CHAPTER 1

On the Euphrates

Few places in the desert are capable of supporting even asmall community for an extended period of time. So theBedouins of this area, with their herds of sheep, goats, andcamels, migrate from one barely fertile area to another. Eachplace offers shelter and sustains them for a time as naturereplenishes the others. In the vast arid expanse of MountSinai, as in the Negev and the deserts of Arabia, the tribesof the Bedouin follow a traditional way of life and maintaina pastoral culture of exceptional grace, honor, and beauty asthey journey by camel from oasis to oasis.

Most of the Bedouin tribes of the Sinai descend fromimmigrants of the Arabian Peninsula who arrived in Sinaisometime between the fourteenth and eighteenth centuries.Today, many of Sinai's Bedouins have traded their traditionalcustoms for the pursuits and conventions of the modern worldon the banks of the Euphrates. This river originates from twomajor sources in the Armenian mountains and flows into thePersian Gulf. Its entire course runs 1,780 miles, more than two-thirdsof which is navigable by boat. The Euphrates River hasan ancient history. The city of Ur, founded at the mouth of theriver, was the birthplace of Abraham and the future site of themajestic city of Babylon.

* * *

Najar Ali, a forty-eight-year-old Bedouin, whimpered asour chaplain carried him into the tent from the Euphratesriverside. The American attack struck the area on March 3, 2006,intending to gain control of the Iraqi insurgents. The severityand magnitude of the attack were beyond imagination. TheAmerican relief marshal dispatched investigators and reliefworkers. Rescue crews found the bodies of civilian victimsspread all around, strewn in the sand next to their scatteredbelongings. There were thousands of survivors from theattack. Many lost their homes and were seriously injured.Buildings were flattened, and debris was spread everywhere.Nothing was spared—not homes, barns, or animals.

Many days had passed since the devastating attack onthe Euphrates. The Bedouin man still waited, his injuries yetto be fully treated. Initially, those injuries were horrifying: afractured skull, sheared-off limbs, compound fractures, andinternal bleeding. The doctors had worked frantically withlimited medication. Nevertheless, his most severe injury couldnot be seen. He carried his pain within his heart. Virtuallyeveryone had lost a loved one in the attack. Hastily fashionedcemeteries overflowed with new graves.

During the attack, the blood had raced swiftly throughNajar's veins as he carried a young, lifeless girl in his arms. Thethought of being left alone in the world devastated him. Theearthly hopes and dreams that he had once carried now fadedfor him. A flash of memory went through his mind: the thin,hungry face of his young girl as a little child, trying to fill herlamp with kerosene on a dark night on the Sinai Mountain. Asigh echoed through his mind.

"Oh, little girl, tell me what your life with your father writeson your face. Speak to me of the glory of your heart. Let ussing the song of remembrance."

The Bedouin's eyes wandered over the dewy haze drapingthe vast field of a new harvest. Slowly, the lids became heavyas feelings of love and loss lulled him into the oblivion ofsleep.

Najar Ali embraced death with his own arms. His onlydaughter, merely fourteen years old, died pressed against hischest, dust and blood covering her garments. The young girlwas laid to eternal rest down the mountain slope. Wind tookthe mountains in its clutches, but the lonely grave remained,etched with words proclaiming the glory of God. By midday,the desert sun burned the body. By midnight, the moonlighttried to soothe the soul. Inside the grave, the silent beautyplayed with angels, blessed with eternal peace where timeand space no longer misted her view. The deadly bombs, theexplosions, and the fires waged by ruthless man could nothurt or disturb her anymore.

* * *

A crisp breeze drifted across, but it was warm for a Februaryevening, and one would almost have thought autumn hadcome. Mrs. Carolyn Autry had just finished her dinner whenthe shadow of her only son, Richard, darkened the door ofher house.

Richard knocked. "Mom."

"Yes?" Carolyn replied from inside.

Carolyn entertained the thought of not opening the door,not discussing her son's intentions again, but as there was nosense in ignoring him, she rose and opened it. Richard walkedin and flung himself down on the couch. A pale distress hadalready appeared on Carolyn's face.

Richard said quietly, "I want to talk to you, Mom."

"It seems like the time for talking is over. You ignored meby enlisting in the Marines."

"Yes, but I had a good reason."

She sighed, resigned. "Well, tell what it is."

"I intend to fight in the war in Iraq. I need to do my dutyby serving my country, don't I?"

Before his mother could answer, Richard drew a foldedletter from his pocket.

"What's that?" she asked.

"It's an appointment letter from the Marines."

"Has it already advanced this far? Oh no, son. No, you willnot join the Marines," she protested weakly.

"Why?"

"Don't ask what I don't wish to tell you," she beggedand flashed her appeal to him from her upturned face andshadowed eyes.

The words seemed to astonish and disturb Richard. "I'mmore serious than you think."

"What a blind, young thing you are." She was irritated.

"I need to." He gave a sigh of discontent.

