In June 2014 I was given a gift of self-realization. Allah, subhana wa ta'ala, revealed to me that I am a Muslim. I had identified myself as Christian for the last few years and was perfectly satisfied with that, even comfortable with the fact that I interpreted the Bible differently than most of my Christian friends and family. At the time, I was not "searching" for a new faith and indeed, had you told me I was going to be a Muslim the day before, I would have scoffed at you. Turns out, though, Islam took the truth written upon my heart and confirmed
it. The realization was life-changing to say the least. It brought with it an excitement and zeal, a spiritual "opening" for lack of a better word. I believe our souls are tuned to the truth and mine had found it in brilliant, beautiful clarity. Before I completed reading a translation of the Qur'an for the first time, I already wanted to jump and shout and share the love and light with the world.
I’m going to start this blog by answering the most common question I get, both by the genuinely interested and the zealously upset. How did I come to Islam? Spoiler alert… if you are not Muslim, there is a possibility you will be offended. I do not intend to offend anyone, but I speak the truth as I know it and seek only Allah’s approval. I do not remember a time in my life when I did not know Allah (whom I will hence forth refer to as "God” because for 32 years that is the name I used for our Creator) so for me it has never been a question about God's existence.
I remember being a frightened child suffering from night terrors and praying to God to protect me from the shadows about my room. I even chanted a prayer at bedtime to help me fall asleep. Why is this in any way significant to my story? I was raised in an atheist (agnostic at best) household and so God was not taught to me by my parents. I was not surrounded by teachings about God in the early, formative years. I was, however, unceremoniously via mail given a beautifully artistic Bible and a cross-stitched prayer from an aunt I've never met so He was not altogether forbidden from my home. I remember looking at the pictures in the Bible with a sense of wonder at their beauty, but a lack of knowledge as to their significance. Nonetheless, I knew there was a God and that He loved me.
One night, I was standing in my parents master bedroom brushing my hair in front of my mother's large vanity mirror, wondering over reality. I must have been about seven or eight, perhaps even younger. I asked my father about God and whether or not he believed in Him. His response was simple...I don't know if there is a God or not, but If there is, he can show himself to me and then I will beileve. Now the words may have been slightly different mind you, but it was the message they conveyed that struck me so deeply that I remember the conversation to this day, down to which pair of PJ's I was wearing. I had hoped the Ultimate Something I knew was out there would be explained to me, yet I was left with more questions than answers. To my father's credit, he encouraged us to seek our own truths, to look for our own answers, but did not speak highly of religion.
As I grew older, I continued praying secretly at night and seeking out more about God, but I struggled with the concept of religion. Religion, was something I had always observed from afar, sometimes playfully dipping my feet in, sometimes turning away in revulsion. To me, it was something man-made, something that fell short of the glory of God. Just trying to wrap my mind around why anything from God could have so many variants and cause so much conflict was mind-boggling. So many discrepancies could only come from man, and who was any man to tell me how I am to worship the One who created me? As a teenager, I was exposed to Christianity through my friends and bought myself a study Bible which I read and studied at night. I had the blessing of reading it cover to cover without any initial biases. I had plenty of people to ask questions to and ask I did. At times the questions were easy and their answers were acceptable. Other times their answers were more complicated or out right nonsensical. Having said that, there was much I found beautiful about it and it brought me at times guidance and inspiration. Still, it was not something I embraced as holy scripture and I did not consider myself a Christian- merely a seeker of truth.
Nonetheless, Christianity was all around me, in its various (sometimes beautiful, some times not) forms, and it would be an injustice to say it did not play a role in shaping my character and in helping me define and reflect on my beliefs. Two significant things happened in my late teens. My parent's divorce resulted in my Dad's eventual dating and with help from his girlfriend (who would become his wife), he returned to his Christian roots, bringing the faith ever closer to my doorstep. At the same time I left for basic training where every Sunday I chose Christian services over a day folding underwear. Why the Christian service? It was pretty well promoted during the TI's spiel about the options for Sunday afternoon, not just because the secular alternative was laundry, but because they really did speak highly of it compared to the other options. There, I was moved by the beautiful music and encouraging messages of the protestant service. When I returned, I was so alleviated in my spirit by the experience and was further encouraged by my father and a close friend of mine who was Christian, I chose to get baptized. At the time, I didn't even know what it meant other than proclaiming I believed in God and something about accepting Jesus as my Lord and Savior. He was a pretty inspirational dude and clearly important and while I was still formulating my personal beliefs, the concept of a savior was pretty compelling. Yet I still didn't call myself Christian around many people and when I did it felt awkward and embarrassing. Not because I am any sort of scholar or had fundamental disagreements. I was young, headstrong, and, while I WAS a "goody two shoes," I didn't necessarily want people to know that and belief in God was, well, goody-two-shoes-y. In addition, while the concept was beautiful, don't get me wrong, the whole "religion" thing still left a bad taste in my mouth.
In my early twenties I adopted the believe-but-don’t-respond method in which I continued to acknowledge God’s existence, but not His sovereignty in my life. So I went on with the roller-coaster of discovering “adulthood” on my own terms, justifying that God’s will for me was to be the best person I could be and believe in him without the taint of religion. My reasoning was, God loves me, He MADE me, he put in us these desires, drives, freedoms which religion so callously suppresses. He knows I'm a good person. No all powerful God would really care that much if I cuss, or wear a bikini, or have pre-marital sex. I wasn't hurting anyone! (ahh.. the reasoning of the young!)
