When I found Islam I knew it was the ‘last stop’
In the Name of Allah,The
Beneficent, The Merciful
Often when people ask me ‘How did you come to Islam?’,
I take a deep breath and try and tell them the ‘short version’. I don’t think that Islam is something that I came to suddenly, even though it felt like it at the time, but it was something that I was gradually guided towards through different experiences. Through writing this piece I hope that somebody may read it, identify with some things and may be prompted to learn more about the real Islam.
I was born in 1978 in Australia, was christened and raised ‘Christian’. As a child I used to look forward to attending church and going to Sunday school. Even though I can still remember looking forward to it, I can’t remember much about it. Maybe it was getting all dressed up in my bestclothes,
maybe seeing the other children, maybe the stories, or maybe it was just that I could look forward to my grandmothers’ famous Sunday lunch when I got home. My family wasn’t strict about religion at all - the bible was never read outside church from what I knew, grace was never said before eating. To put it simply I guess religion just wasn’t a major issue in our lives. I can remember attending church with my family sometimes, and as I got older I can remember getting annoyed when the other members of my family chose not to come. So for the last couple of years I attended church alone.
At the time that I attended primary school ‘Religious Education’ was a lesson that was given weekly. We learned of ‘true Christian values’ and received copies of the bible. While I wouldn’t admit it at the time, I also looked forward to those classes. It was something interesting to learnabout,
something that I believed had some sort of importance, just that I didn’t know what.
In my high school years I attended an allgirls
high school. We didn’t have any sort of religious classes there, and I guess to some degree I missed that because I starting reading the bible in my own time. At the time I was reading it for ‘interest sake’. I believed that God existed, but not in the form that was often described in church. As for the trinity, I hoped that maybe that was something I would come to understand as I grew older. There were many things that confused me, hence there seemed to be ‘religious’ times in my life where I would read the bible and do my best to follow it, then I would get confused and think that it was all too much for me to understand. I remember talking to a Christian girl in my math classes. I guess that gave me one reason to look forward to math. I would ask her about things that I didn’t understand, and whilst some explanations I could understand, others didn’t seem to be logical enough for me to trust in Christianity 100%.
I can’t say that I have ever been comfortable living with a lot of aspects of the Australian culture. I didn’t understand for example drinking alcohol or having multiple boyfriends. I always felt that there was a lot of pressure and sometimes cried at the thought of ‘growing up’ because of what ‘growing up’ meant in this culture. My family travelled overseas fairly often and I always thought that through travelling I might be able to find a country where I could lead a comfortable life and not feel pressured like I did. After spending 3 weeks in Japan on a student exchange I decided that I wanted to go again for a long-term exchange. In my final year of high school I was accepted to attend a high school in Japan for the following year.
Before I left Australia to spend the year overseas I was going through one of my ‘religious stages’. I often tried to hide these stages from my parents. For some reason I thought that they would laugh at me reading the bible. The night before I flew to Japan my suitcase was packed however I stayed up until my parents had gone to sleep so I could get the bible and pack it too. I didn’t want my parents to know I was taking it.
My year in Japan didn’t end up the most enjoyable experience in my life by any means. I encountered problem after problem. At the time it was difficult. I was 17 years old when I went there and I learned a lot of valuable lessons in that year. One of which was ‘things aren’t always what they seem’. At one stage I felt as though I had lost everything - my Japanese school friends (friends had always been very important to me, even in Australia), my Japanese families, then I received a phone call saying that I was to be sent home to Australia a couple of months early. I had ‘lost everything’ - including the dream that I had held so close for so many years. The night that I received that phone call I got out my bible. I thought that maybe I could find some comfort in it, and I knew that no matter what, God knew the truth about everything that everybody does and that no amount of gossip and lies could change that. I had always believed that hard times were never given to us to ‘stop us’, but to help us grow. With that in mind, I was determined to stay in Japan for the whole year and somehow try and stop the ridiculous rumours. Alhamdulillah I was able to do that.
From that year I came to understand that not only is every culture different, but also they both have good points and bad points. I came to understand that it wasn’t a culture that I was searching for... but something else.
