Behind the Veils of Yemen by Audra Grace Shelby

religion, but they are afraid of being alone in a taxi. Help me understand this, Lord. Help me be as unapologetic about my faith as they are about theirs.
    I paid the driver and opened the gate to my home.
    Twelve hours later I leaned back on our mufraj cushions and searched the window for the sunrise. I watched as dawn kept its gray wrapped around the sun. It seemed to tease me, letting bits of light peek like yellow petals from a closed bud. Slowly the dawn peeled back and the sun burst into flower. The sky blossomed with gold and pink.
    I sipped my tea, watching the light fan out and purge the darkness. I stared at the pages of my opened Bible. My soul felt parched and thirsty. I longed to drink deep from God’s Word, but questions haunted me.
    Lord, if I had been raised to believe Islam, would I believe Mohammed to be God’s messenger as strongly as I believe Jesus is the Messiah? The question was like a worm eating at my faith.
    I leaned back in my chair, remembering Fatima’s prayers as she knelt on her prayer rug. I thought of God’s name invoked on the street and in every part of Yemeni life.
    Missionaries are not supposed to have doubts, Lord. But these questions worm into my head, and I cannot seem to keep them out. Help me to see beyond them to You. I left my chair to prepare for the day.
    At lunchtime a gusty wind blew grit against our closed glass windows as our midday meal of grilled chicken, rice and mushakel [mixed vegetables] steamed on our dining room table. Kevin had brought the meal home from a mata’am [restaurant], a small room crowded with boisterous men and flaming butane cookers that, like many street-side cafes, did not offer a family room where women could eat. Jaden and Jack waited for me to carve their chicken legs. Madison picked cardamom pods out of her rice as Kevin tore a piece of khobz [flatbread] to scoop his.
    “Well, summer is almost over,” I said, licking my fingers. “Jaden, you’ll get to ride the bus with Madison to school. First grade!”
    Before anyone could answer, a huge cracking sound ripped through our conversation, ending our words with a loud thud. We all stared at each other, then raced in unison to the window. We strained to peer outside, but we could see only a little of the yard.
    A head taller than I, Kevin pressed against the glass. “It looks like a tree fell over,” he said.
    “A tree?” I shrieked. “Our tree? The tree the kids are always climbing?” All five of us ran into the yard.
    The short, wiry tree that had held the children in its skinny arms was lying on its side, completely uprooted. Its gnarled roots were exposed, naked for all to see. We stood staring at it. My first instinct was to pat dirt back around the roots. I wanted to cover them, to restore the tree to its former glory. It hurt to see it in such a position after the children had played in its branches. I shivered. I was glad the children had not been caught in its fall.
    I peered inside the trunk, studying the scrawny tangle of roots. “Hey, Kevin, look at this. It’s hollow. This tree has been dead for a long time.”
    Kevin bent over to look. “You’re right. All this time we thought it was alive and well, but it was only a matter of time.”
    The children picked at the crackling leaves. I had not noticed before that the leaves were brown.
    “Can we still climb on it, Daddy?” Jaden asked.
    “No, honey,” Kevin answered. “It is too dangerous with the insides dried out.”
    “Why did it fall down?” Madison asked.
    “Its roots weren’t getting any water or food from the soil,” I explained. “It did not have anything underneath to hold on to. That old wind just knocked it right over.”
    “Oh.” Madison peeked cautiously inside the trunk. “It was a good tree.”
    I nodded. “It looked like it, didn’t it? Now it’s just firewood. We’ll have to chop it up and burn it. Maybe we can roast marshmallows.”
    “Yummy.” Jack’s face lit up.
    “Well, come on,