Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Isaac Ishmael Project

"Whoever tries to keep his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it."

It is good for you to read this, even though it may cost my life. And, if I perish, I perish.

Why they showed me – I don't know.

At first, I didn't understand. And then, I didn't believe. Now I do. So will you.

Handwritten, yellowed and tattered the notebook held secrets it needed to tell.

I was thinking; actually complaining: "My timing sucks…I must be cracked…what in God's green creation am I doing out here? Hottest day of the year and I'm going for a walk.

And why does it have to be so dang windy? My eyes are burning. This dust is ridiculous. I wish I didn't have to wear contacts they feel like sandpaper...some great prayer walk this is turning out to be - I'm just whining..."

And they showed up.

It was weird. They just kind of appeared out-of- thin-air; well more like: thick-dusty-windy-air.

One of them had to be the oldest man I'd ever seen. However, the strength in his eyes didn't match the wrinkle of his skin.

The other: bronzed leather over muscle.

They were clothed in loose fitting white Middle Eastern garb. The old guy's clothes were worn, dirty and tattered. But the young strong one; his were glowing brilliant white.

Strong eyes held my gaze. Wrinkled hands held a notebook close to his chest. His eyes pierced at first, then softened, then shimmered. I thought he was going to cry, and then, thought I was.

His lip quivered a little and he started to speak, but then, instead, a trembling hand held out the notebook – as weathered as the hand that held it.

Speaking eyes looked at me and then at it. As soon as I dropped my gaze he dropped the notebook, and it blew to my left about three feet before hitting the ground. I instinctively jumped to keep it from blowing away; grabbed it and turned…they were gone.

The wind stopped. The dust settled.

I didn't look around for a chair, a rock or a stump I just sat down right there on the ground. I had to. I was shaking.

I stared at the notebook and then scanned my surroundings. Should I open this? Where did they go? Where did they come from? How could they disappear like that? Am I dreaming? What is this?

The notebook was made of thick yellowed paper covered by worn leather on front and back. It was bound with three cords of leather strung through crudely cut holes. I opened the first page and found written in large red letters:

It is good for you to read this, even though it may cost my life.
And if I perish, I perish.

The rest of the notebook had words written in black. They were smudged and faded and written in Aramaic (or some language that might-as-well be Greek because I couldn't make out a single letter.) Smaller words written in red were above each line of black; and they were written in English; clear and legible. However, the words of the first line made no sense.

man great a be will I Abram is name My

Until I realized it was written right to left – then left to right.

My name is Abram I will be a great man

"A journal of some kind" I thought. Each entry was dated. The dates were sporadic, sometimes weeks, months or years passed between entries. Ramblings about chores, games, studies, "dumb girls" and thoughts about life filled each page. If not written in Aramaic (or whatever) it could have been the mindless babblings of any American boy.

Suddenly an entry caught my eye not because of what it said but because of what was crossed out:

Today I'm twelve. Today I'm a man. Today I'm given a horse. I will ride to greatness. Praise Allah.

The words in black directly below the crossed out words were also crossed out, but not originally as the strike through was in red. Evidently he had crossed them out later when translating into English in red.

From that day the writings started to take direction. He started to quote the Quran. His writings enlarged to include more than just his day to day activities. He used the phrase "The Greater Good" as if it were his compass to measure good or evil. It seemed to me the definition was similar to the phrase: the end justifies the means.
He wrote of his responsibility to become a man, to honor family; his future wife and children and then his Ultimate Honor To Allah. That part was written over and over until it was dark and thick: Ultimate Honor To Allah.  But then I noticed a red line drawn through it. It was faint and not visible at first but it was there you can be sure of it.

A shadow darkened the pages of the journal. Short – cold – lifeless – words.


The words "to Allah" were sloppily written, not dark and strong like the other words. I got the feeling as I read that his actions didn't line up with his heart. He was having second thoughts about something. But what?

I have copied for you to read all the journal entries starting with May 12th 1948. A turning point in the young man's life.  He wrote as he listened to his parents fight and prayed to Allah for help:

May 12th 1948
Father :"He will! HE WILL! SILENCE WOMAN! This is MY house! He will honor Allah! He WILL obey – and you will too if you know what's good for you."

Mother : "Honor? IT'S SUICIDE AND MURDER! And you know it!"
***SLAP! Crying… pain-filled weeping!

Oh great Allah, can you see my parents fighting? Please make them stop! Please Allah, protect Mother and I will perform my duty. I will perform my Ultimate Honor.

