by DiAnn Mills
* * *
The day swept by into afternoon like a cool breeze on a balmy day. Patients straggled in, and their problems didn’t devastate Larson. She found herself laughing and dwelling on the conversations with Paul. How peculiar she had confessed her past and uncovered Paul’s in one early morning. How amazing she’d been a part of assisting him in locating Abraham.
Granddaddy would have said she’d been an instrument of God.
Did she believe after all? Had her life not been a series of heartbreaking events, but rather a carefully planned story with a purpose? If Nathan had lived, where would they be? She envisioned a thriving pediatric practice and Nathan . . . who was to say what path he would have chosen? Would he have dared to please God or settled to please her? Larson shuddered. She’d been incredibly domineering, selfish, unkind, and prideful. Had things changed?
Larson uncrossed her arms and allowed them to drop to her sides. She was still domineering, selfish, unkind, and prideful. What good had she done with her years?
You’ve cared for My children.
But had she truly served the Lord? Larson sucked in a breath. Bitterness had eaten at her soul for so long that she didn’t know if there could be release—except every fiber of her being craved deliverance from this pit of doom. She’d spanned an ocean and a continent to escape God, and He’d found her. God had crowned her a princess, and His love still reigned. Her role as a doctor to the Sudanese was orchestrated long before she drew her first breath, as well as Nathan’s early departure home. The years and the happenings held crystal clear meaning. She’d been blind, but now she could see.
Was it too late to grab the hand of Jesus once again and step forward in the faith of her parents and grandparents? Larson wrung her hands and stared out at the steadily pouring rain. Had she run too far?
No, My daughter, come home.
If Paul had found forgiveness and peace—and yes, purpose—in his dedication to the Lord, how could she do any less? “Sin is sin,” Granddaddy always said. “No matter how big or small, if what you’re doing is against God’s laws, then you’ve offended Him. The longer you wait to confess and repent, the longer the walk home.”
Larson knew what she needed to do. Her heart and soul longed to be clean. She stepped out into the rain and let the water pour over her head. It soaked her hair, and she swept it back from her forehead. Lifting her hands to the gray sky, she felt the trickles rolling down her fingers, over her hands, and soaking her arms. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the heavens, allowing the pure, perfect water to caress her skin and cleanse her soul.
* * *
Paul waved and grinned at the villagers surrounding the truck. No doubt they recognized Larson’s truck and expected her to be there, but he didn’t care. His smile originated deep inside and seemed to burst forth from the very pores of his skin. He searched the crowd, looking for the man who walked across his most peaceful dreams. Selfishly he wanted to see Abraham alone for the first time—to drink in the sight of him and embrace his frail shoulders. Sarah knew of the man and had told Paul countless stories of his unwavering faith.
Who would have ever thought . . . Paul shook his head. Bishop Malou had touched him like a brother. Now Paul understood why. “Can you tell me where to find Abraham, the old man who is missing a hand?” Paul asked in Arabic to no one in particular. He tried to control his excitement, but he heard the half-trembling enthusiasm in his voice.
A young man pointed to a hut on the far right of the crowd. “There. He is probably resting.”
Paul thanked him and hurried from the crowd, snaking his way through the welcoming throng of people. His pulse sounded in his head. His hands trembled. His step quickened, and he would have run if not for all the playing children around him.
When he reached the darkened entrance of Abraham’s hut, he stopped. This was a sacred moment, and he thanked God for the gift he was about to receive.
“Abraham.” The name uttered aloud sounded like the sweetest of music. He heard the shuffle of feet and waited.
Abraham stepped into the light. The lines had deepened in his face, and his eyes were more clouded. A scar creased the left side of his face, and Paul remembered the guard who had struck him.
“Praise God,” Abraham said. He didn’t move a muscle. “Have my eyes betrayed me, or do I see Abdullah?”
“It’s me, sir.” Paul choked back the emotion. “My Christian name is Paul. At last . . . at last my search for you is over. My prayers are answered.”
