Over a year ago, I became a Muslim.
My first instinct is to defend my decision. Explain my religious and spiritual background. Explain how my new husband had nothing to do with my acceptance of Islam. I guess that’s because in the society I live in, becoming a Muslim is a really big deal, fraught with questions, misgivings, and assumptions. But in the end, the decision was mine and in my heart, I knew it was the right thing to do for me.
I believe in God as one. I always have. As I was explaining to my sister in one of our many conversations about Islam, I distinctly remember being asked in 4th or 5th grade if I believed in God and what did I think God looked like. I wrote then that God was a ball of energy and light that had a plan for the world and the people in it but they could make choices of their own too. Now this may not seem like anything unusual except for the fact that I wasn’t raised in a household that subscribed to belief in God. In fact, of all the people in my family, I am the ONLY one who believed in a higher power at all. Aside from Karma because, really, can you not believe in Karma?
My spiritual journey has taken me many places. I was raised a Unitarian Universalist but never really felt spiritually at home with no real formal creed. I kept searching for more – more meaning, more something. I attempted Christianity in high school through the Lutheran church with my then-boyfriend. I could never wrap my head around Jesus as a savior, as the son of God, dying for our sins, resurrection, etc. It just seemed so foreign and, frankly, unbelievable. So Christianity was out. Then I became involved in Hillel in college (kinda by accident) and I started the process of converting to Judaism. But when it came time to pray and there were mentions of Israel at almost every turn, as if it was the Paradise on earth, I couldn’t accept the politics as a part of the religion. I tried Buddhism too and I loved the peace and serenity it brought me but I missed the higher power influence. I ended up back at the UU church and was there for a few years comfortable in my own personal beliefs but still not really at home in my spirituality.
I knew about Islam through my studies at UU Sunday school, through my college boyfriend, my college roommate, and friends I had made here and there but I never really made any deep exploration of the religion until I met the man who would become my husband.
My curiosity was piqued almost from the beginning. Here was this beautiful, tall brown man with a beard but no mustache and a light in his eyes I couldn’t ignore. I pretty much figured he was Muslim even before I met him in person because of his name but he confirmed it on our first date. I began to ask a million questions of him almost immediately, mostly about the misgivings and assumptions regarding women and Islam: hijabs, jihad, Isis, Shias vs Sunnis, etc. He was very patient, very calm, and very matter of fact in his answers and explanations. He didn’t try to “sell” me on Islam. He didn’t preach or proselytize, he didn’t belittle other religions or spiritual thoughts. He simply answered my questions in the most direct manner possible, referencing the Quran, Sunnah and Hadiths as well as the life of the Prophet (PBUH).
Then I watched him pray and I was blown away. It was as if I had been sucked into another dimension, another world. I felt this amazing sense of peace watching him touch his knees, kneel and put his head on the floor, sit peacefully and whispering to himself. And when he was done, he was surrounded in serenity. It was intoxicating. I wanted to try. I wanted to do this. I wanted to see what happened when I did what he did.
It would be another eight months before I did pray with him for the first time. I had been out of the hospital about four weeks, having escaped death by a 1 in 4 chance, when we decided we would move in together. One day, I got the nerve to I ask him if it was okay if I prayed with him. He welcomed me without question or hesitation. I stood in my make-shift cover-up, beside him but slightly behind him, took a deep breath and prayed.
I cannot tell you how it felt. I cannot even tell you that I remember what happened in that prayer. All I remember is the light pouring into the living room through the large sliding glass door and it felt as if it was pouring directly into my heart and soul. My world had shifted and I didn’t really even know it.
After starting praying with him, my pursuit of Islam came in earnest. I read books, I listened to scholars on YouTube, I started going to Friday prayers with him, and I kept asking questions. All the while, I kept asking myself, “Am I doing this for him or am I doing this for my relationship with God and for myself?” The answer came easily and quickly. My holistic side was all on board. My pragmatic side, however, took a little more convincing.
I knew a few weeks before I actually took Shahada, the statement that all Muslims make as a declaration of belief and devotion to God, that I was going to become a Muslim. However, I had selfish withholding reasons on my mind. We had a huge girls’ trip planned for my sister and best friend’s birthday in April. My best friend from California was flying in to join us and I knew it would be a weekend of feminine debauchery (well, as much debauchery as 40 YO women can have). I wanted to eat pork and drink alcohol and not worry about my eternal soul.
Yeah, I didn’t say they were good reasons.
February 1, 2016.
My now-husband and I were sitting on the floor after prayer and I felt this overwhelming sensation that it was time. My selfish reasons were no longer good excuses. I was either going to do it or I wasn’t.
