At the Prison Gates

'Abdu'l-Rahim was a fanatical Muslim. He was alarmed. The Baha'i Faith was growing in his town in Persia and he decided that it was time to ask the advice of a Muslim clergyman. Being a fanatic, as many were, the clergyman assured 'Abdu'l-Rahim that to kill the Baha'is would certainly please God.  

'Abdu'l-Rahim then decided that he would kill some Baha'is. Not only would he rid the world of these infidels, he thought, but he'd gain a place in heaven as well. So, one day he armed himself with a weapon and went to confront an older believer whose name was Haji Bábá.  

"I've come to kill you, Haji Bábá, because you are a Baha'i. You are a disgrace to Islam!"  

To 'Abdu'l-Rahim’s surprise Haji Bábá did not seem the least upset. Instead he replied calmly and lovingly. It was certainly not what 'Abdu'l-Rahim’s expected. He wanted to kill at least one Baha'i, but instead he found himself listening to the words of the old man. Quite against his will, 'Abdu'l-Rahim became interested.  

After a while, Haji Bábá took 'Abdu'l-Rahim to a meeting. It was in the house of Mulla Husayn's sister. (Perhaps you remember that Mulla Husayn was the first to believe in the Báb.) You have been to firesides I suppose? Well, this one lasted one day and one night! At the end of this meeting, 'Abdu'l-Rahim was not only a Baha'i, but a Baha'i who was on fire with the love of God. He was so charged that he could no longer bear to stay in his town. He had learned that the Manifestation of God, God's Prophet for this age, was actually on this earth and 'Abdu'l-Rahim longed to see His Face.  

'Abdu'l-Rahim set out for the prison of Akka on foot. He walked weary miles on foot. He walked weary miles with a glad heart. He walked through cold and heat, rain and snow. He walked for six months. Finally, he arrived at the city of his heart, the dusty, parched city of Akka, where God had placed His Most Glorious Treasure, Baha'u'llah.  

Unfortunately, 'Abdu'l-Rahim arrived in the early days of Baha'u'llah's imprisonment. The gates were watched carefully and anyone suspected of being a Baha'i was turned away. Outside the city 'Abdu'l-Rahim met the celebrated, long suffering Nabil, who many times had tried to get in to catch a glimpse of that Beloved Face. But Nabil had failed and was patiently waiting for a time when he might enter.

Stranger in the Mountains

Background:

[Baha'u’llah left Baghdad to travel alone in the mountains of Kurdistan for two years. He did not tell anyone there who He was. There were others in Baghdad who wanted people to believe that they were the Promised One. Baha'u’llah left so that He would not hurt even the ones who wanted to be His enemies. You can read about His journey in ‘God Passes By’, by Shoghi Effendi, pp. 120-126, or in Baha’u’llah: The King of Glory, by H. M. Balyuzi, pp. 115-122. Here is a story from that time.]

Story:

The boy was sitting on the hillside crying bitterly. He could see the mountain village below which was his home. He wanted to go home but was afraid. He had been punished at school and would be punished again at home. So instead, he ran to the hills and cried.

A stranger, who did not live in the village, heard his crying. Coming closer the stranger asked the boy why he was crying. The boy looked up. There, coming toward him, was a dervish, a man without a home who spent his days wandering the countryside praying and thinking about God.

The boy answered, "Oh, sir, my teacher has punished me for writing so badly. I can't write nicely and now I've lost the lesson he gave me to copy. I can't go back to school without it or I will be punished even more. And I can't go home for my parents will be ashamed."

Then the boy began to cry some more. The stranger gently asked him to stop crying. He then offered to write a lesson and to teach the boy to copy it so that his teacher would be proud of him.

From his clothes the stranger took out a pen and paper and wrote beautiful letters. Then he showed the boy how to copy them. The boy copied the writing again and again. After a time he could do it so well you could hardly tell the difference between one writing and the other.

Being Good and…

Elizabeth was a Good Girl. Everybody said so. Grandpa David said she was his Little Princess; Mummy said she was Good as Gold; and even Mr. Barkowski, the mailman, said she was the Perfect Child. Everybody said she must be so happy to be so good. And when her Grandma Molly asked, “Are you sure?” they all said, “Of course...”

