Woman in Black

She was the woman in black. Walking down the stairs of the Bratislava airport, I assumed she was the wife of a coach or something because there was a whole group of sportsmen from Kuwait entering the plane with me. I looked at her black shroud, covering her from head to toes, with only her eyes visible, and I wondered how it felt to be separated so from the people around you. As a woman who loves to smile and who knows that expressions are not only found in the eyes, it crossed my mind that she must be lonely, and I was sad for her.

When I sat by the window of the small plane, I listened to the young Middle Eastern men laughing and saw them nudging their mates, like any sports team world do, almost anywhere in the world. I found it interesting that there were several black players on the team, obviously not ethnically Arabic, and I wondered what there story was. They seemed quite comfortably ensconced with the other players, and I was glad to see it. In an increasingly globalized world, if we hang onto hatred, we’re going to keep repeating humanity’s same mistakes.

Then, my seatmate arrived. It was the woman in black. Of all the seats available on the plane, God allowed her to be seated next to me. I smiled at her and helped her not to sit on her seatbelt. We some looks of reserve from those around us. You know the ones – when people don’t quite look at you – but around you, or when they smile toward you – but there’s a question mark in their expressions.

As an American, I was journeying to England in a world still adjusting to the real possibility that radical Muslims were going to carry liquid explosives onto planes. Yet, I rested comfortably in the knowledge that I had a hedge of protection around me, and that I’d been given a wonderful opportunity to be a beacon of friendship in a world rapidly being affected by shadows and fright.

Perfect love casts out fear.

She looked at me, this woman in a shroud. She looked into my eyes and began to talk, and we continued to converse during the entire flight between the Slovak and Czech Republics. She had travelled with her husband to Slovakia to receive a treatment for her back. She was the mother of four children. She was the headmaster of a school for girls. She invited me to her home in Saudi Arabia. She spoke of her commitment to Islam, and emphasized that not all Muslims are alike. I know that. Not all people who call themselves Christians are alike. Or Jews. Or Buddhists. Or Atheists. Or Agnostics.

As she gesticulated with her uncovered hands, I noticed her nails had been colored black as well. It looked to me as if they may have been done with a permanent marker. I wondered why she did this, if this was also a way of masking herself from the public eye. When she had first begun to talk to me, she’d asked shy I wasn’t married (Wasn’t I lonely?). She’d also asked me didn’t I miss my family living so far away from them. Because we were being candid, I asked her why she was wearing a shroud (though not in those words). Her answer was not one of ignorance or suppression.

It was her individual choice. She had personally chosen to study Islam for four years, so she understood her religion better. To her –- this well-educated woman with more grammatically correct English than I often hear in Europe – had not been made to wear a covering because of her husband’s edict. She honestly believed it to be the will of Allah that women be “like a jewel, which if kept protected shines brighter than if it’s always exposed to the elements.”

I don’t agree with her. And I don’t believe Allah is the one true God. But I can love her and not agree with her. In fact, I get to practice doing this virtually every day with my friends and colleagues – even those who espouse my same religious beliefs. I am often surrounded by beautifully good people with opinions and understandings different than my own. I do believe there are absolutes. I do believe there is right and wrong. I, personally, believe in eternal life that comes from salvation by grace. But if I am trying to live a life like that of my Savior, Jesus, then I don’t see where He met strangers with hate and suspicion. In fact, I believe He was fully God and fully man, so He knew the spirits of those who were around Him – and some of those spirits were not filled with goodness and light. Yet He loved them anyway…so much so that He died for them.

That’s pretty amazing. Humbling, actually – especially when I’m given the opportunity to befriend a woman whose life choices are so different than my own – but whom God loves just as certainly (and just as much) as He loves me. I’m only benefiting from a new friend and a deeper understanding of contrasting beliefs. Jesus sacrificed His life for any friend who chose to be adopted in to His father’s family.

As I end my time of work and service in Europe for this season, I look forward to the coming seasons of my life. I am not the same woman I was when I left the Tar Heel State two years ago. My worldview has been affected by all that I’ve seen and done. Most especially, it’s been impacted by the people I’ve met. I am so very wealthy in relationship; and I believe to whom much is given, much is expected.

We, Americans, have been given much – more than so many people in so many places around the globe. We are rich in ways millions of people can never hope to be, even if we have no property, no car and very little financial security. We, at least, have freedom. We have rights to worship as we please. We have the right to be wrong according to the thoughts of others – as long as we don’t harm others by doing so. Even in Saudi Arabia, this is not the case. I met a man from Europe recently who lived in Saudi Arabia, and he spoke of the suppression any one who did not claim to the religion of the state.

My seatmate had not experienced this suppression, because she was, of course, fervent in the support of the state religion. But she had experienced ignorant condemnation from people who saw her shroud and supposed her to be stupid. “Just because my face is covered does not mean my mind is as well,” she stated emphatically. I believed her. And even while I know this is not the case of so many women in countries where Islam is in force, I pray I never assume all Muslims to be the same.

Fanatics are just that – radical to the extreme.

My life experiences have taught me that if we immediately paint all people with the same brush – then we’ll likely only see limited truth. That kind of perception is more dangerous, I think, then any one who is all in black.