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I
was raised in a religious Christian family. At that time,
Americans were more religious than they are now—most
families went to church every Sunday, for example. My parents
were involved in the church community. We often had ministers
(Protestant “priests”) in the house. My mother taught in
Sunday school, and I helped her.
I
must have been more religious than other children, although I
don’t remember being so. For one birthday, my aunt gave me a
Bible, and my sister a doll. Another time, I asked my parents
for a prayer book, and I read it daily for many years.
When
I was in junior high school (middle school), I attended a
Bible study program for two years. Up to this point, I had
read some parts of the Bible, but had not understood them very
well. Now was my chance to learn. Unfortunately, we studied
many passages in the Old and New Testaments that I found
inexplicable, even bizarre.
For
example, the Bible teaches an idea called Original Sin, which
means that humans are all born sinful. I had a baby brother,
and I knew that babies were not sinful.
The
Bible has very strange and disturbing stories about Prophet
Abraham and Prophet David, for example. I couldn’t
understand how Prophets could behave the way the Bible says
they did.
There
were many, many other things that puzzled me about the Bible,
but I didn't ask questions. I was afraid to ask—I wanted to
me known as a “good girl.”
Al-Hamdulillah,
there was a boy who asked, and kept asking.
The most critical matter was the notion of Trinity. I
couldn’t get it. How could God have three parts, one of
which was human? Having studied Greek and Roman mythology at
school, I thought the idea of the Trinity and powerful human
saints very similar to the Greek and Roman ideas of having
different so-called “gods” that were in charge of
different aspects of life (Astaghfir-Ullah!). The boy who
asked, asked many questions about Trinity, received many
answers, and was never satisfied. Neither was I. Finally, our
teacher, a University of Michigan Professor of Theology, told
him to pray for faith.
I prayed.
When
I was in high school, I secretly wanted to be a nun. I was
drawn to the pattern of offering devotions at set times of
day, of a life devoted entirely to God, and of dressing in a
way that declared my religious lifestyle. An obstacle to this
ambition, though, was that I wasn’t Catholic. I lived in a
Midwestern town where Catholics were a distinct and unpopular
minority! Furthermore, my protestant upbringing had instilled
in me distaste for religious statuary, and a healthy disbelief
that dead saints had the ability to help me.
In college, I continued to think and pray. Students often talk
and argue about religion, and I heard many different ideas.
Like Yusuf Islam, I studied the Eastern so-called religions:
Buddhism, Confucianism, and Hinduism. No help there.
I
met a Muslim from Libya, who told me a little about Islam and
the Holy Qur’an. He told me that Islam is the modern, most
up-to-date form of revealed religion. Because I thought of
Africa and the Middle East as backwards places, I couldn’t
see Islam as modern.
My
family took this Libyan brother to a Christmas church service.
The service was breathtakingly beautiful, but at the end, he
asked, “Who made up this procedure? Who taught you when to
stand and bow and kneel? Who taught you how to pray?” I told
him about early Church history, but his question made me angry
at first, and later made me think.
Had the people who designed the worship service really been
qualified to do so? How had they known the form that worship
should take? Had they had divine instruction?
I
knew that I did not believe in many of the teachings of
Christianity, but continued to attend church. When the
congregation recited pieces I believed to be blasphemous, such
as the Nicene Creed, I was silent—I didn’t recite them. I
felt almost alien in church, almost a stranger.
A
shocker! Someone very close to me, having dire marital
problems, went to a curate of our church for advice. Taking
advantage of her pain and self-loathing, he took her to a
motel and seduced her.
Up
to this point, I had not considered carefully the role of the
clergy in Christian life. Now I had to. Most Christians
believe that forgiveness comes through the “Holy
Communion” service, and that an ordained priest or minister
must conduct the service. No minister, no absolution.
I
went to church again, and sat and looked at the ministers in
front. They were no better than the congregation—some of
them were worse. How could it be true that the agency of a
man, of any human being, was necessary for communion with God?