Can you not see? Can you not hear my father beating my mother to defend your honor? If you are any God at all why must you prey on the weak? I know my mother – she is kind and honors my Father. What kind of weak bastard are you to prey on one so kind! Are you so weak that you cannot defend yourself! How can you be a God at all? Show yourself to me and I will face you – leave my mother alone, she only is doing what a mother is suppose to do. She loves me. But, you don't know what love is. I hate you!

The missionaries of Jehovah God – the ones you hate. They say God is love. I will talk to Him!

May 13th 1948

My mind is clouded. Am I cursed? Have I brought a curse on my family? Yesterday I cursed Allah. Today my mother is gone.

I followed her last night when she ran to the missionaries. I watched as they gathered around her. They held hands, men and women together. I think they must have been praying to Jehovah God.

My father was looking for her with murder in his eyes. I saw him headed toward the missionaries and I ran to meet him.

"Have you seen mother?" I asked.

"Go home boy." He growled.

"Father, I heard you trying to teach her the ways of Allah. I thought she may have fled to the infidels to become more defiled. I knew you would want to know of her dishonor and so I ran and looked everywhere. But – she is not there." - I lied.

The murder in his eyes turned to an evil grin. "I thought her perversion was about to poison your mind too."

"Father, I must admit I thought this through and now I see Allah for who he really is."

"I see." He said as he looked toward the river. She must have gone to wash the bl--- to wash." I think he started to say; "blood off her face," but decided against it.

We walked home in silence.

Today, I am confused. Allah did not protect my mother. But, neither did Jehovah God. And now she is gone.

They say my blood is pure from Abram through Ishmael. And I am to be the one to perform the Ultimate Honor to Allah and start the purification of the Infidels and the return of Allah.

My father says it is the will of Allah for me to slay the Infidels; "Starting with the pigs littering our sacred land with Christian Bibles smuggled in from the Great Satan."

I wandered the streets aimlessly; thinking and looking for mother.
Suddenly, the missionary girl handed me a Christian Bible. "Hi, my name is Sarah." She said.

Her beauty deceives me. She told me the story of Abram's name change to Abraham. I didn't tell her my name – or did I? My mind has been defiled by those lips speaking my name.

Her eyes have poisoned my heart.

Those deep blue eyes misting with sincerity couldn't be as pure as they seem.

The tongue speaking my name and telling of Abram's name change couldn't be as tender as the sound of her voice or as soft as the look of her lips.

Her heart cannot be as warm as her touch as she handed me, "The Holy Scriptures, a love letter from God to you."

I must be deceived.

I feel attracted to a snake, a viper, I have been seduced, poisoned.

The feelings of love and peace and joy I felt as I listened to her family sing and speak are the weapons of deception to lure me to trap me and destroy me.

What have they done with my mother?

I will not be fooled. I will sway slay these attempting to free sway me from fulfilling my ultimate honor to Jehovah God Ahhhlah. allah Allah.

God is love. Why do they keep saying that?

Why do their words burn inside of me?

Am I a traitor to Allah?

I have pure blood straight from Abram through Ishmael. I am chosen by Allah…

Does Allah love me?... Do I love him?

God is love? Is Allah God? Is Allah love? God is love?

What is this strange magic? When in their presence listening to their words I feel lighter, as if I can breathe easier as if a heaviness I didn't know I had is lifted. WHY?

What is this strange spell? When I think of them I see light. My memory of them holds no shadows. But, when I think of my people, my family, I see darkness; a cloud shadows them as before a storm… WHY?

I must join destroy them.

How can such beauty flow from one so wretched? I am in love undone with her.


If Allah is God I will serve him. If Jehovah God of the missionaries is God I will serve Him.

Interrupting my thoughts...I heard Sarah's father speak the words to a small group of people standing nearby but the words pierced my heart as if he were speaking directly to me.

"God is love and in Him is no darkness at all"
I surrender my will to Allah God allah ahhhhhh  God – Jehovah God is God.

There it is again; lightness. I feel lighter. Just thinking the words – I feel lighter!
Suddenly, I know what they mean…God is love – God is Light.

May 15th1 1948

Today I was destined to perform my Ultimate Honor to Allah by strapping "bombs of honor" to my thighs and enter Jerusalem. I was to give new meaning to the "wailing wall."

In an attempt to stop Israel from being recognized as a sovereign nation the plan
was to detonate bombs near the Wailing Wall – knowingly murdering our own people, women and children and then blame Israel for the attack.

I was the scapegoat, the sacrificial lamb. If I did not voluntarily walk into the plaza with death strapped to my thighs I would be killed and someone as deceived as I once was would take my place.

