A story about a sister who converted.
All my life I was told not to question things. I kept a bible under my pillow out of loyalty to God, but whenever I opened it to read the verses therein, I became confused. And no one could answer my questions.So in the end the bible remained under my pillow, though I never opened it.
I had books from when I was a kid containing bible stories on top of my wardrobe. I marvelled at the pictures and felt a love for God and his messengers, but a whole lot of confusion about Jesus and satan and the roles they played.
I went to bible classes and Sunday school, and went to mormon churches as well as Cof E. I was baptised at aged 8, and oh what a confusing day that was.And again I was told things were just not meant to be understood, and i were to accept the way it is.
It didn’t help that my parents were confused and apostated at the sign of any hardship.
I was encouraged to look into Islam, and wasn’t having any of it. To me you had to be pakistani or Indian to be a Muslim.
So out of my love for God, and a search for inner peace I collected books on different sects withing Christianity, one on Judaism, buddhism and to be fair I thought I’d read a little on Islam.
I wasn’t born a Jew, so that cleared that one up.
The books on Christianity gave me headaches. They were worse than any Maths assignment I had undertaken. Catholicism was something I had looked into as I switched churches, and it was the same… to keep it short, it left me confused.
And well, I’ve never been one to sit still long enough to meditate so Buddhism was out
No to be perfectly honest, I had always accepted there was a God. One God. never did I question there wasn’t despite my upbringing and hardships, alhamdulillah. So no form of paganism was attractive (yuk).And so i sighed in desperation and held the “Basic Islam” book in my hands. No politics, no plans to save the world, just the basics…
There was no way the last book in my pile would have the answers was there?
And from the first page discussing the Oneness of Allah, and then the messengers, books, and angels.. to the last page explaining how to pray and prostrate as Jesus(as) did I was in tears and shaking.
This basic book answered all my questions. And i hadn’t even opened a Quran yet.
I fell on my face(in prostration) and sobbed. It took a bit of time to place my bible on top the wardrobe with the rest of my books. But once I did I knew I had made the biggest and best choice in my life.
Two weeks later I was officially a Muslim.
I was 16.
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Choosing my friends.
Upon converting I had both Muslim and non-Muslim friends at college. I had only discovered Islam however two weeks prior. Up until then I had thought Islam was an Asian religion like Hinduism and Sikhism. There weren’t any Arabs where I lived.
Like my Hindu and Sikh friends my Muslim friends drank, partied and had relationships. I thought being a Muslim meant you ate curries, wore saris and went to Melas. I remember the only time I questioned this was when I saw one friend’s mother sat on a prayer mat, with prayer beads.
Strangely I learned salaam, and used the words inshaa Allah and Mashaa Allah from when I was 14, but wasn’t really aware of their significance until after I converted. I just thought it was cool and the *in* thing. I would shout salaam to Asians in the street much to their surprise!
For an art exam my Muslim friend painted a portrait of Malcolm X, and she ate pork in secret and changed her clothing when she got to school. So I knew Muslims, but didn’t know Islam.
It was reading about Islam in the college library that lead me to Islam. And two weeks after picking up the first book I had gotten myself a prayer timetable, was reading salat, and wearing a scarf. Although it was merely tied behind my neck, I was still the only one at college with my head covered. Infact I cannot remember seeing anyone my age even in the areas populated by Muslims wearing hijab at all.
My non-Muslim best friend ran when she saw me. Most of the other non-Muslims reacted the same. But what hurt most was my Muslim friend told me I was taking things too far, and other Muslims laughed and mocked me. They would urge me to go drinking with them in lunch breaks, and though I went I only drank coke. Still, I hated being in bars at all.
My Muslim male friends pulled at my scarf and one even shouted that I should stick to my own kind.
On top of this my mom forbade me to pray, wear a scarf and made meat dishes forcing me to eat them. So I learned Islam myself, and in secret. And practised in secret.
One day I was sat on a wall in the college car park, alone and in tears as I had often been since converting. I had this huge love of Allah inside me. It was like I was in love and fit to burst, but everyone was against it.
Then without any belongings I decided not to return to college, or home. Being that my mom beat me I was terrified that she would kill me if she found me, but I had also decided that at 16 I didn’t want that anymore either.
