I cannot keep quiet about it,” I said. I quoted them the Scripture where the Lord says: “Every man who publicly acknowledges me I shall acknowledge in the presence of my Father in Heaven, but the man who disowns me before men I shall disown before my Father in heaven” (Matthew 10:32, 33). 

“But,” said another elderly gentleman, “you are in a very peculiar situation. I’m sure your God wouldn’t mind if you kept quiet. He knows you believe in Him. That’s enough.” He quoted the Quran law on apostasy. “We’re afraid,” he said, “that someone will kill you.” 

I smiled but no one else was smiling. It was a pointless discussion, as they saw. When they rose to go I was given my ultimatum. 

“Remember, Bilquis, if you get into trouble, none of your friends or family can stand by you. The ones who care the most will have to turn their backs on you.” 

I nodded. I well understood their words. I wished now that I had sent Mahmud out to play in the garden so that he would have heard none of this. When I looked at him, though, sitting on his little chair beside me, he just smiled. “It’s all right,” he seemed to be saying. 

They were near tears as the group prepared to leave. A close friend of my mother kissed me. “Good-bye,” she said. 

She repeated the word with a strange emphasis. Then she broke into tears, pulled herself away and hurried out the door. 

The house seemed like a tomb after they left. Even Mahmud’s usual noisy play was subdued. 

Three weeks passed when the only sound in my house was the hushed voices of servants and the concerned phone calls from Tooni and my nieces.

 If it weren’t for the Mitchells and the Olds and for our regular Sunday evening meetings, I wonder if the freeze-out might not have worked. 

Each day the family battle line was seen more clearly. I saw it in the anger on the face of a cousin or in the scornful glance of a nephew as they passed my house and happened to see me in the garden.

 It was there in the cold voice of an aunt who called to say that she wouldn’t keep a luncheon appointment. The boycott had begun. My phone remained silent, and no one pulled the bell cord at my gate. Not one member of the family came to call, even to scold. I could not help but recall a verse from the Quran (Sura 74–20): If you renounced the faith, you would surely do evil in the land and violate the ties of blood. Such are those on whom Allah has laid His curse leaving them bereft of sight and hearing.

 In a very real way this was happening. I had violated the ties of blood and I undoubtedly would not see or hear from my family anymore. 

The normal chatter and laughter of the servants had quieted as they slipped in and out of my rooms. I could hardly get them to talk to me beyond the usual, “Yes, Begum Sahib.” 

And then one morning the boycott took a strange turn. There was a soft click of my door and I turned to see Nur-jan quietly enter to minister my toilette. It was so unlike her usual exuberance. Raisham stepped in even more solemn than usual. As they proceeded to their task, they did not speak and I was bothered by the haunted look on both of their faces.

 I waited for some word but Nur-jan continued her tasks silently, without the usual gossip or chatter. Raisham’s face was graven. Finally, with a little of the old fire in my voice, I said, “All right, I can tell something is wrong. Tell me about it.” 

The brushing halted as I heard the news. Except for Raisham, standing before me now, all of my Christian servants, including Manzur, had fled my house in the middle of the night.

Chapter 9. Boycott

 I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER

Chapter 9. Boycott 

What did it mean, this defection? Four servants quitting! In a town like Wah where any job was hard to come by, their decisions were hard to understand. 

It was fear of course. Manzur was afraid because I asked him to get me a Bible and had him drive me to the home of missionaries. The other three Christian servants must have picked up his concern. They must have heard the rumblings of a volcano which would soon erupt and didn’t want to be caught in the overflow.

 But what about Raisham, this Christian servant who now began to brush my hair again? I could feel her graceful hands tremble as she started her work. “And you?” I asked. 

She bit her lip as she continued her brushing. “I probably shouldn’t stay,” she said softly. “It’s going to be . . .” “Very lonely,” I concluded her statement. “Yes,” she said, swallowing, “and . . .” 

“And you’re afraid. Well, if you left, Raisham, I wouldn’t blame you. You have to make up your own mind, just as I did. If you do stay though, remember that Jesus told us we would be persecuted for His sake.” 

Raisham nodded, her dark eyes moist. She took a hairpin out of her mouth and proceeded to do up my hair. “I know,” she said sadly. 

Raisham was quiet the rest of the day. Her concern affected Nur-jan who was approaching quiet hysteria. The next morning when I awakened I could hardly bring myself to ring the little bell. Who would be with me now? My bedroom door opened slowly and Nur-jan came in. Then, in the near darkness of winter’s early hours another form followed. It was Raisham! 

Later, I told her how much I appreciated her staying. She blushed. “Begum Sahib Ji,” she answered softly, adding the affectionate third salutation which means, May you have long life. “As you serve the Lord, so I will serve you.” 

With the rest of my Christian servants gone, my house became even quieter, partly because I did not replace them all. My needs were simpler now that no family came by. I decided not to rehire Christians for a while. I found a new chauffeur, a Muslim named Fazal and a new Muslim cook’s assistant, but I hired no one else. I was especially relieved for Mahmud who continued to play happily in the house or garden. But I still worried. How much of his heritage was I putting in jeopardy? How much of the boy’s rightful family ties was I threatening? Just yesterday he had asked again when his cousin Karim was going to take him fishing. Karim had promised to teach Mahmud the mysteries of catching the fish that slipped among the mossy rocks of our garden and village stream, which joined the Dhamra River. 

“Mum!” Mahmud had asked. “When is Karim going to come?” 

I looked down at the boy whose eyes were shining, and I just didn’t have the heart to tell him that his fishing party would never take place. Mahmud could not have been very drawn to Christianity so far. I read him Bible stories, which he loved so much that I moved his bedtime from 8:00 to 8:30 so we could have plenty of time for them. But what were a few stories compared with a fishing trip? And friends? For bit by bit Mahmud’s friends began to stop coming over. Mahmud couldn’t understand this, and when I tried to explain it to him he looked at me in puzzlement. 

“Mum,” he said, “who do you love better, me or Jesus?”

What should I say! Especially right now when he was lonely. “God has to come first, Mahmud.” I said, paraphrasing the Lord’s warning that unless we put family after Him, we are not truly His own. “We have to put God first,” I said, “even before the people we love most in the world.” 

Mahmud seemed to accept this. He seemed to be listening when I read him the Bible. Once, after I had read to him, “Come unto me all ye who are heavy laden and I will give you rest,” I heard his nap-time pleas: “Jesus, I love You and I will come unto You, but . . . please don’t give me rest. I don’t like resting.” He would even fold his hands and pray, but I knew that it was hard on him being alone and seeing me alone.

 Then at 3:00 one morning my white bedside phone did clamor. I reached toward the instrument, my heart pounding. No one would call at this hour unless there had been a death in the family. I picked up the phone and at first heard only heavy breathing. Then three words were thrown at me like stones: 

“Infidel. Infidel. Infidel.”