I attended an all girls Buddhist school in Japan. We had a gathering each week where we prayed, sang songs and listened to the principal give us lengthy talks. At first I wasn’t comfortable attending these gatherings. I was given a copy of the songbook along with the beads that you put over your hands when you pray. I tried to get out of going to them at the start, but then decided that I didn’t have to place the same meaning to things as others did. When I prayed, I prayed to the same God that I had always prayed to - the One and Only God. I can’t say that I really understand Buddhism. Whenever I tried to find out more I met with dead ends. I even asked a Japanese man who taught English. He had often been to America and he said that in Japan he was Buddhist, and in American he was Christian. There were some things about Buddhism that I found interesting, but it wasn’t something that I could consider a religion.
In a lot of ways I picked what I liked out of religions and spiritual philosophies and formed what I considered to be my ‘Own Religion’. I collected philosophical quote after quote in high school, read into things such as the Celestine Prophecy and Angels when I returned to Australia, and still held onto the Christian beliefs that made sense to me. I felt like I was continually searching for the truth.
When I returned to Australia from Japan I had grown closer to a girl that I went to high school with. She was always somebody who I considered to be a good friend, but wasn’t in ‘my group of friends’ whom I sat with in class or for lunch. Some of the people in that group I haven’t heard from and haven’t seen since I returned. I realised that this other girl and I had a lot more in common than I had first thought. Maybe this was because I had changed a lot in Japan, or maybe it was because I had learned that being ‘socially acceptable’ and popular wasn’t important because the people that are making those judgements are not always morally correct. I didn’t really care whowas my friend
and who wasn’t anymore, but I did care that I was true to myself and refused to change to suit other people. I felt like I had found who I really was by losing everything that I had previously considered important.
The girl that I had grown closer to was Muslim, not that I thought of it at the time. One night we sat in McDonalds, taking advantage of their ‘free refill coffee’ offer and talked about religion, mainly in what way we believed in God. She was the one asking the questions mostly, about how I thought God to ‘be’. I enjoyed the discussion and felt somehow that I might be making some sense to her with my ‘Own Religion’. When we got home she got out the 40 Hadith Qudsi and read them for herself. She read some of them to me, which of course got me interested. I asked to borrow the book from her so I could sit and read them all too, which I did. Reading the book in some ways was frightening. To me, examples of Islam could be found in TV news reports and in books such as ‘Princess’ and ‘Not without my daughter’. Surely, I thought, the Hadith were just a good part of it, but the bad part was there too.
From there I moved back to my university for the start of semester and couldn’t really get books from my friend anymore so I started looking on the Internet. I had already ‘met’ some Muslims on the IRC but I considered them my friends too and that they wouldn’t tell me the ‘truth’ about Islam. I thought that they would only tell me the good parts. I did ask them some questions though and Masha’Allah they were a great help. I still remember asking a Muslim guy whether he believed in angels. Angels were a part of my ‘Own Religion’ and I certainly didn’t believe that a Muslim guy would admit to believing in the existence of Angels!! My limited and ignorant understanding of a Muslim male was one who beat his wife, killed female babies and was a terrorist in his spare time. This sort of person couldn’t possibly believe in angels I thought. Of course I was shocked when he said ‘Of course I believe in angels’. From then I was interested to know what else Muslims believed in.
I often think that I initially continued reading about Islam through the Internet to prove it wrong. I was always looking for that ‘bad part’. Everybody couldn’t have such a bad view of Islam if there was no reason for them to. I had always found a bad or an illogical part to every religion that I had read into. So why would Islam be different? I remember finding an Islamic chat site for the first time and expected to see suppressed females just reading what the males were saying. I expected them not to have an opinion, I expected the ‘typical Muslim girl’ that I had always felt sorry for. To my shock I saw girls happily chatting, with opinions that they were allowed to express.Muslim girls that were somehow more liberated than I felt.