The city I moved to had a big Muslim community, and alhamdulillah they were so welcoming and strong in their faith. I learned much from them, and my passion for Islam grew and grew.
And alhamdulillah I was housed by some wonderful sisters until I was married three months later. I was with people who loved Islam and lived Islam. It was wonderful. I read Quran, and prayed and spent my first Ramadhan fasting and learning and discussing deen with my sisters.
Leaving home so young was extremely tough. Leaving education wasn’t wonderful, but leaving the people behind who made it difficult for me to practise my religion was one of the best choices I ever made.
I remember one of the highs was walking through town dressed all in black. Black hijab, black jilbaab. I got odd looks but I loved my life. I was amongst a minority in my beliefs, but being with these sisters who felt the passion I did had made me strong and not ashamed to be me. Alhamdulillah.
So my experience has a slightly different twist to this topic of choosing believers as friends, but I don’t ever remember feeling surprised or upset that even my kafir best friend disowned me. I expected it from non-Muslims, and to be honest felt I no longer believed in or enjoyed what they did anyway.
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My dad; from NF to Islam
My father was a racist, and even part of the National Front as a teenager. He even showed me his membership card when i was young, and seemed proud of it. He and my mum were racist and looked down on people of other racial backgrounds, and hated that I had friends who were Asian and black. My dad would call them wogs, which upset me. I used to tell my best friend, a Muslim, that I will marry a black man and have mixed race children so that the prejudice wouldn’t continue down the line.
When i became Muslim at sixteen my mum and dad had been seperated for quite a while.
My mum made it very hard for me, and I had to leave home. She had the CID looking for me, and convinced them I had joined a cult of dirty Paki(stani)s. Eventually she gave in and let me be, kinda sorta.
But when i decided I wanted to get married I had to go in search of my dad to sign the papers, being I was so young. And he did it straight away. I was so suprised! He signed me over to a Pakistani! My mum on the other hand made such a fuss, but alhamdulillah agreed in the end.
I visited my father thereafter very regularly. I loved my dad and wanted him to be a Muslim but didnt think there was much of a chance. He was always very proud of me as a child and I wanted to show him by example, that Islam made me an even better person.
The day he asked if he could be Muslim I nearly died. Not long after he reverted he broke down and wept, telling me how sorry he was for calling my friends wogs. He sent food to the masjid, read to the children there. Compared his tan with my father in laws naturally brown skin. He sponsored a Hafis in India, and began learning Arabic. He grew a beard and wore an imama.Though in a wheelchair he read five times Salat.
My father then passed away in his sleep on Jumah in Ramadhan, after being Muslim for only seven months.
The lasts words he said to me the night before were, “Allah will look after me.”
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my son
Seven and a half years ago i gave birth to a little boy. I knew from scans he’d have serious heart defects, and was offered an abortion numerous times. The specialists said he would not survive birth anyway, even if he gets through the pregnancy.I went ahead with the pregnancy, and never regreted it.
My son was born almost blue, and very ill. He was in hospital and tube fed for the first year of his life. His ‘heart condition, (which was so unique and serious it couldnt be given a text book name, they)told me, would was incurable. His heart didn’t look like a normal heart at all. Not at all. He had splein problems and developmental problems too. At four months old, just before his first operation, he smiled, and when he came out of surgery I felt my heart cry so much. He was drapesed in tubes, drips, wires and could hardly breath. I sang to him, read Allah’s names, and cried often, but knew he’d pull through. Not once did I get angry at God. Allah gave me strength.
The year after that was hard, but happy. Despite his frequent stays in hospital, he was such a happy child, if a little slow.The good times made up for the worry.At two years he had another operation. It was always frightening leaving him in theatre, as I never knew if I’d see him again alive.
But all Praise to Allah he pulled through, and the first day in intensive care he pulled the ventilator from his mouth, determined to breathe. That night he was moved to the ward. The night was tough, and i found myself watching his oxygen saturation monitor rise and fall. But I neednt have worried. The next morning he was sitting up in his cot, playing with a toy fire engine, despite six canulars (drips) a chest wound and a drainage tube from his abdomen.
The next worry, though, was hearing that although his heart function was improved by the operation, he would need a permanent pacemaker due to damage caused during the op’.