"It's a shame that we parents raise our children in suchdangerous ignorance. You want to get involved in war becausethe politicians say it's your duty, whether their motive forfighting is a good one or not. They don't care what happensto the general hardworking public. They don't care if you gethurt or die!"

"I bear the responsibility to serve my country."

Carolyn fell into thought. The argument shouldn't endhere. I'm worried and defenseless, and I'm being pressed to saysomething I shouldn't reveal. I can't think any more about it. Itmakes me too miserable. If I break down by falling into somefearful snare, my last state would be worse than this controversialsituation.

"Richard, all the wealth and fame this world has to offermean nothing if all my children aren't with me. I long foronly one thing in heaven or on earth: to be with my children.Please understand and save yourself from the terrible fate thatthreatens my nightmares!"

Oh, God, I can't think of it! If my boy dies, I will surely die too,she thought.

Evening passed. The two customary gate lights at Carolyn'shouse were illuminated, casting a golden pool onto thedriveway. Richard left the house while his mother watchedhis car slowly disappear under the dim streetlights. The dryautumn-like wind continued to blow.

* * *

Richard Autry had grown up on a farm in Pennsylvania, wherefarm trucks ground their gears as they rumbled down theragged green hills. He had always dreamed of becoming aMarine, the living symbol of hope, courage, and uncommonvalor. He joined the Marines right after finishing college, andhe was sent to Iraq on an undisclosed mission.

At two thirty in the morning, Captain Martin beganorganizing his forces to launch an attack on the insurgents.One battalion was to cross the desert on foot and then proceedto a small village directly across the river. At the same time,two more battalions were to fan out in the lightly forestedarea to the right. As all of the forces approached the targetfrom the west, the captain's half-dozen armored cars were tolaunch a head-on attack down the road. At three o'clock, asthe first battalion was just beginning to get in their vehicles,mortars exploded all around, creating a fearful roar. CaptainMartin, hidden behind a stone wall, fought with the enemyover a Kevlar helmet belonging to Richard Autry, who haddied on the spot.

More than forty million American military men and womenhave served and fought to defend the freedom of our country.Final tributes are rendered to those who helped secure theblessings of liberty.

In Arlington National Cemetery, the body of Richard Autrylay in a closed casket, recently arrived from Iraq. In silentceremony, soldiers folded the American flag in the form ofa triangle, showing only the stars depicting the states ofthe Union against a blue background. One soldier placedthe flag on top of the casket, just above the left shoulderof the deceased fighter. At the conclusion of the gravesideceremony, the pallbearers lifted the flag waist-high and heldit there while one of the soldiers played "Taps" on a solitarybugle. The other soldier presented the flag to the veteran'syounger sister, Robin, from a grateful nation.

With a quick, beating pulse, Robin's mind rebelled at thecomplex pattern of victory, honor, and finality bestowed onher brother. The impurities and earthly taints of the senselessdeath of her young brother stained her heart. Defyingrestraint, tears of sorrow streamed down her radiant cheeks,the shattering chaos of death silencing her future.

As the silver dawn broke upon the Susquehanna River,dewdrops shone like pearls on green blades and newblossoms across the hillside. Not far away, Richard's mother,lying alone on her deathbed, tried to remember the manydawns and twilights of days gone by. She now confronted hernightmares. The ultimate tragedy for a parent is to outlive achild.

* * *

Over the miles of sand, by the winding bank of the Euphrates,the Bedouin walked slowly. Far beyond human vision, abovethe clouds, his mind tried to grasp the image of his daughterin heaven. In spite of a mixture of grief and pain, he tried tohang on to hope and faith in divine fulfillment. He tried tounderstand the workings of the eternal seer and the mysteriesof His creation.

He cried aloud, "Oh, Gracious One! Take me away from thisworld. Oh, Lord of heaven and earth, have mercy on me."

The gentle breeze created wondrous waves in the river asthe setting sun usurped the light from the universe. Thoughthe Bedouin had been content in his poverty, his heart wasnow full of pain and sorrow next to the rolling beauty of theEuphrates.

Babylon still stands, observing the ruins and destructionof a lost civilization. Equally oblivious to the broken hearts ofthe Bedouin and the soldier's dying mother, the Euphrates, inits ancient beauty, courses to the sea.

Shadows on the Moon

Amanda imagined that her father might come back witha deer-drawn sleigh sweeping along the track, curlingaround the Hudson River, and winding toward the darkoak trees of Central Park where birds sang endlessly.

Amid the crowded buildings of Manhattan, Christmas Daywas crowded with the 9/11 survivors and their families. Thesurvivors of the terrorist attack, isolated for days, stayed indoorsfor the most part after the incident. Although crowded, manyof the families didn't come to the gathering, thinking a suddenattack could still happen outside the safe circle of the hearth.Such tragedies were best not risked or even thought about.

