Chapter 13. Storm Warnings

 I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER

Chapter 13. Storm Warnings 

Two months passed after the report of threats against me. Nothin g occurred more threatening than hostile glances from a few young men, and I began to wonder if the alarms were ground, less. 

Now was Christmastime again, afew years after Ihad found the1 Babe of Bethlehem. Even though some family members had been visiting me, the warning phone call from my uncle re minded me that relationships within my family were still strained and I felt it would be a good idea to have a dinner party for my relatives and firiends, to see if now we could do something fur- ther to heal the breach.

So I spent considerable time making up a guest list Then one evening, before going to bed,]I slipped that list into my Bible for safekeepin g, intending to have the invitations sent out the nex morning.

But that was never to take place.

For when I opened the Bible the next morning to take out the list my eyes fell on a passage Incredibly,it read:

When you give a luncheon or a dinner party, don't invite your friends or your brothers or relations or wealthy neighbors, for the chances are they will invite you back, and you will be fully repaid. No, when you give a party invite the poor, the lame, the crippled and the blind. That way lies real happiness for you. They have nc means of repayin g you, but you wil be repaid when good men are rewarded at the resurrection.

Luke 14:12 

"Lord,is that Your word for me?" I wondered, holding the Bible in one hand and the guest list in the other. Sure enough, most of my relatives and neighbors and friends were well-to-do. I had told myself this was an opportunity to get Muslim and Christian together, but actually I saw that pride had been showing through. I wanted to demonstrate to my family that I still had friends among the wealithy class.

I crumpled up the list. 

Instead, I did exactly what the Bible said. I made up a list of widows, orphans, unemployed and poor people of the village and theni invited all ofthem to attend Christmas dinner. Igave some of the invitations myself and others I passed along through my own staff. News like this travels fast and soon my servants were bringing back word that the whole village was planning to come. For a moment I had misgivings. All those people I thought of the white sofa covers and the carpet. Oh well, I thought, I could put the good things out of the way and the sofas can al- ways be cleaned. 

So we started preparations. Mahmud's eight-year-old enthusiasm was infectious as he helpec me gather presentsf for the people who would G come. We found warm clothes sfor the men and boys, brightly colored garments for the young girls, giris, rolls ofed, pink andi purple g cloth for the women, sweaters and shoes for the children. The servants and I spent hours wrapping the gifts, tying the packages with silver ribbons. 

One day there was a knock on the door. A group of womenfolk from Wah were standing out- side. They wanted to help. "Not for pay, Begum," their spokeswoman explained. " We just want to help you put on the dinner."

Suddenly the whole celebration had become a community affair. For decoration, I askeda family of potters in the village to make lamps, the small oil pottery lamps still commonly used in that part of Pakistan. Iordered 500 of them. Ihad the village women come tothe house, where made wicks by twisting cotton into strands As we worked, natural opportunities arose to we talk about Christ. As we placed the lamps around the house, for instance, I told the story about the wise and foolish virgins.

 The food was another excitin g project. Again the village women helped me prepare typical Pakistani sweets and sliced the almonds and the other delicious nuts. They put the thin strips of finely pounded silver foil on the sweetmeats as a colorful decoratior

 The village people began to arrive at the house on December 24 and continued coming till late in the evenin g How beautifiul althe lamps were, decoratin g every cranry, sitting cheerily along rails and sills. Mahmud had a wonder ful time playing with the village children. I had never seer these children's eyes sparkle so, nor, for that matter, Mahmud's. Shouts and laughter filled the house. From time to time Mahmud would come to me with reauests. 

"Mum," he would say, "there are five more boys standing outside; can they come in?" 

"Of course," I laughed, pating him on the back and feeling sure that there were more children in our house right now than lived in all of Wah. When I talked with the villagers about how Christ had instructed us to treat each other in this way theirg response was, "Did He really walk with people like us?" 

"Yes," I said, and today what we do for others, we do for Him." 

Finally, after the festivities were over and I was able to slump down in a chair without worry- ing about sitting on a sleeping child, I sighed in contentment to God. 'Is this what You wanted me to do?" And I seemed to hear the soft response: "Yes." And then I noticed. I had forgotten all about the carpet and the sofas. Yet they seemed none the worse for wear. 

Many of the poor never forgot that party. About a month later, T heard through one ofthe servants about a funeral in Wah. There the wife of the local mullah complained loudly that I had made a mistake losing my faith. Someone else, however, replied, "Have you seen the Begum Sahib lately? Have you done any of the things she has done since she became a christian? If you want to learn anything about God, why don't you go to see her?"

But there was another side to this experience too. For I learned that there were forces in Wah which did not take kindly to the party.

"Begum Sahib ji, an old retainerwho worked in the garden stopped me one day. He touched his forehead "A minute, please?"

" Of course."

"Begum Sahib ji, there is talk in the town that you should know about. One speaks about how the Begum has become a problem. There are those in the village who say they will have to do something about you." 

"About me?" I said, "I don't understand." 

"Neither do I, Begum Sahib. But I just feel you should know..."

Warnings like this, sometimes coming close together, sometimes spread months apart, began to occur with increasing regularity over the next year. It was almost as if the Father were trying to prepare me for a difficult time to come 

One day, for instance, three small boys came to our house from the village. Later I wondered if they were God's messengers, arriving in these lit tle forms. For Mahmud came to me with news from the boys. He was shivering and his eyes were wide with fear.

"Mum, do you know what my friends said? They said that in the village people were planning to killyou. They wil do it after Friday prayers." He began sobbin g, "If you die, I will kill myself" 

What was Ito do! I gathered Mahmud's eight-year-old form in my arms, stroked his tousled black hair and tried to comfort him . "My dear child,"' I said, "let me tell you a story." And l re counted to him the tale of Jesus' first sermon in Nazareth when the crowd became so angry and determined to stone Him . " Mahmud," I said, "Jesus passed through the midst of them. There wasn't a thing anyone could do to Jesus until and unless the Father allowed it to happen. The same is true with you and me. We have His perfect prot ection. Do you believe that?" 

"Do you mean we will never be hurt or harmed?"

 "No, I don't mean that. Jesus was hurt. But only when His time had come to suffer. We do not need to live a life of constant fear that something terrible will happen to us. For it cannot happen to us until our moment has come. And maybe that will never happen. We will simply have to wait and see. But in the meantime we can live in great confidence, Do you understand?"

 Mahmud looked at me and his brown eyes softened. Suddenly he smiled, wheeled on the spot and ran off to play, shouting happily. It was the best answer to my question he could possibly have given.

 I wish I could say that I myself felt as confident. Not that I disbelieved what I had said to Mahmud. It was that my faith was not yet childlike. I rose and carried my Bible out into the gar den. My heart was not exactly light. How dare they try to force me from my land! 

The fall weather was crisp and dry; as I slowly walked along the graveled path, I could hear a fish splash in my little stream and the far-ofif call of a bird. Chrysanthemums and other sum- mer leftovers cheered the path. Ibreathed the Pleasant sparkling air. This was my land, andmy people. This was my country. My family had served it wellfor hundreds of years. This was my home, and I could not, would not, leave it!

Yet events were taking place that were totally out of my control, and that did not bode well fo my stubborn determination to stay in my home 

In December 1 970, four years after my conversion, Pakistan had its first national one-man- one-vote election. It looked as if the People's Party would carry the day, And that was not exactly good news for me. For none of my highly placed friends were friends of this party. "]slam our Father, Democracy our Policy Socialism our Economy" was the new party's slogan. It was a slo- gan designed to appeal to the man on the street. I kow that the common ordinary Pakistani felt a new sense of power. Was this good for me? It may have been for the new Bilquis, but there was an inherent danger too. For nothing fires the zealofa fanatic more than the belief that his goV- erment will back him in his exploits. My old reputation was certainly not that of a democrat; socialism did not fit the age-old traditions of our familv; and Islam?_well, now I was a traitor. 

I followed the events somewhat from a distance. One day, however, an old government friend of my father's arrived. Despite his despair over my new faith, he had tried to stay close to me. From time to time he would call or visit just to make sure that everything was all right.

Now he sat with me on the whit e sofa in my drawing room, sipping tea.

"Bilquis," he said, his voice low, "are you aware of what is happening and how it can affect, you?" 

"Do you mean with the Pakistan People's Party?" 

"How much do you know about Zulfikar Ali Bhutto?" "I knew him well," I said.

 "Don't you read the paper? Listen to the radio?" "No, you know I don't take time for that.

 "Well, I advise that you do take time. The government situation has changed. I doubt if you can count on him as you did on previous presidents," he added. " You have, my dear, lost what in fluence you may have had in high circles. That era is over.

 Half an hour later as I waved my old friend out of the driveway and returned to call the maid to clean up,] realized that a strange thing had happened with my old friend's visit. It was as if he had spoken for the Lord, preparing me for the fact that my protective, influential friends were gone, bringing me one more step toward total dependence on the Lord.