There was only one thing to do: Perform the ultimate honor and carry out the mission.

At the designated time, I prepared myself. My father met with me.

"Are you ready?" He looked scared. He looked unsure of himself. I'd never seen that before.

I said "I am ready for eternity and ready to lead others there as well."

My father stepped back and looked puzzled at my boldness. "I thought maybe you would be a scared little boy ready to run and hide, like your mother, but here you are ready to carry out your Ultimate Honor to Allah like a man.... God be with you son." He stuttered the last few words.

I drew a deep breath and replied "Oh He is – I've never been so sure of anything in my life."

He cocked his head and rubbed his hand across his bearded chin. He looked toward the plaza and nodded for me to go.

I said, "I love you father, God be with you." I never saw him again.

As instructed, I made my way to the most crowded area in the plaza. At just the right moment when I was to send anyone near me into eternity I reached where bombs were suppose to be and showed them how to get there.

I pulled out Bibles and tracts from the missionaries and shouted;


I handed out Bibles and literature to anyone who would take them. I shouted

"God is love! God is love! God is love!"
And then from out of nowhere someone grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd. I couldn't' see his face but he was wearing the brightest clothes I'd ever seen. He delivered me to the missionary's house and strangely enough no one followed.

Today I thought would be my last. Instead: Israel is born. God is alive. Allah is not.

My father has disowned me. My people seek to take my life – they don't realize they can't…I've already given it.

And I've been raised from the dead.

I am Born again!

May 15th 1958

For a decade we've handed out Bibles and loaves of bread with a message inside in the shape of a cross:

"God is love.
Allah is not.
From: The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
He has a Son.
His name is

Has it been ten years? It seems like only a day. I'm blessed above all men. For ten years I've worked beside the most beautiful of God's creation. Ten years we've handed The Holy Scriptures to hands accustomed to heavy burden and bloodshed.

We've shared His words through blood stained streets: "Come unto Me all you who are weary and heavy laden for My yoke is easy, My burden is light."

We've explained that the bloodshed that matters has already been splattered. And my favorite words…God is love. I love that. To this day, those three words still get to me.
Today we wed. I love that!



Oh Gracious God I thank you for your divine wisdom and great love. You have ordained and orchestrated this marriage.

I am a direct descendant of Abram through Ishmael and Sarah is of the lineage of Abraham through Isaac. We are one. Two worlds united.

Now, Lord, allow our union to bring together the brothers at war. And should you bless us with children sovereign Lord, use them to usher in your divine plan prepared from the foundation of the world.

Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

May 15th 1959

Keeping our hands to the plow we continue the work the Lord has set before us. Today we celebrate our first anniversary and a great gift.

I have not heard from my mother since the night she fled to the missionaries. My in-laws told me all they knew was that she was rescued by American missionaries being led by a strong, kind young man wearing the brightest white clothes they had ever seen.

We never heard from any of them again…until today!

A formal cover letter graciously advised that at the request of the sender upon her death this letter should be sent to her son.

"My Dear Son, I have watched you from afar and have held you close everyday in my heart and prayers. I know my vanishing may have caused you pain, but for me to stay I surely would have been stoned to death as you know and a greater pain would have been inflicted upon you.

I have remained hidden for your safety because had you known my whereabouts you most certainly would have attempted to find me and disclosure of your location would have gotten you executed as well. This I could not bear.

I know Jehovah God; The Creator of Heaven and Earth is your God. He is also mine and we will see each other again – never more to part. This I look forward to. Until then; "weary not in well doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not."

Always remember even when things happen we don't understand – GOD IS LOVE – And love never fails.

I love you, see you soon. Mother."

The rest of today – we wept; for joy, for sorrow, for healing.

July 15th 1961


We were in Kenya, carrying on our missionary work – handing out bread with a message. We called it Bread Of Life.

Her water broke, she was two weeks early.

The babies came; two boys. I know, I was there, I saw them.

As I looked at my wife cradling our boys – I was awe struck. My mind was spinning. "From the two of us two new creations have come.

They're people, real live tiny people." I never felt closer to The Creator.

She never looked so beautiful. She had a radiance that glowed.

And then... they were no more.

Through sweat and tears of joy and pain she eyed our sons; "Your father and I – two worlds united, and you…" She hesitated, bit her quivering lip and drew a deep breath… "Isaac and Ishmael; two worlds divided."

My mind blurred with confusion, we planned to name them Peter (after her father) and David (after King David; a man after God's own heart).

