Tamana stood in the doorway of her modest apartment, watching her three children race across the lawn, their laughter filling the air on a quiet afternoon.
It was a sound she hadn’t heard much in the years since they’d fled Afghanistan, and to her it felt like life, like hope.
Just a few years before, in the dust-choked streets of Kabul, life had looked very different. Tamana had a husband, a small home, and dreams of raising her children in peace. But one morning, her husband left for work and never returned. As days turned to weeks, the silence became an answer no one wanted to speak aloud. He was presumed dead. Her inquiries were ignored.
Grief wrapped around Tamana like a shawl she couldn’t shake off, but her growing fear for the safety of her children pushed her forward. Eventually, after an arduous application process, and with the help of international aid, Tamana was granted refugee status and brought to the United States. She arrived with three small children, three bags, and no knowledge of English.
They were resettled in a quiet suburb outside Atlanta. Life in America was strange and overwhelming, but they were finally safe. That alone was a gift after the instability of Kabul. Still, Tamana was often lonely. She didn’t know how to drive. She couldn’t understand the paperwork that came in the mail. Her children started school and adapted quickly, but Tamana often felt like she was standing still as the world rushed past her.
Then the church came.
At first, they brought groceries. A woman named Susan arrived with warm bread, rice, fruit, and a kind smile. Then others helped with doctor appointments, school enrollment forms, and rides to the grocery store. The church, a nearby congregation that had partnered with a refugee ministry, quietly stepped into her life. They didn’t ask for anything. They simply showed up, embodying the love of Christ in every act of kindness.
Susan, in particular, became more than just a helper. She became a friend. She listened to Tamana’s broken English with patience and sat with her while the children played. One day, Susan invited her to church.
Tamana hesitated. She was a Muslim, raised with reverence for her own faith. But the love she had seen from these people stirred something in her. They didn’t pressure her or argue; they simply offered kindness. So she went.
At first, the music and forms of prayer seemed foreign to her. But the feeling in the auditorium was not. It felt peaceful. As she returned week after week, listening more than speaking, watching more than engaging, God slowly began to transform her heart. She started to understand not just the language of the sermons but the biblical meaning.
“It wasn’t the words,” Tamana would later say. “It was the love. The love of the Christians in my life. That is what led me to Jesus.”
As time passed, Tamana’s new faith began to grow—but not without challenges. She had to make hard decisions. One of the most difficult resulted in Tamana relocating her family to a different town. The familiar community she had found near Atlanta seemed so far away. She worried about starting over again, about finding the support she needed to grow in her walk with Christ.
But God was already ahead of her. A few weeks after moving, Tamana was contacted by an Afghan-focused ministry group in her new town. The group, formed by ABWE EveryEthne missionaries and workers from other missions organizations serving in collaboration, reaches out to thousands of refugees from unreached people groups living in their city.
One woman from the group, Nadia, made it her mission to meet with Tamana every week. Nadia didn’t just offer help; she discipled Tamana, patiently walking with her as she deepened her understanding of the faith. Each week, Tamana sat down with Nadia, poring over Scripture, asking questions, and sharing her heart.
Tamana often joined the ministry group members for prayer and fellowship. There were moments of doubt when Tamana questioned the new path she was walking, but each time she felt supported and loved by this small group of believers who had come alongside her.
And then, one Sunday, Tamana took a bold step of obedience. The weight of her decision was not lost on her. Being baptized was not just a public declaration of her faith; it was a risk. It was a step into the unknown in a country where she was still learning to find her way and where her new faith might bring complications with other Muslim refugees in her community.
But she knew that Christ was worth it.
Last week, Tamana was baptized. Surrounded by her new church family, she proclaimed, “I am a follower of Jesus.” The water, cold and refreshing, symbolized her new life—a life built not on her past or the loss she had endured but on the hope she had found in Christ.
“It was a risk,” Tamana said with a smile, eyes shining with the truth of her words. “But God is with me. He is growing me in my new life in Christ.”
“It was a risk, but God is with me. He is growing me in my new life in Christ.”
Tamana
Today, Tamana is not just a survivor of hardship; she is a woman of faith, full of joy and hope. She has been transformed, not only by the love of the people around her and her church family who welcomed her with open arms, but by the love of a Savior who never left her.
In Tamana’s city alone, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and others from unreached people groups are living for the first time in reach of the gospel. Through caring, invested relationships with believers and local churches, they have an opportunity to hear, experience, and respond to the message of Christ.
While the national conversation continues about the prudence of mass migration and the US continues to debate its cultural identity, Christians can also recognize God’s sovereign hand at work through turbulent times. Come what may, it is still true that as nations and people groups arrive on US shores, Christ’s church has an opportunity to bear witness to the gospel and testify to the missionary heart of God. Let’s not miss this paradoxical opportunity.
Editor’s Note: A version of this article was published by ABWE EveryEthne on November 25, 2025.
