The Esther Paradigm (A Contemporary Christian Romance)

by Sarah Monzon

  The way I’d been listless and incomplete when she’d been away.

  The way I’d finally felt whole when she returned.

  The way I knew I could never live without her.

  Ethan was right. My heart was filled with love for Hannah.

  Chapter 23

  Hannah

  “Is this right?” Questioning eyes stared up at me as one of my students held out her paper.

  We’d been going over the alphabet, and I’d had the students practice making their letters. Something I’d stayed up the night before reviewing. Just in case. The Arabic alphabet comprised of twenty-eight letters and was written in cursive, each letter flowing into the next. I’d learned to read and write in the language the same time I’d learn to speak it, but there hadn’t been much opportunity to practice in the States, so even though I was pretty confident in my abilities, nervousness had me hitting the books for a refresher.

  I scanned the neat handwriting of letters in abjadi order and then pointed to a letter three quarters of the way down the line. Bending at the waist, I held the paper so my student could see where I pointed. “See here? This should be the letter t and have two dots above, but you have added one dot below, which now makes it the letter b.”

  Her mouth formed an O, and she took the paper and returned to her seat, eraser end of her pencil to the paper fixing her mistake.

  I straightened and rubbed at my lower back. Bending over the date strands that morning had pulled at my muscles, which still protested the bumpy ride on a camel’s back. It’d been worth it though, that long, arduous journey. Worth it to see so many students working diligently to learn.

  Pencils scratching against paper brought a smile to my lips. No more beautiful sound than that.

  I’d been shocked when Radina and I had reached the tent after noon prayers. I’d expected to see maybe a handful of students, but bodies, young and old alike, crammed under the shade of the pitched canopy. Daher’s approval of learning had encouraged any who had time to spare to increase their knowledge. The parents who’d accompanied their children had already learned to read, so I’d given them books on subjects that interested them to occupy their time while I worked with the younger students on more rudimentary lessons.

  Movement at the corner of my eye brought my attention around. My heart slid to a stop at the sudden approach of a man whose face bore the thunderous look of an oncoming storm. Like a raging bull charging a matador, he barreled into the tent, his nostrils flaring with his every breath. His gaze shot around the open-aired room like daggers, and he snapped his fingers. Three children of various ages popped up like daisies, although I feared the delicate flowers were about to be trampled.

  I took a step forward, head down enough to show respect but still high enough to keep him in my vision. “As-salamu alaykum.”

  Spittle landed at my feet. “Peace is surely upon me, but not you.” His gaze traveled over the students gathered, and his lips curled. “Nor any of you who turn your back on Islam to embrace this—”

  “Watch yourself, Farid.” Radina’s voice held warning.

  “No. You watch yourself. Though you be Daher’s wife, you forget yourself.” His arm swept the group. “As you all have forgotten.”

  So far, it seemed he was alone, but that didn’t settle my pulse. Schools had become targets to extremists, and it wasn’t a stretch to consider that any minute we could be surrounded by men with guns. Had I not read accounts in the news of such things? Hundreds dying because they simply wished to receive an education.

  Keep us safe.

  I kept my head down, hoping that my show of humility and nonengagement would send him on his way. Anything to get him to turn around and leave as quickly as he’d arrived. Maybe then my lungs could expand to their full capacity and I could take a much-needed breath.

  But the silence that hung only seemed to invite the man Radina had called Farid to continue his raging.

  He thrust an accusing finger at my chest. “And you. Sheltered princess that you are, you probably don’t even realize why we all hate you, do you? Why we despise America and all that wicked country stands for.”

  I held my tongue, not believing he actually wished an answer.

  But he stepped forward and barked, “Do you?”

  My head shook along with my hands, and I whispered, “No.” Shame filled me at my answer. I’d often wondered why the animosity bred so deep among these people, but, as Farid had accused, my parents had sought to shelter me from the glaring hatred, often leaving me with the clan when they needed to make a trip to the city for medical supplies.