 The phone went dead. I lay back on my bed. Who was it? One of the fanatics my uncles constantly warned me about? What might they do? “

Oh, Lord, You know that I don’t mind dying. But I’m an awful coward. I cannot stand pain. You know how I feel faint at the very thought of an injection. Oh, I pray that I will be able to bear pain if it comes.” Tears filled my 92 eyes. “I guess I’m not made of the stuff of martyrs, Lord. I’m sorry. Just let me walk with You through whatever comes next.” 

What did come next was a threatening, anonymous letter. “Let’s be clear. There is only one word to describe you. Traitor.” Then there was another letter and shortly still another. They all contained warnings. I was a turncoat and I would be treated as such.

 Late one afternoon some months after my conversion, I stood in my garden with the crumpled remains of one such letter in my fist. It was particularly vitriolic, calling me worse than an infidel, a seducer of the faithful. True believers, the letter said, had to burn me out like gangrene was burned out of a healthy limb. 

Burn me out? Was this more than just a figure of speech? I walked further into the garden, around which glowed beds of petunias, sweet william and alyssum. Spring had blossomed into summer. Quinces flourished in the garden, and the last of the white petals were falling from the pear trees. I turned and looked back at my house. “They wouldn’t touch my house!” I exclaimed inwardly. They wouldn’t burn out a Begum! But, as if to confirm that I could no longer count on the protection of position and wealth, a caller came to pay me a visit. He was announced by a servant. 

“General Amar is waiting to see you, Begum,” she said. 

My heart jumped. I looked through the garden hedge and sure enough, there stood a familiar olive drab command car. General Amar was a dear old friend from my Army days. During World War II, I had been associated with him and now he was a top general in the Pakistani Army. We had kept in touch with each other through the years, particularly when my husband was Minister of the Interior and worked closely with him. Was he, too, coming to condemn me? 

Soon I could hear his footsteps crunching on the pathway of the garden as he strode to meet me, all spit and polish in his natty khaki uniform. He took my hand, leaned over and kissed it. My apprehension lessened; evidently he was not on a mission of battle. 

He looked at me, his dark eyes glinting humorously. As always the general came right to the point. “Is it true what people are saying?” 

“Yes,” I said. 

“What made you do this?” he exclaimed. “You’ve put yourself in a very dangerous situation! I’ve heard rumors that some people want to kill you!” I looked at him silently. 

“All right,” he added as he sat down on the garden bench, his leather belt creaking. “You know I’m like a brother to you?” “I hope so.” “And, as a brother, I feel fondly protective toward you?” “I hope so.” “Then, remember that my home is always open to you.” I smiled. This was the first kind thing anyone had said to me.

"But," the general went on to say, "there is something you should know. That offer is a per sonal one." He reached over to a blossom, pulled it to him and sniffed it, then turned back to me adding, "Oficially, there wouldn't be much I could do, Bilquis"

 "I know." I took the general's hand, we got up together, strolled onto the terrace and inside the house, As we walked I told him things had not been easy 

"And they won't get easier, my dear," my friend said in his matter-of-fact way, Later, after 1 had ordered tea in the drawing room,he asked with a quizzical smile: "Tell me, Bilquis, why did you do it?" 

I explained what had happened and found that General A mar was listening carefully. How extraordinary! Here I was, without realizing it, doing what the missionaries called witnessing I was speaking about Christ to a Muslim, and a high offcial at that. And he was listening! I doubt that I really reached General Amar that afternoon but he was in a reflective mood halfan hour later when he bid me good-bye in the summer twilight, again pressing his lips to my hand.

"Remember, Bilquis," he said huskily, "anytime you need my help.. . anything I can do as é friend..." 

"Thank you, Amar" I said.

He tured and left, and our solitary, strangely sad visit was over. I wonder if I'll ever see him again, I thought. 

For the first time durin g this boycott, during the anonymous letters and phone calls, during the warnings of old friends, I was leamning what it was to live from hour to hour It was the op. posite of worrying I was waiting to see what He was going to allow. For I was convinced that nothing occurred without His permission. I knew, for instance, that pressure against me must become more intense If that did happen, then He would have allowed it and I must learn to reach for Fis Presence in the midst of seeming disaster. I would just live hour to hour, staying near Him. Yes, that was my key. Learn to keep His company, so that whatever happened, when- ever it happened, I would stil be in His glory.

 I thought I knew how King David felt when, fleeing from his son, Absalom, he picked up his lyre and sang: " But thou, 0 Lord art a shield for me; my glory .." (Psalm 3:3). The glory that,I understand,he considered the unspeakable blessedness, joy and felicity of the saints in heaven.

 For the moment the pressure from my family was, still, the boycott. Not one member of the family came to call, even to scold. With rare exceptions none of my old friends called either. The calculated exclusion from great moments in the family: births, deaths, weddings continued Whenever I allowed myself to dwell on the loneliness this caused, F'd feel the glory begin to fade and immediately Id turn my thoughts by a sheer act of will to the times Jesus too had felt lonely.

 It helped. But I found, a little to my surprise, that I desperately needed simple companion- ship. I who had been so aloof was now in need of closeness. Not even the Olds and the Mitchells came to the house anymore. For their own protection Iadvised them not to visit me.

One gray afternoon I retreated to my bedroom to read the Bible it was unusually cold and asharp wind rattled my windows AsI started to read Ifelta warmth on my hand and looked down to see a patch of sunlight resting on my arm. 1 glanced out of the window just in time to see the sun disappear again behind the clouds. For just one minute, it seemed He had reached down and touched my hand for comfort.

I looked up, "Oh my Lord,"I said. 'T am so lonely; even my cheeks feel dried up from lack of talking, Please send someone to talk to today. 

Feeling somewhat foolish for asking for such a childlike thing, I returned to my Bible. After all, I had His company and that should be enough . But in a little while I was startled to hear ar odd sound in the house, odd since it had been absent so long There were voices outside.

 I grabbed my shawl and flew out to meet Nur-jan runnin g toward my room out of breath. "oh Begum Sahib." she squealed, "the Olds are here." 

"Praise God," I exclamed and hurried to meet them. 0f course I saw Ken and Marie at out Sunday services in their house, but this was difterent, a midweek call Marie rushed to me, taking my hand. We just had to see you, Bilquis," she said, her blue eyes sparkling, "For no reason at all except we love being with you." 

What a visit that was I realized as we talked that I had been making a mistake not asking people over to visit me. Pride had kept me from admitting the need. Suddenly Ihad an inspir, ation. why not invite people to my house on Sunday for the meetings? But wouldn't this b heaping gunpowder on the flames? I tried to quench the thought but it would not go away. Just as my friends were about to leave I said, quickly;

"Would you like to come here this Sunday night? The Olds looked at me, a bit shocked.

" I mean it," I said, extending my hands sideways. "This old house needs some life." And so it was decided.

That evening as I prepared to retire, I thought how wonder fully the Lord provides for us When my family and friends were taken from me, He replaced them with His own family and friends. I slept peacefully and awakened to the feel of a warm sun streaming through my win dow. I got up and opened the window, reveling in the soft breeze that drifted in. In its earthy gar den aroma I could smell the warm breath of the summer about to come upon us.

