May the Lord answer you when you are in distress;
may the name of the God of Jacob protect you.
May He send you help from the sanctuary...May He remember all of your sacrifices... May He give you the desire of His heart and make all of your plans succeed...

Now I know that the Lord saves His anointed; He answers him from His Holy Heaven with the saving power of His Right Hand.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses,
but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.
They are brought to their knees and fall, but we rise up and stand firm...   Psalm 20

 

 

As the soldier began rifling through her carry-on bag, teammate #2's
eyes connected with mine. "Pray" she mouthed to me. I shook my head in acknowledgment but my attention immediately transfixed on the soldier's activity. Was it just me or was this guy in a seriously bad mood? We had gone through several customs and checkpoints before and none of the soldiers ever acted as gruff as this one. I watched with a strange mixture of fear and annoyance as he haphazardly tossed items from teammate #2's bag. When my gaze returned to teammate #2's face, I could tell by her focused stare that she was feverishly praying. A sense of guilt washed over me as I realized that I had allowed my anxiety to leave
God out of the equation.

"Focus (Putty)." I reprimanded myself, "Abba will get us through this. I know He will"

 

 

The slight shaking I felt from one of my legs betrayed my unease. I began to pray for God's intervention and protection:

 

"Don't let them search those bags, Abba. Just have them search the
carry-ons and then let us go. I know we came here willing to sacrifice our very lives to make the Lordship of Jesus known, but I can't believe our efforts would be stopped this soon. We want to continue Your witness. Please protect us. Give us Your peace. Help us not to fear."

Seeking assurance and strength, I began to recite and personalize
Psalm 91:

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest
in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God in Whom I trust."
Surely He will save me from the fowler's snare
and from the deadly pestilence...

"Bekam hatha?"  The soldier's husky voice startled me from my praying.

"What is this?" he repeated in Arabic as he held up the ziploc bag.

The soldier had discovered the bag containing our portable communion items. I had recently packed it in my carry-on after discovering that a few of the juice vials had broken and leaked onto some clothing in my other luggage.

"Just terrific," I thought. "I don't have the vocabulary or the
desire to try and explain this concept to an Islamic soldier."

I shot quick glances over to my teammates. Teammate #2 had turned an unnaturally pasty white and Teammate #1 looked as though she'd pass out any second. I knew their reactions had nothing to do with what was hidden in our stored luggage and everything to do with what they feared I might say next. You see, I was handsdown the mouthy and radical risktaker of our trio. The girl most likely to get us lynched. They were Soooo certain that I was going to use this opportunity to go into a diatribe on partaking of the blood and body of Christ. Gosh, could I be that bad? I mean, I have SOME self control.

"BIKAM HATHA?!" the soldier demanded.

His raised tone disconcerted me and caused my mind to go blank.  I couldn't think of the simple Arabic words for "eat" and "drink". Improvising, I picked up snacks from my bag and showed him. I then made gestures which mimicked eating and drinking. The soldier was puzzled by my use of gesture. He had assumed that I was Arabic.

"Tatakulum Arabee?" he questioned. "Do you speak Arabic?"

"shwaya (a little)" I answered. "Atakalama Inglezee (I speak English)"

The soldier immediately lost interest in the ziploc bag and turned his full interest onto me.

"Where are you from?" He demanded, in Arabic.

"Amreeka (America)" I answered.

"Amreeka," He mimicked in a suspicious tone. "Muslima?"

There it was. Thus far, the question most frequently posed to us since we had arrived in "Arabia". "Are you a Muslim?"

"La. Ana bihuss Yesua, el Masiah" I responded.
"No. I belong to Jesus, the Christ"

This time I knew better than to look over at my teammates. They would most likely be shooting me very disapproving looks. We had all previously discussed how on certain occasions a simple "No" to that question would
be advisable. It was on teammate # 1's instruction that in "sticky situations" -which this certainly qualified as - we would only answer in the negative. Since she was team leader, I was bound to follow her instruction.
I was sorry for disobeying her, but I had made a promise to Jesus that I would speak His name to everyone who asked me about my faith. Besides, I should have received some credit for restraint during that ziploc bag episode.

"What a shame" the soldier grumbled, then proceeded to search
the rest of my belongings.

Once our bags had been searched and the soldier had moved on, teammate #2 leaned over to me and let out a relieved sigh:

"Wow. Can you believe that he didn't say anything about our bibles?
I don't think he even noticed my bible."

"Our personal bibles aren't a problem," I reminded teammate #2. "It's not a crime to be a Christian, only to evangelize. Me and teammate #1
are worried about them searching our other luggage."

I immediately regretted mentioning this to teammate #2. By the look on her face I realized that she hadn't considered this possibility.

"Hold it together. We'd better start praying again" I instructed.

Looking over at teammate #2, I could see that she was way ahead of us.
Once again I asked our Heavenly Father for His intervention and protection and resumed personalizing Psalm 91:

"If I make the Most High my dwelling
even the Lord Who is my refuge
then no harm will befall me,
no disaster will come near my tent..."

Suddenly, I was again jolted from my meditation. This time the intrusion came from a rush of soldiers who began dramatically gesturing with their hands and barking orders to us. In tandem, passengers began rising and filing off of the bus.

Alarmed, I asked: "What's happening?"

"I guess we have to get off the bus." teammate #1 answered in a strange monotone.

I didn't like the sound of her voice. After disembarking, I tried to determine what was happening by listening to the instructions the soldiers were barking to the bus driver. It all sounded like gibberish to me.
I walked over to teammate #1 who was most advanced in Arabic.

"Can you understand them?" I asked her.

"No. They're speaking too fast."

Probably noticing our distressed and confused expressions, a young ***woman, who I recognized as a passenger, approached us. She spoke English:

"I noticed that you are American," she remarked, smiling.
"I go to University. I'm studying to be an English teacher."

"Do you know what's happening?" teammate #1 asked.

"Oh, don't worry, this is routine." the woman assured us.

"What's routine?" I questioned.

"They just want us to stand beside the rest of our luggage while they search for any illegal items. It shouldn't take too long."

My heart sank. "Abba, why are you letting this happen?" I asked God.
"Is this a test of faith? If so, what should we do?"

As if verbalizing my thoughts, teammate #2 whispered:

"What are we going to do?"

Teammate #1, the most analytical within our trio, drew close to us and whispered:

"Can both of you locate your list of phone numbers that the agency
gave us in case we're separated?"

"Yeah, in my neckpurse" I answered. Teammate #2 didn't respond.

I stared purposefully at teammate #2 until our gazes connected.

"Just remember never to give up any longtermers or name the agency. We're here as independents." I reminded.

Teammate #2 remained silent but nodded her head in acknowledgment.

"Well, then," Teammate #1 sighed. "I guess all we can do now is pray."

END OF PART 2

putty4HIM