My learning about Islam through the Internet continued through chatting to lots of people and printing out homepage after homepage. The more I learned the more scared I was. I didn’t tell any of my friends that I was reading about Islam, not even my best friend. At first it was because I didn’t want them telling me only the ‘good parts’, and then even when I came to realise that I wasn’t going to find any of the bad parts, I didn’t want them to get their hopes up about me reverting to Islam. I wanted this ‘decision’ to be one that I made on my own - without pressure.
This ‘decision’ that I refer to wasn’t really a decision at all. I am often asked ‘What made you decide to become Muslim?’ but when something as clear and logical as Islam is put in front of you, there is no choice. This is not to say that it made the decision to say Shahadah any easier. There were many things that stopped me at first. Firstly I didn’t think that I knew enough about Islam… but then it didn’t matter because I knew that I would never find anything that was illogical or ‘bad’. I came to realise that saying Shahadah is not the final step, but the first. Insha-Allah throughout my life I will continue to learn. The other thing that made me hesitant was turning the meaning of the word ‘Islam’ from all the bad things that I had linked with it. I always thought that I couldn’t possibly be Muslim!! To then learn that my ‘Own Religion’ and beliefs for example of God beingOne
, was actually Islam was hard at first. Islam brought everything together. Everything made sense. To me, finding Islam was like one big bus ride - I had stopped and had a look at all of the stops along the way, taken a bit from all of them, and continued on with the journey. When I found Islam I knew it was the ‘last stop’ of my long ride.
In October of 1997, my best friend came with me for me to say my Shahadah at an Islamic Centre in Melbourne (Jeffcott st). I was still scared at the time, but after one of the sisters going through the articles of faith, and me putting a mental tick next to each of them, I knew that there was nothing left to do but to say it with my mouth. I still cry when I think of the moment that I said ‘Yes..
I’ll do it’. I finally dropped the mental wall that had been stopping me. I was to repeat in Arabic after the sister. With her first word I cried. It is a feeling that I can’t explain. My friend was sitting beside but a little behind me, I didn’t realise it then but she was already crying. I felt so much power around me and in the words, but I myself felt so weak.
Sometimes I think myfamily wonder
if this is a phase I am going through, just like my other phases. I was even vegetarian until mum told me what was for dinner that night - a roast. There is still so much for me to learn, but one thing that I would like people to understand is that I know Alhamdulillah that Islam is a blessing for mankind. The more you learn, Insha-Allah, the more beauty you will see in Islam.
Your sister in Islam
Holy Quran 45:20These
are clear proofs for men, and a guidance and a mercy for a people who are sure.
Saabirah AbdulHayy
Each single life is a unique, beautiful, gift from the One Who Creates. Insha’Llah, I shall never stop loving to sing the praises of my Creator (swt) and the Road that I’ve travelled and continue to travel until breath leaves this body. I was born Muslim, AlHumduli’Llah although I never knew that as I was raised Catholic Christian. There have been many trials with only one answer even when I didn’t know the question.
There has been One Constant in my life and it is the Source of All...Allah (swt). Sometimes, that never-ending, “God, where are you?” caused difficulties, especially when I was growing up. Mother used to say (and still does) “Go to church once a week, say your prayers and then cut it out with all of your “God Stuff!” For me, that would have been like cutting off a limb. I have been a bit ill since 12 years old in that I’ve had epilepsy, which was difficult to control. I was married at age 22, had a child, and because of seizures, I was heavily medicated and seem to have lost 11 years of my life/memories. I recall my daughter at the age of 5 and then...she was 16. I became ill with pneumonia and in one day my lungs collapsed, liver failed and I slipped into a comatose state. The doctors resuscitated me and used life support for sustenance. My family was told that I would most likely live for not more than 3 days. AlHumduli’Llah, I didn’t know that I was “supposed to die” and one day I woke up!
