Shopping to the Glory of God

The shop itself was an homage to all I loved about the homeland.  Every wall was lined with atlas silk and traditional hats.  As I spoke with the lady who ran the store another man came in to buy one of those hats for an upcoming wedding.  In his hand he held several copies of the wedding invitation, having been commissioned by the groom to hand them out to other sellers around the bazaar.  

The swirling letters of the Arabic alphabet caught my attention. In one glance I knew this gentleman was from the homeland.  (Some of you may remember last year in one of my Quarterlies I discussed how the U language could be written in several different scripts based on where a person was from). I slipped a copy from the top of his stack and began to read aloud.  This time my knowledge of his language was a bridge and we quickly fell into conversation.  Like so many, his is a story that has been touched by the painful realities facing Muslims back in his province of origin.  He had come across the border 5 years ago to do business but had never gone home.  He was living separated from his wife and two sons, not even able to have a real conversation with them, for fear they might be arrested.  I could tell the whole situation still weighed heavy on him and I promised to prayer for his family.  He told me many of the men working in that bazaar were in a similar situation.  He estimated that almost 80% of the shop keepers were from the province I had served in for so many years. 

Lord, it is not about numbers, but as I look to move to this city, I pray that your Spirit will do a mighty work in the broken lives of those working at this bazaar.  That you will open the door for our team to build relationships right in that shopping district and see you name made great.