My Name in Arabic

An eloquent gesture of friendship was extended to me a couple months ago when I finished up my last shift at my old place of work. One of my co-workers, a very devout Muslim woman, painted a beautiful canvas with my name written in Arabic. Large white letters written in the flowing cursive script from right to left, painted boldly on a forest green and midnight blue backdrop of leaves and floral curleques. Since a picture is worth more than a thousand words, I enclose a snapshot of this painting.

I was moved by this gift.

A few weeks before the event took place, this girl and I were chatting and I asked her to write down my name in Arabic on a slip of paper, because I liked the look of it. I was curious and acted on an impulse. She responded likewise and wrote it down on the back of a receipt paper. But, although I was completely satisfied with my little scrap of paper (and pinned it to my bulletin board at home), she took my simple and genuine interest to heart, painting a real picture for me as a going-away present.

Let me tell you a little about this beautiful person. She is a small, shy slip of a girl; plain and beautiful in the same sentence. She is strictly religious (at least from my ignorant perspective), acting the way I believe a true Muslim would act. She follows her religious obligations regarding dress as much as feasibly possible while restricted to a uniform at work, and her hijab is always perfectly neat. She looks modest and elegant, even in a simple work uniform.

Another observance I made, and perhaps respect her most for: her commitment to daily prayer. Muslims have a certain number of times during the day when they pray. Not only do they observe these times, but they use their whole bodies as they pray. My young friend is not afraid to ask upper management if she can have her breaks at certain times in order to pray, and it is not uncommon to walk into the girls locker room and see her fully absorbed, mind and body, in prayer: her mat out, shoes off, body facing Mecca in the East.

Being a Christian, this simple commitment on her part convicts me. We live in a world where tolerance has come to mean keeping quiet about our faith and beliefs, afraid to look different or stand out. I don't sit back and let others walk over me, but I have only ever spoken when I needed to or when opportunities arise. I admit that I have not always actively sought out situations where my faith stands out in the open. A lot of my prayer is interior, which is fine and sometimes necessary, but my friend showed me that real courage comes in speaking up when I am feeling shy or outnumbered; looking for oportunities rather than waiting for them to come to me. Now I thank God for our common belief in Himself, even though our conception of this same God is radically different. It is because of these differences and her witness that I have been provoked to go deeper in my relationship with God.

In Scott Hahn's talk "Abraham: Father or Master", he talks about how our conception of God, and that of the Muslims, can be attributed to Abraham and the experience that his sons had regarding him as a father. Arabs and, by definition, Muslims, are descendants of Ishmael, Abraham's son by his concubine and Egyptian slave. Hahn explains that when Ishmael was about thirteen years old, Isaac was born to Abraham through his wife, Sarah. As a result of this birth (the rightful heir and firstborn son), Ishmael was no longer considered by Abraham to be his son. Isaac took Ishmael's place in his father's esteem and affection. Ishmael's relationship with Abraham became that of a slave, and Muslims relate to God through this relationship. Isaac, however, was beloved of Abraham, experiencing the true love of a father, rather than that of a master. This is how Christians relate to God.

I am deeply awed by the fact that my friend and I worship the same God. I was reminded of this when I saw her praying, and I united my prayers to hers. At the same time, I am deeply saddened by the fact that she and all Muslims believe themselves (and all of creation) to be slaves of God; they see God as a master who must be feared, and not as a father who loves us and desires our love in return.

My young friend taught me that there are similar fruits in people that pray. Even though our conception of God is radically different. Prayer and union with God can bring about joy, peace, sensitivity, gentleness, and selflessness; all of which I saw in my friend and was made aware of each time I saw her pray. I am sure she is unaware of how her beliefs have solidified mine; however, I will remember this each time I glance at her beautiful painting. And I will pray for her.