Paul reached for Abraham and drew him close as though he were a child instead of an old man. Memories of those days when Paul visited him in the Khartoum jail floated in his mind, vivid and fresh: the agony of a suffering people, the stench of humans treated worse than animals, the plight of those cast into prison.
“I am blessed.” Abraham’s words were muffled with his weeping. “Because of you, because God used you to set me free, many more have come to know Jesus.”
Paul smiled despite watery eyes. “Because of you, because you showed me how I could be free from sin, I’ve been able to help many of the Sudanese.”
Abraham pulled back and peered into Paul’s face. “Do you have time to tell me all about your life since our last meeting in Khartoum?”
“You’re the reason I’ve come.” The afternoon rain began to fall. “I have much to tell and even more to ask.”
Moments later, the two sat on the floor of Abraham’s hut. Sentiments had been spoken, and Paul was eager to hear what had happened over the past ten years.
“I want to know everything,” Paul said. “The last time I saw you, I’d entrusted your care to some fishermen who were sailing south.”
Abraham nodded. “So many years ago, and still I remember it like yesterday. The fishermen were good to me. They brought me safely to the river’s edge and helped me get to my old village.” He breathed in and out, and a sad hush consumed him. “Everything was gone, and I feared that my family had all been killed. Later, I learned my wife had died, but my son had escaped. He’s a fine minister now with many churches in southern Sudan.”
“I know your son,” Paul said. “But he doesn’t know about you and me.”
“Why?”
“I’ve told few of my identity.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t want anyone killed. Khartoum does not give up.”
“No, they don’t, but Christ is victorious.”
“Someday they will understand. Abraham, tell me more.”
“I settled into a village and began to tell others about Jesus—what He’d done for me and how He’d rescued me by sending you. I’d done preaching before, but now God put a strong message in my heart. I’ve never stopped preaching. As long as I have breath, I will tell others about the Lord.”
Paul struggled with whether to ask about Abraham’s remaining family members. Since he hadn’t mentioned them, they must not have survived. “What can I do for you? How can I pray?”
The old man smiled, his wrinkles deepening. “I lack for nothing, but please pray for southern Sudan. The SPLA needs prayers as well as the struggling church and all those who face persecution from the government.”
“I will continue to do so.”
“Now, please, I want to hear what has happened in your life over the past ten years.”
Paul took the time to explain every detail of his journey from those days following Abraham’s departure from Khartoum to Paul’s flight from the country to freedom. He told how God used him in the United States and how he chose the name of Paul. He spoke about his work with FTW and why he remained in Sudan.
“I will pray Rachel and Nyok are soon found,” Abraham said. “I hear in your voice and I see in your face how much they mean to you.”
“Thank you. I will do my best to visit you again very soon.”
Abraham reached for Paul’s hand. The old man’s eyes were red, and he fought to keep them open. “God be with you, my son. I can now die in peace knowing I have lived to thank you for your bra
ve deed.”
Paul embraced him. “We’ll always be together in spirit.”
All the way back to Warkou, Paul reflected on the time spent with Abraham. The few days they’d grown to know each other in Khartoum had sealed their friendship forever. God had orchestrated their meeting then and now. Larson had played a significant role in today’s meeting, and he hoped she would be open to hearing about the old man’s faith.
Many prayers had been answered in Paul’s life, and he appreciated every one, but the reunion with Abraham had brought such unexpected joy. Now, if only Rachel and Nyok were returned—safely.
CHAPTER 30
“It’s safe,” Ben said, bending down beside Nyok. “We have the GOS on the run.”
“What happened to the soldiers who were with me?” Nyok said.
“One was killed.” Ben studied the boy’s face. Sorrow etched his smooth features beyond his years. Compassion swept through Ben. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized how much Nyok meant to him. The boy was a son to him. He had seen enough blood and killing. It must stop with the children. This was a man’s war—not for innocent children who fought for revenge instead of a country’s freedom.
