How I came to Islam

Bismillahir Rahmaanir Raheem.


HOW I CAME TO ISLAM..

. I am a muslimah. How did I end up in Islam? It is a question I have been asked a few times and there is an answer of course, I’ve just been avoiding the question because it was all so “natural”. The short version is simply ; “Well, it just happened.” But here's the long version; the full story of my journey..

I was born a roman catholic to Portuguese immigrant parents, half descendent from clergy and half descending from a nobility long forgotten mixed in with some long deceased arabs from the Iberic peninsula.
A few things about my childhood strike me as pertinent now as I look back; my father’s strictness, for one, in my early childhood. My mother was not permitted to cut her hair or wear pants or make-up or go to work. He wasn't abusive; just strict! She finally convinced dad to permit her to teach from home, and this, apart from school and the few, very Portuguese family friends formed the basic pillars of my early social life. My sister and I were to be perfectly well-behaved, perfectly groomed little portuguese Catholic girls who never spoke unless spoken to (around adults) and who were not permitted to socialize with boys or visit with any friends that did not fit in with the strict Portuguese immigrant upbringing. Only family friends were seen, on family outings.

I have to say I did my level best to be the perfect daughter and Masha-Allah my parents are quietly proud of me in most respects, although religion has always been a sore spot between us. “It’s the one area where you just don’t fit and I often wonder where you came from!?” my mom said in the long ago past. She now says "you were always a seeker, I'm not surprised you keep searching for closeness to God". As little girls, my sister and I were sent to Catholic Sunday School and as a child I argued with the teacher about why Jesus had to die. She called my parents after I disturbed the class with “theories” that God couldn’t be so cruel, and I was asked to complete my studies with my mom at home, for a while. Of course mom spoke to the priest and as long as I didn't "stir the pot" I was back in. I was 5 at the time. My mother didn’t fare much better with me as I refused to say the section of the Nicean creed where I declared the Roman Catholic Apostolic faith the only true faith. I remember standing there learning at her bedside and arguing with her as to where this came from - I remember her being really upset and saying that God was going to punish her for my lack of belief, and as the years went by I conformed, then rebelled, then conformed again, all along wanting to know Him.

I guess I’ve searched for HIM all my life.

Covering came naturally even as a child. At school I'd wear my summer uniform with my long sleeved vest and woolen socks. Everything had to go to the neck and to the ankles. Many things about Islam appear to have always been a part of me in a strange way... So much so, that if people tell me Islam is repressive to its woman, I want to flip a switch and display the image I have in my mind of my staunch Catholic upbringing–everything was starched in those days within South Africa – from clothes to prayers to alms giving – I can still smell the “Robin” spray..

In my teenage years of high school and singing in bands I became gradually interested in the Occult. But having studied about Wicca, I knew I'd not make a good witch because I refused to pray to a “horned God” and instead kept my bible on my Moon Ritual table as “protection” . But I admit I was curious and I dabbled, wanting to know what made things tick etc. etc. !.. I was excellent at telling the past and future, it seemed just natural - but standing there during a magic ritual one midnight with a high priest of a "macumba" brazilian cult, I remember seeing a demon and thinking; “Why’s he so afraid of me?” and telling him "you can't take my soul, that belongs to God!"

I sought understanding among mediums who could understand what it was like to be able to "know" what was going on in a person's life without being there. To see things others didn't. But I wasn’t much good at the spiritualist church thing either.I laughed through too many of their “mediumship” nights. I recall being singled out during one "service" and told to please wait outside because my light was disturbing the ensemble, and then being called up to the “pulpit” after and told I didn’t belong there because I was a "fairy with too much light". My poor mom accompanied me rather than see me go down a wayward path, despite her staunch catholic upbringing, and watched my searching and shook her head. We never went back.

(Years later, all doors to the occult my Allah shut tight. Long after the smoke went up on the new-age items that I set ablaze in an attempt to purge myself of what I felt was a very, very wrong path. (The priest said it harmed no-one that I could predict things somehow, yet I was not convinced and I had not heard of  "inspiration" as it is explained in Islam, and "jinn" as they are explained, so I struck that match anyway). I've asked forgiveness of my Allah for my curiosity which lead me down some strange paths in my search for HIM.)

