The Baklava Lady

If I were to be honest it was the freshly baked “baklava” sign that drew us over to her house.

Visiting our friends’ church we had just heard a marvellous sermon on being ready in and out of season to present the Gospel and move with what God was doing around us.

We headed over, straight across the road from where we had parked to attend the morning service on Sunday. The “yard” was full of all sorts of paraphernalia—the sort we were accustomed to see in an American “garage sale”.

As we arrived onto her property this delightful middle-aged woman in a head scarf came out to greet us and welcomed us to look around. We headed over to the baklava and asked about it.

As we pottered about and chatted with the woman she began to tell us her story. Born in Iraq to Armenian parents she was fluent in various forms of Arabic and lit up when I greeted her in Arabic and spoke a phrase or two with her.

Having fled a horrible situation in which the life of her handicapped twenty-nine year old daughter was in critical danger, she had come to America seeking asylum. She was selling the little she had to be able to pay for her “green card” (American residency) and that of her daughter.

We shared Jesus and prayed with her and her daughter and she was emotionally moved as we ministered to them both.

With our friends attending the church across the road every week and this divine appointment on a Sunday morning this week, we were assured that the friendship and ministry of mercy would continue after we left this little town in Michigan. And we drove away marvelling at what happened, all because we wanted some baklava after church.

And, to boot, the (Armenian recipe) baklava was nice too!