Converts To Islam

Saabirah Abdulhayy

Each single life is a unique, beautiful, gift from the One Who Creates. InshaLlah, I shall never stop loving to sing the praises of my Creator (swt) and the Road that Ive travelled and continue to travel until breath leaves this body. I was born Muslim, AlHumduliLlah although I never knew that as I was raised Catholic Christian. There have been many trials with only one answer even when I didnt know the question. There has been One Constant in my life and it is the Source of All...Allah (swt). Sometimes, that never-ending, God, where are you? caused difficulties, especially when I was growing up. Mother used to say (and still does) Go to church once a week, say your prayers and then cut it out with all of your God Stuff! For me, that would have been like cutting off a limb. I have been a bit ill since 12 years old in that Ive had epilepsy, which was difficult to control. I was married at age 22, had a child, and because of seizures, I was heavily medicated and seem to have lost 11 years of my life/memories. I recall my daughter at the age of 5 and then...she was 16. I became ill with pneumonia and in one day my lungs collapsed, liver failed and I slipped into a comatose state. The doctors resuscitated me and used life support for sustenance. My family was told that I would most likely live for not more than 3 days. AlHumduliLlah, I didnt know that I was supposed to die and one day I woke up!

My life took a turn. I worked as an office manager for a few years. When I was laid off, I went on retreat to seek Guidance

and again asked God, Where are You? The official reason for the retreat was a passage from the Bible: Ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find; knock and the door will be opened to you. When I left for that retreat, I made a bargain with God. I asked for His Guidance and in turn promised that after 10 days of prayer, I would return home to find Gods Will for me in the mailbox! Well, Allah (swt) came through and I found one letter about a pilgrimage to Israel. In Israel, I discovered Arabs and Muslims. The Road Less Travelled opened up to me and I was happy to walk it. After that first 10-day pilgrimage I returned to Israel by myself for what I believed would be 28 days for a time of prayer, searching, and coming to a better understanding of God and me. When the airplane landed I walked through Ben Gurion airport pushing my luggage in a trolley, wondering what would happen to me... alone in the Middle East! A very beautiful world opened up to me as I looked out at the desert, palm trees and people speaking strange languages...Hebrew and Arabic, neither of which I understood at all.

The trip from Ben Gurion Airport to Jerusalem was my very first experience of being totally on my own. The brilliant blue skies and gentle breezes spelled out home to me. After one day in Jerusalem I was off to Mt. Tabor for 11 days. My 40th birthday was on the exact same day as the 50th anniversary of the ordination of one of the Franciscan friars and the banquet and fireworks that were planned for that day were for us both! Looking out over the desert and across to Mt. Hermon was my morning activity. The sheep and goats with their bells meandered up the side of Mt. Tabor. Birds tweeted and sang their morning songs as the sun rose. It was summer and everything was in bloom. Flower petals marked the pages of my prayer books and journals instead of bookmarks. I cannot

properly explain what it was and what was going on in me, but again, I felt as though something was calling.

After Mt. Tabor and the Church of the Transfiguration, I went down to Mt. Carmel. Ahh...the Mediterranean filling the horizon with such a blue/green! I lived in the Monastery of St. Terese with the Carmelite Sisters and Friars. I was a secular Discalced Carmelite at the time. It was our obligation to pray five times every day the Liturgy of the Hours, which is mainly the Psalms and a ritual standing and bowing... much like making Salaat. So, we rose with the sun. I wondered at the marvels and questions that were filling every piece of me. I was there for the feasts of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel and 3 days later, the feast of St. Elijah. The cave of Elijah is in the side of the mount overlooking the ocean. Jews and Muslims came for a week camping out in the huge yard in front of the monastery. Every year there is a great celebration for the Feast of Elijah the Prophet who fought the people of Baal, right there on Mt. Carmel. The Temple of Baal is still there almost next door to the Carmelite Monastery. The time on Mt. Carmel was like a dream and when my two weeks there was up I didnt know what to do. I called to the US and they said, You sound as though you want to stay, why dont you change your ticket? Well, they didnt have to say it twice!

Going to Jerusalem was scary. I didnt know the city and Id yet to find my way around the small alleyways of the Old City (Al-Quds). There was a favourite spot at the coffee shop at the Notre Dame Center. Id sit there and look out over the Old Citys minarets and steeples. The Dome of the Rock filled my gaze...so beautiful! After the 4 days that were reserved for me in the hotel I had to hit the streets in search of a new place to lay my head. The winding alleyways of al-Quds were like a labyrinth. I knew of one little house that was run by the Arab Rosary Sisters and

went there pulling all of my belongings. The little Arab Sister said, Sorry, we dont have any room but you can leave your luggage while you go to look around the city. So, I was off on the very old stone streets with the wall of al-Quds always on one side of me. As darkness began to fall and there was nowhere to sleep I recalled the words of the Psalm, Though an army surround me, I shall not fear for Thou art with me. I had lost my luggage and couldnt find my way back to the mornings house! Trudging down the dusty street I saw a familiar door built into the walls. It was strange in that it was open with night approaching. An Arab nun looked out as I was about to pass by and said, Arent you Sabina? Someone told me that you were here in the morning. Come in, we have a place for you! What a shock! Thus began the next months of communal meals with other travellers (who turned into Jerusalem friends over the next 7 years), hand washing clothes and singing as we hung them on the roof to dry, bargaining in the souq, and travelling the city in an attempt to soak in its glory.

