[This document originally appeared in a Usenet newsgroup
back in 1992 roughly -ed.]
Salaam alaykum wa rahmatullah.
Since
I have started reading and posting on this newsgroup a few months ago, I have
noticed a great interest in converts (reverts) to Islam: how are people
introduced to it, what attracts people to this faith, how their life changes
when they embrace Islam, etc. I have received a lot of e-mail from people asking
me these questions. In this post, I hope insha'Allah to address how, when and
why an American like myself came to embrace Islam.
It's long, and I'm
sorry for that, but I don't think you can fully understand this process from a
few paragraphs. I tried not to ramble on or get off on tangents. At times the
story is detailed, because I think it helps to truly understand how my path to
Islam developed. Of course, there's a lot I left out (I'm not trying to tell you
my whole life story - just the pertinent stuff).
It's interesting for me
to look back on my life and see how it all fits together - how Allah planned
this for me all along. When I think about it, I can't help saying
`Subhannallah,' and thank Allah for bringing me to where I am today. At other
times, I feel sad that I was not born into Islam and [thereby] been a Muslim all
my life. While I admire those who were, I at times pity them because sometimes
they don't really appreciate this blessing.
Insha'Allah, reading this
can help you understand how I, at least, came to be a Muslim. Whether it gives
you ideas for da'wah, or just gives you some inspiration in your own faith, I
hope it is worth your time to read it, insha'Allah. It is my story, but I think
a lot of others might see themselves in it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was born in San Francisco, California, and raised in a Bay Area
suburb. My small town (San Anselmo, pop. about 14,000 last I checked) was a
mostly white, upper-middle-class, Christian community. It is a beautiful area -
just north of San Francisco (across the Golden Gate Bridge), nestled in a valley
near the hillsides (Mount Tamalpais) and the Pacific Ocean. I knew all of my
neighbors, played baseball in the street, caught frogs in the creeks, rode
horses in the hills, and climbed trees in my front yard.
My father is
Presbyterian, and my mother is Catholic. My father was never really active in
any church, but my mother tried to raise us as Catholics. She took us to church
sometimes, but we didn't know what was going on. People stand up, sit down,
kneel, sit again, stand up, and recite things after the priest. Each pew had a
booklet - a kind of `direction book' -and we had to follow along in order to
know what to do next (if we didn't fall asleep first). I was baptized in this
church, and received my First Communion at about the age of 8 (I have pictures,
but I don't remember it much). After that, we only went about once a year.
I lived on a dead-end street of about 15 houses. My grammar school was
at the end of the street (4 houses down), next to a small Presbyterian church.
When I was about 10, the people of this church invited me to participate in
their children's Christmas play. Every Sunday morning from then on, I walked
down to church alone (no one else in my family was interested in coming). The
whole congregation was only about 30 older people (past their 50's), but they
were nice and never made me feel out of place. There were about 3 younger
couples with children younger than me.
I became a very active member of
this church down the street. When I was in 6th grade, I started babysitting the
younger kids during the service. By 9th grade, I was helping the minister's wife
teach Sunday school. In high school, I started a church youth group by
recruiting 4 of my friends to join me. It was a small group: me, my friends, and
a young couple with kids, but we liked it that way. The big Presbyterian church
in town had about 100 kids in their youth group and took trips to Mexico, etc.
But our group was content to get together to study the bible, talk about God,
and raise money for charities.
These friends and I would sit together
and talk about spiritual issues. We debated about questions in our minds: what
happens to the people who lived before Jesus came (go to heaven or hell); why do
some very righteous people automatically go to hell just because they don't
believe in Jesus (we thought about Gandhi); on the other hand, why do some
pretty horrible people (like my friend's abusive father) get rewarded with
heaven just because they're Christian; why does a loving and merciful God
require a blood sacrifice (Jesus) to forgive people's sins; why are we guilty of
Adam's original sin; why does the Word of God (Bible) disagree with scientific
facts; how can Jesus be God; how can One God be 3 different things; etc. We
debated about these things, but never came up with good answers. The church
couldn't give us good answers either; they only told us to "have faith."