 It wasn't too long before I began sensing a growing hostility, I saw it in the eyes of men as walked in Wah. I'll never forget the change in the attitude of a minor official with whom Idis- servile man, bowing and touching his cussed taxes on my property. In the past he had bel forehead. Now the little fellow was openly hostile. It was evident in his clipped remarks and the contemptuous way he slapped the forms down in front of me.

And later as I was strolling alon g the road outside my house, I glimpsed a man who usually went out of hist way to speak to me NowI noticed. something quite different. He caught sight of me, quickly turned his head and began to study the horizon as I passed. Inwardy, I chuckled, "Lord, don't we all behave like children!" 

Interestingly, the new government seemed to have little effect upon my household staff Except for Nur-jan, who was still quietly enjoyin g her new walk with Jesus, and Raisham, my other Christian servant, my entire staff were faithful followers of Muhammad. Yet a real affec- tion existed between us. More than once my Muslim servants slipped into the bedroom to plead with me. "Please, Begum Sahib li," they said in low voices, if vou should have to leave... or if you should decide to leave . . . don't worry about us. We'll find work."

What a different relationship I had with my staf now than a short four years before Dreams, too, played a remarkable role during that time. 

Dreams had always been a part of my Christian experience, ever since the day Ifirst met Jesus, who came in a dream feast at the table with me, Now these strange and mystic experiences, such as Paul said he experienced, be came even more active.

 One night I found myself taken out in spirit and crossing the ocean at a terrific momentum Like the speed of light I came to what 1 felt was New England, though I had never been to Amer ica. I came before a house, or was it a nursing home? I floated int o a room with twin beds. In one lay a middle-aged womar with a round face clear blue eyes anda mixture of gray and white short hair. A white embossed cotton spread in a triangular pattern covered the bed. She was ob viously very ill; I sensed she had cancer. A nurse sat in a chair reading, And then I saw my Lord in the corner of the room. I kneeled d own before Him and asked what I should do.

"Pray for her," He said. So I went to the woman's bed and prayed fervently for her healing.

 In the moring I sat at my windowsill awed by what had happened in that room across the sea. Why did Jesus ask me to pray for the woman? He was right there. Yet He had asked me to pray for her. I was beginning to get a glimmer of a tremendous revelation. Our prayers are vital to our Lord. He works through them. I was led to the fifth chapter ofJames: Believing prayer wil save the sick man; the Lord wil restore him and any sins that he has committed will be for given. .. . Tremendous power is made available through a good man's earnest prayer. ... 

Thus our prayer releases this power into the person for whom we plead.

Another time I envisioned walking up a gangplank as if boarding a ship. The gangplank led into a room. Christ was standing in the room He seemed to be givin g me instructions. Then ] walked back down the gangplank. At the end of it a lady was waiting, dressed in western clothes a skirt and ja cket. She appeared to have been waiting for me. she came up to me, linked her arm in mine and started to take me way.

"Where are we going, Lord?" I asked over my shoulder. But He would not tell me.

The dream seemed to be sayin g that I would be going on another trip. Although this time I would be going to an unknown destination, Jesus would be watching over the journey, The dream left me in a state of preparedness so that I was not startled by the news an old frieng brought me. 

In March 1 971, just a few months after Bhutto had taken office, I had a visit from Yaqub, an old government friend. He had been close to our family for years. In fact, when my husband was Minister, there was a time when Pakistan was in an economic decline with a serious trade imbal- ance. Yaqub and I had helped inaugurate a self-help program which came to be called the Simple Living Plan. The basic idea was to encourage Pakistan industries to produce our own goods,less ening the need for imports.

We had followed each other around the country helping small factories and cottage indus, tries get started. We had encouraged local people to weave fabric and then start production of clothing, We, ourselves, had voluntarily entered an austerity program, wearing homespun gar ments. It was all to the good, for the Simple Living Plan was a success. As local factories began to thrive, the economic condition of Pakistan improved. Through the years since, Yaqub would occasionally visit me to discuss politics and world affairs. Hel knew good deal about our family a holdings, for he had visited the many properties we had throughout Pakistan, and he knew that most of our funds were tied up in real estate.

 "Bilquis," he said, in a tone that was apologetic, "some friends and I have been talking and... er, the subject of your finan cial health has come up. Have you considered selling some of your land? I'm not sure how safe it is for you or your family to have all of your assets tied up in real es tate, with Bhutto promising land reform What a thoughtful thing for Yaqub to do.

 And not without risk either. With the growing hostility toward the ruling class of yesterday, his government staff car outside my house could easily serve to bring criticism on his own shoulders

 "Thank you, Yaqub," I said, trying to control my voice. "But as things stand now I am deter mined. Nothing nothing at all--will force me to move out!"

 It was an infantile thing to sav. of course The old Bilquis with her imperious, stubborn way was showing through. Nonetheless it was an attitude that did not surprise my friend at all.

 "That's the answer I expected, Bilquis," Yaqub said, stroking his mustache and laughing, Just the same, the time may come when you may want to leave Pakistan. 

“If the time does, my good friend, I will be sure to remember your offer.”

Another dream: this time from Raisham,usually so reserved.

"Oh, Begum Sheikh," my maid cried, kneeling her tall slender form by the divan on which I sat in my bedroom that cold night I met the Lord. 'Tve had a horrible dream. Can I tell you about it?"

 "Of course."

 I listened closely, Raisham told me that in her dream some evil men had come int o the house and were holding me prisoner. ' I fought with them,' she cried. I called out Begum, run!' And in the dream 1Isaw you running out of the house and escaping "The maid's dark brown eyes were moist with tears. It was I who had to comfort her. But for me this was not difficult. In the words that I spoke, Ifoundi myself listenin g t to advice that I should take to heart. ○ dear," Isaid, have been hearing much from the Lord lately about the possibility of havin g to flee. And this may occur. I at first refused to believe. But now I am beginning to wonder.

"It is possible,"I said, lifting her chin upwards and smiling, "that I may have to go. But if I do it will be in the Lord's timing I am learning to accept that . Can you believe me?"

 The maid was silent. Then at last she spoke, "what a wonderful way to live, Begum Sahib." 

"It is indeed. It is the only way, Nothing, any longer, is in my own control."

 And although I did believe everything I said, as the woman disappeared from my bedroom I found myself not quite as in charge of my emotions as I may have sounded. Fleeing? Running away? Me?

The series of message experien ces" began to come more rapidly in the autumn of 1971. One day Nur-jan came to me breathless and taut with emotion.

 "What is it, Nur-jan?" I said as she started to brush my hair, her hands trembling.

 "Oh, Begum Sahib," Nur-jan sobbed, "I don't want you to be hurt." 

"Hurt by what?" 

Nur-jan dried her eyes. She told me that her brother, her own brother, had been to the mosque the previous day, and that a eroup ofmen had said that at last the time had cometo take action against me.

"Do you have any idea of what they meant?" "No, Begum Sahib," Nur-jan said. But I am afraid. Not only for you but for the boy,too."

 "A nine-year-old child? They wouldn't.

 "Begum Sahib, this is not the country it was even five years ago," said Nur-jan seriously, so unlike her usually bubbly self. "Please be careful 

And indeed, it wasn't but a few weeks later that it happened.

 It had been such a lovely day. Autumn was in the air. The monsoon season was over and the weather was crisp and dry, Nothing untoward had happened for days on end and I found myself saying that, after all, we were living in a modern age. It was 1971, not 1571. Holy wars were a thing of the past. 

I went up to my room for my prayer hour. But suddenly, without knowing why, I had the strongest urge to get Mahmud and to rush outside to the lawn! 

What a foolish thing to do. But the urge was so definite that I woke Mahmud up from his si- esta, and without explanation hurried the groggy and protesting child and ran outside.

The moment I stepped onto the terrace, I smelled acrid smoke. Someone was burning pine boughs. We had a longstanding rule that no one was allowed to burn trash on my land. I went in search of the gardener and, when I rounded the side of the house, was instantly flled with horror. 

There, heaped against the house, was a mound of dried pine boughs, ablaze. The crackling flames, hot and fast, raced up the side of the building, leaping high.

 I screamed. The servants came running, Soon some were rushing back and forth to thé streams wit h buckets filled with water. Others had unreeled the garden hose and were spraying the flames but our water pressure was low, For a moment it looked as if the fire was going to catch the timbers which stuck out from the end of the building under the roof. They began to smoke and smolder. There was no way to throw water that high. The only way we could keep the house from burning down was to quench the flames themselves.

 On we raced, against time. The servant s formed a line to the stream passing buckets of water firom one person to anothe, sloshing it over in their hurry.

Everyone worked until finally the leapin g flames'began to be brought under control. We stood, about a dozen of us, in a circle around the fire. All of us were perspiring, all of us shaking. In another few minutes the house would have been ablaze, impossible to quench.

