…and I chose the one less travelled by,

and it has made all the difference

— Robert Frost, “The road not taken”

 

In the name of Allah, the Entirely Merciful, the Especially Merciful
All praise is to Allah, and may He exalt the mention of His noble Messenger Muhammad and grant him peace and security. To proceed:

 

I grew up with traditional values in a nuclear home. My mother was always keen never to lie and my parents prevented me from ever getting any tattoos or piercings, praise be to Allah. My father, a federal judge, was Greek Orthodox and my mother, a registered nurse/”home-maker” was a Lutheran. Although our family had times when we didn’t go to church, I recall feeling the need when I was in grade school, as if something was missing from my life, although I really did not understand what church was about. Around the time I started high school I attended both the Greek Orthodox and Lutheran churches and I had a strong unquestioning faith and love for Christianity.

Before high school I had become increasingly introverted. I stopped having birthday parties a couple years prior. I rarely hung out with friends. I spent a lot of time walking in a grassy field near our home, wandering, recording my thoughts with a tape recorder. Writing and movies were my larger passions, golfing and Star Wars my hobbies.

In school I was a clown, always on the honor roll, and I made it my goal to become the President of the United States. I was angry at the many injustices taking place in America and around the globe. I thought that, as a Christian, I should try to change the courses of evil, from the most influential position possible. I wanted to live a perfect life. At age 15 I solemnly decided never to smoke cigarettes, drink alcohol, do drugs, and to be completely abstinent from girlfriends and sexual encounters. To this day, as I prepare this post, I’ve never held anything between my fingers to be smoked or shot up. As for girls, I thought about Bill Clinton, the President of the time, and I never wanted anything from my past to haunt me. And I would always see at least one of my friends depressed, as if the world was coming down, always because of a woman. I didn’t need that kind of distraction.

When I tried to follow the steps I laid out for life I found obstacles and met failure. I was naive and thought that by merely having lofty goals and good intentions the world would unfold for me. I was so frustrated, “Why isn’t God helping me? Am I not doing the best thing in the sight of God?” I had plunged into the dark depths of depression and angst. At 16, I was clinically diagnosed with a Molotov cocktail of mental illnesses. I stopped doing my homework. I had a hatred for everything in existence, especially for God for bringing me into existence, yet I was in deep love with myself, and with Adolf Hitler.

When I was 17 I felt like I was going to implode and couldn’t keep control. I left school, afraid of what I would do. I checked into an adolescent psych ward. During the few days I was there in the late summer of 2001, two skyscrapers in New York City came crumbling to the ground. Honestly, this excited me. I thought it would give me some purpose of living. After hospital release, I went to the Armed Forces recruiting center. My ultimate hope was to die in combat, anything that could save me from taking my own life, whose control seemed to be on dangling off the edge of my fingertips. I begged my parents to let me drop out of school–they only wanted for me what would make me happy. I befriended the Marine Corps recruiters a year before, and my father was a former leatherneck. But when they learned of my illnesses, they could not legally continue speaking with me. I was crestfallen.

I continued high school via correspondence and would frequent the library to occasionally brush up on hitlerian literature. During one visit, “The Qur’aan” caught my eye. “Is this the same as the Koran? If I read this, I can say hey, guess what the Muslim’s believe!”

When I took it home I noticed a sticker on the inside cover. It read like We hold this book to contain the true spoken word of Allah and request that all patrons of this library to accord it respect as deserved, not placing it on the ground, taking it in the restroom, or mishandling it.

The idea of treating an inanimate object with respect was unlike anything I ever heard. I once wanted to practice drumming, so I grabbed a dictionary and a Bible and beat away at them with some pencils. I would pulverize G.I. Joe figurines and light them ablaze. The idea of respecting paper, ink and cardboard was foreign and I immediately revered it. In school, and even at the library, the idea of mishandling books was simply to make them last longer, not because of the contents’ inviolability. This was a novel concept.

