What My Husband Learned from a Muslim Man

"In Christ Jesus we have BOLDNESS and ACCESS with confidence through FAITH in HIM."

Ephesians 3:12

So if you visit here often, you hear a slew of stories about Saba, three kids, and how those four together have changed me. I have been known to write a bit about my dad and mom and my family life growing up. Where you come from has a lot to do about who you become.

But one person who I might mention from time to time but I don't give much page space to is the man who I call my husband. I suppose that is for a few reasons, not worth mentioning here in this moment. But you can't have the other four without him first. Michael Thomas is the reason I know about and have a relationship with the island. He is the man who made me a mother. If I am honest, he is my greatest strength many times, but in other times I have allowed the enemy to make him the source of my weaknesses. 

We both are very much extroverts. We both love to lead and we like to "move and shake" things up. We get pretty passionate about what we believe to be right and just. We work really well together and partner on many endeavors. But sometimes we can get in each other's way and our pride can get the better of us. 

His loud laughter, expressive eyebrows, and how he excessively talks with his hands are some of my favorite things. He has a few characteristics I could do without...and I pray fervently that he overlooks my not-so-attractive characteristics that plague him week to week.

At the end of the day, our current relationship is a more true picture of what love is rather than the fairytales and daydreams I had when I entered the marriage. I say that with conviction and optimism today...because it's true, and I will need to be reminded of that when we hit an occasional bump down the road, as all couples do.

Photo credit: Tiffany Gannon

Jackson was given Michael's loyalty, his love of sports, and his humor. Nancy Caroline was given his analytical thinking and drive for perfection. Sadie was given his goofiness and spirit of adventure. 

They all have been given Michael's tender heart.

This past weekend I was able to vividly see the effects and results of that tender heart of their dad. He came home from ten days in Dakar, Senegal, Africa.  He spent his time there seeing around 500 local folks, extending love to them in the form of medical care, all in the name of Jesus.

Michael during his trip. 

Photo courtesy of a fellow team member, Susan Smith. 

As I left church services this past Sunday and made my way over to Parsley's Market on the four-lane, I expected to pick up an exhausted, weary, perhaps even stinky traveler.  I should have known better. He was all smiles. I'd like to think it was the sight of me, but it might have been the Diet SunDrop I extended to him as he stepped out of the car.

As we drove home and we visited as I finished a big Sunday lunch spread, he had lots to tell me.  He had story after story of the team he had worked with, the new culture he had experienced, and the people he had cared for and how they had changed him. He even pulled out some of his purchases at the market.  If you know his sense of fashion, you might could imagine.  I know you are anxiously awaiting to see some of the local attire he brought back.

The Dakar team.

Photo courtesy of Darryl and Terry Deason.

One story has stuck with me. My mind continues to go back to it.  I can tell it turned that tender heart of his even a bit more tender.  It centers around one of the Muslim men he took care of during the clinic hours. 

In the first two days of his stay he had found out that 90% of the population was Muslim. He had heard the Muslim call the prayer cast out loudly into the city five times each day. This was new to him, and was a bit more distracting than the occasional roar of our island's twin otter planes or the nightly tree frogs on Saba.

That Monday morning, I imagine he was most eager to see his first patients, but as anyone would be I am sure he was a tad bit nervous. He would be thorough and careful not to miss anything that day. And knowing him, I am sure he was anxious about the conditions he would see and the people he would meet.

When his first male patient came in, he began with the normal doctor visit questions. We all know the routine...

"Hi, I am Michael Thomas, and I will be taking care of you. What brings you in today?"

The only difference is that the man didn't understand the words coming out of my husband's mouth, but the words that then followed out of the mouth belonging to Birame Ka, the translator assigned to Michael's room for the week.

After the initial questions, the exam ensued. Listening to the heart and lungs. Looking into the ears, nose, and throat. Reflexes. 

I don't know if every physician does or not, but the father of my children always looks over the skin, checking for odd colorations or blemishes that might need some further attention. He looks intently as he rubs his hands ever so lightly over the exposed skin of his patient. And he did so with this man.

