Pearls in the String of Time

By Nohad Lauar

Pearls in the String of Time is a true story about a young woman who was thrust from her childhood haven in Brazil into the tumultuous Middle East. This uplifting book is a humble, inspirational tale of an extraordinary womans journey through life. It is a narrative about the diverse experiences and lessons she faced in her quest for spiritual growth. Retracing her trail of pearls, Nohad unlocks her treasured memories. Unraveling pearl after pearl, she takes us on a spiritual journey where her memories mesh with her present, creating an intricate collage of precious moments separated only by timefrom clashing cultures to harmony, from love found to love lost, from innocence to wisdom, from destiny to choice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Jul 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504336215

Nohad Lauar

Coursing through life’s gentle curves, I realized that I wanted to share my experiences and revelations, and hopefully inspire other to learn and evolve through their own experiences. I have come to believe that severe interjections occur only as a last resort, when you miss the soft nudges and continue down the wrong path. That is when life intervenes with a sterner disruption, guiding you toward a new course of action. This book is a case study of the intricacies of decision-making fused with events that are beyond our control. I believe that this powerful combination can be a harmonious one and hope to convey that message to my readers through this story of how I found serenity amid a tumultuous journey.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

You don’t choose your family.

They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.

- Desmond Tutu

C abin crew, prepare for landing. I always marvel at the broad spectrum of emotions those bitter sweet words can instigate. I have been fortunate enough to have heard them a myriad of times, sometimes welcoming them with complete exhilaration, other times accepting them with a sad resignation. They usually signaled the parting from one family, but often the reuniting with the other.

A woman has two families. In one, she is the caregiver, the heart of the family that never rests, constantly working long and hard to keep everything going, and keep everything together. She is the last to sleep, the first to get up, the one who waits until everyone is fed and showered before sitting down for a cup of coffee. In her other family, she is the one who is taken care of, pampered, showered with selfless love, reassurance, and protection.

I love having a family of my own, but going back to your first family is almost like stepping back into childhood, into a time and place where you can relax, shed your worries and responsibilities and just be their little girl. This was how it was in my case at least.

I remember my trips back to Brazil, on those rare occasions when I visited without my husband and daughters and could focus on my first family. It was liberating and exhilarating arriving at the airport, climbing down the flight of stairs and crossing the tarmac as the warm, tropical breeze enveloped me like an old friend welcoming me home. There is nothing like making that final turn through the double doors and spotting my entire family jumping up and down, shouting my name, waving, with big smiles on their faces. It was a tradition that was upheld every time I visited, where the entire family would greet me at the airport. I still remember my mother, laughing and crying at the same time, wrapping me up in her arms. There is no substitute for the feeling of peace and comfort I receive from my mother’s embrace. This beautiful and elegant woman is the epitome of love and tenderness, abounding with spirituality and unfaltering faith. Her words and affection can perform miracles. I once read an excerpt that tugged at my heartstrings, as it so aptly described how I felt about my mother, and my own daughters. It said that when a woman decides to have a child, she is signing up to have her heart wrenched from her, and released into the world. Children truly do take a piece of your heart with them wherever they go, but you take a piece of their heart too. That is how it is with my mother and me. She warms my heart and has always been a shining beacon in my life.

My mother, Jamal, married at age twenty-four, which in her day was rather late. My father who had lived in Brazil most of his life was visiting her little village in Lebanon when he met her. Back then, it was tradition for a bachelor to find his wife through word of mouth. An awkward visit to the girl’s house ensued, in which he would evaluate the girl in question, then decide whether or not she would make a suitable wife. In turn, the girl would usually accept a proposal as long as the bachelor came from a good family and could provide for her. The chemistry, love, and familiarity required nowadays to foster a relationship was unheard of. Marriage was like a lottery ticket, or a business transaction.