Why couldn’t I deal with God directly, and receive His
absolution directly?
Soon
after this, I found a translation of the meaning of the
Qur’an in a bookstore, bought it, and started to read it. I
read it, off and on, for eight years. During this time, I
continued to investigate other religions.
I
grew increasingly aware of and afraid of my sins. How could I
know whether God would forgive me? I no longer believed that
the Christian model, the Christian way of being forgiven,
would work. My sins weighed heavily on me, and I didn’t know
how to escape the burden of them. I longed for forgiveness. I
read in the Qur’an,
“…Nearest
among them in love to the Believers you will find those who
say, ‘We are Christian’: Because amongst them are Men
devoted to learning, and men who have renounced the world and
are not arrogant.
“And
when they listen to the revelation received by the Messenger,
you will see their eyes overflowing with tears, for they
recognize the truth. They pray, ‘Our Lord! We believe. Write
us down among the witnesses.
[And
what (reason) have we that we should not believe in Allah and
in the truth that has come to us, while we earnestly desire
that our Lord should cause us to enter with the good people?]
(Al-Ma’idah 5:84)
I
began to hope that Islam held the answer. How could I find out
for sure?
I saw Muslims praying on the TV news, and knew that they had a
special way of praying. I found a book (by a non-Muslim) that
described it, and I tried to do it myself (I knew nothing of
Taharah, and did not pray correctly). I prayed that way,
secretly and alone, for several years.
Finally,
about eight years after first buying my Qur’an, I read:
[This
day have I perfected your religion for you, completed My favor
for you, and chosen Islam as your religion.]
(Al-Ma’idah 5:3)
I
wept for joy, because I knew that, way back in time, before
the creation of the Earth, Allah had written this Qur’an for
me. Allah had known that Anne Collins, in Cheektowaga, NY,
USA, would read this verse of the Qur’an in May 1986, and be
saved.
Now,
I knew that there were many things I had to learn, for
example, how to pray properly, which the Qur’an does not
describe in detail. The problem was that I didn’t know any
Muslims.
Muslims
are much more visible in the US now than they were then. I
didn’t know where to find them. I found the phone number of
the Islamic Society in the phone book, and dialed it, but when
a man answered, I panicked and hung up. What was I going to
say? How would they answer me? Would they be suspicious? Why
would they want me, when they had each other and their Islam?
In
the next couple of months, I called the mosque a number of
times, and each time panicked and hung up. Finally, I did the
cowardly thing: I wrote a letter asking for information. The
kindly, patient brother at the mosque phoned me, and then
started sending me pamphlets about Islam. I told him I wanted
to be Muslim, but he told me, “Wait until your are sure.”
It upset me that he told me to wait, but I knew he was right,
that I had to be sure because, once I had accepted Islam,
nothing would ever be the same again.
I
became obsessed with Islam. I thought about it, day and night.
On several occasions, I drove to the mosque (at that time, it
was in an old converted house) and circled it many times,
hoping to see a Muslim, wondering what it was like inside.
Finally,
one day in early November 1986, as I was working in the
kitchen, I suddenly knew, knew that I was Muslim. Still a
coward, I sent the mosque a letter. It said, “I believe in
Allah, the One True God, I believe that Muhammad was his
Messenger, and I want to be counted among the witnesses.”
The
brother called me on the phone the next day, and I said my
shahadah* on the phone to him. He told me then that Allah had
forgiven all my sins at that moment, and that I was as pure as
a newborn baby.
I
felt the burden of sin slip off my shoulders, and wept for
joy. I slept little that night, weeping, and repeating
Allah’s name. Forgiveness had been granted. Alhamdulillah.
*The
statement a person makes when accepting Islam (and many times
a day thereafter: I testify that there is no deity other than
Allah, and I testify that Muhammad (SAAWS) was a Messenger of
Allah.
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