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In the Name of Allah, most
Compassionate, most Merciful
My Path To Islam
C. Huda Dodge
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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