My life took a turn. I worked as an office manager for a few years. When I was laid off, I went on retreat to seek Guidance and again asked God, “Where areYou
?” The official reason for the retreat was a passage from the Bible: “Ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and the door will be opened to you”. When I left for that retreat, I made a “bargain with God.” I asked for His Guidance and in turn promised that after 10 days of prayer, I would return home to find God’s Will for me “in the mailbox!” Well, Allah (swt) came through and I found one letter about a pilgrimage to Israel. In Israel, I discovered Arabs and Muslims. “The Road Less Travelled” opened up to me and I was happy to walk it. After that first 10-day pilgrimage I returned to Israel by myself for what I believed would be 28 days for a time of prayer, searching, and coming to a better understanding of God and me. When the airplane landed I walked through Ben Gurion airport pushing my luggage in a trolley, wondering what would happen to me... alone in the Middle East! A very beautiful world opened up to me as I looked out at the desert, palm trees and people speaking strange languages...Hebrew and Arabic, neither of which I understood at all.
The trip from Ben Gurion Airport to Jerusalem was my very first experience of being totally on my own. The brilliant blue skies and gentle breezes spelled out “home” to me. After one day in Jerusalem I was off to Mt. Tabor for 11 days. My 40th birthday was on the exact same day as the 50th anniversary of the ordination of one of the Franciscan friars and the banquet and fireworks that were planned for that day were for us both! Looking out over the desert and across to Mt. Hermon was my morning activity. The sheep and goats with their bells meandered up the side of Mt. Tabor. Birds tweeted and sang their morning songs as the sun rose. It was summer and everything was in bloom. Flower petals marked the pages of my prayer books and journals instead of bookmarks. I cannot properly explain what it was and what was going on in me, but again, I felt as though “something” was calling.
After Mt. Tabor and the Church of the Transfiguration, I went down to Mt. Carmel. Ahh...the Mediterranean filling the horizon with such a blue/green! I lived in the Monastery of St. Terese with the Carmelite Sisters and Friars. I was a secular Discalced Carmelite at the time. It was our obligation to pray five times every day the “Liturgy of the Hours,” which is mainly the Psalms and a ritual standing and bowing... much like making Salaat. So, we rose with the sun. I wondered at the marvels and questions that were filling every piece of me. I was there for the feasts of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel and 3 days later, the feast of St. Elijah. The cave of Elijah is in the side of the mount overlooking the ocean. Jews and Muslims came for a week camping out in the huge yard in front of the monastery. Every year there is a great celebration for the Feast of Elijah the Prophet who fought the people of Baal, right there on Mt. Carmel. The Temple of Baal is still there almost next door to the Carmelite Monastery. The time on Mt. Carmel was like a dream and when my two weeks there was up I didn’t know what to do. I called to the US and they said, “You sound as though you want to stay, whydon’t you
change your ticket?” Well, they didn’t have to say it twice!
Going to Jerusalem was scary. I didn’t know the city and I’d yet to find my way around the small alleyways of the Old City (Al-Quds). There was a favourite spot at the coffee shop at the Notre Dame Center. I’d sit there and look out over the Old City’s minarets and steeples. The Dome of the Rock filled my gaze...so beautiful! After the 4 days that were reserved for me in the hotel I had to “hit the streets” in search of a new place to lay my head. The winding alleyways of al-Quds were like a labyrinth. I knew of one little house that was run by the Arab Rosary Sisters and went there pulling all of my belongings. The little Arab Sister said, “Sorry, we don’t have any room but you can leave your luggage while you go to look around the city.” So, I was off on the very old stone streets with the wall of al-Quds always on one side of me. As darkness began to fall and there was nowhere to sleep I recalled the words of the Psalm, “Though an army surround me, I shall not fear for Thou art with me.” I had lost my luggage and couldn’t find my way back to the morning’s house! Trudging down the dusty street I saw a familiar door built into the walls. It was strange in that it was open with night approaching. An Arab nun looked out as I was about to pass by and said, “Aren’t you Sabina? Someone told me that you were here in the morning. Come in, we have a place for you!” What a shock! Thus began the next months of communal meals with other travellers (who turned into “Jerusalem friends” over the next 7 years), hand washing clothes and singing as we hung them on the roof to dry, bargaining in the souq, and travelling the city in an attempt to soak in it’s glory.