Now I was a writer. In fact I would spend most of my days writing poetry and screen plays. I wasn’t a “writer” like how anyone who likes to lament calls them self a writer. I later received a writing scholarship to a prestigious private college–not a full ride, but every bit counts. But when I read the first chapter of the Qur’an, those 7 verses, I was shaken. Philosophers will spend hundreds of pages deciding whether or not they exist. Yet here were 7 verses that answered, who is Allah, what are His qualities, what will this life amount to, what is our relationship with the Creator, and what it is we are to do and not to do in life. And it was all in the form of a prayer. I could not read anymore, overwhelmed. I remember saying if the rest of this book is anything like this, then there is nothing like it. I had spent hours and hours before, trying to write laconic passages, allowing myself a limited number of characters, hoping to come with the best and most comprehensive meaning. But the Quran I realized, was beyond human capacity. It made my own writings look sophomoric, pathetic. It made everything I read look amateur, wasteful.

But something sinister inside me made me comfortable with my path of self-destruction. However, it was my curiosity that returned me to the Qur’an after some days of abstinence, and my greed as a writer. Any writer can tell you, your ability to write is largely influenced by what you read. Maybe I didn’t believe in the Quran, but it commanded my respect, and perhaps I could benefit from its rhythm and style.

And I thought deeply about those first seven verses. There did not seem to be anything about them contradictory to Christianity. So I began reading al-Fatiha as a prayer every night before going to bed, along with the Christian Lord’s Prayer.

When I read about the descriptions of humanity in the first verses of chapter 2 I was blown away. No human being could or would ever say these things. Describing the attributes of those who believe, disbelieve, and those who used their claimed religion as a worldly tool seemed to describe everything around me that I could not put my finger on but felt very strongly about. Reading verses like Allah mocks them and gives them increase in their wrongdoing… and Verily, Allah is not ashamed to set forth a parable… and others seemed to put the title of ALMIGHTY back into its spot. It had always bothered me that people treated God like some nosy old neighbor with occasional words of wisdom to put on the fridge with a use You when I need You and leave You when I don’t attitude. Yet I did not immediately know that God “The Father” and “Allah” were actually one in the same. I just saw that Islam believed in a Creator of all things whereas God “The Father” was at a much lower status. For example, in the “verse of the footstool” (2:255) the Qur’an states that the footstool of Allah extends beyond the heavens and the earth. But in the Bible (Matthew 5:35), Jesus [peace be upon him] is attributed to saying that God’s footstool is the earth. I perceived that “Allah” and “The Father” were different, each with separate religions making the same claim yet there was no comparison between the awesome power and might of Allah, the One Who could not be reached through any intercessor. I believed that this message–grand, foreign, old as it was–was a personal message to me from Allah. I was so excited to read from the Qur’an–I even remember taking it to my grandmother’s house and reading passages of it to her. When I finally came to the verse “O you who believe! Enter perfectly into Islam…” [2:208] I closed the book and knew that I did not want to live anymore without being a Muslim.

But I took precaution none the less. I went to church the next Sunday to see if I felt anything from it. Then, I visited with one of my former counselors, Father Michael, from the Greek Orthodox church. I told him my intention which of course shocked him. He asked me what I thought about during the service and I confessed I couldn’t stop wondering if Allah approves of all these statues and pictures. He admitted not knowing hardly anything about Islam and did not try to dissuade me from my path. Instead he furnished me with the number and address of a local Islamic center and prayed for me that I would be like the prodigal son.

The prodigal son is a biblical story of a man who leaves the home of his raising to taste adventure from the world beyond. After being away for a long time pursuing the glitter outside he realizes the need to return to the home he left behind. He fears that his family will be mad at him and cast him out upon sight but instead finds them joyous wherein they give him a great reception. And it may be that this is really a parable of a person returning to their fitra, or what they were naturally created for, submission to Allah through Islam.