 I caught Nur-jan's eyes. She shrugged ever so slightly and nodded her head.

I knew exactly what she was thinkding The threat had been carried out. Ilooked at the wooden roof beams, their ends charred black, and the soot stains on the white walls walls of of my my house I thanked the Lord that nothing else had happened and shuddered to think of what could have happened if I had not been directed outside at that very moment 

After the police who had come to investigate made their notes, questioned me and the staff and left I was once again seated in my room. I picked up the Bible to see if the Lord had anything special to say to me. 

One phrase leaped off the page "Haste thee, escape thither; for I cannot do anything till thou be come thither" (Genesis 19:22). 

I put the book down and looked up.'All You have to do now is show me the way You want me to leave. willit be easy, or willit be hard?

 "And above all, Lord," I said, this time with tears suddenly filling my eyes, 'what about the boy? Can he come too? You have been stripping me of everything, Does that include the child as well?"

Some time later, in May 1 973, the Lord spoke to me stil again through another dream. Raisham came to me with worry written in her eyes.

"Begum Sahib," Raisham said, is the cash box safe?"

 She was referring to the portable strong box in which I kept the household cash "Of course it's safe," I answered. Why?" 

"Well' Raisham explained, obviously trying to control her voice,'T had a dream last night in which you were motoring on a long trip. You had the cash box with you."

 "Yes?" I said. This wasn't too unusual, since I often carried the cash box with me on trips.

 "But the dream was so real," Raisham insisted."And the sad pat is that as you were traveling, people stopped you and stole the cash box.

She trembled and once again I had to comfort her with assurance that the loss of my money would lead me int o a still closer dependence on God.

After she went back to her work I thought about that dream. Could it be prophetic? Could it be telling me that my finances would be taken from me? Would I soon be completely on my own hurtling into the unknown with no means of support? 

These were astonishing days. For just two months later, on a hot July day in 1973, a servant came to anounce the arrival of Tooni's husband. Tooni and her two children had come from Quetta to stay with me for a couple of weeks and her husband had come to take her back. she had remarried in 1968 and as her husband was an Army officer, they were constantly on the move as Army families all over the worid are. Mahmud continued to live with me, as in spite of my Chris tianity, I could give him the love and security that both his parents desired for him 

During lunch he told me that I should at least liquidate my Lahore assets as with land reforms and change in policies nobody can predict the future.

 The more I thought about it the more I felt Sher Khan's suggestion made sense. Tooni alsc agreed that this was the right way to proceed and that she could accompany me to Lahore and help me out with all the preliminary work. It was decided then. Tooni, Mahmud and I would drive to Lahore and stay with Khalid, and Raisham would accompany us. Sher Khan would take care of the younger children and Tooni would join them at Lahore railway station on their returr journey to Quetta 

So it was that one hot morning in July 1 973, the three of us found ourselves nearly ready for the drive to Lahore to see real estate a gents about my properties. As I stepped out of the house I was struck by the'beauty of my garden Summer flowers were at their height and even the springs seemed to tinkle louder than usual.

 'We'll be back in a few weeks," I said to the staff Everyone seemed to accept the idea. Every Nur-jan and bedroom Raisham. topick upani Nur-iar item suddenly I forgot. burst When into tears tured, and Nurjan" rushed was away. standing thatis, but one.

Sadly Iwent tomy in front of me. She took my hand, her eyes wet with tears.

"God go with you, Begum Sahib Ji," she said softly "And He with you," answered. 

Nur-jan and I stood in the hall silently together, saying nothing but understanding every- thing Somehow I sensed that I would never see her again- she with whom I had become sc close. I squeezed her hand and whispered, "There is no one who can do my hair like you."

 Nur-jan put her hands to her face and rushed away from me. I was about to close the bedroon door when something stopped me. I walked back into the room and stood there. A hush settled over the white-furnished room. The morning sun flooded in from the garden window. This is where Ihad come t to know the Lord.

I turned my back on the room and on my precious garden, where I had so often known the Lord's Presence, and headed outside to the car, where Mahmud and Raisham were waiting for me.

There were people I would be extremely glad to see in Lahore. First, of course, Khalid, his wife and their teenaged daughter. Then there was the possibility of seeing the Olds. I had written that I would be coming to Lahore. Their new work was in a town some distance from Lahore, but I hoped that I could see these old friends.

Lahore, as usual in July, was broiling, its ancient streets steamed with rain from the last mon soon downpour. As we threaded our way through the crowded downtown streets, a loudspeaker on a minaret above us crackled, then broke into the metallic voice of a muezzin's noontime prayer. Traffc suddenly lightened as cars and trucks pulled to the curb. Drivers climbed down to the sidewalk, laid out their prayer mats and began prostrating themselves.

 Tooni could only stay with us for a very short time because of Sher Khan's prior obligations After we got the necessary paperwork done and had a short visit, Khalid took us to the railroad station so that Tooni could catch her train and meet up with Sher Khan and the familv. It was a poignant moment at the station, more poignant than I could understand. According to plan, Mahmud would be seeing his mother again in just a few days. Yet we all sensed something un- usual about the leave-taking Mahmud, lanky for nearly eleven, tried to hold back the tears as he kissed his mother. Tooni cried openly as she embraced the boy. Suddenly I found myself crying too and we all three hugged each other there on the station platform.

Finally, Tooni threw her dark chestnut hair back and laughed: "Oh, come on, we're not having afuneral." 

I smiled, kissed her again, and Mahmud and I watched her climb aboard the coach. As the engine tooted and the slowly began toleave the station pang caught my heart. I searched cars a for Tooni's face in the coach window. We located her and both Mahmud and I blew kisses 

Hungrily, I fastened Tooni's face in my mind, etching it in my memory.

The next day I spent time with the real estate men who advised me that my property sale would take several weeks. Khalid assured us that we would be welcome as long as we wanted to stay. 

The one thing that disturbed me was that I would not have spiritual fellowship. I knew now why the disciples went out two by two. Christians need each other for sustenance and counsel.

 I called the Olds. How great it was to hear Marie's voicel We laughed together and cried together and prayed together on the phone. Though their schedule prevented them from coming to Lahore, they could of course put me in touch with Christians in town. Marie mentioned espe cially a college professor's wife, Peggy Schlorholtz.

Strange! Why did my heart beat faster at the name? 

Within minutes, Peggy and I were on the phone with each other. Within hours, she was ir Khalid's drawing room. When she saw me her face broke into a smile.

"Tell me, Begum Sheikh," she said, "is it true that you met Tesus for the first time in a dream? How did you come to know the Lord? 

So there in the drawing room I told Peggy the whole story, just as it had begun seven years before. Peggy listened intently. When I finished she took my hand and said the most amazing thing,.

"I wish you would come to America with me! 

I looked at her, dumbfounded. But again my heart was racing,.

"I mean it," said Peggy. Tm leaving soon to put my son in school. rl be in the States for four months. You could travel with me and speak to our churches there!"

She was so enthusiastic that I did not want to dampen her spirits. "Well,'" I said smiling, 'I dc appreciate your invitation. But let me pray about it." 

The next moming a maid brought a note to me. I read it and laughed. It was from Peggy 'Have you prayed yet ?" I smiled, crumpled the note and did nothing, It was just too preposterous to think about.

Unless... Suddenly the events of the recent years crowded into my mind in a momentous sweep. The dreams. The warnings. The fire. My determination to do whatever the Lord wanted- even ifit meant leaving my homeland. 

No,I had not really committed Peggy's question to the Lord. But I did now. I placed the trip in His hands. It was difficult because I knew with a part of me which I could not understand, that if Ileft it would not be iust for four months, It would be forever.

"Lord, I will say it once again. You know how much I want to stay in my land. After all, I'm 60 years old, and that's not time to start all over again.

"But," Isighed. "But . .. that is not the most important thing, is it? All that really matters is staying in Your Presence. Please help me, Lord, never to make a decision that would take me away from Your glory."

Chapter 14. Flight | Epilogue

 I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER

Chapter 14. Flight | Epilogue. 

Odd, how after the Lord changed my mind about leaving Pakistan, sudden roadblocks emerged, 

One, for instance, that seemed insurmountable was a regulation that citizens of Pakistan are only allowed to take five hundred dollars out of the country. As my dependent, Malmud could take $250. How could Mahmud and I possibly survive for four months on 750? This by itself seemed enough to keep us from considering Peggy's suggestion further.

Then a few days later, Peggy invited me to her home for a visit. As we chatted, Dr. Christy Wilson's name came upin the conv rersation She knew him too.Iwas quite concerneds about him since I had heard he had been ejected from Afghanistan by the Muslim government, which ther had destroyed the church he had built in Kabul for foreign nationals.

 "Do you have any idea where he is?"1 asked

 "Not really," Peggy said.

Just at that moment the phone rang. Peggy went to answer it. When she returned, her eyes were wide, Do you know who that was?" she said. "It was Christy Wilson!" 