The people at church told me about a Presbyterian summer camp in
Northern California. I went for the first time when I was 10. For the next 7
years, I went every summer. While I was happy with the little church I went to,
this is where I really felt in touch with God, without confusion. It was here
that I developed my very deep faith in God. We spent much of our time outdoors,
playing games, doing crafts, swimming, etc. It was fun, but every day we would
also take time out to pray, study the bible, sing spiritual songs, and have
`quiet time.' It is this quiet time that really meant a lot to me, and of which
I have the best memories. The rule was that you had to sit alone - anywhere on
the camp's 200 beautiful acres. I would often go to a meadow, or sit on a bridge
overlooking the creek, and just THINK. I looked around me, at the creek, the
trees, the clouds, the bugs :) - listened to the water, the birds' songs, the
crickets' chirps. This place really let me feel at peace, and I admired and
thanked God for His beautiful creation. At the end of each summer, when I
returned back home, this feeling stayed with me. I loved to spend time outdoors,
alone, to just think about God, life, and my place in it. I developed my
personal understanding of Jesus' role as a teacher and example, and left all the
confusing church teachings behind.
I believed (and still do) in the
teaching "Love your neighbor as yourself," fully giving to others without
expecting anything in return, treating others as you would like to be treated. I
strived to help everyone I could. When I was fourteen, I got my first job, at an
ice cream store. When I got my paycheck each month (it wasn't much), I sent the
first $25 to a program called `Foster Parents Plan' (they've changed the name
now). This was a charity that hooked up needy children overseas with American
sponsors. During my 4 years of high school, I was a sponsor for a young Egyptian
boy named Sherif. I sent him part of my paycheck each month, and we exchanged
letters. (His letters were in Arabic, and looking at them now, it appears that
he believed he was writing to an adult man, not a girl 5 years older than him.)
He was 9 years old, his father was dead, and his mother was ill and couldn't
work. He had 2 younger brothers and a sister my age. I remember getting a letter
from him when I was 16 - he was excited because his sister had gotten engaged. I
thought, "She's the same age as me, and she's getting engaged!!!" It seemed so
foreign to me. These were the first Muslims I had contact with.
Aside
from this, I was also involved with other activities in high school. I tutored
Central American students at my school in English. In a group called "Students
for Social Responsibility," I helped charities for Nicaraguan school children
and Kenyan villagers. We campaigned against nuclear arms (the biggest fear we
all had at that time was of a nuclear war).
I invited exchange students
from France into my home, and I had penpals from all over the world (France,
Germany, Sweden, etc.). My junior year of high school, we hosted a group called
`Children of War' - a group of young people from South Africa, Gaza Strip,
Guatemala, and other war-torn lands, who toured the country telling their
stories and their wishes for peace. Two of them stayed at my house - the group's
chaperone from Nicaragua, and a young black South African man. The summer after
my junior year of high school, I took a volunteer job in San Francisco (the
Tenderloin district), teaching English to refugee women. In my class were
Fatimah and Maysoon, 2 Chinese Muslim widows from Vietnam. These were the next
Muslims I met, although we couldn't talk much (their English was too minimal).
All they did was laugh.
All of these experiences put me in touch with
the outside world, and led me to value people of all kinds. Throughout my youth
and high school, I had developed two very deep interests: faith in God, and
interacting with people from other countries. When I left home to attend college
in Portland, Oregon, I brought these interests with me.
At Lewis &
Clark College, I started out as a Foreign Language (French & Spanish) major,
with a thought to one day work with refugee populations, or teach English as a
Second Language. When I arrived at school, I moved into a dorm room with two
others - a girl from California (who grew up only 10 minutes from where I did),
and a 29-year-old Japanese woman (exchange student). I was 17.
I didn't
know anyone else at school, so I tried to get involved in activities to meet
people. In line with my interests, I chose to get involved with 2 groups: Campus
Crusade for Christ (obviously, a Christian group), and Conversation Groups
(where they match Americans up with a group of international students to
practice English).
I met with the Campus Crusade students during my
first term of school. A few of the people that I met were very nice,
pure-hearted people, but the majority were very ostentatious. We got together
every week to listen to "personal testimonies," sing songs, etc. Every week we
visited a different church in the Portland area. Most of the churches were
unlike anything I'd ever been exposed to before. One final visit to a church in
the Southeast area freaked me out so much that I quit going to the Crusade
meetings. At this church, there was a rock band with electric guitars, and
people were waving their hands in the air (above their heads, with their eyes
closed) and singing "hallelujah." I had never seen anything like it! I see
things like this now on TV, but coming from a very small Presbyterian church, I
was disturbed. Others in Campus Crusade loved this church, and they continued to
go. The atmosphere seemed so far removed from the worship of God, and I didn't
feel comfortable returning.
