My daughter and I have been prepping for our big Thanksgiving meal all week. Remnants of pie-baking and other sundry food accoutrements lie discarded all around us. I stand in the middle of the kitchen, and my heart remembers last year’s celebration. Lola joined us, eager to experience her first American Thanksgiving with our family. A great privilege of my life is opening up my heart and home to Muslim friends and neighbors; Lola’s joy at my invitation still makes me smile.

As I stand and gaze longingly at my kitchen table, the one where my family will gather tomorrow in thanks and praise to God, my heart remembers another occasion with a dear Muslim friend. A group of us had gathered at a local farm, and I immediately noticed Noor from a distance. She stood in the middle of a pumpkin patch, and her next movement took me completely by surprise. 

I watched in tender awe as she removed her hijab and glided through the open field, her arms and eyes lifted to the sky. She was unaware in that moment, totally lost in her newfound feeling of freedom. I couldn't keep myself from laughing as joy bubbled up like a waterfall cascading over my soul. In the safety of that autumn day, Noor embraced the idea of living life unfettered, and for a brief moment, the hardships of her reality were forgotten.

As I silently watched her, intercession soon took over. I prayed for my dear friend as I watched her abandoned veil flapping in the wind. Just as she had lifted and then discarded the shroud from her face, I prayed for the Holy Spirit to unveil her heart—to remove everything that hindered her from believing the Truth I hold so very dear about Jesus. More than a mere afternoon of fleeting freedom, I longed for Noor to taste and see the goodness of God for all of eternity.

Memories continue flooding my heart. What joy and privilege to enter into friendship with Muslim women like Lola and Noor. Countless conversations of Jesus and His great love play over and over, offering warmth and peace like a crackling fire on the first day of winter. I reflect on the many seeds sown by Christian workers, thankful for the Lord’s work in the hearts of Muslim friends.

I snap back to present-day. The oven timer dings, the aroma of pie wafting through the house. As I stand in my kitchen, my heart yet again turns to intercession. I pray for Lola and Noor. I pray for Muslims I know by name and those I don’t. I give thanks to the Lord for the privilege of carrying His name to them. With all my heart, as I stand and worship my God, I believe I will not stand alone. Muslim friends will one day join me in declaring the goodness of Jesus. There is no greater cause for thanksgiving.