Donna Kushner, a missionary in her lifetime, both overseas and to immigrant families stateside, writes of the story of her Afghan friends.
Nargis and Ali were married 20 days before the Taliban retook Kabul. Because Ali had worked for the U.S. military, the couple thought it best to flee.
Imagine we’re sitting down at that great little nook of a coffee shop downtown: matcha latte for me, triple espresso for you (feel free to improvise. You just looked kind of tired).
I’m like, Hey. Great news. Finally decided what I want to do with my life.
You: Sweet. What’s the verdict?
Near the end of my second short-term missions trip, I–a lowly teenager–was surprised to find that conflict with other global workers was a serious difficulty for those I was staying with.
Now, as the spouse of someone aiding conflict resolution in the field, this surprises me not one iota.
A Muslim woman walks through a corridor in a mosque complex in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates. Photo credit imb.org
Devout Muslims pray Sura One every day, reminding themselves of God’s sovereignty, the day of judgment, and the importance of finding their Straight Path.
In the name of God, the most gracious and merciful. Praise be to God, the Lord of the universe, the most gracious and merciful, Ruler of the day of judgment. You are the one we worship; you are he whose help we seek. Guide us on the Straight Path, the path of those whom you have blessed, With whom you are not angry, who have not gone astray.
Photo courtesy IMB.org
Both the Qur‘an and Islamic tradition erect barriers which inhibit Muslims from considering who Jesus is and what He’s done for them.
Muslims are often taught
Editor’s Note: This piece originally appeared on Rebecca Hopkins’ blog, Borneo Wife, when she and her husband served in Indonesia. She now blogs from her new American home at rebeccahopkins.org .
A window in my kitchen faces our backyard. Much of my days are spent cooking and watching, washing dishes and listening, making granola and checking. The kids are often dangling or running or whooping outside, playing on our mini-playground with the zipline.
We had been living in Cairo about a year and a half when friends visited from Uganda. We ate at the mall food court when they asked how it has been meeting and making friends with Egyptians. I told them it’s been hard: Where do you meet people you can make friends with?
I mean, you don’t just make friends in the food court.
The accident with the motorcycle left me shaky, anxious, and worried.
Besides my husband, the person I wanted to talk with was my closest Egyptian friend. I wanted her to help me process through what I could have done differently, what I was supposed to do after, how I could ever drive again.