She touched my hand, "I love you – see you soon." She was gone.

My vision blurred. All went black.

The expanse of the universe cannot contain the breadth of emotion I traveled that day.

I woke to thunder – in my head, and a nurse about to stick a needle in my arm.

"Sarah! Where's my wife!"

"She didn't make it" hissed a nurse with the personality of a snake.

"Where's my boys – I want to see my boys! I want to see my wife!"

I yanked a bandage off my head and felt a lump the size of a goose egg.

"You bumped your head when you fainted."


"Fine" the snake hissed and pulled back a curtain dividing the room.

One baby – not ours lay in their place – the baby was sickly and at death's door.

That is not our baby. That baby needs a doctor! Where are our boys? I want to see my wife!

"You're grief stricken, it's quite common, you've just lost your wife your child is about to die and your mind is playing tricks on you. You're trying to replace them.
You need something to relax."

She held up the needle with a wicked grin.


She slithered out of the room and hissed "I'll get the doctor."

She must have found him just outside the door because I heard them trying to whisper but they were too upset and couldn't control the volume

The snake hissed "He woke up."

"What – he's still alive?" A man's voice snarled.

"He woke before I could give him the shot. You should have hit him harder!"

"Give it to me - I'll do it myself."

I somehow managed to exit the window but found myself hanging from a second story ledge above a narrow concrete street.

Suddenly a young man appeared. He was dressed in white, brilliant white. He was strong, bronzed leather over muscle. Ironically he was carrying a ladder, he quickly set it up beneath me and aided in my escape.

I've remained hidden ever since.

June 2008

I am an old man now. I've given my remaining years in pursuit of the truth about what happened to my boys.

Many times over the years I have been tempted to give up hope. My searching seemed to be in vain. But then I would remember my mother's letter found me after all those years and it would give me strength to carry on.

"Weary not in well doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not. Always remember even when things happen we don't understand – GOD IS LOVE – And love never fails."
During the presidential campaign in the United States – I started to find answers. All my years of searching started to make sense.

Now, I know where my boys are. More importantly, I know who they are.

Whoever reads this journal may not believe what I'm about to write. But I trust my God will reveal the Truth.

Because of their bloodlines my sons are considered providential to the plan of Allah – as was I.

They were taken to be pruned for a diabolical purpose. Isaac was planted with the woman who gave birth to the sickly child shown to me when I woke up from being hit on the head. She immediately flew out of the country – to the United States, to Hawaii.

The other; Ishmael, was taken to Iran. He has known no home or family and has been raised as a militant. As it is written of his ancestor, "He shall be a wild man; His hand shall be against every man, and every man's hand against him. And he shall dwell in the presence of all his brethren."

Mysteriously all of those who could have knowledge of this birth have died. Seemingly of natural causes, I know different. I alone remain.

It was set in motion. They call it the Ishmael/Isaac Project. If you can believe it – the-powers-that-be have mocked the world. Two world leaders at odds with each other are actually - brothers. 

Two brothers at war; two worlds divided.

May 2010

The Signal

He appeared again. Bronzed leather over muscle, brilliant white clothes, almost fifty years later yet he still appeared to be a young man. He handed me a document and on it was written:
"When the infidels pollute the waters with Allah's blessing the time has come to clean up the shores of the Great Satan and her offspring. It is time to wake our Inn Keepers and Blessed Attendants" ~ Ishmael.

I wept thinking this was written by my son. "What's the meaning of this?" I asked.

"Allah's blessing is the wealth brought from oil in the land. When America pollutes the waters (ocean) with oil it is Allah's signal to clean up; to remove The United States and her offspring; Israel.

The Inn Keepers and Blessed Attendants are sleeper cells controlling the lodging and fuel stations in America."

Handing me the notebook I had lost years ago - and thought I would never see again, he said: "Complete and translate to English. I will return and show you the one who will know what to do."

A short time after his visit I read of the news about the BP oil spill and knew this was the signal. I also knew that it was no accident. But a premeditated explosion to cause division between the western nations and signal Allah's purging.

July 4th 2010

Dear Friend, This will be my last entry in this journal – perhaps my last night on this earth.

I don't know you but tomorrow we meet.

Today, for the first time in my life I have set foot on American soil.

My white clothed friend said he would take me to you and you would know what to do with this journal.

I trust God will guide you. I pray for your protection.

Forgive me for putting your life on this earth in jeopardy. There are those who do not want this information revealed. And they will do whatever it takes to destroy it.