As he made his inspection down to the man's left ankle he noticed a rough, raised, calloused oval shape. He rubbed his finger over the spot inquisitively. As he continued to exam he noticed a similar spot on the man's fourth toe. It was odd.

The man could see the curiosity and concern in Michael's eyes. He said some words that the American ears in the room could not understand and then Birame helped the good doctor out...

"I am Muslim. Those are callouses from where I kneel to pray."

I don't know for sure if was seen or not in his demeanor, but Dr. Thomas was touched by this explanation. He was even further touched as all the other Muslim men came and went out of his makeshift exam room for the week. Almost all of them had the matching calloused spots denoting their faith and dedication to prayer.

As this story spilled from the mouth of my husband, he paused, and then ended the story by telling me this...

"I don't have callouses."

A big difference in me and Michael is the way we communicate emotionally. I spew and spew and spew. Sometimes I get so frustrated with Michael and his inability to express emotion verbally. Shame on me. There is so much truth in the simple ways he lets you know what he is feeling and thinking. In that short comment, I got him.

We serve and worship the one true God. Our faith should be so great that it can be visibly seen and felt. It needs to be so strong and big that it even is uncomfortable at times.  Others should be able to see it, causing them to question, giving us the chance to tell them about what made Jesus more than just a prophet, that he was the Messiah.

We should humbly come to the throne of God so much that we have sore knees and calloused ankles, and perhaps just not metaphorically.

My husband learned that from a Muslim man. And in return, I learned that from my husband.

Sadie, the Blogger

So, I may have created a monster.

"Hey mom, can you post this on your blog? I think it's awesome and I spent A LOT of time on it!"

"Of course, Sadie."

I love many things about this piece of artwork.

I love that we all have on shirts that say "Best ________ Ever".  Sadie's just says "Me". All of us agree she is the best ever, at least in our eyes.

I love that we are holding hands.  I especially like that Jackson and NC are holding hands.

I love that we all have pockets on our jeans and Jackson has a booger. Those two things just make me giggle.

If you look closely, you can faintly see the imprint of an address stamp that bled through from the back side of this paper. After she spent hours on this, Jackson picked it up the next day, it being the closest piece of paper to him, and began stamping our address stamper on the back...just for fun, out of boredom.

Oh sweet Sadie was devastated.  Her masterpiece would never be the same.  Jackson was embarrassed and regretful, and made some excuses.  Mom was irritated and disappointed, scolding one and consoling the other.  Nancy Caroline tried making a photocopy of it, all of us thinking the copy may not show the blurs of ink from the stamp. We were wrong...the scars were there.

So last night when Sadie brought this to me and asked for me to post it, I smiled. A couple weeks later, her brother's action was forgotten.  The blurs of the mistake were forgiven, and ironically had become a part of her masterpiece.

As I have said before, I learn so much from my kids.

"Unless you become like little children...you will never get into the Kingdom of Heaven."

Experiences like this, make me realize that I think the Father said this because little children mimic Him in so many ways. They are more in tune with Him than most of us calloused and skeptical big folks. Forgiveness comes easy to them. They even forget the grievances. And they find beauty in the smudges of mistaken ink.

I will always keep this picture...to remind me of how forgiveness, life, and love should look like. And in the chance I have to remind the three kids of these things somewhere down the line, when they aren't so little anymore.

So, one last thing I love about this drawing...

I love that Sadie finds this piece of artwork of her's extraordinary, brother's smudged ink , and all.

Four Weeks

Four weeks.

28 days. 672 hours. 40,320 minutes. 2,419,200 seconds.

In four weeks, I will be on a plane. In four weeks, my island will be within sight.

There are so many things that I anticipate happening once we land on "The Unspoiled Queen". There are some definites.