Continuously I worried, but prayed and prayed he wouldnt suffer.
Over the next two years my Sayfullah (sword of Allah), improved his development in leaps and bounds. Allah hu Akbar. He still got ill lots, and twice we nearly lost him due to illness, but he learnt to walk, talk, and make everyone laugh. He was a proper little comedian.
He went to nursery, and school thereafter, and did well, despite missing months at a time due to pacemaker changes and operations.
September 18th will be a year since he died.
He came back from school, and died in my arms of sudden heart attack. We hadnt even walked through the front door. At his appointment at hospital the day before, they said they were pleased with his progress. I am so very happy he died at home, with me, and not under a surgeons knife, amongst strangers. Of course this is a comfort for me. No matter what, he was happy when the angels called him. And will forever be in eternal bliss. I cry because I miss him terribly, and as the date draws near, i feel more saddness at my loss, But to Allah we belong and to him is our return.
I had a beautiful gift for almost seven years, and I love Allah so very much. He was such a happy fella, and never complained. He made a poem up the weekend before he passed away…
“Allah is our God,’cause HE never makes things hard”
Allah knows why these things happen, Allah knows best. I do know however that my son never thought himself other than normal. And his disabilities were overpowered by his laughter and strength.
Without sadness there can be no joy.
Without pain, no comfort.
Without thunder, no calm.
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Losing my son. A collection of posts.
16/9/2002… two days before the anniversary of his death.
I’m gonna sound real sad now, and I’m gonna probably regret being real soft and “do’h”. But sometimes I can’t help myself, feel things have just gotta be said.
I’ve been down these past few days, and switch from crying to laughing to feeling really frustrated. My son died a year ago on Wednesday. Allah has helped me be patient and positive, Subhanullah, but I guess its only natural that I still miss him. It has been harder this last week. My family are great, but of course they are hurting aswell, and I find myself wanting to comfort them. Some of you guys have helped without realising it. I came on line today in an awful mood, but your posts made me laugh and cry
My angel
My sons teacher just recently told me an incidient at school, that she fondly remembers. Sayfullah, my son, was a very soft child (wonder who he takes after ) He was so brave during illness and operations, but got upset quite easily when someone was mean to him, or if I or a teacher got angry at him.
One morning he offered to pick up some wax crayons that had spilled on the floor. He was grinning whilst his teacher was telling the caretaker what a good boy he was, and how he was helping her. The caretaker was in a daze and not really paying attention and exclaimed “yes, I know. That Sayfullah is always crying.” My son’s looked up and frowned at his teacher as if to say “What the……”
Sayfullah was always bugging me to teach him how to cook. (He was only 6!) We made cakes together and the week before he passed away I taught him how to make toast. Proudly he made toast for him and his three year old sister, Naailah, showing of his butter spreading skills to every visitor to the house. One afternoon I heard a growl coming from the kitchen. When I asked what was wrong he said, ” Mummy, now I know how you feel like when we keep bothering you. Naailah won’t stop asking me to make her toast!”
Also, something I find really sweet. He was always keen to read salat, and would soak the bathroom floor doing his Wudhu (ablution). The weekend before he passed away i walked into my bedroom to find him praying in front of his female teenage cousins. They had told him that the man reads in front, and he was grinning from ear to ear at discovering his status in life.
I had always thought that his death would be too much to bear, and that my iman would weaken. Astughfirullah. I shed many silent tears but I have become stronger, mash Allah. I know he is waiting for me and I’m all the more determined to get where he is. I make errors and commit sins, but will never give in inshallah.
I love Allah so very much, and I know He has helped me to cope more than I ever thought I could. We all know that my son is in Jannat, and Subhanullah he passed away in my arms and not under a surgeon’s knife. We had also had some great months before he had passed away, and had been on our first family holiday. Despite these positive aspects, Allah Ta’ala has continued to show me signs in dreams and even in my son after his death. Nurses were amazed at his grey colour turning to pink the second day in the mortuary, and that he was smiling. Allah Ta’ala had us all in tears with these signs, as well as the scratches he had from falling, healing after death also.
On the day of his burial, as they sprinkled water on his grave, there was a shower from the skies for a few seconds. Allah hu Akbar. He is where we all want to be. My son.