After we got over our startled, laughing surprise, we began to ask ourselves if this were more than coincidence. Dr. Wilson, Peggy said, was just passing through Lahore. He wanted to come out for a visit. Of course I was glad, for it would be good to catch up on news, but I had an intui tive sense that more than casual visiting was going to occur.

We had a marvelous reunion at Peggy's house the next day. I brought Dr. Wilson up to date on events in Wah and in my own life. Then Peggy told him about trying to persuade me to come to the United States. He 'became quite enthusiastic about the idea.

"There are several problems though,"' Peggy said. "The first is the regulation that Bilquis can take only five hundred dollars out of the country." 

"I wonder ...." Dr. Wilson said, stroking his chin. 'I have some friends who might.... Perhaps Icould send a wire. ... I know a man in California..."

 After a few days Peggy phoned, all excited.

 "Bilquis," she shouted. "It's all arranged! Dr. Bob Pierce of Samaritan's Purse will sponsor you! Do you think you could be ready to leave in seven days?" 

Seven days! Suddenly the enormity of the idea of leaving my homeland swept over1 me. ForI still felt convinced that if I did in fact leave, it would be forever. I understood what Rudyard Kip ling meant in his lines: 

God gave all men all earth to love But, since our hearts are small Ordained for each one spot should prove Beloved over all. 

Wah ... my garden ... my home . my family. Could I seriously contemplate leaving them?

 Yes, I could. I could consider nothing else if I were truly convinced that this were God's will For Iknew what would happen if I deliberately disobeyed. His Presence would disappear.

Over the next 24 hours another confirmation appeared to come through. Khalid told me at supper that there was only one minor detail left to cover, then all of the real estate problems would be over. 

"I think you can say quite safely, Mother" Khalid said, "that as of today you have divested yourself of the properties you wanted to sell."

Then suddenly doors slammed. Not by God, so it seemed, but by my country. For still a regu lation came in, to the e ffect that no Pakistani can leave the coutry unless all of his income taxes have been paid. Mine had been paid, but I needed a statement to that effect. I had to get an In come Tax Clearance Certificate Oniy with this could I buy tickets for the United States.

 Four of my seven days before departure were gone; only three were left now as my son Khalid and I walked into the government office to get the Clearance Certificate. Khalid and I thought there would be no problems at all, since my papers were in order.

 The office was on a busy street in downtown Lahore. However, when I stepped into that building, something struck me as strange. It was far too quiet for the usual bureaucratic office where clerks ran hither and yon and someone always seemed to be arguing with a staff member.

 Khalid and I were the ony ones in the office except for a bald-headed clerk who sat at the fat end of the counter reading a magazine. Stepping up to him, I told him what I wanted.

He looked up only partially and shook his head. "sorry," he said putting his head back down into the magazine again, "there's a strike on."

 "A strike?" 

"Yes, Begum Sahiba," he said. 'Indefinitely No one is on duty There's nothing anyone can dc for you." 

I stood staring at the man. Then I withdrew a few feet. "oh Lord,"I prayed aloud, but in such a way that only my son could hear me, "Have You closed the door? But why did You encourage me So far?" 

Then a thought struck me. Had He really closed the door? 

"All right, Father," I prayed. "Ifit is Your wil that Mahmud and I go to America, You'll have to be the one to arrange for my clearance." A strong sense of confidence filled me and I found myself addressing the clerk. 

"Well, you seem to be on duty," I said. "Why can't you give me my clearance?" The man glanced up from his magazine with a dour expression. He seemed the type who was always happy to say no.

 "I told you, there's a strike on," he grunted.

 "Well, then, let me see the officer in charge." One thing I had learned in my government work was that when I wanted something done, I should always go to the highest authority.

 The clerk sighed, slapped down his magazine and escorted me to an ofice nearby. Wait here," he grunted again, then disappeared into the office. From it I could hear a low murmur of voices, then the man emerged and motioned me in.

 Khalid and I foun d ourselves facing a handsome middle-aged man siting behind a scarred desk. I explained my need. He leaned back in his chair, twirling a pencil. "Tm sorry, Begum Sahiba. ... Begum Sahiba .. . what did you say your name was?

 "Bilquis Sheikh."

"Well, I'm very sorry. There's* absolutely nothing we can do during this strike. .2 But sud- denly a light of recognition flooded his eyes. 

"You aren't the Begum sheikh who organized the simple Living Plan?" 

"I am. "

He slammed his fist on the table, then shot up. 'well!" he said. He drew a chair over and asked me to sit down. 'I think that was the most wonderful program our country ever had."

 I smiled. 

Then the officer leaned across his desk in a confidential manner. "Now let's see what we can do for you. 

He got me to explain precisely what the problem was and I told him that I was supposed to be in Karachi to catch a plane for the United States in three days. The man's face took on a resolute look. Standing up, he called out to the clerk on the counter. "Telthat new assistant to come ir here.

 "I have," he said to me in a very low voice, "a temporary stenographer. He is not part of the regular work staff and isn't on strike. He can type up the certificate. I myself will put on the seal, I'm glad to help." 

A few minutes later I had the precious certificate in my hand, fuly executed. As I left,I confess, I waved the paper at the surprised litle clerk who looked up from his magazine justlong enough to see my smile and hear my "God bless you."

As we left the government office building a few minutes later, an astonished Khalid men tioned to me that it had taken only twenty minutes to complete the entire business. "That was less than it would have taken if ever yone had been on duty!" he said.

My heart singing, I tried to explain to Khalid that the Lord wants our companionship. When we pray, He wants to work with us. It was the Moses' Rod Principle. IfI had just put the problem in the Lord's hands without stepping out in faith myself, I might never have gotten the clear- ance. I had to step out by doing every thing I could. I had to ask to see the man in charge. just as God required Moses to strike the rock with a rod, He asks us, too, to participate in the workin g of miracles.

 Khalid seemed a bit taken aback by my enthusiasm but recovered and a dded with a smile "Well, Illsay one thing, Mother. I notice that instead of "thank -you' you always say "God bless you.' And when you say that, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever heard. 

Now that all my papers were in order I wondered ifI could take a quick trip back to Wah to say good-bye, for by then I was convinced that this trip would be for more than four months How- ever, when I brought up the subject, Khalid said. 

"Didn't you hear about the flood?"

 Heavy rains had struck the portion of Pakistan between Lahore and Wah. Many square miles of land were floodied. Al trafic was snarie d. The government had taken over transportatior.

 My heart sank. I would not even be allowed to say goodbye. The Lord was asking me to make a dlean break, like Lot bein g told not to look back.

I had planned to leave Lahore on Friday morning, two days off I would fly to Karachi, the jumping-off place for the United States. Peggy and her son would begin their trip in New Delhi, Their Pan American, New York-bound plane would stop at Karachi, and Mahmud and I would join them on the plane there. On Thursday morning, however, an unusually strong urge swept over me not to wait . My anxiety centered around Mahmud. Surely grapevine efficiency had taken the news to his father that we were not on a simple visit to Lahore but were on our way out of the country. Wasn't it probable that his paternal relatives might try to take Mahmud away from my "corrupting" influence! Would I be stopped on some pretext or other? A strong sense of danger spured me.

 No, I wouldn't wait. I would leave that very day, I would go to Karachi, stay with friends, and lie low. 

So that afternoon, after a flury of packing, Mahmud and I said quick farewells to Khalid and his family and hurried to the airport. We flew out of Lahore with a definite sense of relief. We were on our way!

 Karachi was, as I remembered it, a rambling desert and seashore city nestled against the Indian Ocean. It was a hodgepodge of the old and new, of gangling camels brushing against mod ern cars, of buzzing fly-filled bazaars next to smart shops offering the latest fashions. The city was so large we would just be swallowed up in it. 

We were staying with friends and I was shopping downtown, preparing for our departure for America the next day. Suddenly a strange oppression came over me. I closed my eyes as I leaned against a wall for support and prayed for my Lord's protection. I was given the strong leading that Mahmud and I were to move to a hotel that night. I tried to shake it off. "This is silly!" I tolc myself. Then I remembered the story of the wise men bein g warned in a dream to leave early by another route.

Shortly, we were checked into the Air France Hotel at the Karachi Airport. I took Mahmud to the room as quickly as possible, ordered our meals sent to us, and together we simply waited Mahmud seemed restless. "Why do we have to be so secretive, Mum?" he asked.

 'I just think we ought to be quiet for a littie while, that's all."

 That night before the flight, I lay awake in bed wondering, Why was I so apprehensive? There was no real reason for it. Was Iletting my nerves take over? Was I overreacting to a possible threat from Mahmud's father? I slept fitfully and only for a few hours. By two o'clock in the morning I was up and dressed, prodded by a strong sense of urgency. A gain I felt ridiculous. It was unlike me The only way Icould explain it was that the hour had come for me to leave the hotel and I was being propelled by the Lord. I hustled a sleepy Mahmud into his clothes, ther packed our bags and called for the bellman to pick them up.