  “Well, let me educate you, teacher.” His scowl deepened. “Your ignorance is why we hate you. The fact that you don’t even know. None of you do.”

  You. The separation of us and them. He’d drawn the line, and I’d been placed on the side of the enemy.

  “You teach but know nothing.” Farid spit again, this time his warm saliva landing on the hem of my abiya. “What of Sabra and Chatila?”

  Did he wish an answer? Fear clawed along my spine as those names offered no recognition. Would his verbal tirade soon turn physical?

  Not the children, Lord.

  I looked sideways and locked eyes with Radina. With a flick of my chin, I mouthed, Children. Go. And then held on to hope that she’d understand my meaning and get the innocents out of danger. Farid was a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

  He stalked even closer toward me, his children huddled behind him. “Ignorance!” The beams holding the tent erect shook at his volume. “The blood from Sabra and Chatila still cry out, in need of vindication. Though you Christians profess a loving God, it was Christian militiamen who slaughtered over eight hundred people, not sparing even the women or children.”

  But that was not us, I wanted to scream. Not true Christ followers and not Americans.

  My thoughts must have reflected in my expression, because he folded his arms over his thick chest. “Though your hands were not stained red, your benevolent”—he spat the word—“country is not innocent. Do they not shower money upon the murderers? Feed the lion that devours our people?”

  Radina slunk around the perimeter of people, whispering words into ears and then pushing them down on their hands and knees so they could crawl away unnoticed.

  “Stop!” Farid bellowed.

  Everyone froze, no one daring to twitch a muscle or even blink.

  “I am not the threat here, my brothers and sisters.” His voice softened until he seemed to be almost pleading with them. “If you do not see that, then you are blinder than I had suspected. It is not education I am against, and will continue to teach my children at home in the ways of Islam, as is right.” His back turned toward me so he could face those he’d named his family. He held their gazes as he entreated, “If you allow the Western lies to infiltrate your thinking, you will be lost for all eternity.” With that he strode forward, snapping his fingers again.

  Only one child glanced back at me before falling into line behind his brothers and following his father out of view.

  As if someone had pushed the Play button after pausing a show, the stillness erupted with movement and talking. As for myself, however, I felt like I was set on slow motion. My legs quivered beneath me, and I reached out to grab a pole for support.

  We were safe. There had been no guns that had opened fire on us. No one had lost their lives for a simple lesson on the alphabet. The outcome could’ve been so much worse. We could’ve been added to the statistics, a headline on national news.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  Voices rose. The fog that had been hovering over my head ascended with the noise. Lines were being drawn again, some agreeing with all Farid had said, while others defended the new school and the education I offered.

  I should say something, but weariness dragged my bones. All I wanted to do was slump toward the ground. Confusion and not a small amount of fear twisted my gut.

  A hand tapped my arm, and I let my we
ight pull me down to one knee. A boy with soulful eyes offered a wobbly smile, his two front teeth missing. He lifted his hand, a paper pinched between his fingers, and I took it. Like nothing had happened at all to concern himself with, he turned and skipped around those loitering about who argued among themselves. At the edge of the tent he turned and waved. Though my limbs felt heavy, I returned the gesture with a forced smile. I looked down at the paper in my hand, my heart melting at the picture he’d drawn of me teaching in the tent, at the bottom of his alphabet-filled paper.

  Determination hardened behind my breastbone. I wouldn’t be scared off. Not by Farid, not by anybody. If God was for me, no one could stand against me. Not when I’d been called to do this very thing.

  It didn’t take much convincing to dismiss the rest of the class, although I wondered how many of them I’d see return the next day. If the situation were reversed, would I dare to attend?

  “You are a gifted teacher. And brave.” Radina approached with a small smile. One I identified with. Relief made our lips bow, but the seriousness and aftereffects of our fear held our mood in a subdued grip.