Through my tears it helps(and did so especially in the early days) to say,”ina lilahi, wa ina ilahi rajaion,” and know that Allah would be pleased at me doing so, inshallah. It may just be the thing that saves me.
Muslims believe that Prophet Abraham(pbuh), and his wife Sarah look after the infants have passed away, until the Day of Judgement, when they will intercede on their parents behalf. Barzak is where all souls remain until the Judgement Day. According to Hadith, Abraham(pbuh)and his wife teach the children under a tree. My son had serious heart defects. He had four operations, and a pacemaker. We knew that there was a chance he wouldnt live too long, but you try not to think about these things. At an appointment the day before, the doctors were very happy. Although he was very ill as a baby, he was very bright and active for the last few years of his life. The doctors had advised me to have an abortion, I chose not to. He lived nearly seven beautiful years and he had a heart attack last September, in my arms, after returning from school. Not on an operating table. Or in the presence of strangers. Subhanallah.
I have days when I cant cope with missing him. And would have thought id have gone mad. He was just like me, loving and sensitive. My best friend. But Allah Ta’ala has helped me cope so much. He gave me the most beautiful gift to look after for over six years, and is now taking care of him better than I ever could.
Ina lil la hi, wa ina lilay hi, rah jaioon.
To God we belong, and to him is our return.
I had a dream, in ramazaan, when he was a baby that I shot Abu Jahal, the one of the greatest enemies of the Prophet Muhammad (phuh). (He used to try to stand on our beloved Rasools head when he prostrated in prayer. But fire, only Abu Jahal could see, came in between.) Anyway, in my dream, I shot him. And later that night, I dreamt that a boy, that resembled Sayfullah, was riding on a horse with the Prophet Abraham(pbuh). I had the dream interpreted, and I was told that it meant, I would go through some hardships, but if I stayed strong, there would be a happy ending.
Two days before he passed away, I remembered the dream, and that I hadnt practiced my religion all the time since. I cried on my prayer mat begging Allah to forgive me, because I was promised a happy ending if I was strong and I had become weak.
I pleaded with Allah to take me back to that time. And give me the chance to start afresh.
It wasnt until after Sayfullah died, I found out that Abraham looks after the infants deceased. I believe that the hardship the dream said I was to face, was loosing my son. I try to be strong, so that my happy ending will be me meeting my son in Janaat. Inshallah. Also, I have two other children who need me.
Do not feel bad, it helps me to talk(or type), and maybe it may help others too. My faith has given me strength.
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~*My Hajj*~
The plane touching down and seeing the heat rise.
Walking the steps Muhammad (saw) did, breathing in the air he breathed.
Seeing Allah’s ka’ba for the first time and making my first dua whilst facing it. Watching even the birds do tawaf at fajr.
Praying alongside thousands in Jamaat, a whole spectrum of races and colors united in ibadaat. Giving my salaams to Muslimahs from all walks of life and countries… old, young, rich and poor. Sharing my space in salaat, sharing a zam zam tap to make wudhu.
The feeling of your duas been answered as a weight is lifted from your heart.
The five times adhan. Hearing sheik Sodais live.
Chanting (without voice for us women) La baik “I’m here” with thousands of others.
The intense heat of Arafaat, knowing The Last day will be hotter as sweat drips down yout neck and you eat icecream.
And in Muzzalifa. Praying all night under the open sky and seeing all around you thousands of pilgrims doing the same.
Stoning the Shaitaans and hearing your stone go “tock.”
The hardships and rough experiences and coming through them with only positive feelings and spiritual growth.
For myself the relief of going into niqaab, and enjoying the new found respect I recieved. Eating my first icecream under my niqaab and making a right mess
The most exhilarating aside from stoning the shaitaans was completing my farewell tawaf all alone, although I could barely stand through illness and was vomiting between rounds. The last few steps were amazing knowing Allah allowed me to complete it without aid had me shaking with tears.
The saddest experience of my life along with missing my son was leaving Makkah for the airport.
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Going into Niqaab
I used to wear only a headscarf until about six months ago. Since wearing the full clobber, I have enjoyed the respect of other men even more. Men understand that I wish to be respected, and not drooled over. What I have to say, and my thoughts and feelings are far more important than my looks. It is my girl power!