 It was three o'dlock in the morning, The flight was at five. Mahmud, stilsleepy-eyed, stood with me in front of the hotel waiting for the taxi that was to take us to the terminal. I looked at the waning moon and wondered, would this be the last time I would see this moon in my own country? An carly morning brecze wafted a scent ofjasmine, probably from a flower box, and-my heart cried out, for I was afraid I would never see my garden again.

Finally the taxi arrived and Mahmud and I climbed in. I prayed as we wove our way througt traffic. Even at this early hour the airport avenues were busy. As cars pulled alongside at stop- lights Iquoted I myself, nervously$ trying sank to back sound alittle as deeper reassuring into to the my seat. own ears We're asI just had being to quiet Mahmud. for a No, litle while," that wasn't the way, What I really needed to do was to pray. "Lord, do take away this nervousness. This nervousness is not founded in You. I cannot trust You and worry at the same time! And yet if this urgency is of You, PIOT there must ○ a reason andI will obey." 

We pulled into the terminal and got out onto bustling sidewalk where the rumbling thunder of jet engines and the cacophony of hundreds of voices blended in an atmosphere of urgency. My heart caught as I looked up and sawmy country's flag, the star anc crescent on its respect that fag my People and their green background, , snapping in the breeze. I would always Muslim faith. A porter hurried our Iuggage over to the check-in counter where Iwas grateful to see it disappear into seeming safety. 

We were allowed just 40 pounds of luggage each. I smiled and thought of our family trips on other days to the interior when thousands of pounds of luggage were taken for just a few week's stay and my sister and I still cried for the clothes that we couldn't take along.

We had an hour to wait before plane time. Keeping Mahmud close to me, I felt it best for us to mix in with the crowd in the terminal so we wouldn't be noticed. But I couldn't shake the sensé of impending danger. Again I scolded myself for needless worry. The Lord is in charge, I told my. self. He is guiding me out of this situation, and all I need to do is obey.

 Then Mahmud asked to go to the restroom. We walked down the hall to the men's room. waited in the corridor. 

Suddenly the loudspeaker called out our flight. 

"Pan Am flight for New York City now ready for boarding."

My heart jumped. Where was Mahmud! We must be going!

Finally the men's room door opened. No, it was a turbaned Sikh who stepped out.

 I found myself edging to the door. what was I doin g! Certainly no woman in a Muslim coun try would be caught going into a men's room even to look for a ten-year-old missing youngster.

Now they were calling our flight again . "Pan Am flight for New York City is now ready for de parture. All passengers should be aboard." 

On no! My heart cried. I had to do something, I pushed the men's room door back and shouted "Mahmud!" 

A little voice answered, "I'm coming, Mum." 

I breathed a deep sigh and fel back limply against the wall. Soon Mahmud came out. 'where were you? What kept you!" I cried.

No matter. I didn't wait for an answer but grabbed the boy's hand and ran. Now we rushed down the long hall to the boarding gate. We found ourselves among the last passengers getting aboard.

 "Wow, Mum! cried Mahmud. 'What a ship!"

 What a ship indeed. The 747 airliner was huge. We were both excited. I had never seen such a big plane before.

As I was about to step aboard I hesitated for a moment, at this last touch of Pakistan's soil.

But we had to keep moving Inside the plane, which seemed like an auditorium to me, a stewardess directed us toward our seats. Where was Peggy? What would I do in the States with- out her? 

And then, there she was! Working her way up the aisle toward us. Pegey threw her arms about me. 

"Oh, precious lady!" she cried. I was so worried. I couldn't see you in the crowd at the board ing gate!" 

I explained what had happened and Peggy seemed relieved. She introduced us to her son who was with her. 

"Too bad we can't sit together," she said. 'we just had to take the seats they gave us."

 Frankly, it was just as well My thoughts were not social at that time They were on the realization that I was leaving my homeland. 1 felt sad, certainly, but at the same time complete. I couldn't understand it.

Soon Mahmud was being Mahmud. He made friends with a stewardess who took him into the cockpit for a visit. Mahmud came back enthralled. I was pleased. The stewardess asked us to put on our seatbelts. I looked out the window to see the first rays of dawn spearing the eastern sky The engines rumbled and a surge of excitement filled me. Our ship began to lumber down the runway. I looked behind me but could not see Peggy.

But Mahmud's face was there, next to me. And it shone with excitement as the jet engines exploded into thunder at takeof. I took Mahmud's hand, breathed a sigh of relief and began to pray.

"But I have such a feeling of completion! You have brought me out of my homeland, like Abram. Not knowing what comes next, yet complete. Satisfied, because 1 am with You." Even embarrassment over my fears and nervousness didn't bother me now. All I kmew was that I had obeyed the Lord in every way. And I had to admit that I would never really know what might have happened either to Mahmud or to myself if I had not followed His every command and moved as I did. 

Tiny lights whisked by the windows and suddenly the rumbling of wheels beneath us ceased. we were airbornel ln the light of early dawn, I could se the shoreline of Pakistan on the Indiar Ocean receding below us.

I held out my hand to Him. He was my only security. My only joy was staying in His Presence. As long as I could stay there I knew that I would be living in the glory.

 "Thank You, Father," I breathed. Thank You for letting me travel with You."

Epilogue. 

After the Book

After Bilquis sheilkh moved to the United states in 1973, she spoke all over North America, and later in different countries of the world, sharing what God had done in her life, In early 1989 while living in Thousand Oaks, California, she suffered a severe heart attack. Her three children rushed to her side from difrent parts of the world- her dau ghter Tooni and son, Khalid, fron Pakistan, and her daughter Khalida from Kenya. Since it was inadvisable for her to continue ts live on her own, they persuaded her to return to her family in Pakistan to spend her later years.

 In 1992 Bilquis' grandson Mahmud, whom she had adopted as her son, also returned to Paki- stan and began a successful orthodontic practice in Islamabad.

April 9, 1997, was her final day here on earth and her entrance to the home prepared for her in heaven. She was buried in Murree, Rawalpindi District, in an old Christian graveyard nestled in the Hmalayan Mountains. Her simple white marble tombstone is engraved with a prominent cross, underneath which is written

Bilquis 

Born 12-12-12 

Died 9-4-97 

Loving the Lord 

In September 1999 Mahmud was tragically murdered while attempting to avert an honor Kiling involving one of the servants working in his home. Mahmud is survived by his wife and two children, a daughter and son, who continue to live in the Islamabad area.

Remembering the Flower Lady | I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER | BILQUIS SHEIKH with RICHARD H. SCHNEIDER

 I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER

Remembering the Flower Lady 

SYNNØVE MITCHELL

I remember the day as clearly as if it were yesterday: Thursday, November 24, 1966. David, my husband, was leaving shortly for Kabul, Afghanistan, and I would be alone with our two small children, Jonathan and Joy, in an old mud-brick Army barracks built by the British during worid War I. For the past year we had been living in this small town, two miles from Wah Village, out, side the gate to the Wah Cement Factory, on the road between Rawalpindi and the Khyber Pass.

 I was spiritually desperate. David and I had both grown up in India as missionary children so we had felt at home immediately when we first came to Pakistan in 1961. I was born in India and except for eight years in Norway during World War I, had lived all my formative years on the Indian subcontinent. David and I loved living here. It was home. But we were not here just to feel at home; we were here to share the good news of the Kingdom of God.

 But I was desperate because God was dealin g with me, showing me clearly that, on my own, I did not have what it takes to share the Good News in Pakistan.

 Early in the morning of November 24, I fell on my knees before God. His Holy Spirit, I knew, is the only One who can work deep in the heart- especially in the heart of a Muslim -to reveal the need for a Savior, the need for Jesus. I needed a fresh touch from Him myself, and confrmation that He kew where I was lving and where I was spiritually.

So I cried out to Him, asking Him t o do a work in me through which I would know He loved me personally, deeply. First I asked Him to let me know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He wanted me in this mud-brick Army barracks; and second that would not be able to explain away His work; and third, that throug h this work our neighbors and others living around us would see the reality of Jesus and His power to bring people to God. As a postscript to this prayer, Iadded, "O God, do this soon, or I will have to pack up and leave.

 As I said, I was desperate. But poor David!lI told him of my prayer just before he set out on his journey to Kabul. He had no idea when he left what state he would find me in when he returned. He knew only God Fimself could meet my need.

 Five days passed. I continued to lay my requests before God. Then came the day for my weekly Bible study. As many as fourteen women from a nominal Christian background gathered each Tuesday in our living room. But because of the dryness in my own soul, I had nothing fresh to share. 