A few years into my twenties, I took a History of Religions class, during which I came to the conclusion (although the concept was not actually taught) that all the major religions had so many similar themes in them that it was clear as day to me they all stemmed from one Ultimate Truth. In other words, I literally found God. In all the religions. At once. I slowly began to understand the social, emotional, and spiritual importance of determining what you believe and the role scripture plays in defining and/or fine-tuning those beliefs. I no longer saw religion as a farce, but as an honest striving to not only understand God, but to share that understanding with the world. At this point I believed God was only a motivator, an overseer so to speak, in the creation of such a beautiful variety of beliefs. After all, how could his hand be intimately involved in creating each and every belief system, many contradicting each other?
A dear and beloved friend was the one who, unbeknownst to her at the time, planted the first seed that would ultimately lead me through Christianity. When my friend, who quickly became my sister, mentioned at work that she was going to church I asked her two questions. First, “are you a Christian?” And second, “Can I come to church with you?” During my “feet dipping” period, I had been baptized. At the time I barely knew that meant anything more than “accepting the love and sacrifice of Jesus” and so spiritually, it was not a significant event, but it gave me the “cred” to go to a Christian church without feeling like an impostor.
Thus started my path through Christianity (note: several years after my baptism). It’s not hard for me to reconcile my beliefs with identifying myself as a Christian. I saw many, many Christians with a variety of beliefs, plenty that were akin to my own. I had already read the Bible as a teenager (another “foot dipping” experience), and I found much about it that was beautiful. From all outside appearances, I was your normal, average Christian. There was just one catch (note, this is where you might get offended). Jesus is not God. Okay, two catches. The Bible is not the word of God. Despite those two distinctions in belief, I was satisfied calling myself a Christian. Perhaps it was the fact that I already saw all religions of having kernels of truth so this one seemed as good as, if not better than, others or that I believed Jesus had been sent by God. So what if I have a couple of disagreements? Many people of many faiths do. I had a few conversations here and there about what I saw as error in belief, but learned to tread very carefully. Even when I spoke with my husband about worshiping Jesus, peace be upon him, I did so with trepidation and was very careful with my words. Imagine my relief when he agreed with me and engaged me in a full discussion on the topic! He also spoke up about not seeing God as a father but trying to nonetheless.
In April 2014 I left for Ft Jackson, South Carolina to train as a Chaplain Assistant in the Air Force. Also attending Chaplain training there was an imam. I vividly remember the first day I saw him because I had actually paid him no notice at all. My friend tapped my shoulder and pointed behind me. The conversation went something like this, “What religion is he” “Who?” “That guy over there with the hat!" "I don't know, but Jewish and Muslim men wear hats like that." "Do you think he is Jewish or Muslim or what?” “I’m not sure but Jewish or Muslim sounds like a good guess to me.” At which point I went back to my breakfast. She was intrigued and carried the conversation on a bit longer before she too accepted that neither of us knew. On that first day, the questions started. Not to me, mind you, but to the imam. We all wanted to know this or that about his faith. One day I proposed to our class that since we all have so many questions, rather than constantly pestering him, we should request a meeting wherein anyone who has a question can ask. The task was assigned to his enlisted partner and the date was set.
At the meeting, before he told us anything about Islam, he gave his own testimony. So many facts were so parallel to my own experience that I was intrigued (not convinced of Islam, but I was listening). He, too, did not believe we should be worshiping Jesus. He, too, read the Bible and gained from it a different understanding than the mainstream. He, too, did not believe the Bible was the word of God.
Oddly, when the first question came, and was about Aisha, Prophet Muhammad’s (pbuh) young wife, I found myself defending the prophet alongside the Imam. There was no reason or need for me to do so except that I didn’t agree that it was a problem given the social circumstances in which they lived. I found myself explaining that it was the custom of that time as it is still the custom in some parts of the world today to marry girls off very young. Whether any hearts were changed by his words or mine are unknown to me, but what was significant to me was my draw to the prophet Muhammad as the imam spoke of him and my quick defense of one of whom I knew so little.
As he spoke of what Islam teaches and about the Prophet himself, peace be upon him, I found my heartstrings pulling. It was actually unimaginable to me that no one else seemed similarly affected. At some point during the discussion, he recited Al-Fatihah, the first chapter in the Qur’an. At the time the words were nothing but sounds, words in an unfamiliar language, yet at that same moment, they spoke to me. I couldn’t have told you what the words meant as he recited them, but I could tell you they spoke to my heart and soul. He asked the room if anyone wanted a copy of the Qur’an and I was one among about a dozen or so who said they did.
Within a few days we all had shiny new copies of the pocket Qur’an. I was not about to throw my hat in without knowing more, but it took me a couple weeks before I approached him and said I would like to talk to him more about Islam. Perhaps at the time he was thinking I just wanted to hammer him with more questions so I could catch him in a controversial one. Maybe he expected proselytizing or debate or simple talk of comparative religion. Either way, he graciously agreed to meet with me a few days later in the public lobby where we were all housed. In the meantime I read the Qur’an and made my notes. I think to his surprise and indeed my own, he didn’t get a barrage of questions about the “sword verses” or women’s rights. Rather I gave him a list of verses that spoke to me and we discussed why they struck me as well as the general history and teachings of Islam.
I began praying in my room 2-3 times a day, prostrating and asking God (as I still referred to Him) to guide me as He wills. I kept up social interactions but spent more and more of my time in my room reading the Qur’an, writing, or praying. While I had always known God existed, that was when I discovered that the words He had written on my heart were indeed reflected in His revelation. It was in June in Ft. Jackson, South Carolina, that I discovered I knew who God was. It was in June in South Carolina that I discovered His will for me.