I couldn't wait for Sunday evening to come. By Saturday afternoon that old house was filled with flowers; every floor, every window was scrubbed until it shone. I hinted to Raisham that she might like to join us but she became a bit flustered; she was not ready for such a bold step yet and Ididn't press.

 Sunday crept by while Ikept Mahmud out of the drawingroom straightened the furniture, constantly rearranged the flowers, and found a speck of dust here and there to wipe away. But at last I heard the slamming of car doors and the voices of arriving guests.

The evening was every thing I had hoped for, with song and prayer and telling each other what the Lord was doin g Just twelve of us, plus Mahmud, sitting around comfortabiy in the irawing room, but I'd have sworn there were a thousand other guests too, unseen, welcome 

The evening had another peculiar purpose too, one I had not foreseen. It turned out that my Christian friends were still quite worried for me "Are you being extra careful?" It was Marie talking, "well,' 1 laughed,"there is not much I can do. If someone wants to harm me, I'm sure he'll find a way." 

Ken looked around the drawin g room and out the large glass doors into the garden. "Yot really don't have much protection here," he said. "I hadn't quite realized how vulnerable you are." 

"How about your bedroom?" asked Synnøve. Everyone felt it wise to look over my room, so we al trooped in. Ken was particulariy concerned by the windows looking out on the garden; they were protected only by a glass pane and wire screen. 

He shook his head. "It really isn't safe, you know. You should do something about it, Bilquis, have some kind of heavy metal grillinstalled. Anyone could get through this." Isaid I would see to it the next day. Was it my imagination or did His glory fade just a little as I made the promise? 

Eventually we said good-bye and ] retired happier than I had been in a long time. The next day, however, as I was about to send for an ironworker, I was once again aware of the quickly receding gilory of the Lord. Why? Was it because 1 was about to take an action that was based on fear? It certainly did seem that every time I started to call the ironworker my action was stopped.

And then I realized why When word got around the village that I was having my window barred, everyone would realize that I was fearful. I could just hear the gossip. Ha! What kind of religion is Christianity, anyway? When you become a Christian you become fearful?" No, I de cided, I would not have the window barred 

That night I went to bed confident that I had made the right decision.I fellasleep at once but suddenly I was awakened by a sound. I sat up, startled, but without fear. Before me appeared a breathtaking sight. 

Through the closed and draped windows of my room, in a supernatural way, I could see my whole garden. It was flooded with a heavenly white light. I could see every rose petal, every tree leaf, every blade of grass, every thorn. And over the garden hung a calm serenity, In my heart I heard my Father saying,"You did the right thing, Bilquis. I am with you." 

Slowly the light faded and the room was dark again. I switched on my bedside lamp, lifted my arms and praised God. "Oh Father, how can I thank You enough? You have so much concern for each of us." 

The next morning I called al of my servants together and told them that they could sleep in the servants' quarters ftom now on if they chose to do so. Only Mahmud and I would slep in the house. The servants exchanged glances, some in surprise, some in joy, one or two in alarm. But I knew one thing at least had been accomplished. The decision put an end to any thought of protecting myself. And with the decision the glory came back and stayed for a longer time than usual. Perhaps this was necessary for the next turn of events

One morning when Raisham was brushing my hair she remarked casually, "T hear that your aunt's son, Karim, has died. 

I shot out of my chair and looked at her incredulously. "No," I gasped. Not Karim, who was supposed to take Mahmud fishingl He was one of my favorites! What had happened? Why did I have to find out about even Karim's death through the servants! With steely willpower I got con, trol of myself and forced my body back down into the chair so that Raisham could go on with her work. But my mind raced on. This could be just a rumor, I thought. Raisham could have mistaker the name. My heart rose a little. Later, I asked an elderly member of the staff to find out for me what! had really happened She went into the village and in an hour returned, downcast "

I am sorry, Begum Sahib," she said. "But it is true. He died last night from a heart attack and the funeral is today." 

Then, this servant who had a facility for leamnin g everything, gave me news that hurt even more. My aunt, the servant told me, knowing how much I loved her son, had specifically asked my family to "be sure and tell Bilquis that my boy has died." No one followed her wishes. 

Later Isat at my window pondering it all. Ihade been excluded from family events, but never had the boycott hurt as it did now. 

As I sat weeping softly I began to pray for His help and, as always, the help came. This timeit was as if a warm cloak were placed gently on my shoulders. And with that sensation came an unusual plan of action. The very idea shocked me. It was so bold I knew it must be of the Lord. 

Chapter 10. Learning to Live in the Glory

 I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER

Chapter 10. Learning to Live in the Glory 

As I sat at the window overlooking my garden, a strong wind bent the tops of the trees. In it I eemed to be catching an extraordinary message that I could not believe I was correctly hearing 

"You can't realy be telling me that, Lord," 1 said smiling, "T'm justhearing voices! You don't want me to go to Karim's funeral. It would be unseemiy. It would be in poor taste. I would endup offending people who are in mourning." 

Even as I objected, I recognized once again the sense of His Presence beginning to fade Immediately, with this sign, I began to wonder if perhaps I really were being told to do this extra- ordinary thing, to go straight into the face of the hostilities of the boycot 

Finally, breathing a deep sigh, I got up from my place at the window, shrugged and said aloud 'Im beginning to learn, Lord. My sense of the right thing to do is nothing compared with Yours! I'll go, since You are telling me to so.

And, of course, the sense of His Presence returned.

What an extraordinary series of experiences I was having with this coming and going of His glory. Still, I had the feeling that I was just on the verge of understanding what this was allabout. How would I be able to learn to stay in His Presence for an ever increasing percentage of time? Idid not realize that over the next two months I was to have a series of experiences thatw would take me a step further in this learning process

I stood in the cobblestone lane in front of Karim's house, hesitating In spite of my promise to obey and the knowiedge of His presence, I could feel my heart pounding and mouth turning dry. Taking a deep breath I headed toward the stone house, which stood among others like it. I walked into the court yard and stepped onto the veranda, subject to the stares of the village people who were sitting around quietly. Iwent inside the old-fashioned house with its carved ceilings and white, plastered walls where Karim and I had so often laughed and played together. 

There was no laughter now,. On top of the gloom of the family in mourning was added the chill of a score of contemptuous glances directed my way, I looked toward a cousin with whon I had been very close, Our eyes met for a minute; my cousin quickly turned her head and began talking with a neighbor.

Now squaring my shoulders I stepped into the living room of Karim's house, then sat down on one of the thick cotton mattresses which had been placed on the floor surrounded by bolsters and cushions to lean on. I smoothed my shalwars around my legs. Suddenly people seemedto wake up, realizing who I was. The quiet soothing conversation that had filled the room suddenly halted. Even the women saying their beads, cach bead signifying a prayer to Allah, ceased ang looked up. The room, which had been hot with the early summer heat and with the scores of bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, suddenly seemed chilled.

I said nothing, made no attempt to be sociable, simply lowered my own eyes and said my own prayers. "Lord Jesus," I whispered in my heart, "do be with me as I represent You to this group of dear friends and relatives who are so saddened by Karim's death. 