"O God," I prayed, "unless Your Holy spirit speaks to me through Your word, there will be no life in what I share. Please, Father, open up something from Your Word that will give life to these dear, illiterate women who don't have a chance to read the Bible on their own, or I'll have to can cel the meeting" 

After that prayer I began to sense the Lord telling me, Share with them the story of the wise men. So I opened my Bible to Matthew 2. The simple story of wise men from the East in search of the King of the Jews, a story I had known since childhood, now opened up to me with freshness Here were men who knewiittle about God but who had a deep hunger to worship Him. They knew so little that they went to Herod, a godless, ruthless Gentile ruler, to find out where to find this King who was worthy of worship.

 Herod recognized them immediately as men of wisdom an d stature, because not only he but al of Jerusalem was perturbed at their news and questions. King Herod gathered the Jewish leaders to find out where the Messiah would be born. Having a thorough knowledge of the Scrip tures, they gave the right answer, Bethlehem. But they ret urned to the daily routine of their lives. In contrast, Matthew writes of the wise men, "When they saw the star, ,they rejoiced exceedingly

with great joy!" (Matthew 2: 10, NAsB). They who knew very little but who longed to worship the King were filled with an ticipation an d joy They recognized jesus as the King, felldown before Him and worshiped Him.

 God brought new Hight and life to the story for me. I was filled "with exceeding great joy" my self, and an ticipation that God would do something special. I could hardly wait for the women to ome. The story of the wise men would grip them, I knew, as it had me. I was convinced that al fourteen of them would come to a saving kowledge of Jesus that very day. 

The women began arriving We pushed back the cane sofa and chairs to make room for all ot us," women and children, to sit on the reed matting that coveredthe floor. Hashmat my blind helper, led the singing with her strong, true voice, and her fingers skillfully played her dholki a cylindrical drum with skin stretched tightly over both ends. I loved the enthusiastic singing, clapping and intricate rhythms of Pakistani music.

Then, with excitement, I told these women the wonderful story of the wise men. But theii reaction was the same as mine had been previously_mild interest, but no inner illumination as to its application to the heart. My exhilarating anticipation to witness God at work turned to deep disappointment, even a bit of anger anger at the women for their lack of response, Christians would be like the religious leaders. We know the right answers give them to others, but we oulrselves would go home to our regular daily routinesand anger at God for letting me down.

 I ended the wise men's story saying something like this: "If this story had happened today, it would mean that we , ob- and car livious of our need to worship Jesus; whereas some seeking Muslims, who know very little about this story, would be like the wise men, faling at Jesus' feet and worshiping Him." I closed the meeting with a prayer f foT God to have mercy on us all and give us seeking hearts.

 I was still standing at the front door bidding the villa ge women good bye when Begum Bilquis Sheikh drove into our driveway. Evervone knew who she was. Who had not heard of the Wah Khans? Wasn't she formerly the wife of General Sheikh, the minister of interior under President Ayub? But was that a Bible she clutched in her hand? The village women could not help but be shocked at the timing of her arrival.

 "Welcome to our home, Begum Sheikh," I said, trying to mask my surprise at her arrival, and at the amazing timing.

"I have only come to ask a question," she replied, looking flustered by the Christian village women still in the process of leaving.

I ushered her inside, seated her in one of our cane easy chairs and rearranged the rest of the furniture that had been pushed aside to make room on the floor for everyone, Then I turned my full attention.

"Would you t to like my tea or special coffee, guest Begum Sheikh?" Iasked, following lədord Pakistani etiquette. 

"Neither," she replied. "T have come to talk, not to drink tea. Where is your husband?"

 "He's on a trip to Afghanistan." 

"Do you know anything about God?" she asked abruptly.

 Forgeting about serving tea or coffee, I settled into the other cane easy chair. I'm afraid I don't know as much as my husband knows about God, but I do know Him," I answered.

She went on to tell me her story- about recently reading both the Quran and the Bible and being very confused. Until this time she had thought they ran parallel, and that both led to God But now, she said, seeing differences bet ween the books, she was confused. She had prayed, C God, over the years I have not sought You. But now that I am seeking You, do not let me go astray Show me Your way.

"Last Thursday," she continued, "I had a dream. I was on a mountaintop, standing at a cross- roads, and I did not know which way to go. I knew the roads had something to do with the Qurar and the Bible. I did not know which road to take. Standing at the crossroads was a man wearing a long robe, with sandals on his feet. I went up to ask him which way to go to find God. Before he could answer, I woke up and heard myself crying out, John the Baptist,.John the Baptist! Mrs. Mitchell, please tell me, who is John the Baptist?" 

In awe at the realization of what God was doing in her heart, I explained to her that John the Baptist was sent as a forerunner to prepare the way for the coming of the Messiah, and the one wholater baptized Him.John was the one who pointed to Jesus, declaring, "Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!"

 Pain flashed across Begum Sheikh's face as she bowed her head. "That is what I was afraid of That is what I was afraid of."

"What were you afraid of?" I asked softly.

 "I was afraid that John the Baptist was pointing me to Jesus. If I choose Jesus, I lose every- thing!" 

She raised her head and looked at me directly,. "Forget I am a Muslim. Forget the problems we have with Jesus being called the Son of God. F orget about our believin g that the Bible has beer changed. Just tell me one thing: W hat has Jesus done for you?"

O God, I cried out in my heart, why have You sent Begum Sheikh to me when I am dry in m soul? Why didn't You send hertosomeone who is on top spiritually, someone whos could share out of strength, not out of spiritual weakness, as I am experiencing?

But at that moment Iknew that God had sent Begum sheikh to me for my own need. Deeply awed and humbled, I reached out once again to Him. 0 Lord, powr into me, so that what I share with Begum Sheikh will have come from You-words of life.

At that moment all that Jesus did, through His sacrificial death on the cross for the sins of everyone in the world, again became fresh and real to me, I knew God loved me personally. Deepiy, I can still see a picture of myself, figuratively reaching one arm up to God, stretching the other toward Bilquis, and God pouring through me what He wanted to share with her. Out of this fresh awareness, I quietly shared with Begum Sheikh what Jesus had done for me.

 "For many years," 1 began softly, T had only known about God . But then, through God's Spirit working in my heart, I realized I did not know Him personally. Because of my sins, I was far from God. Sins that had seemed small to me were shown for what they were -pride, rebellion, going my own way I felt the weight of guilt; and the terrible realization that I deserved God's judgment dawned on me, But then a wonderful truth- that God loved the world so much that He sent Jesus to receive the just punishment for my sin, to die in my place, to become my sacrifice- became wonderfully real to me. I personally received forgiveness. 1 experienced the tremendous joy of being free from guilt. W hat a gift! Jesus brought me to God. Through Jesus I have come to know God. That is what Jesus has done for me Thatis what He longs to do for you Begum sheikh, John the Baptist spoke the truth when he pointed to Jesus and declared, Look, the Lamb of God, who takes awav the sins of the world!" 

After what seemed like a long silence, Begum Sheikh asked me to pray. We knelt on the floor to gether. I clearly remember my prayer: "0 God, I know that nothing I can say will convince Begum Sheikh who jesus is. But I thank You that Your Spirit car take the veil off our eves and re- veal Jesus to our hearts. 0 Holy Spirit, do this for Begum Sheikh, In Jesus' name. Amen." 

"Yes, God, that is exactly what I want,"' Begum Sheikh responded.

I knew that we both sensed the quiet presence of God. Then, realizing that the book in hen hand was an old-translation Urdu Bible, and since English was like a second mother tongue to her, I offered her my copy of Phillips paraphrase of the New Testament in modern- -day English. I suggested she read the gospel of John, since it clearly explained the role of John the Baptist. Then I shared with her the story of the wise men. Suddenly I knew that God had laid that message on my heart especially for her.

 When Icame to the part of the st ory where God told the wise men not to return to Herod as he had requested, she cried out, " God does speak in dreams, then! If the Bible tells about God speaking in dreams, then Iknow He has spoken to me inmy dream Idon't usually dream, Mrs. Mitchell, but I had another dream that I don't understand. I know it has something to do with Jesus, too. 

And she told me her dream of the perfume salesman who had come to her house. "T have a weakness for perfume, and had just run out of my favorite kind. But the per fume the salesman howed me was the most wonderful perfume I had ever smelled. It was heavenly perfume! He told me it would spread all through my home, to my neighbors .. . in fact, everywherel I know it has something to do wit h Jesus. Can you explain this dream for me?" 

At that moment my heart was singing, He had sent her the dream about John the Baptist the very day I had prayed so desperately'! God has answered my prayer! He has answered all my requests. God loves mel I do not have to pack up and leave. God has deigned to show me His wesome ability to reveal Himself to anyone seeking Him. I could think of nothing else, so I an swered honestly, " I can't think of an explanation right now, Begum sheikh,but pray and ask God to show me." 

