“God has put a button on
my hat today,” he said in his exotic accent. It was unique and only
illuminated his bright smile. “My dear sister,” he continued, “Do you pray for
your country?” I smiled. “Yes, of course.” He smiled back and asked, “What
exactly do you pray for?” I looked down at the frame before me, with over 30
signatures of people from all over the world who had been amazed at our Syrian
history, and said, “I pray for peace. Just peace.” He nodded in approval.
“This morning God spoke
to me. He put a button in my hat and told me that surely, surely the chaos in
Syria would end and peace will come to its people. So do not hope for peace,
but believe. God is not man. God cannot give us a Word and change His mind. He
is God and so what He says Will be.” Despite my history with those who have had
“conversations” with God, I agreed with him. In Islam too we believe God is not
man, but only God. We also have verses that repeat the concept that all God has
to do is say, “Be” and it will be and that His vows are concrete. And I knew (and still know) that God does
everything for a reason, if we never get to see the manifestation of that
reason in our lifetime—so as he said, I do have the conviction that surely one
day, peace will come.
He told me how miraculous
it was of him to stumble upon our exhibition in Downtown Los Angeles today when
he was actually on his way elsewhere. But he realized God had sent him here for
a reason—to deliver this message to me since it was freshly given to him by God
directly just a mere few hours earlier. I accepted. For the past four days I
had been praying to God more than usual—and by more than usual I mean actually
making prayers when I had been long overwhelmed with life and slightly forgotten
to do so. I needed Him and His presence to reassure me that I should not lose
faith, even if I lose people or things around me. That one day, I will either
know the reason for things or feel a sense of contentment for their happenings
even if I remain ignorant of their purpose. And maybe, just maybe, it will all
unfold into its proper place.
This pastor was just the
beginning to a day that left me in tears—although I have been crying since we
opened the doors of the Pico House for our “A Country Called Syria” exhibition
to the public. He left me a flier for his upcoming event the next day where he
would heal our life problems through the power of Jesus and revival of faith and was on his way.
I
smiled and fell in love with God even more. How can I not? He brought
to life this dream of ours and allowed souls from all over the globe to taste
and touch the soul of Syria that is almost forgotten. People from Mexico,
Canada, Russia, Philippines, Denmark, Morocco, China, Japan, Saudi Arabia, France,
Oman, America and even Syria were in awe, just utter awe, at the truth about
Syrian history and culture. A man came to sign our Welcome Book and began
falling apart in tears. He dropped the pen and went outside, apologizing for
his demeanor. I didn’t know him. He didn’t know me. He was not Syrian and had
never been there, but he knew. He was educated enough to know that what is
happening there is destroying life and history in the most inhumane way
possible. Another man in a suit came up to me and was utterly impressed with
the accomplishments of our Syrian and Syrian American figures we listed. From
artists, to politicians to businesswomen and men, we are showing them who make
up Syria.
Friday was different than
the remaining days we held our doors open. After a slow agonizingly empty week,
something felt unique about this day. The air was different; the courtyard full of
eager minds waiting to satiate their curiosities. An Assemblyman held a business
meeting in our exhibit’s setup in the morning. Count 30+ people. A commercial
was being shot right outside our door beneath our banner. Count 15+ people.
School buses and tour buses parked outside with groups and groups of visitors.
Count 25+ people.
Another man walked in. He
was from the group shooting the commercial. “Wasn’t Syria called something else
in the past?” he asked with confidence. “Yes," I replied, "It was once Mesopotamia, along
with its surrounding areas like Iraq and Lebanon.” He snapped his fingers.
“That’s it! Mesopotamia! I remember. I did a school project once back in Brazil
when I was in high school about Mesopotamia and its rivers.” I liked him. He
seemed knowledgeable and sharp. He continued to impress me when he began
discussing the current conference in Geneva with regards to Syria. “I’m not
satisfied with how stubborn these political aspects and people are. It’s not
fair that such beauty has to suffer at the expense of these beings.” He got it.
He appreciated it. He spent a good 30 minutes ditching his commercial crew to
take a trip across Syria.
He walked around on a
tour with a historical perspective, trying to fathom how every canvas painting
he was admiring, every handmade artifact, and every portrait hanging
illustrates a piece of this world that is being demolished so shamelessly. He
couldn’t grasp the concept. Who can?
Visitor after visitor
stopped by the welcoming table just to comfort my mother and I that Syria and
its people are in their prayers too—not forgotten at all. Each one was grateful
that we showed them what our country has to offer and wished that our exhibit
went on past Sunday, February 23rd 2014. But alas, our funding only
allowed us said time.
He finished his tour,
took a photo and went back to the film crew. Ten minutes later he was back.
“This is really Syria?” I smiled and nodded. “Wow, just wow. I am so amazed. I
want to stay but I have to go back to the crew.” He felt at peace here and I
knew exactly where it stemmed from. There is a magic about Syria that no
visitor can ever explain and it is the greatest honor that we were able to
capture it here. I pray that it always stays and only gets better.
His film crew called him
back and so he left, but returned once more to offer my mother and I two fresh
cool bottles of water for our efforts and the long day ahead of us. He was
truly grateful that his clients requested to shoot their commercial here, at
the Pico House in the El Pueblo Historical Monument of Los Angeles.
God is there with each
and every one of us, even when we forget. So just like the pastor said, I do
believe (not just hope) that Syria will be at peace. And I do believe that each
and every one of us that strives to keep our faith will feel the inner and
outer peace we look for…someday. I pray that we all find it and I do pray that every
reader who can get the chance to see the work of Syrian American Mothers
does—be it at this exhibition or the more to come!