Ting. I will drink my fill in Ting for thirteen days. For those unfamiliar, Ting is a Caribbean soda that will change your world. Imagine Fresca, but on steroids and 100 times better. When I am on Saba it's as though I have an addiction to the sparkling, green bottled goodness. It pairs wonderfully with a Johnny Cake. Johnny Cakes...those are definites too.

My name will be transformed to "Aleta". The "h" will be dropped and I won't mind it in the slightest. I also will revert back to a couple other titles. "Ms. Thomas"...others may call me "Teacher Thomas". Whatever I am called, I will smile and answer with joy in my heart.

I will sit and visit with a Spanish teacher in her classroom. I will have coffee with Ms. Lynne at The Busy Bee more than once. I will visit with friends in Upper Hell's Gate and sit around their table.  I will visit our friends in The Bottom and our kids will play together. I will be called to the principal's office. I will sit and visit with some beautiful, kind, and talented teenage girls.

Late one night when the day is done for most of the folks on the island, I will walk down the road to Well's Bay by flashlight. Peter will be with me. I will catch a land crab.

I will play kickball and dodgeball.

I will laugh...alot. I will cry too.

These are all things that I know for sure will be a part of my days on Saba in four weeks. But the things that excite me the most are the things that I do not know to expect. The surprises. The things that I can't even day dream about. The things that make one take a double take and stand in awe.

The things that only our Creator can orchestrate.

Coincidence and luck have nothing to do with any of it.

It's ALWAYS Him.

He has broken hearts. Provided redemption. Created bonds of friendship. Opened eyes and hearts like never before. He has healed wounds and allowed many to celebrate the scars. He has washed people in the waters.

He has used the craziest and most obscure modes and methods. His work has been done on a basketball court and during dodgeball games. His words have been shared over pasta, while fathers and daughters danced, and as dominoes were slammed onto a table. Some have encountered Him in the wee hours of the morning on a rooftop or in an empty parking lot. Others have met Him by the sea or on the road or in a gazebo in a park.

However He does it, whatever He uses, whereever He shows up...it's always the best. It's always beyond description. My words here can not even begin to do it justice.

My times on Saba always encourage my hope, strengthen my faith, and bring more love into my life that I can ever muster up to give away. I know the Father is getting my heart ready to serve, but He is also getting it ready to be turned and healed and filled. I need the island. I need time on Her shores with Her people. I am ready for Him to show up and show off on my five square miles.  He always does. That is a definite.

Four weeks.

Writings from The Three Kids

By the title of this blog, it's apparent that I am a very proud mother. I am proud of many things...their personalities, their laughter, their love and care for others, and for the most part...smile...their behavior.

I am also very proud of their school work. As someone who enjoys putting words down on paper, I have been so excited and proud to watch their growth in reading and writing over the past few months. This is thanks to some wonderful teachers, and an AWESOME English and Language Arts tutor. We love Ms. Shannon! 

So, this is kind of like the parent that pulls out the pictures from the wallet, or in this day and time, the parent that pulls up the pictures on their iPhone, and exclaims, "Just look at my kids!". I am not the writer, I am the parent. And I couldn't be any prouder! I gladly fill this blog post today, not with my own writing, but the writings of my three favorite people. It is more than an honor to share my space.

This is a free verse poem Jackson wrote for his 7th grade ELA teacher, Mr. Todd. It is complete with Jackson's autograph, just in case he is a famous poet one day.

This next piece was written a few months back by Nancy Caroline. She was asked to write a persuasion/opinion paper during the election by her 5th grade ELA teacher, Mr. Parker. I ask that you keep in mind that this was written by a sweet and kind 10-year old, with no help from an adult. This isn't shared to spark a political conversation, but to showcase her growth and abilities in writing.

A week in the Thomas house isn't complete without a love note from Sadie. So below, you will find one of the latest ones she left for me on my bedside table. Sadie is in 2nd grade and one of her favorite things to do is learn new things to impress her teacher, Mrs. Foster. After intently observing her brother and sister write in cursive, Sadie taught herself to write her name in cursive. She is pretty proud of her accomplishment!