Ramadan was almost over, and my friends looked worn out. Some of them hadn’t slept at all in the last ten nights, wanting to be awake and praying during the night of power, even though they had no idea which night it was. “Well, just one more day,” I consoled myself, and then life could get back to normal. As I was leaving my friend’s shop, I suggested that maybe next week when I stopped by we could grab lunch together. “Oh no I will still be fasting; I still have 13 days to go. I owe God 6 days for when I had to stop for my monthly uncleanness and the Mullah said if we fast and extra week after Ramadan God will write it down in His book as whole year’s fast.” She looked so pleased with the deal she was getting on divine merit. I also rejoice in what God is writing down, in Christ my name is written in Heaven.
I couldn’t help but picture standing before the infamous pearly gates, waiting to get into heaven... my friend weighed down by reams of old tractor feed computer paper written on both sides, every day she fasted, every night she stayed awake, every time she repeated a prayer from the Quran, each meticulously tracked and recorded. She was weary and hungry and sleep deprived, yet still trying to make sure she got her points. “God should have a copy of all this, I know He was writing down my accomplishments.” At the same time, my hands were empty. I spotted Jesus sitting on his throne, and said, “I’m with Him.”
Oh, how I long for her to know the truth of Titus 3:5: “Not by works or righteousness that we have done, but according to His Mercy, He has saved us.” As I walked home that afternoon, I found myself singing Indelible Grace’s version of the Old Horatius Bonar hymn “Not what my Hands have done can save my guilty soul; Not what my tolling flesh has borne can make my spirit whole. They work alone, Oh Christ can ease this weight of sin, thy blood alone o Lamb of God can give me peace within.”
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