I leaned over to him and said to him, in very broken Arabic that I had been attempting to practice, “Ashadu Allah ilahha illallah. Wa Ashadu ana Muhammadan abduhu wa rasooluhu.” Before I could finish, we were both in tears. I became a Muslim.
It’s been over a year and my sister asked me to write about my experiences. I find this part more difficult than telling you how I got here.
One of the things I have experienced as a new Muslim in America is the almost split personality I feel sometimes. Not everyone knows about my religious “conversion” because frankly, I don’t feel like it’s anyone’s business. If people ask, I do not hide my identity but I don’t wear it on my sleeve, or on my head for that matter. However, in the climate that I live in, it is still a somewhat veiled life – no irony or pun intended.
By my choice, I do not wear a hijab every day. I discussed this with my husband even before taking Shahada and we both agreed that wearing it would make my work life more difficult given where I work.
Most non-work days, I hijab in public. I enjoy wearing the hijab. It makes me feel like I connect with a side of my femininity that I can only find there. I feel a layer of protection from evil in the world and I feel Allah (SWT) beside me at all times. It means that I instantly have a sister/brother in Islam when in public and that we greet each other with respect. And most times, I am treated with a reverent respect by anyone I encounter, as if I am to be treated with kid-gloves. At first it felt strange, now it feels special.
It also gives me that feeling of uniqueness in this predominantly non-Muslim section of the world I live it. Like it is some small secret that I know something “they” don’t know.
One of the hardest parts of my first year as a Muslim was my first Ramadan. It was tough. Clearly, I wasn’t prepared for what it meant to be a Muslim and live Ramadan. I was focused on getting through the long days of not eating and not sleeping which left me little time to focus on the truly important part of Ramadan – prayer, reflection, and studying the Quran. I did find some lovely educational videos from Nouman Ali Khan on YouTube that helped me navigate the complexity and the simplicity of the holy month. In the end, I made a break-through in my understanding of my new religion and I found a new love of being surrounded by my fellow Muslims.
One of the things I have learned in my first year that is so valuable to me is that Islam is a religion where you never stop learning. And it’s not just about learning Arabic. It’s about learning to recite the Quran, memorizing it, understanding it, sitting with it and absorbing it. It’s learning the duas (prayers) and the Hadiths (lessons) of the Prophet Muhammed (PBUH) that complete the picture Allah (SWT) began with the Quran. For someone like me who believes life is a constant opportunity to learn, this really spoke to me. It also said a lot that Islam didn’t shy away from learning and teachings are not spoon fed. They are delivered under careful reflection and study with thorough explanation.
I also learned that being a Muslim isn’t just an identity but it is also a responsibility. I am a big believer in being a reflection of my beliefs and being a good person. Part of it comes from being an aunt to my sister’s three children or an auntie to my best friend’s children that they see what I do and they will imitate it or use it as an influence on their lives. One of my biggest arguments with Christians I have encountered in the past was they were telling me what to believe, how to worship, and who goes to heaven and hell instead of living a life that spoke of what they preached. Islam is all about living the influence of Allah (SWT), living the reflection of his love and grace, living the humility of the Prophet (PBUH). We have the responsibility to be the best of what is on earth. Who wouldn’t want to do that or be a part of that?
I began volunteering with Muslim refugees after Ramadan. One of the reasons I became a Muslim is the requirement of service to others. I found that this is the most meaningful way I connect to Allah (SWT). My heart is at its most open and I am working hard to help someone to learn English, navigate their new life in America, and help their children succeed in school.
What I have gained through my connection to my higher power is that I no longer feel that I am in search of a home for my soul. My soul is in Allah’s (SWT) loving, generous, and forgiving hands. I feel that I found a community of people who accept everyone for who they are and what gifts they bring with them. There is no judgement of status, class, race, or money. No one cares if you are thin or fat, tall or short, young or old. You are a sister or brother in Allah’s (SWT) love and grace.
I also suffer from an anxiety disorder that I take medication for. Islam actually gave me the tools to recognize and come to terms with this disorder and to seek help in a more complete way. Prayer, self-reflection, and therapy alone hadn’t help me understand what was happening to my mind when I would lose complete emotional control of myself. Allah (SWT) gave me the strength and bravery to recognize I didn’t constantly have to fight against myself. I have a disorder, not a temporary condition, and that medication would benefit me, my family, and my spirituality.
“But you have to give up so much to be a Muslim, right? I mean you can’t eat BACON for crying out loud. No religion is worth that.” Yeah, I had to give up beer too and let me tell you, giving that up was harder than pork. It’s not like I was a huge consumer of pork products or a weekend drinker – those things were already low on the priority list in my life so I kind of approached it like being a vegetarian. Yes, Allah (SWT) said these things are haram (prohibited) but not having them doesn’t mean I don’t eat, drink or enjoy life. I find other options.
