I just came back from an incredible trip. The purposes in going were threefold:

1-Spend some sweet time with friends as a break from the go-go-go of RVA.

2-See some stinkin’ cool places.

3-Learn.

Having just finished teaching the course “Comparative Religions: Islam and the Christian Response” I was excited to witness some of the things I’ve been learning about in action. My students final project was a book report presentation. They read all kinds of things, and having been hooked in by what they shared, I picked up a couple myself. The first was called “Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus” by Nabeel Quareshi. The second, “Secret Believers” by Brother Andrew. Both share stories of people being confronted with the gospel message, and accepting Jesus as Lord of their lives. Both of the main characters find themselves in a place where they are comparing Scripture and the Quran against one another, Scripture being the book that is able to stand up against historical, logical review. The first book is entirely a personal testimony, the second follows the work of the initial man in his home country.

Both books speak to the enormity and the truth that God is actively calling Muslims to himself. Both speak to the high cost of Muslims accepting this call. It is amazing to read their stories-to read about how God was working in their lives, sending the right people, sending dreams, visions, resources, prayer, all for the purpose of growing His kingdom. I read stories of people beaten by their own families, held captive and asked to renounce Christ. I read stories of people arrested by local authorities and tortured until they proclaim the shahadah (Muslim declaration of faith). I read about unwavering love for the person of Jesus, and unshaking faith in the face of personal loss.

And while on my trip I didn’t meet any characters in a book, I did meet real people. People whose stories mirror the same truths and experiences found in these books. The same chance meetings with an evangelist-maybe the random person sitting in the next seat on a train. The same visions and dreams of a man in white. The same rejection from family-maybe being held captive and beaten by sibilings for simply owning a bible, not having even read it yet. The same loss of family, parents, but even spouses or children. The same danger of living as a Christian-especially as a person with a Muslim name. The same deeply seeded passion for Jesus and telling others about him. The same needs for Christian community, discipleship, and training up in ones faith.

In the country I visited, it is not illegal to be a Christian, but it is illegal to convert to Christianity. In this place, people are born with a religion and it is stamped on their national ID cards. To change religions means to lose family and risk being turned into government authorities should anyone with the wrong motives find out. While I would love to put into writing every incredible testimony I heard and share about work being done and pictures of these parts of my trip, I cannot, simply for the security of those involved. So instead, I’ll share some things I learned about the people and culture who were all around me who don’t yet know the love of Christ.

These people love well. I watched moms caring for their children. Holding them tightly and playing with joy. I watched the phrase “it takes a village” in action. While helping monitor the line between the deep end and shallow end of the pool, one little boy kept trying to push the boundaries. Every time I attempted to correct him with my full English to his Arabic hearing ears, he ignored me with a twinkle in his eye. Each time, an adult stepped in to follow through on discipline. They watch out for each others kids, loving and disciplining together.

While gender lines are clearly defined, it is not always bad. When crossing a road, the man always, without even thinking, positions himself closest to the oncoming traffic. As someone not accustomed to crossing heavy traffic streets with fast approaching cars in a giant game of frogger, I appreciated following his lead.

At the airport, I was standing in line to go through security for a minute or two before noticing, there were actually two lines and I was standing in the wrong one. I casually side stepped to join the other women, which worked out beautifully as the woman’s’ line was prioritized and let through first. I didn’t have to wait for a second shuttle to take me to the tarmac, I got to be on the very first.

What seemed constantly annoying of people calling out was explained in part to be a core cultural value: men will not watch a woman struggle. I watched and observed, finally experiencing this when I was on my plane leaving, lifting my carryon into the overhead compartment. It had barely gotten to the level of my head when I felt hands take it for me as it was tucked safely inside its temporary home.

Hospitality is huge. Greetings happen with gusto, arms enveloping in huge hugs and kisses given on two cheeks. The party stops when a new guest arrives. Everyone is met with a handshake at least, even newcomers. Dancing is a way of life, and in 110* heat, sometimes that just means bobbing up and down, or lifting a hand to snap some fingers in the air, but joy is found in movement.

Company is found in just sitting. One can participate in the cacophony of sound, animatedly telling a story to an audience responding in unison, but one can also participate by just sitting.

The women are each others support system, and they support in homes. The men get the streets, the public places, the women get their homes. In marriages where abuse is common, physical, emotional etc. the women find each other. A simple ‘drop off’ for childcare can turn into a full-on therapy session of deep conversation. What was supposed to be a quick grocery run can be easily interrupted to share in conversation with a friend in a chance meeting.

While there are many hard things in this culture and their religion, they are also a beautiful people. I was welcomed with open arms, brought right in as an outsider. I made a new best friend in a tiny bright eyed three year old, and shared in the heartbreak of difficult situations.

While I loved seeing ancient ruins, interpreting fading hieroglyphics, watching the Nile creep past as a motor tugged along and riding in a floating balloon over the desert lands, I loved even more seeing how God is moving, calling people of every tribe, nation, and tongue to find their rest in Him.

Prayer Points:

Please pray for unreached people groups- that God would raise up even more workers to share amongst them, in this nation or others like those mentioned in the books I discussed (one of them even takes place in America!).

Please pray for those who have changed religions- for physical safety from probing governments, for discipleship, community, and support as they’ve truly had to give up everything.

Please pray for those working- that God would use them richly and deeply. That they would find their strength each day in Him.