By Sandra Bost
Have you ever gotten yourself into a situation that felt impossible? Twenty-four years ago, my husband and I, along with our five-year-old daughter and 21-month-old son did just that. We had joined our friend, an ex-member of the South-African Special Forces, and his wife and 22-month-old to see the mountain in Northern Saudi Arabia that archaeologists believe to be the true Mt. Sinai from the Bible.
The problem was, unbeknownst to us, this location also housed a top-secret Saudi military base. So, when we were spotted driving toward the backside of the mountain we were met with resistance. A Saudi guard stopped our vehicles and told us to leave. As we were trying to leave, however, something caused two heavily armed guards to chase us through the desert before we pulled over. That’s when we were told that we had to come with them.
Reluctantly, but with little choice, we filed in between the two armed trucks. Lots of praying commenced as we steadily meandered through the sand to an unknown destination. About 20 minutes into our trek, a massive, sand colored structure came into view. In true Saudi style there was a 10-foot wall around the perimeter. The trucks pulled up to the gate and motioned for our guys to join them. I hugged my man, and the other couple embraced, as well, not knowing what to expect or if we would ever see each other again. As the guys were walking toward the gate, our friend whispered to my husband, “If this goes sideways, you take that guy and I’ll handle the other.” My friend and her daughter joined us in our vehicle, to pray.
Almost 25 years have passed, so to remember exactly what we prayed would be a spectacular stunt. However, I do know that we called on the power and favor of The Most High God to forgive us if we had made a foolish trip. We asked God to bring our husbands back to us and lead us safely home. Nevertheless, we did not make some futile bargain with Him about how we would never get ourselves into a situation like this if He would just get us home. Maybe we knew ourselves a little too well, and that He would see right through that.
I can’t say how many minutes passed. I am sure it felt like an eternity. I just know that through tears, we looked up to see both of our guys walking back to us. My husband flung the door open and asked for our camera. I fumbled around the car and passed it to him with shaky hands. He gave it to the guard, who proceeded to look through our pictures. Satisfied that we were not spies, he gave it back and shook my husband’s hand with both of his. His angry face softened into a smile as he waved us all goodbye.
“What was that all about?” my friend asked, grabbing her things. “We’ll talk about it in a minute,” her husband said, embracing his baby girl. “Let’s get out of here.”
Once we were on our way with the sandy-colored military compound growing smaller in our rearview mirrors, our husbands divulged the details of the day. It seems that as they were led into the gate they were greeted by 10+ Uzi-clad, scowling Saudi men. The space opened up into a large courtyard, of sorts, between a massive structure of connected buildings. Right in the center was an extensive, ornate carpet set for afternoon “shay.” (Saudi tea) The guards motioned for our guys to follow them toward the rug. Just as they were approaching, my husband whispered to our friend, “Take your shoes off.” Immediately, both guys were sock-footed stepping onto the woolen masterpiece woven in vibrant colors, steeped in Saudi tradition.
My husband said that the moment they took off their shoes, the atmosphere shifted. In Saudi culture, removing your shoes before entering a home or mosque is a sign of reverence for sacred spaces. The men offered our guys tea and asked them through broken English and gestures if they had taken pictures of the mountain. Since I was the photographer, my husband was able to answer honestly that he had not. After a small chat and a cup of Saudi tea, our guys were led back to us, and we were sent on our way. And so we left.
As we drove away, after chiding him for drinking tea while we anguished in prayer, I asked my husband what made him think to take off their shoes. Without pause, he said, “God.”
Thank You, Jesus, for leading in peace, even in impossible situations.