What I gave up when I became a Muslim isn’t in terms of what I can and can’t have. What it helped me to realize is that I had to prioritize my life to the things and people most important to me. I have begun to live a life of intention.
Before I became a Muslim, I had 500+ Facebook friends. How many of them did I really know? How many of them made meaningful contributions to my life? Aside from a few contacts in the theater community and people I went to high school with, I weeded out more than half of those people. I stopped the whirlwind of social activity I had because it was draining emotionally, physically, and financially and wasn’t adding value to my life. I still socialize (my inner extrovert needs that attention sometimes) but it’s on a much more scaled back, intentional level.
One of my biggest issues, however, in becoming Muslim is the lack of welcome I felt in my new community. I compare this to the experience of my spiritual sister who, when she started going to the mosque, was welcomed with open arms. My mosque was not what I thought it would be in terms of welcoming the new Muslim. Granted, I just started showing up, I didn’t get involved in the “New Muslim” group or anything like that, but I never was welcomed by any of the sisters nor did I feel the Imam was particularly approachable. I had really no way of knowing how to navigate my new waters without the help of my husband. Introverted tendencies aside, if I was intimidated by this and I had someone with me, I cannot imagine what it’s like if you are a person off the street wanting to know more and getting a cold reception.
I cannot blame the Muslim community entirely for this, although there is a certain amount of racism/classism as in any community. Western, and in particular American, society has begun to wage a cultural and idealistic war against Islam because of what terror groups are doing in the name of the religion. The Muslim community is heavily watched (aka spied upon), treated suspiciously, and disparaged on a regular basis by those who do not understand and/or do not want to understand the difference between terror and Islam. A white woman who speaks no Arabic walks into a mosque wearing a hijab? Yeah, I’d be scared of me too. However, it was weeks of attendance before an older sister came up to me and welcomed me and it was Ramadan before I started really connecting with the community around me. And even then, I had to make 90% of the effort.
One of the most difficult questions I have been asked is, “How does it feel right now to be a part of the Muslim community? Of the American community?” In all honesty, it goes back to the feeling of having a split personality. I want to say that I feel perfectly at home in the Muslim community and I feel perfectly at home to be a Muslim in the American community but I can’t.
In the Muslim community, those whom I know and have interacted with, I feel completely comfortable around. They do not look at me as a “convert” or just a person passing through Islam on their way to something else. When I am in my Arabic market, I am just another shopper. But went I step into the mosque, even though it is Allah’s (SWT) house, I feel as though I am an interloper, like I’ve missed the initiation along the way. Maybe it goes back to being a white woman. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t raised in a Muslim culture. Maybe it’s all in my head.
Being a Muslim in the American community is entirely another being. The distrust and disapproval of Muslims in America accelerated after 9/11 but has really come to ahead in the last two to three years. Then came the Republican Party and Donald Trump and it became okay to show your distrust and hatred openly. As a result, I do not feel that I can truly be open about being a Muslim without facing repercussions. I have been fortunate, Alhamdulilah (by God’s grace), that I have not been harassed or treated poorly by non-Muslims when I am out with my husband or flying solo in my hijab. I have gotten my fair share of mean looks but I have also had some of the most beautiful and kind generosity given to me also. It does not mean that the day someone shows their ignorance and offense to my religion might not ever come but so far I have been fortunate. Others I know, have not.
Just because a Muslim woman chooses to wear a hijab or a Muslim man has a long, oddly cut beard, doesn’t mean that we are not integral to society. We work, we spend money, we raise families – we contribute to our communities in non-threatening, non-violent ways every day. We also follows the rules and the laws of the land because we respect that this is the community we live in and support. We may have chosen a different religious path to the same God as Christianity and Judaism but we still believe we are all interconnected in this world we share.
Islam has given me the gift of being open to new experiences, ideas, thoughts and a life beyond just what we believe we are handed. It has given me a safe place to rest my head, my heart and my soul, a place to encourage my talents, challenge my perceived limitations and leave this world better than when I arrived. If you are not a Muslim, be open to the experience of learning about your Muslim neighbors. Ask questions, go to the mosque, and get involved in knowing those around you. If you are a Muslim, do not be afraid to show the world. Be the embodiment of Allah (SWT) and the teachings of the Prophet (PBUH) in service, in worship, and in knowledge. Get involved with non-Muslim charities to spread the message of peace.
The gifts Allah (SWT) gives us are numerous and of all sizes. Whether you believe or not, use your gifts. They are your greatest strength.
Assalumu Alekum.
Rania on the Run 