My roommate Lena was Swedish. She worked at the Gaza Community Mental Health Program on weekends and was studying Arabic. That was where I learned of the plight of the Palestinians and first decided to plunge myself into the Arabic language. When my Visa ran out it was a teary “goodbye” and long flight back to the US. After a little while, I found myself back in al-Quds...my home. Money was tight so it was time to live life poorly in my beloved al-Quds. I learned every face, every smile, every shop’s owner and the merchants in the souq. I was known as “the woman with the beautiful dress” for the lovely Bedouin jalabiyya that I wore. Also, I was known as “the hard woman” because I’d learned to “bargain with the best of them!” I lived in a hostel (50 cents a night) and met Ismael who would become my teacher for writing Arabic. I didn’t know it at the time but the words that Ismael was teaching me to write were things like “ism” or “Malik” “al-ard.” He said, “Sabina, the best way to learn the Arabic language is with the Qur’an.”
I didn’t know what the Qur’an was! I had very little exposure to Islam. Ismael always said, “Sabina your Faith is beautiful and you love God. Don’t let anyone hurt that... only God isOne
.” “Do not forget Sabina... God isOne
.”
Things changed a bit. I was living inside the Walls of the Old City. My little room looked like a cave made from stone with a vaulted roof. Winters were freezing cold and wet. Spring cloaked the country in colors, summer was sweltering hot, and the fall was a less colorful version of spring. One year, a Carmelite priest that I knew took me to the Monastery of the Discalced Carmelite nuns on the Mount of Olives just there at the Grotto of the Pater Noster. I was already a member of a Catholic Discalced Carmelite community but thought to enter the monastery in Palestine/Israel. Life in the monastery was beautiful.
The olive grove just out the window of my cell was huge with olive trees, grape vines, pomegranate bushes, fig trees, plum trees and a vegetable garden. Life was lived around the bells. We prayed every day, 5 times a day, and in the summer we prayed at the same times that the Adhan was calling Muslims to prayer. That was a very prayerful, solitary and thoughtful life. It afforded me much peace and lots of time for quiet thought. While in the monastery I wondered about God. I was overshadowed by a different and powerful Transcendence...I thought, “Where is God?” Now I know that He (swt) never left me for even a split second, Masha’Llah. Life in the monastery was typical of any other nun but I sensed there that my life needed to be out on the streets in the world. When I left the monastery it was a sad day but also the first day of the rest of my life. I went down to Jerusalem on Yom Kippur.After a short visit back to the US, I returned to al-Quds again...”for the rest of my life.”
The last stage of life in al-Quds I worked at the Syrian Catholic Patriarchate in East Jerusalem’s Muslim neighbourhood. The Syrian/Arab Christians are very suspicious of Muslims and I was told to make sure that all doors and windows were securely locked by nightfall because “they (Muslim neighbours) will sneak in and cut our throats while we sleep!” At that time I was working very hard doing manual work. I was the “foolish American” since I was not in the least afraid of Muslims; they were my friends. I was the one who cared for the Muslim women and children that came to our guesthouse. I also cleaned lots of bathrooms in the house, washed floors, and scrubbed the endless stairs on my hands and knees at least once a weekIn
all there were 16 flights of stairs. I must have hung goodness knows how many sheets on the rooftop every morning. I liked going up on the roof just after waking to pray. Every morning at about 4:30 I went up to the roof and looked out over the Old City. My beloved Jerusalem! The Dome of the Rock is a sight that will live in my heart forever! I had been learning to write Arabic and copied everything that I saw.
One day I saw something on the wall of a coffee shop and it captivated me. I copied it. It was so beautiful that my fingers learned to write it without stopping at all. Every morning I used the tip of my finger to “write” the words in the blue sky. Soon, I asked Muslim friends what it was that I was writing and they told me, “That is a Surah, Surat al-Falaq.” A dear friend, Kamil, suggested that I go down into the souq and get a copy of the Qur’an, so I did.
