October 2023 Persecution Magazine

The sun blazes mercilessly and the air is heavy with
dust in rural Pakistan, where a man named Rahim
toils his days away. He was a brick kiln worker, a man
who had known the taste of labor from the moment he
could remember. For generations, his family had toiled
under the scorching sun, their lives intertwined with the
clay that would become the building blocks of the world.
Rahim was a Christian, a devoted husband, and a father to
two young children, Maria and Ali. Every morning, before
the sun had even begun its ascent, Rahim would rise from
his makeshift bed, a thin mat laid on the hard ground.
His hands, calloused from years of molding and shaping
bricks, would shake off the numbness of sleep. He would
glance at Maria and Ali, their innocent faces peaceful in
slumber, and his heart would swell with a mixture of love
and determination.
The brick kiln was a
place of torment, an
inferno where hopes
and dreams evaporated
like water on heated
clay. As the morning sun
cast its fiery glow, Rahim
and his fellow workers
would gather around the
massive pits, shoveling
clay into molds, pressing
it with all their might,
forming the bricks that
would become the
backbone of cities. The
heat was unbearable,
like standing before
the gates of hell itself.
Sweat poured from their
brows, mingling with the
clay, their bodies caked
in a mixture of dirt and
sweat.
Amid the ceaseless toil,
Rahim found solace in
his faith. Whenever he could steal a moment, he would
close his eyes and pray, seeking strength from the Lord
to endure the hardships that life had thrust upon him.
His worn Bible, its pages tattered and stained, held the
promise of a better life, a life free from the chains that
bound him to the kiln.
Rahim’s heart ached for Maria and Ali. They were too
young to understand the gravity of their situation, too
innocent to comprehend the cruel world they were born
into. He yearned to see them laugh freely, to witness the
sparkle in their eyes as they learned and played. But the
kiln’s grip was unyielding, its demands relentless.
One fateful day, tragedy struck. Ali fell ill, his small
body wracked with fever. Rahim’s heart clenched as he
watched his son suffer, his frail body burning with heat
“The Lord is close to
the brokenhearted
and saves those
who are crushed in
spirit.”
Psalm 34:18
that mirrored the kiln itself. Desperation gnawed at
Rahim’s soul as he held Ali, his hands trembling, his eyes
welling up with tears. He had no money for medicine, no
means to alleviate his son’s agony.
As Ali’s condition worsened, Rahim made a heartwrenching
decision. He approached the kiln owner,
his voice a whisper, and pleaded for an advance on his
meager wages. The kiln owner’s eyes gleamed with a
predatory glint as he agreed, knowing full well the cycle
he was perpetuating. The debt mounted, like shackles on
Rahim’s shoulders, and with every brick he molded, his
heart grew heavier.
Weeks turned into months, and Ali’s condition
remained dire. Rahim’s shoulders sagged under the
weight of his burden;
his eyes dimmed with
exhaustion. He could
feel himself becoming
a ghost, a hollow shell
of the man he once
was. His faith wavered,
and he found himself
questioning the fairness
of a world that could
inflict such suffering on
the innocent.
As the days turned into
weeks, the kiln’s brutality
began to recede, like the
embers of a dying fire.
Rahim’s hands, once
resigned to molding
bricks, began to mold a
different kind of future
for his family. With the
support of the activists,
he started sending Maria
to a makeshift school,
where she clung to the
promise of knowledge
like a lifeline.
And amid this awakening, Ali’s fever broke. His small body,
fragile yet resilient, fought back against the darkness that
had threatened to consume him.
The journey was long and arduous, but Rahim’s
unwavering spirit and the help of those who believed
in his family’s worth brought change to their lives. With
every brick he shaped, he chiseled away at the chains
that had bound them for generations.
And as the sun set over the brick kilns, casting a golden
hue over the horizon, Rahim looked at Maria and Ali,
their faces illuminated by the soft glow. The kiln might
have been their past, but it would not define their future.
They were survivors, warriors who had emerged from the
crucible of suffering, ready to rebuild their lives, brick by
brick, with love and resilience as their foundation.
PERSECUTION.ORG 21