One Woman's Quest to Share Christ With a Muslim

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At that moment, Mable started crying and shaking her head, saying, “No! No! God cannot love me! I am not a good person. It’s not possible!”

I patted her head. Once again, I felt the role reversal in our relationship, as well as her desperate need for the Lord to reveal Himself to her. I said, “Mable, you are wrong. God does love you. Despite what you’ve ever done, He loves you. Despite how you see yourself, He sees you differently.”

Just then her cell phone rang and she asked me to go get it. When she answered it, it was her husband, Shady. Her demeanor wasn’t getting any happier as they talked. Finally, she said, “Shady, I had a really challenging day in class with one of my students. It was so draining that I am now an emotional wreck. One of my other students came home with me and is here right now. I do not feel well enough to go out tonight . . .”

She put her hand over the phone and whispered to me, “Would you please talk to my husband and explain to him what happened today? But don’t tell him that I am having a miscarriage. He doesn’t even know that I am pregnant.”

Before I could even shake my head no, she handed me the phone. I was talking to Shady, her husband, whom I had never met. His English was practically flawless, and he seemed very caring and nice.

When I tried to think of a diplomatic way to explain the day’s events, Shady said, “I am so glad you came home with Mable. It makes me feel so much better knowing that you are with her since I can’t be there right now. Would you please stay with her until I come home?”

I said that would be fine and then handed the phone back to Mable.

When she got off of the phone, she explained to me that he was at his business partner’s house for a dinner party. He had wanted her to come. She was thankful that I talked to him and that he seemed okay that she wasn’t going to join him.

After she’d changed into more comfortable clothes and settled in on the living room couch, her phone rang again. It was Shady. He said that he really did need her to be there. She needed to get dressed immediately and come to this dinner party. She looked so drained, still in pain, but she said she would get ready and join him.

The Blue Dress
When she got off the phone she looked at me and said, “We’re going to a party. Come on. We have to get ready!”

My brain started spinning a mile a minute. I’m not supposed to be alone in this country, and now I am getting invited to a party!

I looked at her and gave her the only meager excuse I could conjure up. “I’m wearing a Sesame Street T-shirt. I don’t think I am dressed for a dinner party.”

She smiled and gave me a look implying that I was being silly and said, “Holly, I have a whole wardrobe of clothes. I know exactly what you’re going to wear tonight too.”

Getting up slowly, she walked to her bedroom closet. She pulled out a slinky, light blue, shimmery dress. This is not the sort of dress I would wear in America, let alone in a conservative Muslim country! However, she didn’t offer me any other options, so I put it on.

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