“Thank you, Colonel. I’m ready to take my training. It’s why I was with your men.”
“I know.” Ben stood at the sound of men moving through the forest. He avoided looking at the boy. His mind warred with what he should do.
“I’m ready to die for southern Sudan.” Nyok’s voice quivered with his words. They lacked conviction. “You’ve shown me how to use a rifle. The rest will be easy, and God will be with me.”
Still Ben wondered what he should do. The decision had nothing to do with Larson. It was a struggle with his conscience, a struggle between right and wrong.
“You’re a brave man, Nyok,” Ben said. “I saw you fight the lion. The SPLA would be proud to have you in its ranks.”
Nyok raised himself from the earth floor, his shoulders arched back.
“But I believe you’d best serve your country in another way.”
The boy’s brows narrowed. “How, sir? What is nobler than a soldier’s life?”
“An education.” Ben scarcely believed his own words. “Soon southern Sudan will have freedom. Did you see how we overpowered the GOS just now? The country will need leaders—medical personnel, engineers, ministers, teachers, those who know how to run our government. You can be one of them, Nyok.”
Nyok tilted his head. “But, sir, for the past four years you’ve told me education could wait.”
“I’ve changed my mind. You’re among the brightest of our people. You need to leave the country and seek an education. Then your knowledge can be used to help others.”
The boy glanced about. Confusion settled on his features. “Are you taking me back to Dr. Kerr?”
Ben nodded and shifted his rifle. He took Nyok’s weapon and cleared his throat. “I’m ordering you to fight this war with your mind. Discipline and training will serve you well.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll not disappoint you. God has delivered me many times, and possibly it’s for this purpose.”
“Excellent. Tomorrow you and I will head to Warkou. I believe Larson and Farid have researched schools for you.”
Ben turned and made his way along the narrow path to where most of his men waited. They had captured eight of the enemy. He’d give them the opportunity to fight for the South, and another soldier would explain Christianity to them. Tonight he’d bury a good soldier. Tomorrow he’d stop at the man’s village and inform his wife and children of his death. How he longed for this to end.
* * *
Relief flowed through Nyok’s veins. He didn’t understand why, but he did know once he’d made his peace with God and resigned himself to die, he’d been delivered. All along he believed in joining the SPLA, but Colonel Alier’s new orders changed everything. He now had a future and a purpose, and oddly enough, he felt good.
Nyok smiled. He could almost hear Dr. Kerr’s musical laughter. She’d be happy, and he’d have the satisfaction of knowing he’d caused her to forget her troubles. He cringed at the thought of the cruel words thrown her way. She’d wanted the best for him, and he’d been too caught up in revenge and pride to see it. His apology might mend the ugly rift between them.
Dr. Kerr was like a mother to him—nothing like his own mother, but a good one nevertheless. She’d loved him and encouraged him to use his mind rather than a rifle. Nyok replayed Ben’s words: “The country will need leaders—medical personnel, engineers, ministers, teachers, those who know how to run our government. You can be one of them, Nyok.”
Paul Farid was another matter. Perhaps he’d judged the pilot unfairly. If God had given Nyok another chance at life, then he could do the same for Paul.
Nyok sighed. Yes, being a doctor like Dr. Kerr sounded good. A deep sense of satisfaction flowed through him when he helped others, and he was interested in finding cures for so many diseases plaguing his people. He could hear Dr. Kerr’s happiness with his choice. Sudan would be pleased, and most important, God would smile.
* * *
Ben and Nyok tramped for two days up from the Warab Province toward Warkou. Ben had broken the sad news to the fallen soldier’s family and told the familiar story of the man’s bravery. The family had cried together. For Ben, it never got easier.
The closer the two ventured toward their destination, the more relieved Ben felt about his decision to return Nyok. He didn’t want Larson to feel pressured to do anything, especially giving in to him. Her move to him should be voluntary, not forced, and Ben had enough pride—and love—for the woman to step back. He wanted to talk to her about his feelings, if she’d listen.
