An Open Door - Journeys in Turkey

We often encounter experiences for which we remain grateful, other times awestruck. And sometimes we know, unquestionably, we somehow cheated death.

I love Muslim people. Spending time with Jesus, adoring Him, and loving these people defies terror and compels us to emancipate them. While residing in Israel, I received a friend's confirming note of these divine endeavors: “I see you in Turkey.” Soon after, I ardently booked a ticket to İstanbul and İzmir.

I toured the streets in Turkey, asking God about this land, these people, who blend Greco-Roman and Islamic cultures. After polishing off some fresh fish and bread, I soon found myself on a second-world bus -- the only westerner there, and the only one who spoke English fluently. I resisted a feeling of vulnerability regarding the language, the perilousness and length of the venture from İzmir to Alaşehir, and general uncertainties. I reassured myself of the quest: to see the ruins of an ancient building where people, who idolized Jesus and cared about each other once gathered, and to entreat God to open a door like theirs. I made broken conversation with a man, who called a friend on his cell. He then forced me the phone. The friend related that he was a missionary and wanted to meet. Somewhat interruptingly, an older woman sat down next to me, introducing herself as Kadriye. The bus stopped at a resting place. The opportunity to converse with a minister in Turkey sounded intriguing, but my new-found acquaintance, Kadriye, also supported my intention to continue to Alaşehir. She signaled for me to follow her off of the bus once we arrived in Alaşehir. Challenging all my understanding about language, we communicated through mere means of a travel book, and she led me to the ruins of the Church of Philadelphia. Afterwards, Kadriye invited me to her mother’s home, where they fed me; she introduced me to their son, Selim, and insisted that I stay the night. I was relieved and admiringly impressed at Abba’s miraculous ability to provide for me, noting I did not see any accommodation in the immediate areas as we strolled through town. I savored a warm, Turkish reception from them, as we surrealistically spoke through hand gestures, doodles, and a Turkish-English list of words. The widowed Kadriye and Selim escorted me back to their simple apartment in İzmir the next day, where I met her amiable daughter and retired a night there. I soon realized they were Muslims, yet, with the power of the Spirit, I was still able to plant something of Jesus' promise. I also recognized Father had opened their hearts, because they had received me and shown me hospitality.

Five years later, I recounted to them our meeting. Selim responded about a month later:

“I'm sorry for late reply mail and my bad english :))

...I more or less understanded your tolds [story].

I think you are very believing and perfect man. My mother told we [of] yours meeting :)) Bus asistants to deceive you for to take [you] away [from] Alaşehir/Manisa. My mother heared [about what] they are speaking and she is to get angry [at] they from inside. After My mother helped to you. Yourself very good feeled [in] my family's home. Therefore you are had this experience. This is good fortune for you...We are sometimes to talk about you and We like to you. You are allways best friend for we. Maybe come together one more time. You and your wife allways [wel]come to our home. We give one's kind regards to your family and wife.”

Riveted, n complete amazement and bewilderment, I slumped back on the futon after I fully comprehended the email. I felt the serene emanation of the Holy Spirit, a deep reverence for His sanctuary in my life, and I knew that the propitious encounter with these people was not just a divine provision -- it had saved my life. I knew -- beyond doubt -- deep in my spirit -- God had protected my life in Turkey, and had employed a Muslim family to do it. I also acknowledged He had done this many times before.