Inspirational stories of God's love and grace...

Baghdad, Iraq. Land of political turmoil, broken up by disaster and war. At least that’s how we all know Iraq from the television. It is not a picture of home, safety or peace, rather it is a portrait of war, destruction and hatred. It is hard to believe that to some of us it was once home. I was one of those people, and I learned to love Baghdad, its inhabitants and the surroundings. Most of all, I learned to value and appreciate human life in general and not to take anything in life for granted.
Growing up in the Czech Republic in Europe as a first-grader, my life was simple and carefree. I had no responsibilities except for school and I didn’t think about the world’s problems. My life consisted of going to school, studying, eating my mother’s home-cooked meals and riding my bike with my little brother in the nearby park. The political struggles of my country and of the world in general didn’t concern me and I could not understand why my parents constantly worried and complained about the Communist system, which was prevalent in the Czech Republic at that time.
When I was about 8 years old we moved to Baghdad, Iraq because my parents were looking for an escape from the oppressive Communist Regime in the Czech Republic and wanted to have a better and more comfortable life and more opportunities for us children. My father got a contract in Iraq to work as a chief engineer in a hydroelectric plant. The Iraqi government needed specialists from other countries and my dad had great qualifications resulting from years of experience in the field of electrical engineering. We soon settled happily in Baghdad in a beautiful white two-story house with a patio and a large garden planted with orange and pomegranate trees. We soon got used to the hot dry climate, butter that tasted too salty, a daily supply of pomegranates, ice-cream that was unlike any other I have ever tasted, huge chirping locusts that would sing their daily song in our garden, aromas of Iraqi bread coming from the local bakery and stray mongrel dogs that I would feed and make friends with. My brother and I went to school in a little local international school for the kids of the parents who, like my father, also worked in
Baghdad. As a young child that was the life I came to know, and I liked it. I had made good friends in Baghdad and it was just like living anywhere else in the world.
One time after school me and my brother were merrily chasing each other in the house, me on my roller blades, he on his bike.
“Booom-oooom! Booom! Craash!”
All of a sudden, there was a terrible loud shattering noise coming from the outside, windows broke as if on command into shards and the hallway filled with thick black dust. Screams were heard coming from outside and the alarms were sounding all over our house. I fell on my behind, bewildered, realizing that there are pieces of glass from the broken windows stuck in my hands and face and I was bleeding. My brother fell off his bike, which clattered to the corner and hit the wall, one wheel turning. He started crying. My mother ran in terrified and started to drag us out of the hall into safety.
Long after everything was quiet again, our wounds were cleaned, the dust settled and we were comforted, did I find out what happened- a bomb hit a line of houses not far from us. When I sneaked out onto our terrace some time later, I could see the smoke coming out of a group of buildings close by. That was the beginning of the Desert Storm war when the United States struck Iraq with missiles.
A few days later, we found ourselves at the airport because the Czech government had ordered us to leave Iraq and come back to the Czech Republic. My mother, brother and I waved to my dad our last good-byes and exchanged last kisses. He had to stay behind since his work was not yet completed and he was bound by a contract.
The years rolled by and I was soon graduating from high school. It was time for me to decide on the college of my choice and I decided to go study in the United States. My father, in the meantime, was offered another contract in Kuwait and I was hoping I could see him before I went to study in the USA. He promised to come on a short two-month vacation before he moved to Kuwait. Nobody can describe my joy when I finally saw him at the airport. A thousand thoughts ran through my head at that time and I realized that it’s a great favor from God or the Divine Power that he’s still alive. I realized that the value of life and family is immensely important. During my high school years, I worried about my dad in Iraq and hoped that he wouldn’t be killed or injured by the falling bombs. The bombs could have ended our lives right there in Baghdad, and even though they weren’t pointed directly at us, we could have lost our lives anyway because we happened to be there. The same danger applies to my friends and my parents’ friends in Baghdad who also despised Saddam Hussein’s political tyranny. For my friends’ sake in Baghdad, I wish that the current changes in Iraq and the intervention of the American troops will improve greatly their life.
It was surely an act of God that my family and especially my dad didn’t die or wasn’t injured in any way. Life has a tremendous
value, and I am grateful for mine. I don’t take my life for granted, and it’s my wish that those who take life won’t either.