The day I walked through the door, I didn’t know what to expect. I had heard of these places before—these safe houses, these women, this hard and difficult work.
I was expecting to meet broken women. I was expecting to see sadness and pain on their faces.
But, I didn’t expect this.
I had received a phone call from a stranger the week before.
“We heard you speak Arabic. We just rescued a woman from North Africa off the streets. She doesn’t speak Spanish, and we can’t understand her story. Could you come and help us?”
I walked through the door that day prayerfully, with fear and trembling.
When I entered the dining room, I saw her. There were women from all over the world in that room, but I recognized North Africa all over this woman. Her face, her hair, her skin, her gestures, her smile.
I knew her country. I recognized her country. I loved her country. I walked over to her and greeted her in Arabic. Her face lit up when she heard her heart language.
“You speak Arabic? You speak our language? ” she exclaimed with a beaming smile.
“Yes, I do, “ I replied. “I used to live in your country.”
I sat down next to her, and we were quickly served lunch.
Her neck and her ears were adorned with jewelry—crosses.
It was surprising. I didn’t expect this.
“Tell me the story about your crosses. What do they mean?” I asked her.
Her next words took me back to her little village in North Africa when she was just a little girl.
“I watched a movie on TV. It was about the man, Jesus. I loved him the first time I saw Him.
I ran to gather all the other little girls in my village. We sat in my living room together watching the movie . . . until my parents walked in and chased us all out. They told us to stop watching the movie.
I hadn’t thought about that movie until I arrived in Spain. When I came to this safe house. These Christians take care of me. They feed me. They give me clothes. They give me a place to live. They love me.”
“Wow, after all these years…!” I thought to myself.
I pulled up an app on my phone with some oral Bible stories in Arabic. I pulled her aside and let her listen to one of them.
She smiled as she listened.
She didn’t have a phone, so I sent the story file to the director of the safe house to give to her.
Now, she could listen to more stories about Jesus—freely. No one could stop her. No one could silence them. No one could turn them off.
Several months later, I invited her to a baptism. It was the celebration of a woman from her country who had decided to follow Jesus.
When this precious woman from the safe house heard this lady’s testimony, she knew that she, too, wanted to follow this man, Jesus. It was the same man she had heard about on that TV screen back in her living room in North Africa when she was a little girl.
Now, decades later, God had brought her all the way to Europe to be rescued and loved by His children.
God’s sovereignty and mysterious plan never ceases to amaze me!
That day, when I walked through the door of that safe house, God had prepared a story surprise!
Often, I hope and pray that I will have an open door to tell women His stories. That day, God surprised me, and this women told me His story—His amazing story of salvation.
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