After saying good-bye to her, I sat for a long time in the living room, basking in God's presence and filled with awe and wonder at His love and grace. He had answered my prayer far above what I ever could have imagined. I was deeply humbled by my anger at God in not answering my prayer by fulfilling my expectations, and overawed at His great patience and mercy shown by bringing Begum Sheikh to me in my own deep need. Iknew was deeply loved by God. Iwould never be able to explain away what He had allowed me to witness, and our neighbors and others living nearby would have a living, present example of the reality and power of Jesus to reveal God. 

I had given Begum Sheikh the Philips paraphrase that I was currently using, but I found a copy of Ken Taylor's Letters to Young Churches (which was later expanded into The Living Bible), which had been sent us recently. Wanting to spend time with God in His Word, I opened to 2 Corinthians. Starting from the first chapter I began to read. When I reached the fourteenth verso of the second chapter, I could not believe my eyes. Right before me was the word perfume! 

Thanks be to God! For through what Christ has done, he has triumphed over us, so that now wherever we go he uses us to telothers about the Lord and to spread the Gospel like a sweet perfume.

The fifteenth verse go es on to say that the perfume "is the fragrance of Christ within us, an aroma to both the saved and the unsaved all around us." 

Here, straight from God's Word, was the clear explanation of Begum Sheikh's dream. She had known that the perfume had something to do with Jesus . The perfume was Jesus Himself. Christ would be in her, and the fragrance would spread to"allaround us." Oh, how great is our God!I found a sheet of paper, wrote a note to my new fiend and asked our watchman to take it to hel early in the morning, God's Spirit was drawing her to Himself and His Word was confirming it. 

But how could I share with David in Afghanistan God's mighty answers to praye, withou endangering Begum sheilkh? How could Tlet him know that, instead of packing to leave, Iwas overflowing with praise and gratitude for the privilege of seeing Him at work? Then, remem bering that David and I had visited her garden in the spring, filled with all kinds of beautiful flowers, and that some ofthe seeds she had given us were even now beginning to sprout, I care fully /worded a 'elegram: Flower Lady under great conviction, have all pray! 

On receiving the telegram, he told me later, David shouted to his firiends, "Praise God My wife isn't packing to leave . God is working in the heart of Begum Sheikh. Let's pray!

 God answered those prayers and ushered us into a very special friendship with the Flower Lady, and onto ajourney of watching Him work powerfully through His Spirit and His Word.

 You have already read the story of that special jourey in the pages of this book. You have followed Begum Bilquis Sheikh as she came to know God her Father,learned to live daily in Fis presence and was used by Him to share her powerful testimony in many parts of the world. But since the final chapter of this book, first published in 1978, could not include the very last chap ter of her1 life, ,Iwould like to describe Gods gra ce and faithfulness to her in that closing time.

 Bilquis wanted to glorify God, not only by her life, but also by her death. she wanted to be sure that, in the future, evervone who saw her grave would know that she died in Christ, follow- ing Him to the very end of her life special gravesite. friend Nina and I drove up to Murree, Pakistan, in the spring of1993.

 Knowing how much Bilquis loved the mountains, her daughter, Tooni, her cousin and very to look for a suitable Murree, a "hill station" nestled in the foothills of the Himalayan Mountains, would be an ideal place. A fter much searchin g, we found the perfect spot in an old Christian graveyaro urrounded by majestic evergreens and overlooking layer after layer of mountain ranges. There was even a blossoming fruit tree framing the idyllic scenery a reminder to me of the Flower Lady. All three of us were in agreement and at peace. The surroundings reminded us of Bilquis of her love for the mountains and the beauty of God's creation.

Before Dave and Ileft for a six-month furlough in july 1993, Bilquis called us to meet witt her and Tooni to make plans for her funeral should the Lord call her home before we returned to Pakistan. She made it very clear that she believed the Lord wouldlet her live tillwe returned after six months, so David and I could be near her when her time to leave came, and we could be responsible for the Christian part of her funeral. But she wanted everything ready,just in case her Father had other plans. 

Tooni took out a big sheet of paper, and under her mother's specificinstructions sketched het tombstone-a white marble slab with prominent cross, with the simple Bilquis, born a message , Loving the Lord, decorated with engraved narcissus. We wrote down the 12-12-12, died__ hymns to be sun g at her funeral that had been a source of encouragement and strength to her over the years. We also introduced her to the vicar of the Church of Pakistan (a union of severa denominations, including Anglican) who was responsible for the chosen gravesite, the Reverend Isaac Burt Paul. This tall, vibrant Christian Punjabi would be responsible for her funeral, should she leave us before our return to Pakistan 

Not only did the Lord let her live through our 1993 furlough, but she lived through July 1996 the time of our next furlough. I had an evening reception to attend in Muree two days before leaving, and decided to visit Bilquis, who now lived in a lovely home her beloved Mahmud had builtjust for her on ahill surounded by pines not far from the main roadto Murree On the way, a sudden monsoon storm came crashing down. Lightning flashed, the skies released torrents of rain and the pickup got mired in mud on the unfinished road leading up to her home. Leaving the truck, I trudged up the slippery hillside in the downpour to the shelter of Bilquis' home 

I will never forget her reaction when she saw me standing in her doorway. In utter joy and astonishment, she exclaimed, "Sanovar!" (It was her own little twist on my Pakistani name Sanobar.) You have come on a night like this? The best part is that you have brought Jesus with you!" 

I was deeply moved 'by her greeting, It revealed her uwavering, vibrant love for her Lord. 

"Yes, my dear Bilquis, and you bring Jesus to me! Didn't He promise that if even just two ofus would meet together, He Himself would be there with us?" 

What a wonder ful time of fellowship we had that stormy evening, recounting God's grace and faithfulness in both of our lives.

The next time Isaw her was after our return to Pakistan. Tooni phoned me urgently: "Ma-jis with me. She is very ill with post-flu complications. Wilyou come and give her spiritual help?"

 For the next two weeks I visited her just about every day to sing her favorite hymns, to read her favorite passages of Scripture, to pray with her and to have fellowship together. Our time of breaking bread-_taking Communion at her request — just five days before her death will always be a precious memory , Because of jesus, our focus was on eternal life, not death. In the midst of the pain of dying, she received hope from knowing she would soon see her Lord and Savior face to face. 

Tooni, as a medical doctor, was able to keep her mother in her home and tend lovingly to her every need. She also had a simple but lovely casket made. Because of our preparations ahead of time, the details of the funeral were not difficult to arrange. But we had a genuine problem It rained every day, those last few days, an d if it rained the day of her homegoing, how would the grave be dug without fillin g up with mud? In Pakistan the funeral has to take place withir 24 hours, which meant we prayed that God would graciously hold back the rain on the day He planned to call her home.

Shortly after daybreak on April 10, 1997, Tooni called to tell Dave and me the news that her mother, our dear friend, had quietly drawn her last breath shortly before midnight. we grieved for all of us left behind, but rejoiced with Bilquis, who was now home with her Father, whom she had come tc know and love.

 The sky was dark and threatening, but it was not raining, "That's Mum's Jesus for you" was Tooni's comment as we prepared to leave for Murree.

A small group of between 2 5 and 30 a few of the many who had known and loved her, both Muslim and Christian- gathered for a graveside service to celebrate Bilquis'life, We read pas- sages from the Old and New Testaments, reminding us of the glorious promises awaitin g those who belong to the Lord Jesus. And we san g her favorite hymns- 'Great Is Thy Faithfulness,' "How Great Thou Art" and "] Know Whom I Have Believed," the song based on 2 Timothy 1:12 that wil always bring back for me memories of her life . she first heard it with tears running down her cheeks: I know not how the Spirit moves, convincing men of sin, revealing Jesus through the Word, creating faith in Him. But I know whom I have believed and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I've committed unto Him against that day On first hearing this song, Bilquis had exclamed, with emotion, "Someone else has gone through exactly what I have experienced!" Now that day referred to in the song had arrived.

 Before the service started, those of us gat hered at the grave had an unforgettable experience; The upper portion of the simple wooden casket, covered and lined in white, was opened for al of us to see Bilquis' face for a last goodbye. Her head was surrounded by beautiful white flowers and on her fa ce was a serene look of peace, almost a smile, belying the struggle and pain of the last few days.

Suddenly, before the casket was closed, the dark cloud above us parted briefly, and a bright ray of sunshine, almost like a spotlight, shone directly onto her face. I could hear from the audible reactions of others surrounding her casket that they were as taken aback as I was. It looked like a beam shining directly from heaven, God's benediction on her unwavering trust in Him, whom she had dared to call Father.

Enriched by the East | I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER | BILQUIS SHEIKH with RICHARD H. SCHNEIDER

 I DARED TO CALL HIM FATHER

Enriched by the East

SYNNØVE MITCHELL

My husband, David, and I are grateful for the privilege of having been raised in both Eastern and Western cultures. The pungent smells and briliant colors of an Eastern bazaar-curry spices piled high, briliant yellow turmeric, bright red and black peppers, dark-brown cinnamon, light brown cumin, and the gray-green of powdered coriander-evoke childhood memories as in- tensely happy as a cold, crisp, white Norwegian winter snow scene with the scent of pine and fir and the welcomin g aroma of strong coffee in a ski chalet. very different, but we love them both and have L been greatly enriched by both. 

