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.