I always felt closest to God when I was in a
quiet setting and/or outdoors. I started taking walks around campus (Lewis &
Clark College has a beautiful campus!), sitting on benches, looking at the view
of Mount Hood, watching the trees change colors. One day I wandered into the
campus chapel - a small, round building nestled in the trees. It was beautifully
simple. The pews formed a circle around the center of the room, and a huge pipe
organ hung from the ceiling in the middle. No altar, no crosses, no statues -
nothing. Just some simple wood benches and a pipe organ. During the rest of the
year, I spent a lot of time in this building, listening to the organist
practice, or just sitting alone in the quiet to think. I felt more comfortable
and close to God there than at any church I had ever been to.
During
this time, I was also meeting with a group of international students as part of
the Conversation Group program. We had 5 people in our group: me, a Japanese man
and woman, an Italian man and a Palestinian man. We met twice a week over lunch,
to practice English conversation skills. We talked about our families, our
studies, our childhoods, cultural differences, etc. As I listened to the
Palestinian man (Faris) talk about his life, his family, his faith, etc., it
struck a nerve in me. I remembered Sherif, Fatima and Maysoon, the only other
Muslims I had ever known. Previously, I had seen their beliefs and way of life
as foreign, something that was alien to my culture. I never bothered to learn
about their faith because of this cultural barrier. But the more I learned about
Islam, the more I became interested in it as a possibility for my own life.
During my second term of school, the conversation group disbanded and
the international students transferred to other schools. The discussions we had,
however, stayed at the front of my thoughts. The following term, I registered
for a class in the religious studies department: Introduction to Islam. This
class brought back all of the concerns that I had about Christianity. As I
learned about Islam, all of my questions were answered. All of us are not
punished for Adam's original sin. Adam asked God for forgiveness and our
Merciful and Loving God forgave him. God doesn't require a blood sacrifice in
payment for sin. We must sincerely ask for forgiveness and amend our ways. Jesus
wasn't God, he was a prophet, like all of the other prophets, who all taught the
same message: Believe in the One true God; worship and submit to Him alone; and
live a righteous life according to the guidance He has sent. This answered all
of my questions about the trinity and the nature of Jesus (all God, all human,
or a combination). God is a Perfect and Fair Judge, who will reward or punish us
based on our faith and righteousness. I found a teaching that put everything in
its proper perspective, and appealed to my heart and my intellect. It seemed
natural. It wasn't confusing. I had been searching, and I had found a place to
rest my faith.
That summer, I returned home to the Bay Area and
continued my studies of Islam. I checked books out of the library and talked
with my friends. They were as deeply spiritual as I was, and had also been
searching (most of them were looking into eastern religions, Buddhism in
particular). They understood my search, and were happy I could find something to
believe in. They raised questions, though, about how Islam would affect my life:
as a woman, as a liberal Californian :), with my family, etc. I continued to
study, pray and soul-search to see how comfortable I really was with it. I
sought out Islamic centers in my area, but the closest one was in San Francisco,
and I never got there to visit (no car, and bus schedules didn't fit with my
work schedule). So I continued to search on my own. When it came up in
conversation, I talked to my family about it. I remember one time in particular,
when we were all watching a public television program about the Eskimos. They
said that the Eskimos have over 200 words for `snow,' because snow is such a big
part of their life. Later that night, we were talking about how different
languages have many words for things that are important to them. My father
commented about all the different words Americans use for `money' (money, dough,
bread, etc.). I commented, "You know, the Muslims have 99 names for God - I
guess that's what is important to them."
At the end of the summer, I
returned to Lewis & Clark. The first thing I did was contact the mosque in
southwest Portland. I asked for the name of a woman I could talk to, and they
gave me the number of a Muslim American sister. That week, I visited her at
home. After talking for a while, she realized that I was already a believer. I
told her I was just looking for some women who could help guide me in the
practicalities of what it meant to be a Muslim. For example, how to pray. I had
read it in books, but I couldn't figure out how to do it just from books. I made
attempts, and prayed in English, but I knew I wasn't doing it right. The sister
invited me that night to an aqiqa (dinner after the birth of a new baby). She
picked me up that night and we went. I felt so comfortable with the Muslim
sisters there, and they were very friendly to me that night. I said my shahaada,
witnessed by a few sisters. They taught me how to pray. They talked to me about
their own faith (many of them were also American). I left that night feeling
like I had just started a new life.
