"Be tolerant with one another and forgive one another whenever any of you has a complaint against someone else. You must forgive one another just as the Lord has forgiven you." The Holy Bible, Colossians 3:13-23

I worked as a scribe, like my mother. My father, a merchant. He'd taken me to Egypt, once. There was a great river he had showed me. It was serene, flowing towards its destiny, much like a child. Like me. Constantly moving along the path Allah has destined for us, me and the river. I knew my destiny. It was in my home, where I was a scribe for my people. Alongside my friends and family. That was the path Allah sent me down. It had to be. We were like every other family, and that was every other family's destiny.
We were like every other family, the only difference being my father's work. It brought in an extensive amount. More than we could ever use, but it was all the better to give. We lived only a short distance from the main mosque, which was connected to the church Amity practiced at and was across the street from the synagogue Peter and Yeintil lived. We were the children in the area, the majority of the area being that of nuns and monks, those who practiced their faith so heavily that they could teach the word and it would hardly be questioned. We were really the only muslims in our area, the others living a decent distance due to the already occupying peoples. Not that any of us minded, it was a good change of current. In fact, my closest friends lived near me. Together we found the common roads of our faiths, as well as explored the differences that made each so unique. When we were so bored we could barely stand it was often the times we turned the most studious. Peter would rush home, seeking to sneak out a copy of the Talmud. Amity and Sunniva would race to grab their holy scriptures. And I, I would seek the Qur'ans word.
    Despite the devotion each of them held to their texts, we always saved mine for last, eagerly awaiting the Prophet's poetic phrasing and lyrical wording. Amity had long before declared she would become a nun, serving God as profoundly as the neighboring monks. Still, even she would regard the work of the Qur'an as the artful miracle it was. We would listen to Peter and Yeintil's majestic bickering over meanings in the Talmud, first.
    When we first started this practice, we were never able to figure out why they would argue over such an impactful thing with such broad, almost joyous smiles on their faces. Had Amity argued with Sunniva about the bible in such a way, it would certainly be the end of their friendship, yet the brother and sister did so as if it were play. It took us a total of three lunar cycles to finally ask, and once we had, the siblings snickered.
    "It is our father's practice. By discussing the word in this way, we are able to delve into underlying meanings and see other ways of experiencing the word." Peter had recalled, grinning with gleaming eyes.
    "It is inevitable that we experience the word in different ways. If we don't argue with open minds, we shall argue with closed ones. What would happen then?" Yeintil added, beaming just as her brother.
    It intrigued us, to say the least. Though, it didn't make complete sense to our minds, we accepted their display of knowledge and allowed them their time to show their competence in their holy word.
    It always depended who got back first who would speak first. Despite being much older, Amity didn't always return first, because Sunniva lived closer. Sunniva was the youngest of our small group, but needless to say, she was just heartfelt in her beliefs. Neither had the bible memorized, much like Peter and Yeintil didn't have the Talmud memorized.
    Still, I preferred when Amity read it. There was a certain tone to her voice. A sound that would remind one of flowers reaching faithfully up to the sun, basking in the life it gave. She would gesture with the sweeping of the winds and it became more and more meaningful with every word she spoke. She would reflect on the parables of Jesus of Nazareth, telling the stories he told. She always said that no one could compare to the Savior's tellings of them, but to me, if anyone could compare, it would be her.
    Even with the splendor Amity used, Sunniva's tellings weren't comparably bad. They were different, certainly, but they were still splendid. She brought a new meaning to childish. She was not so naive to the message as one would believe someone of her age, but she brought a youthful hope to it. She couldn't recount parables like Amity, but she would add her own ones, and I always made sure to write them down and memorize them, because they were brilliant in their own ways, even if they didn't always fit with the message of what she had read. My favourite was that of two men named Paul and Aeneas.
    Aeneas had been a King, often times greedy. He never spared even a crumb to the peasants of his Kingdom, deeming himself above them in all ways. If they wanted anything from him, they would have to cleanse themselves of their poverty. One day, Paul came to the King, starving beyond starving, and begged of him to spare him some bread. The King refused, laughing mockingly at the poor man. Paul silently wished for the King's fullness and health as he slipped back out the door. The King, realizing he was peckish himself, began to eat a bushel of fine grapes, when he realized he couldn't taste the sweet berries. Despite the amount he ate, he couldn't taste them and never felt full. Horrified, he went searching for an answer when an old woman approached him, and explained what had happened.
    "Your greed has betrayed you. A poor beggar man has been given your food, and what you've ate has made him full. To sustain yourself, you must give him food, and beg of him to eat it, so you, yourself, may be filled." Hurriedly, knowing he was withering away from starvation, the king searched for Paul, and when he found him, told him what had happened. Paul agreed to eat what the King gave him, on the condition that the King fed the people of the city everyday at the palace in a elegant feast. He agreed, his reign of greed being ended by the generosity of Paul.
    Despite the childishness and mysticality of the parable, I couldn't help but find it eloquent in its simplicity. It amazed me how Sunniva was able to craft her words without preparation and without fumble, how she let her words flow as easily as if they were from a predetermined source, like she had known previously she would be speaking on this. She found her words without fault, and no matter how I try, I will never be able to recreate for you the worlds she made, nor her talent. I can only do my best to give you her meanings.
    Once either Sunniva or Amity finished, it was my turn. Everyone would settle in, eyes wide with anticipation. I would hand them my Qur'an, let them follow along as I spoke fluently and from memory the words of the prophet. I let these words move me, my voice setting into the same poetic stance as the prophet himself had once used. I spoke Allah's message with certainty, never deterring even a word. And once I had finished, I would recount and explain with the same conviction my father used. These cycles were always our way of learning, not only about the religions of our city, but each other, as well.
    We explored all the lessons our texts gave us, but there was always certain ones we'd return to. Peter and Yeintil always went back to, "Just as the soul fills the body, so God fills the world. Just as the soul bears the body, so God endures the world. Just as the soul sees but is not seen, so God sees but is not seen." Amity was big on Psalm, specifically, Psalm 37:5, "Commit your way to the Lord. Trust in Him, and He will act." and Psalm 37:30, "The mouths of the righteous utter wisdom and their tongues speak what is just." Sunniva was different, though. She was a fan of Peter 4:8, "Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins." I may have enjoyed the way Amity spoke on the bible, but there was something profound I always found in Peter. I couldn't agree more with his thoughts on the importance of love and togetherness. Even my mother enjoyed hearing what I'd learned from Sunniva, the passages she recited from Peter. I, of course, was not excluded in having a favourite piece of the Qur'an 30:22.

"And of His signs is the creation of the heavens and the earth and the diversity of your languages and your colors. Indeed in that are signs for those of knowledge."