Years ago, when her father shared the story of Santa Claus,unseen powers were at play. Amanda thought that only her fatherunderstood those powers. Her father began to chant, composinga rhyme to show that he possessed Santa Claus's understandingof the workings of the world. When he sang, Amanda felt thatbright, intense melodies fell from the sky and the earth began tomove. Mountains trembled. Lakes spilled over their shores. Aftera long tale, the sky's last glow faded, the stars appeared, and sheeventually fell asleep.

On this Christmas morning, nine-year-old Amanda woke upearly and peered out the window. It was still dark. The Christmasservice would begin soon in the nearby Manhattan church. Shedressed and put on the warm coat her father had bought her twoyears ago. Afterward, she attempted to reach her umbrella fromthe top shelf, but it fell to the ground. Her body jerked, swayingawkwardly to one side.

The girl reached out for her mother. "Mom!"

"Yes!" Susan jolted upright in her bed.

Now, Amanda, who was about to receive the explosion of hermother's anger, stayed still.

* * *

For the last few days, it had occurred to Susan that Amandaquite often chatted to an imaginary friend. Her worriescontinued to grow. Compelled by something, Susan calledher daughter to her side and spoke to her. "Whenever thatpain of yours gets bad, don't forget to take your medicine,and don't take away the amulet the Indian spiritual man gaveyou."

"Okay, Mom," Amanda responded.

A single bell chimed in the little clock on the table. Susanlooked at it. It was six thirty in the morning. She opened herbedroom window. A few of her neighbors stood in view. Insome haste, she took a quick shower and dressed, wrappedherself in her shawl, and, with her daughter, set off down theroad for the church.

* * *

The forty-year-old mother had taken on the soleresponsibility of raising Amanda nearly two years beforewhen Thomas Hurst, her husband, had left her for anotherwoman. Her world was suddenly transformed. Her new lifetook on a different appearance. Amanda was seven, and sheheld many memories of her father.

After eight years of marriage, Thomas Hurst had oftencome out in open hostility toward Susan. After a particularlysharp argument one day, he had rushed out of the house.Upset, Susan had entered her bedroom, locking the doorbehind her. From that time forward, Susan was convinced thather husband, the man she had thought was dearest to her,had betrayed her for a long time. Their dissolute way of lifehad worn her out. Susan, now furious, frightened, and deeplyshaken, thought to go to her brother if she really needed himsomeday.

Susan closed her robe and walked to the window, gazingout at the mystical town before her. She prayed to the DivineMaster for wisdom, not to be consoled but to console, to findhope where there is despair. Throughout her bedroom, shefound reminders of her husband. She felt distressed, and herphysique lacked what it once had. She walked toward themirror and gave herself a quick check, more out of force ofhabit than actual vanity.

Susan felt ungrounded. The incident had left her strandedin uncertainty, despair, and sadness with her little daughter.The darkness gradually thickened. As it fell, silence deepened.From her heart arose a question, "Why me?" She was angryand pacing there alone, utterly sick at heart.

As time passed, her financial affairs became steadily worse.Falling deeper and deeper into debt, Susan gave personalnotes to the mortgage company and the other usurers, askingthem to reduce the interest rates of her loans. When Susanthought herself on the edge of ruin, in desperation, she tooka job as a seamstress.

Her shop was in a dark building on a narrow street ofQueens, crowded with garbage ripening into decay, a streetfull of miseries of the flesh where women jeered at her forbeing weak and not revengeful. The women's insults madeher aware of her own sham spirituality and the futility of herlife. She at last saw clearly what hypocrisy her husband's lifehad been, unlike the shining, hollow emperor she loved.

Occasionally, sitting on a low wooden stool in a corner ofher shop, Susan would speak of her husband and daughter."When we grew up together as neighbors in Kentucky, I meeklyobeyed all of Thomas's orders and endured his punishments. Iwas young, but I understood his character fairly well," she toldKelly, a new coworker and one she thought would become agood friend.

"Be strong for the fate that lies ahead of you, Susan," Kellysaid. "From what I know of you and what you have told me,I know you are a woman of good character. You are honestand sincere, qualities that your husband must have deemedpoor and ordinary."

Kelly's statement revealed the honest outlook of a personwho, like so many others, was unsure of the meaning of truth,life, and death.

Susan kept talking. "I was a country girl and had notlearned to ridicule everything like Thomas, the new smart cityboy of New York. In the early years of our marriage, we stoodby the roadside giving out handbills demonstrating justice,equality, and a race-free society. I thought my guidance andencouragement would raise everyone to be a leader of a newsociety."

While Amanda was little, Susan didn't give much thoughtto her daughter. Susan seemed happy to watch her play andlaugh. At the age of seven, Amanda tried to take charge of thehouse. It was plain to see the little girl was trying to be herfather's complete guardian.

After handing a bath towel to her father, Amanda wouldask, "Won't you have your bath, Daddy?"

"Oh, yes," her father would answer with a perpetual smileon his face.

(Continues...)