In those growing years, my mother thought I was spiritually strange and despite her starched catholic upbringing took me to a "house of spiritual healing" where another set of mediums were supposedly exorcising harmful spirits through a process in portuguese known as "passes" or laying of the hands. Supposedly.

Yep, I had some very strange experiences that would probably put hair on a golf ball - but I remained rebellious, remained searching, until I eventually “settled” into my discomfort...

How? ...I married an atheist of course! I then attended an "alpha course" at the local catholic church, but became really upset during one service in which everybody prayed ONLY to Mary. It was some celebration of Mary and so instead of the usual "lord hear us, Lord graciously hear us" recited after the priest's prayers, we the congregation were asked to say "Mary hear us, Mary graciously Hear us." That was the last time I set foot in a catholic church I was SO upset! How could they, when they claimed that only GOD answers prayer, and when they said that Mary told people "do whatever he tells you to do "(referring to Jesus, who in turn said go to the father, which in those days' hebrew meant Creator). I visited a Christian church looking for a spiritual home, and here I had my second water baptism the day before my son was born - as I stepped out, baby decided it was time to out.

For a while, I was at peace. Then the church held a service where it began this "name it and claim it" rubbish - It basically taught that if you want something in life you “decree” it, or “claim” it because as a "child of God" you are owed it and because "Jesus died for you" there is no sin in wanting more because "by his stripes you are healed" so nevermind the illness God allows to teach you something, you just tell it to go away (yes that was sarcastic, read it again.) It’s called Prosperity teaching.

I remember the pastor’s words; “Draw the line in the sand. Why shouldn't you have a Ferrarri on earth? You certainly won’t need it in heaven!!” It didn’t sit well with me; Was I to go around making demands of Almighty God? No, no, no! Not all churches are like this of course, but this one was a peach! For instance if you were sick, you claimed healing in Jesus name. (pbuh) and were to get out of bed and behave as though you did NOT have the flu until it went away.(There were a few people hospitalized with pneumonia that year). Needless to say, God allows this type of crap for only so long before he "smites you" and "tests you". Case in point - I was glad to have left that church when shortly after leaving I heard the headpastor had developed incurable cancer. Apparently they didn't claim hard enough!

Understand me nicely; I did not take Christianity lightly. I searched within my then faith for answers first. It was everything I was, I identified myself as a Christian first and foremost and had my share of "battles won" notches with Jehovah’s witnesses under my belt. I might have saught elsewhere for short periods of teenage haziness, but I returned to the "home" of christianity every time.

One night, in 2001 - 11th September - I came home from bible readings to the news that the world trade center had been bombed by Islamic terrorists. 9/11 was the pits. People were enraptured by the death and destruction of the towers, and the world was suddenly set ablaze by anti-islamic feelings. Me? I kept wondering about the bombers!- I watched that footage over and over, and I kept thinking; what drives someone to that point? I remembered Early Christians standing in ampitheatres awaiting the lions that would kill them and nobody I knew had the guts to stand up to anything much for their faith, certainly not in an ampitheatre, apart from the IRA and their never ending battle. No, this reaked of a people pushed to the limit and it smacked of conspiracy. What was the cause behind the 9/11 murders? Who dunnit?!

The more I read, the more I smelt a rat. I became convinced that the bombing was a very carefully orchestrated plot to discredit Islam, and nothing else, and I wondered "but why"!! Is it all about the oil, is it about the resources, or are they just a "convenient fall guy" -what was it about these muslims - what do they have that could be such a threat to a super power or those who govern it? Reading what the people of America said and thought and the nebulae about the event, as I searched I realised that the victims of 9/11 and their families and those who to this day feel the repercussions were victims of greed and deception, and lies, not so much victims of islamic jihad. I had by then learnt that refers to an inner battle against carnal issues and issues of the flesh which is pretty much what christianity is supposed to advocate, right? To me, 9/11 wasn't about the hatred of backward group of Bedouin-descent desert people high on the opium of religious zeal.