After fifteen minutes the quiet flow of conversation began again. It was time to pay my respects to Karim's wife. Holding my head high, I arose from the mattress and stepped into the adjoining room where Karim's body lay I gave my condolences to Karim's wife, then looked at the quiet face of my dear cousin shrouded in the new white cotton burial cloth and whispered to myself a prayer to Jesus for this man's spirit. Oh, how I wished I had been able to talk to him be fore he died.

A low humming filled the room as close family members recited prayers or read verses from the Quran. It was all part of the life and death rhythm, which I knew so well. I was turning my back on it all Before sunset today, there would be a procession to the graveyard with the mer from the family following the bier. At the graveside the pallbearers would place the bier on the ground and the priest would call out, God is most great Lord, this is Thy servant, the son of Thy servant. He used to testify that there is no God but Thee, and that Muhammad is Thy servant and Thy messenger .. ..

As I stood listenin g to the soft moaning in the room, I saw Karim's mother kneeling at the bier. She looked so forlorn, I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to go to her side. Did I dare? Would it be an afront? ShouldI say anything to her about Jesus? Probably not. Just my being there as a Christian was bringing Jesus to her side in a caring way. 

So I stepped over to Karim's mother and put my arms around her, telling her in a soft voice how sorry I was. "Karim and I were so close. May God bless you and com fort you." Karim's mother turned her face to me. Her dark tear-filled eyes thanked me and I knew that Jesus was even then comforting her sorrow-filled heart.

But Karim's mother was the only one in the room who seemed to accept what I was doing. As I left her and returned to sit down among the mourners, one cousin - a close one too- made quite ashow of risin g to her feet and movin g to another room. Another cousin followed. And then another. 

I sat there struggling with the emotions of my own sorrow for Karim and his family on the one hand and with this deep embarrassment on the other. My heart pounded. The hostility was reaching through my protection. It was all I could do to keep seated for the appropriate amount of time until I could stand, make my good-byes and walk out of the room. Finally, when I did leave, ] felt every eye in the household staring at me.

 In my car I sat for a moment at the wheel, trying to collect myself I had obeyed, but the cost was high. Certainly I would prefer to have remained at home rather than walk right straight into the maw of this open anger. 

If I thought I would have to walk through this valley only once I was wrong. A few weeks over our district another cousin died. Again, I later, just as the earl heat was beginning settle heard of his death through my household. A gain, obeying the Lord's direction, I found myself re- luctantly walking into a room full of mourners, to the chilly discord of hate. As an act of will I fo cused my concern away from myself and toward the one person there who was really bereaved, my cousin's widow. She had a child just going on five, the same age as Mahmud. she looked so forlorn standing by herself at the coffin that I wept for her and for her husband

 And then just as I had done at Karim's funeral, I found myself being propelled toward this desperate woman. As I approached our eyes met, and I saw hesitation cross her tear-stained face. Then, with a look of sudden determination, knowingly going against the will of her family, she extended her hand to me. As I held her brown and shaking hand in my own, Iwept in silence. We exchanged only one or two words, but my heart was praying fervently that the Holy Spirit would reach into her bereavement and keep His promise, even to this Muslim dear one, "Blessed are they who mourn." 

"Thank you, Bilquis, thank you," the widow said in a whisper as at last she released my hand. I embraced her and walked out of the room. 

Oddly, there were two more funerals in quick succession. This was quite unusual even for a family of our size, But in each case I was told very clearly, very distinctly, by the Lord to get out of my safe littie house and go into the place where I was needed. I was not to do too much talking was to let my caring presence be its own witness 

And all the while the Lord was working with me. He had so much to teach me, and He was using these funerals as His classroom.

It was during one of these visits to a family funeral that I discovered the next great secret of staying in His Presence.

 At a Muslim funeral no one cooks or eats in the house until the body is buried. This usually amounts to a day's fasting and is really not an ordeal. However, that day, as I sat isolated in the crowded room, suddenly found thatI wanted. my usual afternoon tea It was$ something, I said to myself, that I simply could not do without. 

Finally, unable to control my desire, I stood and mumbled an excuse. 'I have to wash my hands," I said. I slipped out of the house and drove quickly home where I had my precious tea and returned to the mourners.

 Immediately I felt a strange aloneness, as if a friend had left my side. Of course I knew what it was. The comforting Presence of His Spirit had left me.

 "Lord," I said to myself, what have I done?" And then I knew. I had told a lie when I was excusing myself. 

"But it was only a white lie, Lord," I said. I sensed no comforting from the Spirit. Just a deadness. 

"But Lord," I pressed, I don't have to follow those Muslim mouring practices anymore. And besides, Ijust can't do without my tea. You know that." 

No sense of His Spirit 

"But Father,"] pressed on, "I couldn't telthem that ] went out for tea and cake. That would have hurt them. No Spirit.

 "All right, Father,"' I said. "I understand. It was wrong for me to lie. I realize that I was seeking the approval of men and that I must live only for Your approval. I am truly sorry, Lord. I hurt You With Your help I will not do that again ." 

And with those words His comforting Presence flooded me again, like rain parched lake bed. I was relaxed. I knew that He was with me 

And that was how I learned to move back into Hlis Presence quickly. Whenever I did not feel His nearness, I knew that I had grieved Him. I would search backwards until I spotted the time when I last knew His presence, Then I would review every act, every word or thought until I dis covered where I had gone astray. At that point I would confess my sin and ask His forgiveness 

I learned to do this with increasing boldness. Through these exercises in obedience I learned the beautiful secret of repentance. Repentance, I discovered, was not tearful remorse so much as dmitting where I had gone wrong and avowing with Fis help never to make that mistake in the future. As I realized my own weakness, I could call upon His strength.

It was during this time that I discovered there was no such thing as an innocent white lie. A lie is a lie and is always of Satan, the father of lies He uses "harmless" white lies to get us started in this insidious habit. Lies pave the way for greater temptations to come. Satan whispers that. white lie is 'consideration" for other people. We bend ourselves to the world instead of to jesus who is the Truth. 

Though I learned this lesson at the funeral of a relative, it was the beginning of a new kind of life for me, one where I attempted to weed out all lying From that day on I would try to catch myself every time I was about to commit a white lie. Once a missionary friend invited me to a gathering that I did not want to attend. I was all set to make the excuse that I had another engagement. A warning signal sounded within me and I stopped myself just in time, Instead, I found that I could be truthful and still not hurt anyone's feelings by simply saying, "I'm very sorry, but I won't be able to be there." 

Or there was the dav when I sat down to write a letter to a friend in London and almost automatically began writing that I had been out of town for some time and had not been able to answer his last letter. I stopped, pen poised in midair.

Out of town? Ihad been here all the time. ] crumpled the paper, dropped it into the wastebas- ket and started again . "Dear Friend: Please forgive me for not answering your wonder ful lette sooner...." 

Little things, certainly But I was learning that to be careful in small things made it muck easier to handle the larger temptations as they came. Besides, life was so much easier when I didn't have to spend a lot of time contriving.