After my meeting with the reverend I told my parents about my intentions and I don’t think I could have said I’m going to the mall and gotten any different response. They were calm and collected but said to do some research first. I suppose that I had put them through enough already that nothing from my end could surprise them. It wasn’t until right before I would go to the local mosque later that week that my parents realized I wasn’t joking. My father was stoic it is not uncommon to have doubts about one’s religion and organized religion at this age he said. My mother was devastated. Several years later I learned she thought I became a Muslim only to spite her. My feeling of need for Islam outweighed anything and I threatened my parents to take my own life or to live on the streets downtown if they made life difficult for me on account of becoming a Muslim. After that stance of mine, regardless of how right or wrong it was, my parents have always been very tolerant of my choice, giving me support, and listening to what I offer them.

On Friday, October 26th, 2001 I pulled up to the local Islamic center and waited in the parking lot. Nervous, hands clammy, heart thumping. I looked at who would go inside. When I saw an Arab pull up and escort his wife to one entrance and himself take a different one I realized that this was not a Nation of Islam center so I went ahead and entered. At 6:20 pm I met the first Muslim I had ever met, Abu Usaamah adh-Dhahabi who helped me repeat ash-hadu an la ilaaha illa Allaah wa Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan Rasoolullah — the words necessary for becoming a Muslim. About 30 people accepted Islam in Peoria in the weeks following September 11th. Of those, I am the only one I know of practicing today, and Allah knows best.

But life did not become rosy and peachy from then on. Can anyone say it does? In fact, for two and a half years I called myself a Muslim, and Allah knows better about that. The books I was given at the onset of accepting Islam were miles over my head. Shaykh al-Albaani’s unabridged description of the prayer and Kitab-at-Tauheed. I was assigned a mentor who, with all due respect, was very kind and caring, and I greatly appreciate his help and support throughout my various car accidents and laziness. But there was no organized program or steps for welcoming and educating new Muslims. I immediately gave up my infatuation with Hitler, but I didn’t know what to put in its place. Everyday in that first week I would wake up at 5 am to drive 30 minutes downtown for the morning prayer at the Bradley MSA, yet how quickly did the enthusiasm begin to wane. Then, after being a “Mozlem” for 3 months I tried to debate with my parents about religion and I felt so humiliated that I overdosed on aspirin. The next morning I was in the hospital vomiting–back to the psych ward. After this second hospitalization I finished my junior year without incident and returned to the actual brick/mortar building for my senior year to pull up my grades and graduate on time.

After graduating from high school I went to Knox College, majoring in political science. It was close to home, but not at home, had a large international community, and helpful faculty . But when I saw the Muslims there Yeah, you should meet so-and-so, he’s very conservative, he prays…I realized I was in trouble. I tried to spend as much time as I could with “the conservative” who could have made extra furniture out of the piles of Papa John’s pizza boxes he had. After a year at Knox being a “jumu’ah man” he asked me to be the imam the following year. I protested to this but when I considered everyone else, I reluctantly accepted the post.

All this time I was having problems with praying so I asked the Peoria imam for advice but he told me to read about tawheed. I thought what kind of advice is this? I ask about prayer and he says tawheed? I told him that I read it but did not understand any of it. He said read it again. His voice still ringing in my head.

And it took me three attempts at Kitab-at-Tawheed before I realized what I was reading. But this was the defining moment of my life as a Muslim. It was like smoke was being removed from my eyes, my mind, and my heart. I started praying regularly and on time and have yet to falter, praise be to Allah.

I now realize that this advice was based upon the Prophetic instruction to those who met new Muslims, let the first thing you invite them to be singling out Allah for all worship, if they obey you in that, then tell them that Allah has ordered 5 prayers for every day and night. Before then, I was occasionally reading “Islam and science” and “Islam and Christianity” useless apologetic literature. Praise be to Allah, I now realize that a person will never attain true certainty or strength as a Muslim except by following this methodology of the Prophet Muhammad (may Allah’s peace and blessings be upon him) by beginning all affairs with Tawheed [understanding the true relationship between the Muslim and Allah].

I was excited to really learn now.