For the average Westerner, the sights, sounds and scents of the East fascinating, but their are thinking patterns, their worldview, their values and their decision-making methods often baffle us. We do not always realize that the Easterner experiences the very same bafflement when first encountering the" West!l But most of the bewilderment is removed through personal relation- ships. Through the sheer fun and eventual bonding with friends, understanding replaces fear suspicion and the initial awkwardness of trying to break the ice.

Over the nearly forty years Dave and Ilived in Pakistan (our childhood years in India not included), we have enjoyed noting some of the contrasts between East and West. Many of these we learned from Begum Sheikh and the patience she displayed with us. 1 spent hours with het sitting cross-legged on her bed or t akhtposh (a low, wooden, table-like platform), leaning agains an oblong pilow for comfort, learning the proper etiquette when eating her delicious curries with my fingers instead of with knife, fork and spoon, and listening spellbound to her stories of political intrigue, such as the communication struggles between Eastern and Western officer, Those were unrushed times no goal or agenda during World War mind except to enjoy another's company and get to know and learn from each other. It was here that the Philips one translation of the New Testament (and later the complete Bible) became worn, as we enjoyed not only social interaction but learning to know God in greater depth.

Since Begum Sheikh herself had been drawn to Jesus through dreams, it was not surprising over the years when we were together in Wah, that God brought several seekers to hear her story who had also received dreams and visions from Him. I watched how carefully she brought atten- tion to Jesus by praying for them and claiming the promises He Himself had made, and applying those promises in simple faith to their specific needs. She was concerned not only to give her vis- itors truths about God, but to bring them into the presence of Jesus, the Truth 

The fact is, it is much easier to talk to Easterers about spiritual things. They are willing to take the time because, as a rule, they believe in the supernatural and are very aware of the spir- itual realm. Most secular Westerners, on the other hand, believe primarily in what can be seen or proven by the scientific method. Often the Westerner feels that to talk about spiritual matters and umyths" is a waste of time.

 Jesus was an Easterner. He flowed with what His heavenly Father had orchestrated for each day. He walked dusty roads, rode on donkeys, sat by wells and taught spiritual truths by telling simple stories that had powerful application to daily life- very much like life in the East, even today. 

One of the most frequentiy heard words in the Urdu language izzat. Woe to the person who does not understand not only its linguistic meaning but also its cultural importance. Honor DavidandI will never forget the near-tragedy that happened toan insensitive Westerner we knew shopping in a Pakistani fruit market Instead of enjoying the fun of learning to bargain, he called the fruit vendor dishonest for asking too high a price for his fruit. The word dishonest dishonored the vendor in front of his other customers. A near riot took place as they moved to the vendor's defense, Had not a quick-thinking Pakistani driver pulled our friend into his car, who knows what could have happened? 

An Easterner could probably forgive ary sin more easily than public dishonor, whereas Westerners think in terms of right and wrong As Christians we believe God is either pleased o displeased with us, according to how well we follow the biblical standards of right and wrong Over the years, however, David and I havelearned from our Eastern friends that the God of the Scriptures puts great emphasis on His honor. Over and over in the Bible we read that everything God does is for His name's sake, for the glory of His name It all boils down to God's honor. If we truy long to honor Him, we will automatically want tos do what is right.

 The frontiersman of the American West, who could do everything on his own and pull himself up by his own bootstraps, is still highly admired across the U.S. We seek privacy and are individualistic, following the motto Do your own thing How very different from the East! There a person finds his identity in the group,the brotherhood" or tribe to which he belongs. The emphasis on doing everything together, rather than on the individualistic "I can do it my- self, thank you," creates strong bonds to family and community. Decisions are made within the group setting, The roles as defined by the group--mother, daughter, wife, grandmother, sister, niece, hostess-and the events that take place within that framework set the agenda for daily living..

 That is why it was so excruciating for Begum Sheikh when after her conversion, the family made the decision to boycott her. The honor of her own family, and her place within their close knit bonds, was of vital importance to her. How different from the personal goal orientation of the West! Our God-given roles within the family often play second fiddle to the goal of individual material success.

 I am aware of how difficult it is for Western women to understand the restrictions in inde. pendence, in dress and in freedom of choice and movement in which some of our Eastern sisters live. The tradeoff is found in a sense of security and belonging The male head of the family is responsible for the safety, welfare and honor of the women in the household. (But I will let vou in on a secret: Women have a lot more power within the con fines of the courtyard than we West erers realize! Many times the woman is the neck that turns the head.) 

I wil always be grateful for our Pakist ani friends who not only took us into their homes, but into their hearts. When David had to be gone for an extended time, I was always welcomed into the protection of our friends and neighbors 

Westerners cherish punctuality. To be on time is of utmost importance. But for the Easterner, hospitality trumps punctuality.

 Once I found myself in a section of Rawalpindi after a long absence, and on impulse decided to drop in on friends I had not seen in several years. When they opened the door, they were all dressed up, about to! leave for wedding, We greeted eachy other warmly, but when I triedto excuse myself, promising to see them the following week, they would hear nothing of itl I had come to their home as their friend after a long time. They would fix me chai and find out no only about my own health, but the health of my family as well. Whereas I was uptight about their arrival at the wedding, they were intent on honoring me as their guest.

The wedding won't start on time," they explained. "And as long as we get there to congratulate the bride, groom and their families, and can celebrate with the guests, that's all that matters We are so glad and honored that you lhave come to our home." 

Then I enjoyed their fellowship and warm hospitality, putting aside my need for being on time. Yes, they were late for the wedding, but not for the festivities. And they were able to attend a very important event without neglecting their duty to show hospitality to a friend.

That incident also illustrates the courtesy of the East contrasted with the casualness of as the West and our emphasis on efficiency. Westerners, wanting to accomplish our own agendas right away, are content with a perfunctory greeting: "Hi, buddy, How ya doing? Could you help me fix my car?" Our Eastern friends, on the other hand, use endearing and honorific titles (Mrs Mitchell sister or Aunty Sanobar), and will engage us in regular conversation only after inquir- ing about our health and the health of our family members.

 My Western upbringing and training have taught me to be analytical; to collect cold, hard facts; to depend on verified statements, and, if possible, to chart these statements statistically on a linear graph. This is the way to track progress! To be truthful, I love to see lists of projects completed, goals met. But I am grateful, after living in the East, to have learned (especially in

interpersonal relationships) to be more intuitive, to hear the heart questions behind what is shared verbally, to take the time to absorb what is happening Cold facts are not always as they appear, nor can progress in heart matters be graphed linearily. Making connections and building deep, warm relationships is what life is all about.

 The face-to-face, blunt, direct dealings of the West, moreover, can deeply ofend our Easterr friends, who are used to a gentler, more indirect manner of relating, Many times the Eastern choice of an intermediary or mediator can help bridge a broken relationship. As Westerners we are prone to want to confront the person who has hurt us, to "tell it like it is." It might make us feel better, but often it makes the situatior wiorse Western Christians have been taught to deal with painful relational breakdowns according to Matthew 18, in which Jesus urges us to go dir ectly to the person involved. But going directly isn't God's only way! Sometimes we forget that jesus is God's chosen Mediator in the broken relationship between God and man, and He can be & powerful model for us in building bridges.

I am grateful that, through Begum Sheikh, I had the privilege of learning some of the nuances of the East while being fully accepted as a Westerner enjoying and learning from the East. She herself had learned to appreciate many Western ways, not only because her education was in English, but also from her father's position in the British government and her extensive travels abroad. 

I like to think of the intermingling of East and West as a tossed salad in which each ingredient maintains its own color, texture and taste, rather than blending into the bland sameness of th more frequently used analogy of a melting pot. 

Despite many elements of the Eastern way of life that enrich Westerners, we know that, due to Adam and Eve’s choice, every virtue in every person and culture has been twisted. But Jesus has bridged the gap between God and man. He can straighten those contorted virtues, and there is hope for every person and every culture.

I love the contrasts and beauty of different cultures! So does God. In fact, the Bible reveals that the untwisted virtues of each culture will be displayed in heaven. Can you imagine how glorious that will be? Revelation 21:24–26 (NIV) puts it this way: “The kings of the earth will bring their splendor into [the heavenly city]. . . . The glory and honor of the nations will be brought into it.”

That is what God is doing today! Through the Good News of God's love in sending Jesus as our Mediator— the One who can straight en the twists — the ugly, frightening side of each culture can be removed. In the Kingdom of God,the West needs the East and the East needs the West. As we learn to see each other as God sees us in Jesus Christ, we are preparing for that day when the unique beauty of every culture will be fully restored displaying the glory our Creator planned from the beginning of time.

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