Slowly, surely, it began to dawn on me that I was trying to live with Christ as my constant companion! Of course, it just wasn't possible to do this. So often I caught myself faling into my old ways! But Ikept trying.

And in the process I discovered the practical side of the promise, "But seek ye first the king dom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you" (Matthew 6:3 3 KJV). For, as I made the attempt to put God first, some of my other heartfelt needs were giver back to me.

One afternoon Raisham came to my room with a startled expression on her face.

"There's a lady in the drawing room waiting to se you," she said 

"Who is it?" I asked. 

Well, Begum Sahib, if I'm not mistaken it's the mother of Karim Surely she must be mistaken! Karim's mother would not be coming here 

I walked into the drawing room wondering who then it could be. Sure enough, there stood the mother of my dead cousin. Hearing my steps she looked up, came over and threw'her arms around me. 

"Bilquis," Karim's mother said,tears forming in her eyes, I just had to come personally to tell you something, At first, at the funeral, I didn't see you among allthe people. But I need to tell you how much comfort you were. It's ... I don't know... something new,. Something warm and special." 

And at last I saw why I had not been allowed to speak of Jesus directly to Karim's mother during the time ofher crushin g bereavement. For that would have been to take advantage of her. Now however the situation was quite different. Gentiy and softly there in my drawing room I spoke to her about how much Jesus meant to me and how He was slowiy and inexorably chan zing so many of my old imperious ways, replacing them with His warm human personality 

"It's true," Karim's mother said. You did care. You really wanted to share my sorrow."

 It was a short visit but a wonderful one, Encouraging in two directions: First, that another human being had actually noticed a change in me; and second, I hoped that this was the begin ning of a break in the family boycott.

It didn't happen quickiy though. Every time the phone rang, it was Tooni or one of m' missionary friends. So one morning just before Mahmud's fifth birthday, when the phone rang I expected to hear Marie Instead I heard the friendly voice of the mother of the second cousin who had died. "Bilquis?" 

"Yes." 

"Bilquis, I just wanted to say how much I appreciated the help you gave my son's wife. She told me you really spoke to her heart."

 How interesting, For I had said little. It was Christ who had done the consoling.

we exchanged a few pleasant words and then hung up.

 Once again I could not help but be amazed at how Jesus had done the work through me when I said little or nothing about Him directly, It was my being there, representing His Spirit in this time of need, that had been the helper

 Over the weeks a few other family members came for short visits. They'd drop by to see Mahmud on his birthday, bringing him sweets and toys. Ostensibly the reason for their visit was to see the boy. Actually, I knew, it was just a good excuse. They really had come to soften some of the hurt of the boycott. The visits were always strained and short. But they were bright, welcome chinks in the terrible wall that had been raised around me 

Almost a year had passed since I had made the decision to accept Christ's call. How the time flying! Soon my birthday would be here again. One year since I had given myself to the Lord was And now I was looking forward to my first real celebration of Christmas .T had ofcourse secen Christmas celebrations when I was in Europe; Christmas trees, decorations, manger scenes Santa Claus, presents, al kinds of delicious food, lau ghter and lots of fiun. But never had I knowi what Christmas was like viewed from the heart.

Much as I enjoyed these festivities, there wasn't much real meaning in them. I began to won der ifI could celebrate Christmas in a way that expressed the change that had come into my life. 

And then an idea came to mind. Besides having a worship time with the Mitchells, why not celebrate the coming of Jesus with everyone missionaries and people from the village, even the christians. Immediately I heard the warning voice of my family cautioning me not to make ○ display of my faith, and I also heard the general's voice warning me that he could no longer give me official protection if I got in trouble. I knew the idea of such Christmas celebrations wouldbe a threat to many. Yet, after much prayer it seemed to me that my Presence was strongest when I began to make plans for the unusual gatherings

 So I went ahead with the Christmas Day celebrations which caused such a stir in Wah. The village people arrived early and congregated around the creche (borrowed from the Mitchells) nd the tree that Raisham and Mahmud had had fun decorating the night before in the drawing room. I had the joy of telling them the wonderful story of God becoming man, because He loved us, In the afternoon, a group of Christians came. 1 sat on the floor with them, tryin g to enter intc their exuberant singing (which was new to me) accompanied by tambourine, harmonium and drums. The Mitchells helped me feel at home with them. 

Then to my astonishment one of the servants announced that an aunt and some cousins from Rawalpindi had arrived on a drop-in visit!

 My heart lcaped. How would they react? I need not have worried- they reacted in typical upper-class fashion, I'm afraid. First their jaws dropped, then they quietly retired to another room where they sat alone in strained silence.

I didn't want to ignore either group so I spent my time going from room to room. It was like running back and forth from a hot shower to a cold shower.

Finally, perhaps because of my own persistence, a few members of my family began to relax Some even went into the drawing room and joined the festivities around the tree. By the end of the celebrations they were passing small talk with the Mitchells, if not with the others 

The party heralded, I hoped, the start of a different kind of year. Not an easier one, just a different one. Because immediately in front of me lay many confusing crossroads that could lead meinto trouble if I took a wrong turn. For along with the smattering of relatives and friendst who were now returning, came a different kind of visitor. They were people who were determined to convert me back to the Muslim faith. I had a feeling that there were interested onlookers, anx ious to see how Iwouldi react to these voices beckoning me back home. Should! keepa discreet silence, or should I really speak my mind? 

The answer came to me, again,in terms of my Presence. For whenever I tried to be devious I felt uncomfortable and alone But whenever I answered the loa ded questions forthrightly and in love, then I felt that the Lord Himself was right with me.

 One afternoon, for instance, there was a soft knock on my door.I was surprised, for it was two o'clock in the afternoon.

"Yes?" 

The door opened. It was Raisham. "Begum $ahib, you have a visitor." 

There was a hesitancy in her soft voice . I had told Raisham that I preferred not to be bothered between noon and three in the afternoon. It was not an order, however. Before I would have ordered Raisham sharply not to bother me for any reason between noon and three. Now I ex Plained to her that I no longer considered time as something I owned; it belonged to the Lord. If something came up which she herself thought I should see to, then of course she was to come to my room no matter what the hour.

"Begum Sahib, the man is an Englishman." There was a glint of amusement in her brown eyes. "He says he wants to talk about God." 

"All right," I said, wondering, ""ll be right out." 

Waiting for me in the drawing room was a pale, sandy-haired Englishman. I was interested in noting that he wore typical Pakistani clothes, a white shirt and baggy trousers. With his pale face and white clothes he almost blended into the white walls of my drawin g room. After apologizing for dropping in without an appointment, he came to the point . He said that he had traveled all the way from Karachi to see me; since he had converted from Christianity to Islam members of my family thought we had interests in common. 'Ah," I said to myself, now I under stand. Knowing how much I like the British, they think I wil be impressed by an Englishmar who has left his Christianity for Islam"

My visitor hemmed and hawed and launched into the purpose of his visit. 

"Begum, " the man said, "one thing really disturbs me about Muslims who convert to Christianity It is the Bible. We all know that the Christian New Testament has been changed from what God gave."

