Inshallah

Yesterday, I was speaking to an Iraqi woman--beautiful, and almost shy, her fair skin was surrounded by a lavender scarf covering her hair. After our business was done, I drove her to Assassins Gate so that she could make her way out of the green zone and back to her bodyguard and car. When, in her soft voice, she thanked me for helping her, I told her that I hoped all of this security--checkpoints and concertina wire and t-walls--would soon be unnecessary, and that she wouldn't need badges and bodyguards to move about her own city. She quietly said thank you, paused and then whispered "Inshallah."

Inshallah.

God willing.

Inshallah is everywhere in Iraq.

"Will I see you tomorrow, habbibi?" "Inshallah, Sayyed Robert."

"Shall we meet on Thursday?" "Yes, inshallah."

I rarely know when inshallah is simply reflexive, a means of absolving responsibility, or just a way of leaving it all up to uncertainty. And uncertainty is where I found myself as I watched this quiet woman make her way back into the red zone.

Inshallah.

I don't know if she was saying it to me necessarily, or rather was simply letting the words pass her lips for a moment, before they scattered into the noise of the city. She wasn't looking at me when she said "inshallah." But there it was. And I wondered if she was waiting for an answer, or it it was just another beat in Baghdad's chaotic rhythym.

Even though I didn't know who "inshallah" was meant for, if anyone, or even if it warranted a response at all, here's what I do know. Christian or Muslim, our mutual God is willing. I have every certainty of that.

But, are Iraqis willing? Not simply Iraqis as individuals (I know plenty of Iraqis of good conscience who are), but Iraqis as a people, and as a nation. Iraqi men and women of faith, our spiritual cousins, fellow "people of the book"...are you willing?