When his mother told my father about Jamal—whom she deemed the perfect candidate— he was opposed to the idea. He stubbornly refused to be forced into the situation. One day, however, there was a big gathering in the village. It was a luncheon organized by a member of his family. Jamal was invited and as soon as my father saw her, he knew she was going to be the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. My mother was a beauty in her youth, and her goodness shone through. Although my father was seventeen years older than she was, which was not uncommon at the time, he was a noble, generous and kind man, and she finally accepted his proposal.

Shortly after the wedding, my father took Jamal to Brazil. They went by ship and the journey took over a month. My mother was already seven months pregnant at the time, which made the trip all the more difficult.

Jamal had trouble adapting at first. She only knew Arabic, and it was difficult for her to blend in. She was very homesick, since this was the first time in twenty-four years that she had been separated from her home and family.

I was born two months after they arrived in our hometown of Natal. It was a difficult and painful childbirth. She delivered me at her sister-in-law’s house. The delivery took so long that the family decided to call on the local doctor to come and help, and even then, the language barrier, and being away from her home made the experience an emotionally distressing one for my mother. I was delivered with forceps and like many babies, arrived quietly, but was slapped to take my first clear breath.

When I think about birth, I suspect my perspective is a little different than most. I see it as the soul arriving from another dimension, one that feels like its real home, its headquarters, full of serenity, tranquility and peace. A place of pure consciousness, where reality is clear, contentment is the norm and happiness is contagious. Suddenly, it is in this tiny body, slapped awake into a chaotic, noisy and very different world: earth school, with its lessons and experiences. The soul does realize that this is a divine gift for its progress, but at birth it experiences temporary amnesia. It is freed from past baggage and memories, helping it start from the beginning yet again, a fresh slate. While the soul is in this body it does not remember all of its other experiences, but those experiences define it, just as its experiences in this lifetime continue to shape it.

My brother Nadim was next in line. Nadim is the apple of my eye. His presence in this world gives me infinite happiness and joy. He is one of those people you always want to be around. Kind, loving, and amiable, Nadim is also one of the funniest people I know. His sense of humor often brings us to tears.

As a child I remember Nadim was very bubbly. He was a bit naughty, I have to admit, but he had a disarming smile that could melt the sternest of hearts, which was his ticket out of many punishments. That, and the fact that he was the only boy in the family, guaranteed him a privileged position in the household. I remember on one occasion after being exceptionally mischievous, my mother decided to punish him by locking him in the bathroom for a few minutes. He was five years old at the time. Ten minutes later, she returned to the scene to find him singing away in the tub, having a bubble bath with his rubber ducky. This is actually a metaphor of how he approaches life to this day; he just makes the best of the situation.

Nadim accomplished his greatest feat at age six. He snuck out of the house with the car keys. Dangling from the steering wheel of my father’s Chrysler, and trying to prop himself up to see the road, he drove up and down the block. Because he was so little, he was invisible to the passersby. One elderly pedestrian, with jaws wide open, crossed himself and began mumbling prayers, as he saw the driverless car moving past him, then turn and pass him in the other direction.

Despite his mischief, Nadim is the gentlest of souls. My mother always says that he is the only person from whom she has never received a single angry or negative word.

Siblings are a gift. They make us feel that we are not alone. They are around during our childhood, grow up with us, learn with us, keep us company and make life all the more exciting. I always found it fascinating that although we come from the same parents, are taught the same values and lessons, we are still unique in our temperaments, likes and dislikes, and the choices we make. It is comforting to know you can depend on each other for support. At least in my case, my siblings’ love is constant and our friendship unconditional. We do have our differences and will at times bicker, but I believe they are guardian angels.

My greatest sadness in life is to have lived the majority of my life away from my first family and from Brazil.

CHAPTER 2

Home wasn’t a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go.

- Sarah Dessen, What Happened to Goodbye

I was born in Natal, a small, picturesque town in Brazil very near the equator, leaving it wedged in summer the whole year round. It has now grown to become a great tourist attraction, since it yields only one warm season. The beach is always a popular venue there. The breathtaking,