 He was expressing Islam's main charge against the Bible, that it had been so altered that today's version is untrustworthy. The original, Muslims claim, had agreed with the Quran.

"I hope you won't think Im being facetious, said "Ireally do want to know something Pve heard often that the Bible was changed but I've never been able to learn who changed it. When were the changes made and what passages were corrupted?" 

My visitor leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, his fingers drummin g the arm of his chair He did not answer. It was unfair of me, I guess. As far as I knew there were no answers to these questions.

"You see," I went on, drawing on research I had made, in the British Museum there are ancient versions of the Bible which were published nearly three hundred years before Muham- mad was born. On every issue between Christianity and Islam these old manuscripts are iden tical with today's Bible. The experts say that in every basic essential today's Bible had not been changed from the original. This is important for me personally, For to me the Bible has become an alive Word. It speaks to my soul and feeds me. It helps guide me.

 My visitor got to his feet in the middle of my sentence. 

".. and so" Iwent on, '1 find it quite important to know if there really are places where Im fooling myself. Can you tell me?" 

"You talk about the word' almost as ifit were living," my visitor said.

 "I believe that Christ is living, if that's what you mean," I said. "The Quran itself says that Christ was the Word of God. I would love to talk with you about it sometime.

 "I must be going." 

And that was that. I saw my visitor to the door and invited him back. He never did return but others came, some wel-primed for battle and with such misconceptions! IIl never forget the man who accused Christians of worshiping three separate Gods.

 "Your so-called Trinity consists of God, Mary and Jesus!" he said. You Christians say that God took a wife who was Mary and from their union Jesus was born. Allah can't have a wife! he laughed. 

I prayed quickly. And a clear line of thought came to mind.

 "Do you read the Quran? I asked 

"Ofcourse."

 "Wel then, do you remember how the Quran says that Christ was given the Spirit of God?"I had often wondered how the Quran could have such marvelous truths as this. You perhaps have heard of Sadhu Sundar Singh, the devout sikh to whom Jesus appeared in a vision. This is how Jesus explained the Trinity to him: Tust as in the sun there are both heat and light, but the light is not heat and the heat is not light, but both are one, though in their manifestation they have different forms, so I and the Holy Spirit, proceeding from the Father, bring light and heat to the world. .. . Yet We are not three but One, just as the sun is but one."" 

It was quiet in the room when I finished. My guest was deep in thought. Finally he arose, thanked me for giving him time and silently left the house.

As I watched his forlorn figure walk away,it occurred to me to wonder whether my little visits with people like the Englishman and this zealot were really being used by the Lord. had no way of knowing, for I never heard from either ofthem again. It didn't matter. I perhaps should not even wonder about results. The only thing that did matter to me was obedience. If the Lord asked me to talk to these people, then that is what I should da

As the winter rolled into spring, the Lord seemed to give me other ways of speaking too. I went to Lahore and- after a good but strangely uncommunicative visit with my son Khalid- purchased a hundred copies of the Bible to g give away to anyone whc was interested, Ialso bought a quantity of Christian tracts. I gave them away at every opportunity, even leaving them in pubs lic places. I'm not at all sure this did any good. Once, when I went back to check, I found my little stack had dwindled but then I looked in the wastebasket . There, crumpled up, were the copies of my tracts.

 "It sems so pointless, lord," I said. "Am I doing what You want? Why is it, Lord,;" I said raising my hands in supplication, "that not one single time have Ibeen able to see the results of talking about you?" There was the English convert to Islam, and the general, and all the servants who had fled, and the hundreds of times I had talked with members of my family and with friends, not one of these times bore visible fruit. "It 's so puzzling, Lord! I just don't understand why You aren't using me." 

As I prayed the sensation of Christ's Presence grew ever stronger in that room. He seemed to fill the atmosphere with strength and comfort. I heard in my heart the distinct suggestion "Bilquis, I have only one question to ask you. Think back over those times when you have talkeg with your friends, and with your family. Think back over the times you have accepted people who have come to argue. Have you felt My Presence durin g those visits?"

 "Yes, Lord. Yes, indeed I have." 

"My glory was there?"

 "Yes, Lord."

"Then that's all you need. It is so often this way with friends. And family, The results are not your problem. All you have to worry about is obedience. Seek My Presence, not resulits." 

So I continued on my course. The odd thing is that it became an increasingly stimulating and invigorating time. Once the Lord had taken my eyes of the results" and turned them to His Presence, I could enjoy meeting friend after firiend, relative after relative, without the slightest feeling of frustration. I learned to take advantage of opportunities. Whether the conversation was on politics or clothes, I would ask God to prompt a question that would give me an opening For example, once when I was talkin g to a niece, the conversation drifted to my former husband, who was now Pakistan's ambassador to Japan. 

"What if Uncle Khalid came to your house?" she smiled,lifting an eyebrow.

 I looked at her directly. "I would welcome him. I would serve him tea." My niece looked at me incredulously. "T have forgiven him," I continued. "And I hope that he has forgiven me for all that Idid that hurt him."

 "How can you forgive that way!" My niece knew that the breakup had been most difficult 

I explained that I certainly could not forgive in my own strength. I had asked Jesus to help me "You know;" I said, "Jesus invited us all to come to Him with our burdens. Jesus took my burder of hate from me."

My niece sat quietly for a while. w ell,"' she said, that is a Christianity I have not heard about If you're going to talk like that, I'll be one of the first to come and learn about your Jesus." 

Even here I was disappointed. T had high hopes and believed that indeed my niece might re- turn to the subject, but she never did. 

I did have times when the glory left me during this period. It always occurred in the same fashion. I would slip into Satan's trap of convincing me that 1 sounded pretty good! My argu- ments were really quite profound!

One day for instance a friend asked me, Why do you have to be so exclusive? You'll have to admit that we all worship the same God, whether Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist or Jew. We may call Him by different names and approach Him from different directions, but in the end it's the same God." 

"You mean He is like a mountaintop to which different paths lead?" 

He settled back, balancing his cup of tea, and nodded. And then I flew to the attack. 

"Well," I said, He may be a mountaintop but there is only one path to Him, through Jesus Christ. The Lord said: 1 am the way, the truth and the life.' Not just a way," I added sharply, bu the way" 

My friend put down his cup of tea, grimaced and shook his head. "Bilquis," he said, "did any one ever tell you that you still come across as haughty?" 

And instantly Iknew that the man sitting in front of me was speaking for God. My arguments were right. They were biblical and sound. But the Spirit had left. Bilquis was right. Bilquis was stating truth. Quickly I said a prayer of repentance and asked the Lord to take over.

 "Im sorry," I laughed. "If I come across as smug because I'm a Christian, then I'm not acting as Christ would want. The more I learn about Christ, the more I need correcting, The Lord has so much to teach me and I know He is speaking right now through you." 

My visitor left, perhaps closer to the Lord, perhaps not. 1 doubt that I shall ever know. But I do know that I was, step by painful step learning to listen and to obey.

