With ever-widening glistening eyes, Schamah stood there. Her petite face beamed with pure happiness. Jumping for joy, she stretched out her tiny arms, begging him to lift her up: “My Daddy! My Daddy!” Thrilled to see him, she clapped her hands together and cried out: “Mother told me so! My Mother said it would happen!” Having no idea that this girl was his son’s new friend, the one Thar met just yesterday, Mustafa asked: “Which mother? What did she say?”
“On our way to the Grave of Lazarus, Mother told me that the Savior would resurrect you from the dead—just as He brought Lazarus back to life.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you Daddy!”
Mustafa turned toward us: “She believes I’m her father! How strange! Who is this child?”
“My name is Schamah, the ‘forgiveness,’ and you’ll find my Mother over there in the house.” Once again holding up her outstretched hands, she pleaded: “Just like you used to, carry me in your arms as we go to her.” His face lost its color. White as a corpse, he retreated a few steps backward. His voice faltered as he asked: “Schamah—the forgiveness?” He directed the next question to his son: “Was this really the small girl from yesterday?”
“Yes, it is she,” he nodded.
“My word, oh my word! Do you know her father’s name?”
Before the boy could answer, Schamah spoke up: “Truly, you are my Father! Your name is Achmed Bustani. Don’t you know me anymore? If not, I can’t help but cry. Lift me up and take me to Mother!”
It’s impossible to describe what happened next. Simultaneously, Mustafa Bustani let out a cry and fell to his knees. He stretched out his arms to Schamah and pulled her towards him. Nonstop, he kissed her cheeks as he cried out: “Schamah—Schamah—the forgiveness! Just like he told me in my dream, has it happened? These were his words: