Back by popular request: Abu Hamid

Many of you will remember someone who I will call Abu Hamid, from a previous post. He is a Syrian refugee who arrived in Scotland one year ago, and he is now living, working, and studying for a bachelor's degree in Edinburgh, although his family remains in Turkey.

Here is more of his story, back by popular request:

He reached out to me via WhatsApp to ask for help with his first writing assignment. We set up to meet at the University of Edinburgh library on a Wednesday evening (with some difficulty - if you struggle to make sense of my texts in English, you should see it in Arabic!). We found a spot in the library cafe, and he pulled up his document, a fairly simple, 500-word reflection piece.
It was quite a shock! The words were - in the most technical sense - English, but the structure and grammar of the piece was Arabic مية بالمية (100 percent)!
I began by line-editing, and we discussed how some of the words used were functionally correct but indicated "street language" rather than academic writing; others were idiomatic Arabic with no real equivalent in English. He took notes on the grammar rules as I explained them, asking me to write down Miss Gibbar's trusty FANBOYS mnemonic for all the conjunctions. (I refrained from singing him the song on that occasion.)
I knew we were making progress when he pointed to the juncture in a compound sentence and said, "Put a comma right there!"
He shook his head in some bemusement. "You really like commas, Lucy." 
(What can I say? Commas are my first true literary love, but like nearly all forms of punctuation, they make for rare finds in proper Arabic writing.)

When we needed to add a new paragraph, I offered to type while he dictated, which was still a bit rough on his laptop (aside: why are the keyboards different in the UK anyway?!) To my surprise, asking him to dictate in English all but solved our previous problems, as it forced him to think - and therefore formulate his ideas and grammar - in English.
An hour and a half in, we stopped by the library cafe for a quick break, and I saw a set of LDS missionaries waving at me from across the room. We walked over to greet them, and they explained that they were about to begin a lesson on the Word of Wisdom with a Chinese masters student who I knew - would I care to join?
I thought fast, then held a quick conference in Arabic with Abu Hamid (this caught the missionaries a bit off-guard, I am afraid. I don't think they had believed me when I told them I spoke Arabic).
I explained that these were friends from my Christian church, who were teaching an atheist student about God. Would he mind if this was our break? He seemed amused but unconcerned, and I made the introductions for the still-bemused elders.
"Where are you from?" they asked him.
"Syria," he replied.
"Syria," said one elder. "So what brought you to Scotland?"
Abu Hamid spoke slowly. "There is a war in my country," he said.
The elder continued to probe, "So, just here for studies then?" 
He glanced at me with mild incredulity, while I covered my mouth to stifle a nervous laugh. "I am a refugee."

Fortunately, that was our only "Aleppo moment," so to speak, and the lesson went smoothly. Abu Hamid noted that the Mormon health code was almost the same as one he follows as a Muslim. He nodded approvingly after I translated the word "commandment" into Arabic for him.
But I knew we were on thin ice, and I was praying internally the whole time that my faith that God puts different people in the same place for good reasons would prove correct.
My prayers would not stay silent for long. The Chinese student asked me to offer the closing prayer, and the missionaries asked to hear more Arabic.

It was the least graceful Arabic prayer I have ever sent heavenward. Nervous in the extreme, I prayed for the Chinese student's studies, his family, and his faith. I prayed for the missionaries' work, for our families, and for the influence of the Holy Spirit.
But I hesitated to mention the one person present (besides God Himself) who actually understood the words I spoke, lest I offend him with my stumbling Christian prayer.
When I closed, the missionaries and the Chinese student nodded approvingly, but the Syrian refugee to my right asked, "What about Abu Hamid?"
I launched quickly back into a prayer, asking our Father in Heaven to bless him in his studies, to help him to feel the love of God, and to bless his family in far-away Turkey. This time when I closed, he smiled and said, شكرا (thank you).

As we left the library, he told me how much he loved being able to study at the University of Edinburgh, and he used a rather beautiful word هبع- new to my still-so-limited Arabic vocabulary. To help me understand the term, he described several examples, using the word to describe his feeling of awe, gratitude, and wonder at God's bringing him to Edinburgh.

But to really help me understand, to really make his point, he added, "هبع - it's the same feeling I had just now, Lucy, when I heard you praying."