The Arab still provoked an intense distrust in Ben. He knew the man’s story and his conversion to Christianity. Ben also knew the danger the man faced every day he walked Sudanese soil. Could he be such a fearless soldier of Christ that his life did not matter? The media claimed so, but Ben had his doubts. He remembered Farid’s offer to provide global phones and computer data to aid in the war. Still, trusting the man went against everything Ben believed.
A few hours from Warkou, Ben elected to check on Quadir. By some chance the slave trader might have new information about Rachel. Twice Ben had nearly killed him when the man had failed to find out anything about his sister.
Ben and Nyok took a westerly turn and located Quadir in a small village on the border of Warab and Bahr al-Ghazal Provinces. The people there tolerated the slave trader only because of his ability to return Sudanese to their families and friends. Ben found him hiding in an old couple’s hut.
Quadir spoke with a quivering voice. “Colonel Alier. So good to see you. I do have news about your sister, but I hesitate to tell all in view of . . .”
Ben despised the Arab. His high-pitched, whiny voice reminded Ben of a woman—and a weak one at that. “I know what you’re saying. What news do you have?”
“My sources say they have found her.”
“Unharmed?”
Quadir offered a faint smile. “Yes, Colonel. I have made arrangements to purchase her. I wanted to make sure I had the right young woman first.”
“When?”
“Four days hence.”
“Where?”
“Here.” Quadir swallowed hard. He pressed his fingertips together. “You will bring the money?”
Rage flashed across Ben’s mind, but he maintained control. “Yes, I will have the money.”
The slave trader lifted his chin. “We have a deal, Colonel. Do not come with soldiers. Those who bring the young woman insist on it.”
Shortly afterward, Ben and Nyok moved on. Ben wanted to believe the search for Rachel had finally ended, but he feared disappointment. He also cringed at the thought of finding out what the GOS had done to her. He remembered all the horrible tales former slaves related. His precious sister could have physical and mental scars. She could be pregnant or never be able to conceive children. Whatever her
condition, Ben loved her, and he would take care of her forever. He dragged his tongue across dry lips. Rachel must get out of Sudan too.
“Colonel, I’m afraid to believe this is true,” Nyok said. “Can you trust Quadir?”
“He knows I will kill him if he lies.”
“I’d help you.”
“So would Larson. Farid would pray for the man’s soul.”
Nyok laughed, and Ben joined him. Releasing all the pent-up emotions felt good. Four days from now. His men needed to trail him on the way to meet with Quadir. He understood the slave trader’s fear, but Ben wasn’t about to get caught in an ambush either.
* * *
Paul called for Larson before reaching the clinic. The exhaustion that normally accompanied him had fled in the wake of finding Abraham. Larson deserved to hear every word of their conversation.
“Larson,” he called again.
“Come in, Paul. I’m anxious to talk to you.” Her voice had a special lilt to it, and he grinned at the thought of her having a pleasant day.
He found her seated at the small table where they shared meals. She was writing, and from the looks of things, whatever it was covered several pages.
“You sound great.”
“I am.” She held up the sheets of paper. “I’m writing my parents a letter.” She beamed. “It may be a book before I’m finished.”
In the shadows, he met her warm smile. “What brought this on? I thought you didn’t have contact with them.”
“I don’t, or rather I didn’t,” she said. “Sit down. I’m almost at a stopping point.”
Paul eased in across from her and studied her face. The worried lines had vanished. She continued to write. If he didn’t know better, he’d think—
“This will do for now.” Larson laid her pen aside. She peered into his face. Her eyes held a radiance he hadn’t seen before.
“You must have had a great day,” he said.
She nodded slowly. “It started off strange but got better as it went on.”
“I apologize for jumping all over you about the journal. I should have told you the truth a long time ago.”