I was still living in a campus dorm,
and was pretty isolated from the Muslim community. I had to take 2 buses to get
to the area where the mosque was (and where most of the women lived). I quickly
lost touch with the women I met, and was left to pursue my faith on my own at
school. I made a few attempts to go to the mosque, but was confused by the
meeting times. Sometimes I'd show up to borrow some books from the library, and
the whole building would be full of men. Another time I decided to go to my
first Jumah prayer, and I couldn't go in for the same reason. Later, I was told
that women only meet at a certain time (Saturday afternoon), and that I couldn't
go at other times. I was discouraged and confused, but I continued to have faith
and learn on my own.
Six months after my shahaada, I observed my first
Ramadan. I had been contemplating the issue of hijab, but was too scared to take
that step before. I had already begun to dress more modestly, and usually wore a
scarf over my shoulders (when I visited the sister, she told me "all you have to
do is move that scarf from your shoulders to your head, and you'll be
Islamically dressed."). At first I didn't feel ready to wear hijab, because I
didn't feel strong enough in my faith. I understood the reason for it, agreed
with it, and admired the women who did wear it. They looked so pious and noble.
But I knew that if I wore it, people would ask me a lot of questions, and I
didn't feel ready or strong enough to deal with that.
This changed as
Ramadan approached, and on the first day of Ramadan, I woke up and went to class
in hijab. Alhamdillah, I haven't taken it off since. Something about Ramadan
helped me to feel strong, and proud to be a Muslim. I felt ready to answer
anybody's questions.
However, I also felt isolated and lonely during
that first Ramadan. No one from the Muslim community even called me. I was on a
meal plan at school, so I had to arrange to get special meals (the dining hall
wasn't open during the hours I could eat). The school agreed to give me my meals
in bag lunches. So every night as sundown approached, I'd walk across the street
to the kitchen, go in the back to the huge refrigerators, and take my 2 bag
lunches (one for fitoor, one for suhoor). I'd bring the bags back to my dorm
room and eat alone. They always had the same thing: yoghurt, a piece of fruit,
cookies, and either a tuna or egg salad sandwich. The same thing, for both
meals, for the whole month. I was lonely, but at the same time I had never felt
more at peace with myself.
When I embraced Islam, I told my family. They
were not surprised. They kind of saw it coming, from my actions and what I said
when I was home that summer. They accepted my decision, and knew that I was
sincere. Even before, my family always accepted my activities and my deep faith,
even if they didn't share it. They were not as open-minded, however, when I
started to wear hijab. They worried that I was cutting myself off from society,
that I would be discriminated against, that it would discourage me from reaching
my goals, and they were embarrassed to be seen with me. They thought it was too
radical. They didn't mind if I had a different faith, but they didn't like it to
affect my life in an outward way.
They were more upset when I decided to
get married. During this time, I had gotten back in touch with Faris, the Muslim
Palestinian brother of my conversation group, the one who first prompted my
interest in Islam. He was still in the Portland area, attending the community
college. We started meeting again, over lunch, in the library, at his brother's
house, etc. We were married the following summer (after my sophomore year, a
year after my shahaada). My family freaked out. They weren't quite yet over my
hijab, and they felt like I had thrown something else at them. They argued that
I was too young, and worried that I would abandon my goals, drop out of school,
become a young mother, and destroy my life. They liked my husband, but didn't
trust him at first (they were thinking `green card scam'). My family and I
fought over this for several months, and I feared that our relationship would
never be repaired.
That was 3 years ago, and a lot has changed. Faris
and I moved to Corvallis, Oregon, home of Oregon State University. We live in a
very strong and close-knit Muslim community. I graduated magna cum laude last
year, with a degree in child development. I have had several jobs, from
secretary to preschool teacher, with no problems about my hijab. I'm active in
the community, and still do volunteer work. My husband, insha'Allah, will finish
his Electrical Engineering degree this year. We visit my family a couple of
times a year. I met Faris' parents for the first time this summer, and we get
along great. I'm slowly but surely adding Arabic to the list of languages I
speak.
My family has seen all of this, and has recognized that I didn't
destroy my life. They see that Islam has brought me happiness, not pain and
sorrow. They are proud of my accomplishments, and can see that I am truly happy
and at peace. Our relationship is back to normal, and they are looking forward
to our visit next month, insha'Allah.
Looking back on all of this, I
feel truly grateful that Allah has guided me to where I am today. I truly feel
blessed. It seems that all of the pieces of my life fit together in a pattern -
a path to Islam.
Alhamdillillahi rabi al'amin.
Your sister in
faith, C. Huda Dodge
"...Say: Allah's guidance is the only guidance, and
we have been directed to submit ourselves to the Lord of the Worlds..." Qur'an
6:71
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