Rahima is a woman in her early forties who is homeless. Can you imagine what it means to be a homeless woman in Pakistan?
Every day when I would meet her, I would ask: “Do you need anything?” Looking at her hair, which seems to have gone unwashed for decades, I would carefully ask, “Do you have soap?” Her answer was always the same: “I don’t need anything,” she would say, offering me a beautiful smile and that smile made me want to give her even more. One day, I asked a different question: “Rahima, do you have food for tonight?” She answered without hesitation: “Of course! Allah will provide. I don’t worry.”
While I was on mission in Pakistan, I was amazed by the deep faith of Muslims, their attitude toward their God, and how religion shapes their daily lives.
At times, I would see Rahima with nothing at all. Yet, I came to realise – she does have something – a priceless million-dollar smile. When I would see her soft and beautiful smile, I imagined that this must be the smile of our Blessed Mother, the smile of Jesus Himself. It is not a smile born of wealth or education. It carries humility and strength. And I can add to that the freedom that comes from having nothing, And I would wonder – could my friend Rahima be the happiest person in the world?
Pakistan’s winters are harsh. One day, as she lay on the street, Rahima urgently called me over. “Julie, can you give me a blanket?” She would rarely ask for anything, so I knew she must have been unbearably cold. Hurrying to bring her a blanket, I could see her shy yet joyful expression and my heart filled with joy, too and I remembered, “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find, knock, and the door will be opened to you.” “Rahima, don’t worry. Your God, Allah, will take care of you—just as He always has.”
Life in Pakistan as a missionary Sister is not easy. I could not even take a simple walk alone. For people there, simply spending an hour in the fresh air, sipping warm tea in a green, wooded area is an impossible dream. There was no washing machine, so I washed winter blankets by hand. I could not eat Korean kimchi or the noodles I once had daily. I no longer wore the clothes I was used to as I dressed in traditional Pakistani clothes. Rickshaws would speed through the streets, ignoring traffic rules, forcing me to risk my life every time I rode one.
Things I once took for granted were no longer given. Over time, however, I learned to appreciate the small and simple things. And perhaps that is why every day in Pakistan felt like a miracle.And despite the hardships and discomfort, I felt MORE STRONGLY God’s care for me – just as He watches over Rahima. What is there to fear? If God takes care of the birds in the sky, how much more will He love and care for each one of us?
Sr. Julietta Choi