I stared at the gourmet cheese section in my American neighborhood supermarket and muttered a half-hearted grocery store prayer: “If only there were an Arab here I could ask.”
A moment later, I saw her—a Muslim woman with a slight limp pushing her cart toward the produce. Her brown patterned headscarf was tied in a large knot at the base of her neck, elegantly framing her face.
I’m not a bold person. But I couldn’t pass up such a direct answer to my prayer.
After greeting the woman, I asked if she were Arab. Hesitantly, she nodded.
“Then maybe you can help me,” I said. I explained that I wanted to make manakeesh, a savory Middle Eastern flatbread. “But I don’t know what kind of cheese to use.”
“Mozzarella,” she said flatly with a bit of an accent.
“Great,” I said. “Easy. I’ll get that.”
She seemed to want the conversation to end there. Instead, I asked if she lived in the neighborhood. She did, and warming up to me, she told me her name was Jinan.
Then she surprised me by opening up about her family’s struggles with their landlord and the cost of rent. Jinan also shared about volunteering at her children’s school and supporting her husband who spent long days at work.
“You clearly love your family,” I said to her. “You know, that really pleases God.”
We smiled at each other. Then I said, “I think you and I have a lot in common. Would you like to study the Word of God together sometime?”
Jinan skirted the subject by saying she was very busy. She had to take care of her family. And she had doctor’s appointments for what appeared to be early-onset arthritis in her knee—the result of an injury years earlier.
So I asked if I could pray with her in the name of Jesus. Jinan agreed, and I prayed for her rent struggles and asked the Lord to bless her family. Then I gently placed my hand on her shoulder, asking if I could pray for her knee to be healed.
She nodded, and I prayed in the name of Jesus for the pain to leave her body.
That’s when Jinan began to cry. I asked if her pain was still there.
“Praise to God, I have no pain,” she responded. “By God, there is no pain!”
She began sobbing and wrapped her arms around me in a tight squeeze.
“Jesus has healed you,” I said when Jinan finally pulled away. She smiled and nodded as she wiped her tears with her sleeve.
Before parting ways, she gave me her phone number, another hug, and a promise to get together soon to read the Word.
I bought my mozzarella and left the store full of excitement. Not only had God answered my prayer to meet an Arab woman. He had also used me to introduce her to the Healer, Jesus Christ. Now I’m praying for Jinan and her family to discover Him as Lord and Savior.
God does the calling. We just need to be willing to take the steps of faith.
**This account is adapted from an intern’s experience in Frontiers’ pre-field internship. Names have been changed for security.**
Main photo by Ania Mendrek
Original article: https://frontiersusa.org/blog/mozzarella-grocery-store-miracle