  “I’m not brave.” A brave person wouldn’t still be trembling all over. “As far as teaching…” I shrugged, brushing off her intended compliment. “I’ve always loved learning, so it’s natural to want to share that with others.”

  “You’re being too modest. On both accounts.” She waved her hand as if she could disturb the memories of our recent ordeal as easily as smoke from a fire. “One, we had another teacher here so our children could learn without having to move to the cities. Farid approved of him since he came from a good Muslim family.” Her face clouded. “But he had no patience for the children’s mistakes and often took to beating them to keep them in line.”

  “How awful!”

  “Indeed. Needless to say, Daher did not suffer his actions, and the man learned a hard lesson he will not soon forget.” Her eyes brightened a fraction, almost to their regular brilliance. “He will be happy to hear my report on you, though maybe not so much of Farid’s actions.”

  I swallowed hard. “Your report?”

  “Of course. Nothing happens within a twenty-kilometer radius that my husband does not know about.”

  What would Daher do to Farid when he learned about the man’s outburst? Though the experience had frightened me to no end, Farid hadn’t threatened me or anyone else. Not really. Maybe the best course of action was to just let the incident go. That was what I needed to do. I couldn’t dwell on it, or I’d be too paralyzed by my fear to do what I needed to. Teach. Share Jesus’s love.

  Wait. Daher knew everything that happened? Even…

  “Even—” My throat thickened around the thought. I tried again and took a step forward, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Even your harvest lessons?”

  “Especially those.”

  My heart seized in my chest, and my gaze darted beyond her shoulder, expecting officers this time to approach and arrest me on the spot.

  “He has been having dreams, my husband. Of Isa. He wished to speak with your father of his dreams, but perhaps I may learn from you, then return home and share with my husband all you have said.”

  Dreams. Like Daniel? John? Had an angel visited Daher like Gabriel had Mary?

  Direct my words, Lord.

  Never had I felt so unprepared. So unworthy. But I wouldn’t be a barren fig tree any longer. I’d be the branches and remain in the Vine. With Him I could do anything and bear the fruit He’d planted.

  Chapter 24

  Hannah

  “Are you sure you don’t want to lead tonight?” My words came out in a rush and slightly high pitched, a testament to the nerves that raced around in circles in my stomach.

  Mom smiled, all softness and confidence, though not in herself. She directed that attribute to me. Though her ribs still pained her, the eye that had nearly swollen shut had reduced in size, the bruise almost completely gone now, so I knew she could see clearly. Must be she chose to see what she wanted even if it wasn’t there. Confidence was the last thing about me.

  “You’re going to do great.”

  I’d settle for coherent. What if Radina left more confused than when she’d arrived? What if I didn’t have the answers to all her questions? I had to trust that the Holy Spirit would bring them to my memory. That alone was the only thought that kept my hands from shaking.

  Although not from sweating. I ran my damp palms down the skirt of my fitted abaya and took a deep breath.

  “I’ll pray without ceasing, Hannah. God will be with you.”

  I nodded at the same time as a greeting shouted from the other side of the tent walls. Shoulders back, I strode forward and welcomed Radina with a smile. My lips wobbled, however, when two more women followed the sheikh’s wife into my parents’ tent.

  Radina and the women greeted my mother with the traditional greeting, and she responded in kind.

  “Hannah”—Radina turned to me—“may I present Qitarah and Bahira?”

  I smiled warmly and invited them to sit upon the low couches. Searching out Radina’s gaze, I raised a brow.

  “Qitarah and Bahira also have questions and seek to learn more of Isa. I didn’t think you’d mind two more students.” Her look held a note of challenge and strength, as if conveying they all knew the costs these harvest lessons could exact. They were willing to pay the price. Was I?

  In Jesus’s name, I was. “I’m so happy you were able to join us.”

  Radina nodded in approval and pulled out her pocket Bible, handing it to me.

  Instead of accepting, I turned and reached behind me to my mother, who placed a stack of six books in my hand. She’d worked quickly to uncover the hidden Scriptures so each woman could hold one for themselves.

