Every day for two years, I walked past Izat the carpenter’s shop. His single-room shop was tucked beside a little hardware supply store just down the alley from my apartment in the Muslim community. Each day, I’d greet Izat and exchange blessings of peace for a few moments.

For those first two years, my relationship with Izat consisted of short greetings.

Then I went to the U.S. and got married. My wife, Susan, and I returned together to my old neighborhood in Izat’s country.

I visited all my local friends with boxes of sweets. In this culture, the good news of my marriage demanded fancy boxes of sugary delights.

When I brought Izat a big box of candy, he looked at the elegant package and smiled knowingly. “What is your good news?” he asked with a wink.

I told him I had two things to share with him.

“First is your marriage,” he interjected before I could say it. Then he held up two fingers and demanded, “What is the second one?”

“The second one,” I announced, “is that my wife has come here with me and we will live in your neighborhood.”

At that, he gave me a fatherly hug.

When I passed by Izat’s shop the next day, he told me to come have tea with him. It was the first time he had ever invited me in.

I asked Izat about his family, and he said, “I have one son and two daughters, and a wife, of course. We live right here, next to this shop.”

He handed me an old photo. It showed a much younger version of the carpenter with his wife, standing solemnly on the same street in front of the same shop. Izat had spent most of his life in this little alley. I tried to imagine what it must have been like in those days, before the internet, before 9/11. Perhaps those days were longer and full of harder work—and still without the Savior.

Izat’s son delivered tiny cups of steaming spiced tea. As I waited for my tea to cool, I told Izat, “My wife would really like to meet your wife and daughters.”

“Bring her now!” he insisted. “The women are all at home.”

“Now?” I asked, surprised. “She’s in a language lesson right now.”

“Then you can come and meet them now. Tomorrow, bring your wife.”

For the next two hours, I found myself sitting in Izat’s living room surrounded by his family. I silently thanked God for my new wife and how the very mention of her had instantaneously transformed my relationship with Izat. We’d gone from a series of five-minute conversations to a generous invitation into his life and home.

Susan and I returned the next day. Izat’s wife gleefully fussed over Susan.

“You are a married woman,” she said. “How is it that you don’t know how to make roti? Come, I will teach you. Every woman must know how to make bread.”

Another time, Susan and I sat in Izat’s living room, bantering over which one of us makes the best tea. I turned to Izat and pleaded him to side with me.

“Who are you to me?” he joked. “Susan is my sister. And you? You are just my sister’s husband!“

Since then Susan has been woven into the fabric of that home like a daughter and a sister. In that family’s haven, she is absorbing the language, going deep into the culture, and learning from masterful cooks. Her language skills are growing, and she’s sharing stories of Jesus.

One of Izat’s daughters even asked Susan for a Bible.

But we have something bigger in mind: to invite the whole family to study God’s Word with us and discover Jesus Christ.

• Pray for Izat and his family to be drawn to Jesus Christ and to come to cherish God’s Word.
• Ask the Lord to soften Muslims’ hearts to welcome Frontiers workers into their homes. Pray they would also welcome and cherish the Word of God.

**This account comes from a long-term worker. Names have been changed for security.**

Original article: https://www.frontiersusa.org/blog/article/married-to-the-carpenters-sister