(The following is based on a true story. The names have been changed to protect the identity of the individuals.)
The taste of blood was fresh in his mouth. His tongue probed his teeth like a dental hygienist checking for cavities.
Are all my teeth intact?
Erhmad looked around the room trying to orient himself.
Where am I?
The flickering florescent above him gave the room a cold and sterile feel. The grayish blue was a stark contrast to the muddy brown winter outside.
Why am I in the hospital?
Images of his taunting attackers rushed into his head. A brass knuckle to the jaw. The hate filled gaze.
"Isn't this what they did to your Jesus?"
He could hear the sound of the brass knuckles hitting his cheekbone. The volume of the impact surprised him. The sound still resonated in his skull.
Erhmad closed his eyes. Every subtle movement led to a sharp throbbing in places he didn't know existed in his body. He stared at the flickering light trying to forget the horrific images. Each shot of pain convinced him to lay as still as possible.
Without warning, the door burst open and frighteningly familiar faces piled into the cramped hospital room. Erhmad's eyes widened.
To his left was the policeman who tore up his house last Thursday searching for Jesus books. He remembered the angry threats he made because he couldn't find anything. Where would Erhmad be now had his friends not snuck his Bible out minutes before the police arrived? He could be dead in prison.
Why is this policeman here?
The sight on his right was even more terrifying. It was the dark haired stocky boy who pummeled him with the brass knuckles. He didn't recognize the other two because they were the ones holding him while the stocky one did his damage. Bruises from their death grip were still fresh.
Maybe if i close my eyes they'll think I'm too weak to talk...
"Erhmad, this is Officer Khalid.
These are the young men that allegedly harmed you. You will need to identify them now."
Erhmad tried to nod. His neck was unable to move to signify that these were in fact the thugs who jumped him.
"Erhmad, if you do not acknowledge that you recognize them, we will let them walk."
He knew it would hurt but there could only be one response. Erhmad sat up. His body ached in horror which each motion. As he forced himself to his feet, it felt like a train hitting him full speed. He lifted his arm. His shoulders barely moved. One by one he embraced his attackers. First the stocky brass knuckle boy. Then the two who held him down.
"You are forgiven. I do not hold this against you."
He knew this was the only appropriate response. It was the response of Jesus through him.
Erhmad's story was one of many we heard while in the beautiful country of Afghanistan. The country is rich with history and diversity. The cities are constantly recovering from war and terrorism. (3 suicide bombers, 1 IED and several rocket launchers went off during our stay.) The winter cold made for grey skies and muddy roadways filled with potholes that Corollas could and sometimes did fall into. In the short two weeks, I received thousands of smiles, hundreds of hugs, and dozens of cultural and history lessons. More importantly, I left with one overwhelming sense that the church is alive and well.
It was an honor to learn, be welcomed by a beautiful culture, and participate in what Christ is doing.
(BTW, for those of you who think Afghanistan is unsafe, there are more people killed by drunk drivers in Washington State than ISAF soldiers killed in Afghanistan every year. In our two weeks in Afghanistan, the US had three random shootings in Colorado, Nebraska and Nevada.)
Happy Buy Nothing Day everyone
Coincidently, the press has recently jumped onto what has been happening in Burma for years. Never late than never, today we stand with the lives lost in protest for freedom.
Last night at a quarter past midnight there was a knock on our front door. Instinctively, we were apprehensive. We cautiously opened the door a crack to find a frantic neighbor telling us a driver had hit our car, and drove off.
Our neighbor instructed me to hop in my car and follow his bike. 7 blocks later, I pulled into a small street with 4 police cars lighting up the entire area with flashing lights.
It turned out that my neighbors were sitting on their front lawn when drunk driver scraped my Passat then drove off. The two of them hopped on their bikes, chased the driver down, managed to flag down a police officer on her way to work, and together pulled the car over.
An hour and a half and a DUI test (not for me, the perpetrator) later, I drove home with a police report, insurance information and two friends biking by my side.
Thanks Johnny and Charles. I'm learning what it means to be a good neighbor.
Maybe we don't live in the safest neighborhood in Austin. But we certainly live in a great neighborhood.
sunshine
on downtown eastside sidewalks
glows fresh crimson
like rose petals fallen
from ransacked gardens of the broken-hearted
from those who wear the violent evenings
on faces bruised black & purple
whose teeth are kicked through panicked mouths
begging mercy
whose sight is slashed blind by knives of
darkness
inside murdered souls
whose lives are worn out demolitions
in screaming alleys
of vomit & unending misfortune
Bud Osborn, 1995
let my words
sing a prayer
not a curse
to the tragic
& sacred mystery
of our beautiful
suffering
eternal worth
I will nowremove myself from my own flickr contact list.
