One Woman's Quest to Share Christ With a Muslim

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Muslim woman

This poem reminds me of that often.

May it, too, bring you encouragement. He formed you. You are fearfully and wonderfully made. His thoughts toward you far outnumber the sand (and there’s lots of sand in the Middle East!). May it comfort you to know that your two other babies are with their loving Creator. They are safe in His arms.

Maybe meeting you is the reason I came to the Middle East. Only God knows, but I am glad to have met you, learn from you, and to have gotten a small glimpse into your life.
Prayers and blessings, Holly

The next day after class, I anxiously waited for Professor Mohammad to come out of the room to hand her the letter. She seemed surprised to receive it, so I told her she could read it later.

The following day she came up to me in the hallway and said, “Thank you so much for your letter. It was the nicest letter I’ve ever received from a student. It made me cry.”
We hugged, and I said, “I’m glad to hear that it blessed you!”

Crisis in Class
It was our last day of class and we were giving final presentations. During one of the students’ presentations, Professor Mohammad interrupted her. She wanted the student to change the direction of her presentation because she felt like the student was being too biased toward one point of view.

A fellow student watching the presentation immediately jumped up to defend the other student. Unheard of behavior in this culture, this male student and Professor Mohammad began arguing, heatedly, in each other’s face. Finally, the professor told him she would not continue class unless he left. He said he wouldn’t leave the room until he had given his presentation. At a standstill, our professor turned around, silently walked to the back of the room and picked up her books. She walked toward the door.

The room was dead quiet. No one moved. As the door closed behind her, I saw her crumple over, as if someone had punched her in the stomach. I got up and ran out the door to her. When she removed her right hand from her black skirt, I saw that it was bloody.

She looked up at me from her hunched-over position and cried out, “I’m losing my baby! I’m losing my baby!”

I was shocked to see the blood. I wasn’t sure what to do in that situation. I tried to walk her to the bathroom, but she could barely walk. I partially carried her down the hall.
Two more students came out of the classroom to see what was happening. Professor Mohammad’s demeanor instantly changed. She looked at the three of us and shouted, “Get the f— away! Get the f— away!”

Sobbing, she hobbled into the bathroom alone.

Stunned, the three of us just waited outside, discussing what to do next.

About a minute later, our professor came out. Her hands were clean, but mascara tears stained her face. She shouted, “Back to class. We must finish the presentations.”

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