I am sitting in a hotel room. Independence Day lights the sky of this wonderful nation. I fear the rockets aglow in celebration will soon be rockets aglow in annihilation, unless America learns to celebrate her dependence on The God who gave her birth.

My attention turns to my sons. Brothers set in place; one to lead Allah's army, the other to be a puppet – a charismatic leader of change; able to implement their plans that look good on the surface but collapse the system from within – and then he will be sacrificed. "The ram in the thicket."

Unbeknownst to my sons, they have been pruned and honed for such a time as this.

Their lives have been planned but not out of their control.

Like me... like all of mankind, they have the freedom to choose.

My life was destined to destroy lives. But, by God's grace He made a way of escape, although hard it has been worth every tear.

Through it all I've learned that our weapons are not ones made with man's hands but ones born from the heart of God. I have learned the most powerful force on earth is a faith filled prayer in the hands of love.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."

My sons are not the enemy.

I will give you this one charge – PRAY!

If the Lord gives you an opportunity to speak to the world tell them; "We are all brothers and sisters with one Father God – And God is love."

And if you see my son tell him, "My Dear Son, I have watched you from afar and have held you close everyday in my heart and prayers. I love you. Love never fails."

See you soon,
Your Brother.

I closed the tattered journal. Too many emotions to name; but only one question: Why me? I'm a nobody from nowhere. I don't have a voice. I can't talk to the world. I can't just reach out to the highest office in the land. I don't know the President. I don't know anyone in the news media.

Interrupting my thoughts I heard; "You can pray. I know. I've heard you." I don't know if it was out loud or in my head but I heard it just the same.

"Oh Lord" I flipped the journal open and it fell to :
May 16th 1958


Oh Gracious God I thank you for your divine wisdom and great love. You have ordained and orchestrated this marriage. I am a direct descendant of Abram through Ishmael and Sarah is of the lineage of Abraham through Isaac. We are one. Two worlds united.

Now, Lord, allow our union to bring together the brothers at war. And should you bless us with children sovereign Lord, use them to usher in your divine plan prepared from the foundation of the world.

Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

Oh Lord, I feel like I've just been dropped in the middle of New York City – lost, broke and naked. But I have a cell phone with your number. I'm calling for help. I know you have a plan.

Some problems seem too big, too far out of control that they're not even worth praying over. But these folks did. They prayed for peace between brothers at war for thousands of years.

All things are possible with you.

For reasons beyond my understanding you have brought us together. Who am I to stand in the way?

And so, I'll stand in the gap. And pray.

My new friend and I are brothers; two worlds united. Now Lord, unite brothers at war and usher in your divine plan prepared from the foundation of the world. Bring about a great reconciliation. Open our eyes to view one another as brothers and sisters. Open our ears to hear your voice and follow. Teach us to love with Your love that never fails. Remind us that our enemies are not each other but hosts of wickedness from the evil one and place a desire in us to pray.

We pray for our President, the leaders of countries and all those in authority. We pray they acknowledge you and be filled with your wisdom to lead with integrity and honor.

Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

I spent the next day copying the translated portion of the notebook to make it easier to read and I wanted a copy on the computer. I closed the journal and repeated a prayer similar to the one above. Before I opened my eyes I could see light through my eyelids.

I knew what it was.

I opened my eyes and sure enough there he stood; bronzed leather, brilliant white clothes.

Smiling blue eyes made me smile back.

"Take heart. You have a voice, you are somebody and you can reach out to the Highest Office in the World at any time – you will be heard."

Overwhelmed; my eyes started to swim. Contacts floated like a canoe on a river down my cheeks.

He looked at the journal smiling. I looked at it, now splattered with tears... and two contacts.

I knew there was another reason for his visit.

I picked up the tattered leather, slowly. I didn't want to part with it, but I knew I had to.

His hand extended as slowly as mine. He was still smiling and I wondered why; I was just about to ask when his hand touched the notebook – and he was gone.

My eyes fixed on the empty space where he once stood. I wondered about that smile. And then it occurred to me, everything was clear.

My favorite bible verse suddenly became Luke 3:38 "Adam was the son of God."

And somewhere down the line I was born.  We all fit in – all of us. We are literally children of God. We are family. With all the wickedness of others - we are brothers. God is our Father. And God is love. If we could just grasp that one concept I think we could lay down our guns. At least the ones pointed at each other. God is love and we're His sons. Family we are.

And then I realized something else. I could see. My contacts had washed away but I still could see. With no contacts in my eyes I could see perfectly. My eyes were healed. What an amazing thing. I didn't even ask. It just happened. Just because...
 God Is Love.


Doug Spurling

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