I started writing down questions and I asked my former mentor if he could answer them for me but due to his busy schedule he directed me to another brother. This man later became my best friend, an orthodox Palestinian Muslim from Kuwait. I was impressed with the way he answered questions it doesn’t matter what I think, but the Qur’aan says… and the Messenger says… and the scholars explained for us that this means… He didn’t offer any of his own opinions, amusing anecdotes, nor tell any stories, everything was to the point and from the only sources that mattered. He offered some books, and so that summer I decided to read and read and read until it became an all-day addiction. I wasn’t going to wait on anyone else to help me anymore. I couldn’t afford to.

When I returned to college I couldn’t focus on my studies as I was so busy reading about Islam. I decided to abandon political science and I thought about going into culture studies until I realized that I wanted to devote the rest of my days to the study of Islam.

I was a sophomore student at Knox College in November 2004, alone, reclining under the light of a desk lamp while the rest of campus partied late into the night. I read through several Prophetic narrations about the importance and virtues of knowledge in the abridged Sahîh al-Bukhâri. I read from the signs of the Day of Resurrection’s nearness, knowledge would be little on earth due to the deaths of its bearers, while ignorance, intoxicants and fornication would become trivial and multiply. I felt as close and ready to heed Allah’s Call as I felt when I first started reading the Qur’ân and ultimately accepted Islam in October 2001.

It took a series of lengthy letters to my family and becoming extremely sick before I could leave Knox College for good. The summer after my would-be sophomore year saw a trip to the psychiatrist that I had known for years. The strong and volatile medication I had been taking for 3 years which I was supposed to be taking till the day I die, was tapered off and relinquished–doctor’s orders. My mother fell to the ground crying out of happiness, saying I knew this day would come.

In 2006, I decided to gather my thoughts and perform hajj. I went with a group of mostly other converts, from Newark and Philadelphia. Allah blessed me with a chance to see some of the great scholars of our time. I was awestruck in their presence from what light (noor) shown on their countenance, the weight their words bore, and the reverence (haibah) they commanded. With every breath, I heard them praising Allah, glorifying Allah, or asking Allah for forgiveness while declaring His Oneness.

After hajj, I continued working in retail and then in welding, distancing myself from saying anything about Islam because of the loftiness and tremendous weight of that responsibility. I planned to move to the east coast, get married, find a way to learn Arabic and ultimately live amongst the Muslims and learn more about this blessed religion of Islam, until Allah granted me that in a much more painless and expedient manner. All for Islam. This way of life which Allah blessed me with in my most desperate hour. I used to come home from school every day and place my face in a pillow and cry, fantasizing about death, and praying for deliverance. I, like so many millions and billions, was unaware that anything like Islam existed. I’m so happy that Allah chose me amongst the billions upon billions on earth that are in need of His guidance. I know that there is nothing I did to deserve His Help except that He has fulfilled His promise to Help those who call upon Him. And He has thus far answered my prayers, “Oh Allah, place me amid the rightly-guided, in this life and the next.”

Sometimes in the midst of my daily affairs I pause and think about Islam, to consider the vast scope of its guidance. There is perfection in every matter, whether it is the way in which the Muslim is called to believe and understand their Lord and the unseen world about them, or to behave with himself, or to establish a family and live in society. Balance, justice, truth, and practicality are some of the aspects of this way of life, but they are perfected beyond any scale of human conception. The difference between Islam’s guidance in a matter and anything else are not like the comparison of one step above another, but rather like the comparison of the stars above to what we are down here–if there is any comparison. When I consider that all of this guidance was revealed to one man in a single 23-year period, when before then the Arabs new nothing of guidance… I am floored. The only thing I can do is praise and thank Allah, keep my duty to Him as much as I am able, and never be too proud to ask His forgiveness whenever I err.

“Is he who was dead (without Faith by ignorance and disbelief) and We gave him life (by knowledge and Faith) and set for him a light (of Belief) whereby he can walk amongst men – like him who is in the darkness (of disbelief, polytheism and hypocrisy) from which he can never come out? Thus it is made fair-seeming to the disbelievers that which they used to do.” [6:122]