They’re not bad companions at all.  I mean, one of them is my world religions book, and the other is Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.  See what I mean?  Well, maybe that doesn’t sound good to you.  Maybe that sounds like torture.

I was thinking about when I learned to read this week.  The first memory I have of reading in school is kindergarten.  We had an assignment that had to do with coloring a picture of a pizza, and when my teacher asked for someone to read the directions out loud, I was the only one to raise my hand.  Up until a little while ago, I thought that it meant that no one else knew how to read.  Now, I think it might be something more like being shy, or maybe not wanting to be a blatantly annoying show-off.  Even now, I notice that my teachers are so used to me having my hand up that they will make their way around the room, calling on everyone else before they finally decide to call on me.  I know it’s nothing personal; they just want more than one person answering questions, making comments, contributing to discussion.  Makes sense.  (maybe that’s just wishful thinking)

I think I had this idea that if I knew the answer, I had to raise my hand.  Because, if I didn’t, no one would know that I knew the answer.

Anyways, when I realized that I didn’t know how I learned to read, I asked my parents.  Neither one of the really remembered, but when I asked each of them on separate occasions, they both said “well, we just read to you a lot.”  I was expecting stories about them laboring with me for hours and hours with learning the alphabet and drilling me on reading by myself.  I kind of felt cheated when I realized that I learned to read like I learned most other things from them, from the example they set.

So, now I’m okay with spending my night reading.  Actually, it’s the most tame of the tasks on my list of things to do this weekend. It’s the pleasure in the productivity.  My favorite of the books on the list is one called I Dared to Call Him Father, and even though I’ve only read half of it, I already would recommend it.  It’s the true story of a Muslim woman who converts to Christianity after Jesus shows up in her life.  And after she begins this relationship with Jesus, she’s learning to live in God’s presence.  That’s something that maybe I’ve never picked up on in other people’s stories, or maybe no one’s ever focused on it.  Usually, people say that the initial sense of God’s presence when you first meet Him is a “spiritual high,” that eventually it fades and you get used to the fact that we sometimes remove ourselves from God’s presence by the choices we make.  But this woman, Bilquis Sheikh, absolutely refused to do anything that would remove her from God’s presence.

That’s just a revolutionary thought for me.  Not settling to be out of God’s presence for a minute.  And, really, it makes sense, because there isn’t anything better than being in God’s presence.

Needless to say, her perspective has given me something to chew on this week.  And a book that I can’t wait to pick up again.

First, this story is one of the power of the Word of God to accomplish the work of God.Though Bilquis did converse with Christians before her conversion, her conviction largely came simply from reading the Bible. The book opens with her having strange supernatural experiences and unsettling dreams. After failing to find assurance in the Quran she turned to the Bible, which the Quran often referenced. The first words she read—as a result of opening the book at random—were from Romans 9:25-26. She would go on to read more of Romans and John’s gospel before daring to call the God of the Bible ‘Father’.

Second, faith needs cultivation. After her conversion, she had to deal with a family boycott, threatening phone calls and someone attempting to burn down her house with her in it. It was through such trials that she learned to stop relying on her ingenuity and her political and family connections for protection. She had to choose to trust in God each day of the seven years she lived in Pakistan after becoming a Christian.

Third, by their fruits you will know them. The transformation in her life was evident for all in the village where she lived to see. She who had once been a bitter recluse (because of the humiliating divorce she’d been through) read Luke 14:12 and invited the widows, orphans, unemployed and poor people in the village to her Christmas dinner. On another occasion, she issued an open invitation to the children to climb her prized loquat trees. One of her household servants put it this way: “Begum Sahib, do you know that when you start talking of the Lord your whole appearance changes?” (p. 134).

Fourth, God is a wonderful Father. In the afterword written for the 25th anniversary of the book’s publication, Synnøve Mitchell, the first missionary Bilquis talked to tells how her visit came at a time Mrs Mitchell was considering quitting the mission field. Isn’t God delightful in how He provides reassurance for His weary servants?

On the negative side, there seemed to be a lot of lucky-dipping as far as Bible reading was concerned. Additionally, there was a mention of ‘secret Christians’, citing Nicodemus (who came to Jesus at night) as an example. What was left out is that by the end of John’s gospel, Nicodemus came out as a disciple of Jesus when he helped Joseph of Arimathea with the burial. I have no idea what it means to risk your life for being a Christian, so I shall leave it at that. (Addendum: The gospel of John isn’t too kind towards secret disciples.)

Bilquis passed away in April 1997, still loving the Lord. May we also hold fast to the end!

While we were there, we also had an opportunity to serve meals to the homeless at the new Ikusasa Bethany House homeless shelter for boys. Ten boys are now living at the shelter, and over 50 homeless adults come for meals. My contribution: scooping chicken vegetable soup onto a container of pap, a mashed potato looking food. Such a simple act, yet so satisfying.

Serving others puts “self” in perspective. If you’ve ever volunteered to help those less fortunate in disadvantaged areas, you know how humbling the experience can be.

We’re forced to face the contrast between our lives and theirs.

In America, many of us take for granted our giant TV screens, multi-car garages, family cell phone plans. We accumulate the newest, fastest, coolest fad gadgets, and when something breaks, we see it as a welcome excuse for the newer version of our toy. We don’t worry about where the next meal will come from or where we’ll find shelter each night. We’re not faced with decisions that you see described in the Bethany House poster below. Shudder!

Returning home to my “normal” existence here feels something like survivor’s guilt. I’m just not sure what to do with myself. Being at work feels like I’m not doing enough to make the world a better place. I don’t know how to put my life in context, now that I’m back.

As I pondered all these things this morning, my eyes fell on a book that Steph sent home with me, “I Dared to Call Him Father: The Miraculous Story of a Muslim Woman’s Encounter with God” by Bilquis Sheikh. I picked up the book and read it cover to cover, crying through much of it. Not from sadness but because of how amazing God is! I needed this book on this very day. I feel renewed after reading about the faith of one woman, who yearned to know God and risked her entire existence to follow Him.

In the story, set in the 1960′s in Pakistan, Bilquis Sheikh struggled over her lack of “results.” God taught her to focus on obedience, and leave the results to Him. Yes, I cried at this point in the book too. I realized, yet again, that God placed me exactly where He wants me – to accomplish His purposes, not mine. God didn’t ask me to be “significant,” but rather to be obedient.

Significance is all about me. Obedience is all about God. Huge difference.

Right now, obedience translates for me as being a good civil servant. My NASA salary enables me be a “sender,” allowing others to serve God in the mission field while I stay put here at home.

Over two decades ago, God placed a burden on my Daddy’s heart for Africa. He asked our extended family to refrain from exchanging Christmas gifts and donate the money to charities to help feed the African people. He never got to visit the continent he loved, and yet, look at his legacy: Daddy’s little brother Phil and his granddaughter Steph both serve in Africa. How cool is that? One man’s simple act of obedience reaps rewards even today.

One step of faith at a time.