As I read up on a miryad of  conspiracies, I learnt that truth often lies buried in the rubble of political mirror games, so I began to look into everything I could to do with the middle east crisis.
It was at this point that I began conversing with a young muslim man –aptly named Mohammed. (Who says Allah doesn’t have a sense of humour?!) who felt as I did about 9/11 and who could answer some questions about Islam. He told me stories from the Quran, the Bukhari, and other Islamic sources. He advised me, rather simplistically, simply to “read”. The more I looked at the middle east crisis and the more I researched, the more I read about Islam. And slowly, the number of books on the Knights of Templar and the Illuminati decreased, the articles on 9/11 made sense and I closed that chapter, knowing that questions needed answers that didn't lie in "jihad" And so, the books on Islam began to pile up. I was given a copy of the Quran by a lady I met at my child's school which I couldn’t put down and I devoured everything I could find on the subject of Islam, it’s history, it’s practice and it’s
Nabi. (pbuh)  I felt guilty as a catholic reading the Quran - I did! Especially since it's written in the first person - that person being God himself! I was accustomed to divinely inspired and humanly manipulated scripture - the very word of GOD was rather scary! But everything was beautiful to me about Islam; the pictures, the architecture, the history, and the image of a man in sandles with his hands
behind his back, quietly living in subservience to Allah whilst managing a nation of mixed peoples. The prophet Muhammad (pbuh) became someone of special interest to me and I asked many questions of any muslim I met!

Through Mohammed and those books, Allah touched my heart and my mind and inspired me to find the truth. I asked my then preacher about a few things that I found contradictory which were so clear through the eyes of Islam, and the answers were simply not satisfactory. I was frustrated, I was confused, I was irritated. When the church had no answers for me, they told me not to fall into "condemnation" and called my seeking “demonic lies”. When I told them I’d started praying 5 times a day, they applauded me for getting to know God and encouraged me to turn this “pagan friend” into a Christian.

There came a day alone in my bedroom one night, when I could not pretend to be what I was either, I felt different, I knew I was different. There was no going back to a previous path because that path simply had crumbled. What I believed I just didn't believe anymore. I stopped attending church as well as bible study and instead one night, in a moment of complete self-denial, I lay flat on the ground and wept out loud to God right there on my bed. (Who knew you had to prostrate on the ground?) I remember crying “ I don’t know if this is East or West Lord, I don’t know if you are Jehovah or Allah, and I'm a mess and confused but I Need to KNOW you personally. You could be Allah and Jehovah rolled into one, but whatever and whoever you are I MUST know and YOU made me so YOU tell me. Not through some saint or even through your son (that was my prayer then), I want to know DIRECTLY from you. You created me. Jesus said pray to YOU, so why should I be told by others to pray to anyone else? Lord, YOU are the truth, YOU are the light, so YOU show me the way.” and I continued praying through that night. I remembered how Mohammed had mentioned the early hours of the morning where God descended to the lowest heavens to answer prayer, so I woke in the early hours after I’d fallen asleep with this image in my mind of angels looking for people who were seeking GOD, and I reached out and asked. "you have not because you ask not" is a bible verse that came to mind. So I asked.

I prostrated again, prayed myself to sleep, and continued reading the next day. I read the bible, I read the Quran. I started taking what I read seriously, and asking Allah about everything I read, without exception, when I had a doubt. Many things happened parallel to this, but the most relevant to my walk in Islam were these.

I knew my history of searching and I knew that THIS TIME - this was a decision I would not be able to “hop out of” if I took it. It’s like all the other religious inclinations and "taste tests" were rides on a fairground, but I knew that if I chose Islam, I’d be boarding a train that I would not get off until the end of the world.

Eventually, I said my Shahadah to my friend Mohammed on December 8th 2006, when he was telling me how easy it was to say the words; “La Ilaha Il Allah”… I didn't think he'd heard me say them at the time - and I know he didn’t immediately realize I’d just taken my Shahadah, but in later talks he remembered and it had sat with him that indeed I HAD taken my shahada (statement of faith).

I’d just returned from a short holiday to think life through. On this trip I’d found myself walking along a pier and reading the story of Rabia of Basri.Near to me on the pier was a woman in Hijab, her husband in a Khurta. We struck up a conversation and discovered she was from close by to where I currently live. So a few weeks after saying my Shahadah with Mohammed, I was led in it again with my new muslimah friend, one whom I asked God for; one who became like a mother to me, and a beloved sister who taught me so much about Islam and about LIFE - a sister who's last lesson was herself, her body ; which was to become the first I gave ghusl to only a few short years later when she passed away. I lost a mother and a father that day she passed, as I could no longer communicate with her husband, a Moulana who had inspired me to think and pray and keep to the siraat ul mustaqeem. (straight path) My Fathima Mula was my dear friend and I will always remember her contribution in the times when I needed a woman to talk to about Islam.