For when she came to dinner she ate everything on her plate, even the sauerkraut. Heaven knows she never spilled her milk or had grease spots on her dress. She said please and thank you nicely and wouldn’t think of asking for seconds of dessert.

At school she was the Perfect Student. She did lovely sums and wrote ever-so-neatly. She never wiggled in her seat or spoke out-of-turn. Her teacher said she was a Little Angel.

When she went out to play she was Always Good. She didn’t get mud on her slippers and she was never rowdy. She always put her toys away. And when she stumbled and scratched her knee, not one tear appeared; she was so Brave.

But that was before Billie Sue. Billie Sue was Bad.

Elizabeth knew for sure Billie Sue was Bad. You could hear her racing down the street from a block away, she tooted her bicycle horn so. Her hair always flew out of her pony-tail in curly wisps and her knees were permanently green from grass stains. In school she always shouted “I know; I know!” before their teacher even hinted at the question, and her homework, though it was always in on time, was smeared with doggie paw-prints, melted popsicles, or last night’s spaghetti sauce.

Giving one’s material possessions for the sake of God

The following story, though it uses characters created by the author, is based on actual events in Yazd, Iran, in 1982.

In a little Persian town named Yazd, in a simple house on a narrow street, lived a man named Abbas. Every day, when it was time for his prayers, Abbas would go into his small garden, spread his rug, and offer thanks to Baha'u'llah for all his blessings.

For Abbas believed he had received many blessings. He had a fine house, though small, a good wife, a fine son, and a lovely daughter. What's more, Abbas had gifted hands. He was a carpenter and woodwright and, after he saw a chest or table or chair in his mind's eye, he could transform a pile of rough lumber into miracles. Every chair wrought by his hands was sought after by his neighbors and customers, tor it was sure to be sturdy, smooth as silk, and best of all, comfortable. Though he was not a rich man, Abbas' neighbors counted him as wealthy for the beautiful pieces of furniture, wrought by his own hand and carved with flowers and birds, even inlaid with mosaic made of ivory and teak, which filled his home. His work was truly his worship, for Abbas sought to glorify his Creator with each piece of furniture, and each chair or cabinet was like one of his own children, born of his love for the potential in the wood.

Abbas was a thrifty man, and he was steadily increasing his savings. Every payment he received for his work, he divided in three - one part for his family's needs, one part for God, and one part for his savings. His savings were there to protect against illness or misfortune and, if God was gracious, would someday be enough for him to make a pilgrimage to the Shrines of the Báb and Bahá'u’lláh in the Holy Land. This was Abbas' most heartfelt wish - to be able to make that journey with his wife and children.

Saving Stars

“Wow! That was some storm last night, Laura,” Kevin said as he kicked aside a broken piece of driftwood. He shielded his eyes against the bright sun. “Look at all of this junk that washed up on the beach.”

Laura bent down to pick up one half of a shiny clam shell. “I’ve never seen so much seaweed on land before,” she exclaimed. “There are shells, bottles, cork floats and driftwood everywhere. I feel as if I’m on a treasure hunt.”

“A smelly treasure hunt,” Kevin commented. He wrinkled his nose. “There must be some dead fish up ahead.”

“Let’s climb over the rocks on the point and check out the cove,” Laura suggested. “Maybe we’ll find out where the smell is coming from.”

Kevin and Laura picked their way around the objects on the beach. Wet sand crunched beneath their shoes. Beside them the blue-green ocean lapped gently at the shore as the tide continued to go out. Except for the mess on the beach, no one would have guessed that a huge summer storm had blown in and out just the night before.

They climbed carefully over the rocks and rounded the bend into the hidden cove.

Suddenly Laura stopped. “I can’t believe it!”

“No wonder!” Kevin added. “Dead fish. Thousands of them!”

“Those aren’t fish,” Laura said. “They’re sea stars! And, there are so many of them. They must have washed up on shore during the storm. Without water, they’ll all die!”