 And then one night I had another one of those frightening experiences that came only after I had become a Christian. I was in my room preparing for bed when I suddenly felt a powerfu presence of evil at my bedroom window. Instantly my mind turned to my Protect or and I wa. warned from going near the window, I dropped to the floor in prayer, asking my Lord to cover me as a mother hen covers her chicks and I felt the strong cloak of His protection. When Iarose, the presence at the window was gone.

 The next morning, I drove over to the Mitchells . The sun shone brightly on their street but was still shaking inside. Yet, as I walked up to their door, I felt hesitant about mentioning what happened to me for fear they wouldn't understand.

 At the door, Synnøve hugged me, then stepped back, her gray eyes questioning me.

"What's wrong, Bilquis?" she asked 

"Well"' I ventured, "why do frightening things keep happening after one becomes a Christian?"

She ushered me into the living room where we sat down. 

"I don't really know what you mean," she said, puzziled. 'Has someone threatened you?" 

"Not someone," I answered, something.

 "Oh?" she said, and arose and got her Bible . "Here," she said, siting down and flipping through its pages, "in Ephesians 6 it speaks about that kind of thing," she read," we are up against the unseen power that controls this dark worid, and spiritual agents from the very head- quarters of evil."

She looked up at me.

"That must be it," I said, teling her something about what happened that night She listened thoughtfully, and then said,"Why don't you talk to the Olds about it?" "Well" I said, giving a nervous laugh , 'I don't know if I want to even tall about it anymore." 

And that's how I felt at the beginning of our get-together with the Olds that evenin g, I decided not to bring it up. Id simply make a fool of myself, I thought. It was probably just my imagination. 

However, as I sat talking with Marie on a sofa before the fire, I couldn't help mentioning it. tried to sound lighthearted.

The strangest thing happened to me last night, Marie," I said. I had the most frightening experience and I can't explain it. 

Ken, in his usual relaxed manner, had been sitting in a window seat behind us, reading a book Hearing me, he laid his book down, looked up and sensing my reluctance to talk about it, he, in his own quiet way, gently drew me into explaining the whole episode When I finished, I tried to laugh . 'A nd then again," I said lightly, 'I may have had too much curry at dinner last evening!" 

"Don't minimize the things the Lord will bring you through," he said quietly. supernatural things do happen ." He walked around the sofa and sat in a chair facing us. His face was serious. 

He explained the supernatural presence of evil and how God can allow it to come upon a per son as a test. As an example, Ken pointed out in the Old Testament how God permitted Satan to attack Job and how He allowed the Evil One to tempt Christ in the wilderness. Both of these, Ken pointed out, were tests. And in each case, he added, Satan's inten ded victim emerged victorious because of his outspoken faith in God. I couldn't help remembering the attack I suffered the sec ond night before my baptism.

 Slowly the learning continued. But what I did not know as I gratefully considered Ken's com- forting teaching, was that the Lord had already started a process that was to leave me more and more alone, yet not lonely, more and more cut off from my family, yet part of a great, supportive family; more and more cut off from the roots which meant so much to me in Wah, yet with deep- ening roots in the new City God was preparing for us in heaven. 

It was because of these upcoming tests of endurance that He had been placing me, time after time, in situations where I had to depend solely on Him.

Chapter 11. Winds of Change

 I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER

Chapter 11. Winds of Change

The weaning process began one Sunday a few weeks later, during our regular prayer meeting thought that both the Olds and the Mitchells seemed unusually somber that evening.

 "What's wrong?" I asked as we walked into the Olds' drawing room . Ken leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling 

"Marie and I are leaving on a year's furlough," he said abruptly.

My first reaction was panic at the thought of abandonment. What would I ever do without the Olds! Of course I would still have the Mitchells, but I depended on both families, together to be my support. The Mitchells had brought me into my first contact with Jesus; the olds had walked closely with me. Was this just a beginning? How long before I lost both families?

Marie must have read my heart, for she stepped over an d took my hand. Tears filled her eyes as she spoke. 

"My dear," Marie said, " you must realize that it willalways be this way Those we love will always be leaving. Only Jesus stays with you forever." 

Ken now joined his wife at my side.

"There's another thing, Bilquis," Ken said. "You can be sure the Lord never leads vou out of a safe situation unless He has a purpose. Because of that, you can start rejoicing now, even in the midst of the hurt." 

We had only a few weeks more together, the Olds, the Mitchells and I. The departure date grew closer, carrying with it a sense of doom. We all tried to be faith -filled about the vacuum that would be created by Ken and Marie's leaving but it was play -acting, not at all real.

It was a sad day when the Mitchells and I and others in our small Christian group went to the olds' house -for a god 'bye send- of. we did our best even at this last moment to make it a cele- bration, but our hearts" were heavy We tried to $ the moment as a change not to' "let them go" but to "send them out."

It was a brave show. But in our hearts, as we saw the Olds' heavily-loaded automobile lumber offtoward the Grand Trunk Road, it seemed to us all that life could never again be as rich. 

As I drove back to my own home that day I had a strange sensation of being on my own now alone in a hostile community, How ridiculous. The Mitchells were still in Wah, after all!l

The weaning process took a new and unexpected turn late one morning, some months after the Olds left, when Dr. Daniel Baksh phoned me. He sad he and Dr. Stanley Mooneyham, repre senting a group called Worild vision, with headquarters in California, U.S.A, would like to visit me. I had never heard of this organization but my doors were open to anyone, even people whc were curious to see what a Muslim-tured-Christian looked like.

 Both arrived a few days later. When we finished dinner, Dr. Mooneyham began to speak and it was clear that he was no curiosity-seeker. He was interested in my conversion, all right, but I sensed that he would have been equally interested in the conversion of my gardener. As we sipped tea, he came to the point. 

"Willyou come to Sin gapore, Madame Sheikh," Dr. Mooneyham asked, "to testify for the Lord?" "Singapore?"

"Billy Graham is arranging a large conference there called Christ Seeks Asia. It will be for Asian Christians of all kinds- Indonesians, Japanese, Indians, Koreans, Chinese, Pakistanis. Your testimony will be an inspiration to us."

 It didn't sound right. I had enough to do right there in Wah without taking off for other parts of the world 

"Well," I said, "I'll pray about it." 

"Please do! S Mooneyham said andthen shortly he bid me good-bye.

 Long after Dr. Mooneyham left, I sat in the drawin g room thinking and praying, as I had promised, about the invitation. One side of me said that I should take advantage of the oppor tunity. Another side of me said I should not even think of it.

And then an idea occurred to me 

My passport. Of course. It was just about to expire. It would have to be renewed ifI were to go to Singapore . At that time in Pakistan there was much red tape involving passports. The situ- ation was impossible. Some people sent their passports in for renewal and never got them back. 

Why not let this situation act as a voice for the Lord? If He wanted me to go, Hie would take care of this passport detail. 

That very afternoon I flled out the necessary information and posted the passport to the proper o fficials. As I slipped it in the mailbox I had very little doubt that this would be my No" to the Singapore trip. 

A week later an official-looking government envelope came in the mail.