As long as I live I will still be asking questions and I will be seeking to draw even nearer - to be a friend of Allah. So long as I keep asking Allah, I find people bring me the answers, like Mohammed, that dear brother who Allah used to help me take the first steps of understanding. How we argued about Islam and christianity - how we debated!! Answers still come, alhamdolilah, in books, in words, in testimonies. I am grateful for the huge lesson I learnt as a Christian to “take EVERYTHING to God”.

Islam is the missing piece of my existential puzzle because whereas I was taking everything to God, I had not yet learnt to “ACCEPT everything from God ONLY.” (that "BE STILL AND KNOW THAT I AM GOD" lesson of christianity only really settled inside me as a muslim).
As a new Muslimah I see what’s happening in the middle east with new eyes. Now those suffering people are my people, the breath that flows from Allah through each dot in the Ummah that forms His Blessed Name.

Islam meant that EVERYTHING had to change. You name it, it changed. Clothing. Food. Home. Family. Outllook. Routine. Habits. How to wash, how to eat, I mean EVERYTHING. My band days and stage days had to go. Relationships that were ungodly had to go. Friends turned away from me, abandoned me for leaving the faith. Everything had to go. Talk about the TWIN towers -talk about melting SILVER!! I had to learn to speak again, learn to pray, learn to walk, learn how to address people, and in everything the prophet (saw) became my role model. Everything was truly broken down to be rebuilt as different. I mean EVERYTHING. What muslims take for granted like saying "bismillah" when you eat, I did not know and had to learn.

So Islam and ALLAH have given me all i have now. What do I bring to Islam after this walk in the desert of spiritual searching? I think that in my time of initial searching, I discovered the immensity of Allah’s love though I knew him as Jehovah or God; it was as a Muslimah that I found my Allah as the consistently present Almighty that he is, and I found the other side of loving Him –those structures of Islam that keep my house of faith standing, even if it is shaky at times – like Salaat, and Durood, and the Quran, and so many other little building bricks of Imaan. Responsibility for praising Him and discipline in how I love Him is new for me, sometimes comforting, sometimes a battle, but I am human afterall. DISCIPLINE was the greatest lesson. Discipline about my thoughts, my actions, my walk. I became opinionated but in a good way I think because I have this strength alhamdolilah that comes from knowing I am nothing without ALLAH!

There are many obstacles I face as a Muslimah living in an area where there are very few Muslims; not the least of which is what I call Islamic Isolation!..
So that’s how I came to Islam. It’s a difficult story to tell in a short space of time, and I think that’s because I didn’t come to Islam. It came to me. Slowly knocking on my heart. I remember muslim friends from way back when. I thought them strange, but they were just an example that Allah used to lead the way. I think that Islam has been with me since the day I was born, as I look back on my life and my searching and the many, many signs. I just didn’t know it was there until I was ready to welcome it into me.

Thankfully our Allah is the only Illah of Subr too, and as the epitomy of patience He is giving me as much time as I need to change..  because change is a constant and no-one is ever "complete". He knows these changes have been very hard for me as well as for those around me. I was not born into a muslim family, so that means i needed to change more things than most born muslims think are things that have to be changed (because they are things that come naturally to them).

Little things, big things, and even a few mountains, must keep changing, purifying, becoming more beautiful insh'ALlah as I seek my Allah as friend and beloved..  but with love and patience and time and faith, change they must and change they will Insha-Allah.. in His timing. In the meantime, I remain just Rabia, just another muslimah walking on the road of my Islam, singing "Labaik Allah, Ummah
Labaik", and holding onto his rope in a million ways.

I will give my last breath for my Quran, my right to be a WOMAN and my right to be a Muslim. I pray that Allah may use whatever of me HE wills to serve and love him, and I ask all brothers and sisters who might happen upon this blog only one thing - Duahs.

I dedicate this blog to my husband, Mohammed, who is my soulmate and my journey's end each day, to my Nabi (saw) who is our example, and my Allah, who is our LORD and Creator, giver of life, sustainer, our one true hope, our source of solace and our source of joy, our provider, our protector, to whom there is no partner and no equal, and HE who is our beginning and our end.