  I passed the books out, two to each woman.

  “A Qur’an!” Bahia exclaimed, her face scrunched in confusion. “But I thought we were to learn of your Messiah from your Bible.”

  One could not jump a hurdle when one had not even taken a step. “Tell me—do you believe the Bible to hold truths given by Allah?”

  Uncertainty came in the loss of eye contact and the thinning of lips. Around the circle, the women avoided my gaze. “Then we begin in the Honored Qur’an, a book you do believe holds truth from Allah.” I opened the book they’d been taught from all their lives. “All-E-Imran reads, ‘It is He Who sent down to thee, step by step, in truth, the Book, confirming what went before it; and He sent down the Law.’” I looked up from the page. “The Law here is of Moses, the Taurat.”

  “Yes,” Qitarah whispered.

  I continued reading. “‘And the Gospel before this, as a guide to mankind.’” Placing my finger where I’d left off, I looked up again. “The Gospel is of Isa, which is the Injeel. The Holy Scriptures we call the Bible. As the Qur’an says, they were given to all mankind.” I read a few more passages that showed that through Isa al-Masih, Jesus the Messiah, the son of Mary, the Gospel was sent to guide and enlighten all who followed Allah.

  Radina leaned forward. “But what is Isa’s purpose? Is he another prophet or something more? Why do you Christians worship him?”

  Like forks in the road, my brain stalled on which path to take. I could show them Jesus in the Qur’an, the passages calling Him the Holy Son of God, who they called Allah, and how He was conceived supernaturally. How we all have sinned and are in need of a Savior sent by the mercy of God. Passage after passage we could turn, first through the Qur’an and then the Bible. Would it be too much too soon? I could further press on them the trueness of the Scriptures through their own honored book and then send them home to discover at their own speed Jesus’ goodness. Or…

  “Let me tell you a story, one you are familiar with but with meanings deeper than your current understanding.”

  “What story?” Radina’s mouth turned down. She thought I’d skirted her direct question.

  I held her gaze, asking for patience without words. “Of Father Ibrahim.�
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  “The father of our father Ishmael.” Qitarah spoke in her quiet way.

  “That’s right.” My smile held encouragement. “Allah called Ibrahim away from all he knew—his family, his country, his home. Ibrahim obeyed without question even though Allah had not disclosed the destination to Ibrahim or whether or not he’d ever return to his homeland again. Ibrahim set aside his own comfort and preferences because of the confident relationship he’d developed with Allah. He understood that Allah’s ways were always best, even if he didn’t understand them at the time.”

  “It is a lesson of submission we’d all do well to learn,” my mother added, and we all nodded in agreement.

  I picked up the story. “Many years later, Allah directed Ibrahim again. This time obedience cost a much higher price. That of his own son.”

  Bahia’s brow furrowed. “We understand the importance of this story. It is written in Sura 26.69 to rehearse the story of Ibrahim. But what significance does it have to Isa?”

  Their curiosity sent a thrill through my center. “I’m getting to that. But isn’t it interesting the Qur’an emphasizes the rehearsal of the story.” My brows lifted high on my forehead. “Must mean there is much significance and equal things to learn from the telling, no?”

  Radina waved her hand. “Continue so we may understand.”

  “It is important to note that Ibrahim communicated so much with Allah that he recognized the voice of God when he heard it. And the love in Ibrahim’s heart for Allah outweighed that of even his own son so that he moved to obey the voice he trusted.”

  “I cannot imagine sacrificing my own son,” Qitarah said.

  Bahia agreed. “Nor I.”

  Unbidden, I pressed a palm to my flat stomach. Would it round soon with Karim’s heir? A baby made of our union but not a profession of our love? Pain seized me, but now was not a time to succumb to its hold. It was not a time to dissect the swirl of feeling that threatened to pull me under, their range from despair to exhilaration.