One evening, I was getting the children ready for bed. They were in their pajamas, and we were sitting in a circle on their bedroom floor ready to start the evening worship when our doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Peylin’s smiling face greeted me. I had forgotten that she had promised several days before to come by for a visit. She is our neighbor, and she runs a nonprofit organization to benefit the poor. I had wanted to get better acquainted with her. I greeted her happily, kissing her on both cheeks.
As Peylin came inside, I had to make a quick decision. Should I visit with her and put off the children’s worship and bedtime? No, the children were too tired to stay up late, and I didn’t know how long she would stay. Should I skip the worship? Absolutely not, I decided. So, as Peylin took off her shoes, I invited her to join us in the children’s bedroom, explaining that I wanted to have a quick song and prayer with them before putting them to bed. She agreed happily.

Peylin sat on the edge of Mr. TenderHeart’s bed, and the rest of us sat on the floor in front of her. I wondered what song we should sing. I didn’t want to offend Peylin. I didn’t know very much about her, but I was sure she was a Muslim. “Perhaps just one song tonight,” I thought to myself, “One about God that doesn’t mention Jesus.” I started to sing: “Who made the blinking stars, the sea, the birds and you and me? Our Father God.”

When the song was over, Mr. TenderHeart said, “Let’s sing Jesus Loves Me,” and he started right in: “Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so . . .” I joined him, watching our guest from the corner of my eye.

When we finished the song, Peylin repeated slowly, “Jesus loves me. Is that song about Isa?” “Yes,” I replied.

It was time for prayer. I knelt down, and Little ChubbyCheeks knelt across from me, folding his little hands obediently. Mr. TenderHeart knelt by me and folded his hands, too. They both closed their eyes. I was so proud of them. They aren’t always so quiet and obedient.

Mr. TenderHeart started praying. “Dear Jesus, thank You for Auntie Peylin who came to see us. Thank You for the gifts she brought us.” He went on with a sweet, honest heart-touching prayer.
As we said, “Amen,” Peylin slid off the bed and knelt with us, completing our circle. She seemed deeply moved by the children’s prayer. She folded her hands like we did, lowered her head and began to pray very slowly in broken English: “Thank You for my new neighbors—my dear new neighbors.” She paused and glanced up at me as if to ask, “Did I do alright?” Then, seeming to remember something, she bowed her head again and stammered, “Thank you . . . Jesus.” Then she repeated more confidently, “Thank you, Jesus.”

Praise God! Jesus is the one worthy of praise! “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!” My heart was full of praise, and I’m sure the angels rejoiced, too. “Out of the mouth of babes . . . hast thou ordained strength” (Ps. 8:2).

Please pray for Peylin and her husband that God will continue to work on their hearts; that the Lord whom she confessed will become her real Friend.

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