Hmm,"I smiled, "this will be the first step in getting my renewal, some more forms to fill out. And so it wil go on for months."

I opened the envelope. 

There, all renewed and officially stamped, was my passport.

So it was, a few months later, that I said good-bye to five-year-old Mahmud, leaving him with Tooni and drove down to Lahore. There I had a short visit with my son, Khalid, before going on to Karachi where I would board the jet for Singapore. Although it was now 1968 and a year and é half had passed since the Lord met me, Khalid was much like the rest of my family, now showing little interest in my discovery I suspected that he considered me, at 55, embarked on a strange kind of trip. ButIwas to be respected as his mother, andwe had an enjoyable visit.

Later as I boarded the jet in Karachi and considered the project I was just now undertaking, ] had the impression that Khalid was right. What in the world was I doing on this airplane headed of Christians aboard and I wasn't too sure I liked what I saw. L for Singapore! There were a Iot shrank from their exuberance. They were singing Gospel songs, shouting back and forth to each other across the aisles, sometimes raising their hands and crying, " Praise the Lord!" I was em barrassed, I found myself muttering that if this was what it meant to travel in Christian circles, I wasn't interested. 

What made the moment worse was that, for reasons that I could not define, I felt this trip held a personal significance beyond the conference in Singapore It was as if the trip were pro- phetic, foretelling the type oflife ] would be called upon to lead.

 "Oh no, Lord," I said to myself. You must be playing with me!" Prophetic in what sense? That I was going to have to spend a lot of time among extroverts, traveling in jet airplanes? Back ir Wah Iwas just getting comfortable in my role as a Christian, but that was in a provincial village There I was in control, at least. Christianity to me was a very private iov to be shared on my owi terms. I definitely did not like the ideca of paradin g myself before hundreds, perhaps thousands, of strangers. 

As the plane took offI! stared out of the window, watching Pakistan fall away below me into the mist. Even though Iknew that I would be coming back within just a few days, something warned me that in a very real sense this was a beginning, Although I would return to my home in the physical sense, in another sense I would never come 'back. 

This- this group of Christians on an airplane--was my home now. 

What could I possibly mean by that! The idea appalled me. 

Fom the singapore ? airport we went straight to the conference hally where the meetings were already in progress.

And suddenly, quite to my surprise, I found that I was having a very different reaction to this group of asembled Christians.

There were thousands of men an d women in the conference hall, the largest number of Chris tan people I had ever seen gathered in one place. As I walked into the hall everyone was singing "How Great Thou Art." I felt the familiar Presence of God's Spirit and had never known it to be so palpitating, Almost instantly I wanted to cry, not out of sadness but out of joy. Never before had I seen such a large crowd of people praising the Lord. I could hardily grasp it. So many people, from so manv countries! Different races, different dress! Galleries of praising Christians seeming to rise forever. 

Now this was different! Not at all like the group of people on the airplane. I then realized what I had been experiencing on the plane. Every thing was suddenly very clear Those people on the etliner had been shy, nervous, perhaps even afraid. Afraid ofthe newness, afraid of flying They were no more moving in the Spirit at that time than was when scolded one of the servants or reacted violently to an uncle when he tried to pressure me back into Islam. The problem had been their language. Christian talk fooled me. I should have recognized it as Christianese. But here in this conference center it wra s different Socializing was over worship had begun. If the prophecy Ihad felt meant being with groups like this, that I could appreciate and accept.

 One thing stil bothered me. Was I really supposed to stand up in front of these thousands of people to talk? It was one thing to speak about my experiences to people Iknew personally in Wah. But here? With all these strange-looking people from so many different continents? I did not feel at ease. 

I hurried over to my hotel where I tried to settle down. I looked out the window at teeming Singapore. How different Sin gapore was from London and Paris. People jostled each other on the streets, hawkers sang their wares and automobiles threaded through the melee, constantly sounding hors. The very presof people seemed to over -whelm me herej just as it did in the conference hall. I shuddered, thrust the curtain closed and retreated to the other end of the room where I sat down and tried to calm myself.

"O Lord,"I cried, "where is Your comforting Spirit?" 

And suddenly Irecalled a childhood experience of walking with my father through a market Place. Father cautioned me to stay by his side but, always active, I wanted to run off A flower display caught my attention and I ran over to it. Suddenly I realized that my father was not at my side. Panic filled me and I burst into tears. "Oh, Father'" I said, "come find me and I won't ever run away firom you again!" Even as I spoke, there he was, his tall slender figure coming quickly to- ward me through the crowd. I was with him againl All I wanted now was to stay by his side.

 As I sat in the hotel room, I realized that in fact I hadleft my heaveniy Father again. By allow- ing myself to become anxious, I had run off from His comforting Presence. When would I learr that I cannot worry and trust God at the same time! I relaxed in my chair and felt at peace again.

"Oh, thank You, Father,"' I said weeping in relief . "Please forgive me for steppin g a way from You. You are here, You are in that hall. I'll be all right." 

A few minutes later in the hotel lobby, I felt a hand on my arm and heard a familiar voice. looked around to see Dr. Mooneyham.

"Madame Sheikh, so good to have you here! Dr. Mooneyham seemed happy cnough to see me "Are you still wiling to speak?" It was as if he had been reading my mind.

"Don't worry about me," I said, smiling, "1ll be fine. The Lord is here." 

Dr. Mooneyham just stood there, studying my face, as if making a decision about how to interpret my words. After all, I had been using Christianese too, and he wasn't going to take it at face value, possibly let it fool him as it had fooled me on the airplane. Dr. Mooneyham's eyes were reading my very soul. Then suddenly he seemed satisfied.

"Good," he said abruptly. You're slated for tomorrow morning." He looked at his watch "You'll have lots of prayer support." 

Dr. Mooneyham had understood me correctly, The sense of peace lasted through the next moring too, when indeed I did get up in front of those thousands of people gathered in the auditorium to speak of how the Lord had found me in such a strange way. It was not at all diff cult speaking, He was with me as I stumbled and fumbled through the talk, embracing me anc encouraging me, assuring me that He was doing the communicating and not I. And as people surrounded me in loving fellowship after my talk, it was as if I had taken the first step in a new kind of work for the Lord.

The Lord also arranged my meeting a man who would become very important in my life, though I didn't realize it at the time. I was introduced to Dr. Christy wilson, a kind gentleman who was pastor of a church in Kabul, Afghanistan, which ministered to foreign nationals. We found a rapport in the Lord's Spirit as we discussed his work.

 Then, the meetings were over and I was on my way back to Wah. Once again I sensed that the whole trip had a strangely foretelling character, as if God had asked me to come with Him to Singapore so that I could learn more about a type of work He wanted me to do. 

Well, I said to myself, at least I'll be hecd-quartered in Wah. Perhaps I wouldn't mind too much going out on an Occasional trip from my comfortable and secure ancestral home. 

But as the car turned of the Grand Trunk Road toward our house in the trees, I had no way of knowing that the weaning process was going to shatter more of that security.

Chapter 12. A Time for Sowing

 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.