Testimonies

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When 9/11 happened, I started to develop an interest in the Middle East. Up until that point, the Middle East was simply a bunch of countries to memorize for geography. But after 9/11 – which for me was during seventh grade – I began to “research” that region of the world. I would use my free time at school to read up on the countries and their histories, cultures, people, etc. I was overwhelmed. There is simply so much to the Middle East. But I enjoyed learning about it and kept up with any news in regards to the Middle East pretty well during the immediate years following 9/11.

During tenth grade one of my school’s ELL teachers was approached by our principal, who asked her if she would start teaching Arabic, her native language. She agreed. Now, I had been taking German since freshman year. My mom learned it overseas in Germany on her own and took it in college… my sister took it… I figured I might as well jump on the bandwagon. It was alright, and I did well, but it wasn’t very interesting to me. So when I heard that Arabic was starting up, I thought I’d take on a new challenge and enroll in the class.

From the first day of class, I was hooked. From the strange, guttural sounds to the written script – which, to me, was like a beautiful art – I loved everything about this new, exciting language. I figure now that it was just so different that I couldn’t help but be drawn to it. My teacher also informed us that we would be learning a lot about the culture of the Middle East. Then, in October, I learned that my uncle [Colonel William W. Wood] died while on a tour in Baghdad, Iraq. I was gutted. I felt a lot of anger towards the Middle East and its people. All of them. Whether they were Muslim or Iraqi, it didn’t matter. I found myself thinking, ‘They can all just go to hell.’ Bitterness accompanied that anger. I knew it was wrong to feel these things, but I didn’t care. Eventually, however, I asked God to help me forgive those who were associated with the death of my uncle. I even asked Him to give me a heart for them.

That was the beginning of a twisted journey.

As eleventh grade wore on, I was bombarded with questions regarding what I wanted to study, where I wanted to go, and what I wanted to do. I didn’t have to think too hard about that. I had fallen so in love with Arabic and everything about the Middle East that I simply knew I would do something with those subjects. So I started looking up schools with regional studies, and narrowed it down to the University of Utah.

I got really involved out in Utah. I had a job at the football stadium, was on Freshman Council in the student government, was the floor representative in my dorm, part of a couple clubs, and got involved in a few Christian groups. As the semester wore on, a lot of my focus turned to God and what He had to offer. I went to Campus Crusade for Christ’s large group, a small group, InterVarsity’s large group, a Bible study, worship night [Ute-Nited], and church [the Mount]. I loved every minute of it. I even started thinking about transferring to a Bible college for religious studies. I had finally figured out the importance of a relationship with Christ – yet I was so focused on making sure I made it to all of my “groups” each week. I became burnt out. And so I dropped everything. Everything. I stopped reading, I stopped praying, I didn’t attend any meetings. I even stopped hanging out with most of my friends, all Christians, because I thought I saw a lot of hypocrisy in their lives. Besides, I figured that I wasn’t really good enough to hang around them, anyway. So I focused on school, and only school.

Now, my interest in the Middle East was still growing and I was learning so much. I was learning almost too much, actually, as I started meeting people from the Middle East through a language program at the U. We would dialogue about all kinds of things. People. Worldviews. Culture. Politics. And, of course, religion. I had already learned about Islam to a wide degree. But they taught me more. They urged me to read the Qur’an, “even in English”, to better understand the world around me and what God “wants” for my life. I went ahead and started to do so, for more topic discussion than anything. There was always something else to learn. As I read the Qur’an, I found myself captivated by its flow of language and its imagery. Like the Arabic, it was just so.. different. I read biographies of the prophet Muhammad and his sayings, the hadith. This man whom I had considered an insane fool turned out to actually seem pretty… amazing. He was strong. He was convicted. He was persuasive. He seemed wise. The students asked me to come to the Muslim Student Association’s Friday prayer meetings [jumaa']. I said yes. I could see what they were doing. I figured I was strong in my beliefs, even though my faith was practically nonexistent due to my burnout.

But they had me.

I was fascinated with Islam. I loved the structure of the religion. The legalism behind it was like nothing I had experienced before. It required an extreme measure of obedience, which held a challenge that I could not pass up. The more I learned, the deeper a hole I dug myself into. I could see myself as Muslim. I liked what Islam was about: submission to God.

So I followed the first pillar of Islam and said the shahadah, a declaration of faith.

“There is no god but God and Muhammad is the messenger of God.”

I believed it. So I was Muslim.
I was part of the Deen.

I was praying five times a day.
I went to a mosque for jumaa’ and women’s group meetings.
I didn’t eat pork (I rarely did before converting, anyway, but I did my best to make sure what I was eating was halal, or kosher.).
I even ended up wearing the hijaab toward the end of this… season… in my life.
I couldn’t wait for Ramadan, and even found myself daydreaming about making my hajj [the pilgrimage to Mecca].

I was following the rules.
I was an American convert, and thus had a lot of work cut out for me.
Not coming from a Muslim family, I had a lot of catching up to do.
I was going to be the best American convert in the entire Salt Lake valley, dang it!

So. As I’ve said, I learned a lot.

But here’s the thing. As much as I was learning… as devout as I was… God was never in the picture. Oh, sure, I was praying to God. I talked about God with others. But I was not growing. I didn’t have a relationship with Him. I never felt His presence. I never received answers to my personal prayers. He never spoke to me through the Qur’an or others I interacted with. He simply was not a true, living, active part of my life. I didn’t realize it at the time, of course.

One morning, however, I woke up for fajr, the morning prayer. I was walking to my bathroom for wudu, when I fells to my knees. And I could not move. Literally. All I remember thinking was, ‘Why am I doing this? Who is this for?’ and then I found myself thinking over and over, ‘Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus Jesus… I need You.’ It finally hit me that what I was involved with was simply wrong. I ended up realizing how greatly I needed Jesus in my life. I re-asked Him into my heart, because I figured that’s what I needed to do. I felt as if a weight had been lifted off of my chest after doing so. While Muslims don’t believe Jesus to be the Son of God, they do believe Him to be a great prophet. I had never been able to fully accept this belief.

'Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”'
[Jesus 14:6]

I do not believe that anyone can fully understand this verse until they try to reach God without Jesus. … But trust me when I say you should not attempt to do so.

Remember when I said I had finally figured out the importance of a relationship with Christ? That was a lie. I mean, I couldn’t have. Because it would have merely been through being a participant in certain groups, and talking to certain people. It wouldn’t have been from a lot of experience. Turning away from Christianity, considering myself Muslim… that was how I finally figured out the importance of a relationship with Christ.

Now, I was actually only Muslim for a technical two months, although I had been greatly interested in it and started my journey into Islam for about three months before that. So a total of five months, from my dropping the God of Christ… and yes, it was “only” five months – but it was five months without God in my life… and it really should never have happened.
Yet I came to the realization during my first year at Central that I was supposed to go through that. This experience was planned into my life by my Lord God – and for a reason. God saved my heart so that He could bring me back to Him. I have no doubt in my mind that God wants to use to me to reach out to Muslims. I can’t wait to see what He has in store for me.

I am thankful that I went through a time without God.
I am thankful that I experienced a seemingly “greener” pasture.
I am thankful that I learned the true meaning of “It’s not a religion… it’s a relationship.”

Praise God for His faithfulness.

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