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