The first thing that I looked for was Al-Falaq, and I read, “In the Name of God, the Merciful,the
Compassionate. All of Creation seeks refuge in the Lord of the Daybreak”...just as I had been writing with my finger in the sky! “From the evil which He has created”...and I thought of the soldiers that patrolled Jerusalem. “And from the evil of the darkness when it descends”...was this my Muslim friends who would “sneak in and slit our throats”?!the
riots in the streets and the sounds of the dark. “And from the evil of those who practice witchcraft, and from the evil of the envier when he envies”...the envious...what did I have to envy? Little did I know of the Gifts that Allah (swt) was showering on littleme.
The days were beautiful after the work was done but because of the harsh chemicals that I had to use my feet and hands were callused and raw. The dry skin finally cracked leaving my hands bleeding when used very much. If I stood still in one place for too long my feet would become numb so that when beginning to walk it was agony. Sandals were permanently bloodstained from walking and irritating the cracks. I noticed that shop owners and produce vendors were avoiding me. I looked like a leper and a darned skinny one at that. The only thing that helped forget the pain was to look at the children and walk the narrow streets of the souq...up to the top of the Mt. of Olives...out to Ein Karim to sit up on the cliff overlooking the wadi...Nazareth and the Galilee! Tiberius and a boat trip across the Sea of Galilee to the Mount of Beatitudes!The Dead Sea where I went to swim.
Gorgeous! Well...life was tough and life was beautiful. After going to Mass every evening I walked home to the patriarchate down the same dusty roads.
One evening as I walked in excruciating pain I talked to God. “My God, areYou
there? DoYou
really exist? I don’t know if I’m a Jew, Christian or Muslim or Atheist! My God...ifYou
are there, I’m throwing everything that I’ve ever knew of You right here in this gutter. You have to teach me because I sense something but don’t know what it is!” With that I looked up at the sun setting over the golden Dome of the Rock...ah, Ya Allah! As I walked home I cried. It felt as though I had just attempted spiritual suicide and was falling off of the top of a cliff into a black abyss. I could feel myself “dropping” and knew that I would either land in the pits of Hell or...or...God could save me! My thoughts were that God is One...He transcends whatever anyone I’d heard had said. “Please God, Ya Allah take me!” was all that I could think.
After that I became ill. The Syrian Catholics were “not nice.” One day I was told to leave by afternoon...no more work. By evening I was back on the street pulling some luggage with me, some stored at a little house in the courtyard, and nowhere to sleep. Eventually I found a room in a hostel in East Jerusalem. After a few weeks my body froze up due to the lupus condition. The American Embassy made emergency arrangements to fly me back to the US to find some doctors. It was probably the saddest thing that could have happened. Just before I left I went back to the Notre Dame and had my usual cappuccino on the terrace with its beautiful view of the City. Sitting there I knew that it was a brief period that I would remember for the rest of my life. I looked out over the City at the Dome of the Rock with the Mt. of Olives rising behind it and prayed, “My God…Please do not let me die until I once again see al-Quds. My God, let Jerusalem live always in my heart.” I have never taken a photograph of al-Quds yet I can see it still.
When I returned to the US, after a while of being sick and unable to move, I got better, went to work and continued bumping up against the thoughts and feelings of Jerusalem. God was there in my life...and God was One, Al Quyyoom, the Transcendent. I missed hearing the Adhans echoing in the streets of Jerusalem...”Allahu Akbar…Allahu Akbar.” I missed the little children running to me calling, “Sabria, Sabria!” I missed my Muslim friends and I wondered, “Where is Allah?”
One morning just before work I was compelled to stand in my kitchen and asked Allah to be my witness as I said, “AshHadu ana La Illaha Illa Allahwa
AshaHadu ana Muhammad Nabi waRasuulu.” I read al-Fatiha and al-Falaq and walked out my door in tears, overjoyed at the thought “I am Muslim! Allahu Akbar! My name had changed from Sabina or Sabria to Saabirah... the Patient one.Subhan Allah.
Salaamu Alaikum waRahmatulluh waBarakatuhu.
Holy Quran 48:28 He it isWho
sent His Apostle with the guidance and the true religion that He may make it prevail over all the religions; and Allah (swt) is enough for a witness.
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Author: Baqir Sharif al-Qarashi