I pass by workmen every morning, and in the evenings men gather outside the public house at the end of my street. I have never had them shout obscenities at me, and if they are in the local shop, they open the door for me, and let me be served before them. My friend, who does not wear Islamic clothing, however, gets eyed up, whistled at, and filthy comments directed at her by these same men. My husband should be my ultimate admirer. I wear ‘western’ clothing at home. I am his jewel that only he can view.
My husband, initially, was against me wearing the veil. My first reason for wearing it was because of my religious beliefs. He tried to convince me there is no need, but like most women, I got my own way in the end! Since then, he has supported me, and is now glad for me, because of the positive effects it has had on my imaan.
For the Muslims…We do not know which good deed we do will save us from our sins. I do not think I am pious or better than anyone else. Astaghfirulah, I am a sinner. Most women I know, who wear the veil of just a scarf, feel the same. It is just one less sin we are trying to save ourselves from. It is very important, especially in these times, to look like a Muslim, and quash the stereotypes non-Muslims have of Muslim women. It can be a form of dawa, also.
Muslim girls have said to me, “those women in veil are the worst, I am glad I’m not like them”. Astaghfirulah! All women, and all men, commit sin. It is only the veiled ones that make good gossip, and hit the spotlight.
The Prophets (saw) wives (ra) wore the veil, and they were the best of women. They were not wearing it to hide their other faults, na’uthu billah. It is a command of Allah Ta’ala. The hijab (head scarf) is fardh. It is better we do one fardh, than none at all. We cannot guarantee we will live to see a day when we will be ready to practice Islam in its entirety. We should do what we can whilst we are living. Allah(swt) knows best.
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~*My Umrah*~
1/11/2002
It was amazing, subhanAllah. So very hard to put into words, but I’ll try.
The knowledge that I was breathing in the air the Prophet (saw) breathed, walking upon the ground that he walked upon was so wonderful. The atmosphere…. the wonderful feelings you experience merely gazing at the ka’bah. We bow and prostrate five times a day in the direction of the Ka’bah, and to do this directly in front of it is unreal. I felt tearful and had a lump in my throat, whilst standing bowing and prostrating before my Maker.
You feel your duas being answered. Things you just think of appear before you without you even having to ask. Even during difficult periods, you know Allah Ta’ala is watching and testing and when those times pass, you feel Allah ta’ala has rewarded you. Great times always follow the hard ones, so much so you forget and feel gratitude. Knowing that Allah Ta’ala has called you to His house to do ibadaat and dua beneath His throne is so very humbling.
SubhanAllah I met so many sweet sisters who would do salaam and hug me. I found that whenever I showed patience, helped another or smiled at my sisters, I was always received and treated kindly. Men were respectful, because I demanded it, and the Arabs were so very calm and helpful.
In hot climates tempers are short and people may not always be patient, but we do not go to nit pick others faults. We go there to humbly request forgiveness for our own sins and pray for guidance in deen not to fuss over or bother ourselves with wrong doings of others.
I say this because I have met sisters who have returned from Umrah and Hajj complaining about this and that. Astaghfirullah
There are many people there who may not be educated in deen. Not everyone shows patience. But maybe a good action of theirs is incomparable to our weak efforts. Only Allah Ta’ala knows.
All the people who were bowing to Allah Ta’ala, declaring and confirming Him to be the greatest personally overwhelmed me.
Knowing your prayers are answered, in certain areas of the Masjid gives you so much hope, and duas just flow from your lips. I felt overwhelmed emotionally and felt I could not do enough to show my gratitude. I would prostrate and ask of Allah Ta’ala knowing He was listening. The feelings I felt cannot be put into words. The best I can do is to say that the voices of others would go silent and I would feel paralysed in prostration, so much so I would wonder if I was still alive. Sometimes we can be unsure of what to ask for, but the words just flowed. I felt I was before Allah opening my heart, and he was listening and forgiving. This explanation really doesn’t do justice, and you must really go for yourself whenever you get the opportunity. May Allah ta’ala invite us all, again and again and again, inshaa Allah, Aameen.
http://www.qldmuslims.org.au/modules/articles/article.php?id=146