My roommate Lena was Swedish. She worked at the Gaza Community Mental Health Program on weekends and was studying Arabic. That was where I learned of the plight of the Palestinians and first decided to plunge myself into the Arabic language. When my Visa ran out it was a teary goodbye and long flight back to the US. After a little while, I found myself back in al-Quds...my home. Money was tight so it was time to live life poorly in my beloved al-Quds. I learned every face, every smile, every shops owner and the merchants in the souq. I was known as the woman with the beautiful dress for the lovely Bedouin jalabiyya that I wore. Also, I was known as the hard woman because Id learned to bargain with the best of them! I lived in a hostel (50 cents a night) and met Ismael who would become my teacher for writing Arabic. I didnt know it at

the time but the words that Ismael was teaching me to write were things like ism or Malik al-ard. He said, Sabina, the best way to learn the Arabic language is with the Quran.

I didnt know what the Quran was! I had very little exposure to Islam. Ismael always said, Sabina your Faith is beautiful and you love God. Dont let anyone hurt that... only God is One. Do not forget Sabina... God is One.

Things changed a bit. I was living inside the Walls of the Old City. My little room looked like a cave made from stone with a vaulted roof. Winters were freezing cold and wet. Spring cloaked the country in colors, summer was sweltering hot, and the fall was a less colorful version of spring. One year, a Carmelite priest that I knew took me to the Monastery of the Discalced Carmelite nuns on the Mount of Olives just there at the Grotto of the Pater Noster. I was already a member of a Catholic Discalced Carmelite community but thought to enter the monastery in Palestine/Israel. Life in the monastery was beautiful. The olive grove just out the window of my cell was huge with olive trees, grape vines, pomegranate bushes, fig trees, plum trees and a vegetable garden. Life was lived around the bells. We prayed every day, 5 times a day, and in the summer we prayed at the same times that the Adhan was calling Muslims to prayer. That was a very prayerful, solitary and thoughtful life. It afforded me much peace and lots of time for quiet thought. While in the monastery I wondered about God. I was overshadowed by a different and powerful Transcendence...I thought, Where is God? Now I know that He (swt) never left me for even a split second, MashaLlah. Life in the monastery was typical of any other nun but I sensed there that my life needed to be out on the streets in the world. When I left the monastery it was a sad day but also the first day of the rest of my life. I went down to Jerusalem on Yom Kippur. After

a short visit back to the US, I returned to al-Quds again...for the rest of my life.

The last stage of life in al-Quds I worked at the Syrian Catholic Patriarchate in East Jerusalems Muslim neighbourhood. The Syrian/Arab Christians are very suspicious of Muslims and I was told to make sure that all doors and windows were securely locked by nightfall because they (Muslim neighbours) will sneak in and cut our throats while we sleep! At that time I was working very hard doing manual work. I was the foolish American since I was not in the least afraid of Muslims; they were my friends. I was the one who cared for the Muslim women and children that came to our guesthouse. I also cleaned lots of bathrooms in the house, washed floors, and scrubbed the endless stairs on my hands and knees at least once a week In all there were 16 flights of stairs. I must have hung goodness knows how many sheets on the rooftop every morning. I liked going up on the roof just after waking to pray. Every morning at about 4:30 I went up to the roof and looked out over the Old City. My beloved Jerusalem! The Dome of the Rock is a sight that will live in my heart forever! I had been learning to write Arabic and copied everything that I saw.

One day I saw something on the wall of a coffee shop and it captivated me. I copied it. It was so beautiful that my fingers learned to write it without stopping at all. Every morning I used the tip of my finger to write the words in the blue sky. Soon, I asked Muslim friends what it was that I was writing and they told me, That is a Surah, Surat al-Falaq. A dear friend, Kamil, suggested that I go down into the souq and get a copy of the Quran, so I did.

The first thing that I looked for was Al-Falaq, and I read, In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate. All of Creation

seeks refuge in the Lord of the Daybreak...just as I had been writing with my finger in the sky! From the evil which He has created...and I thought of the soldiers that patrolled Jerusalem. And from the evil of the darkness when it descends...was this my Muslim friends who would sneak in and slit our throats?! the riots in the streets and the sounds of the dark. And from the evil of those who practice witchcraft, and from the evil of the envier when he envies...the envious...what did I have to envy? Little did I know of the Gifts that Allah (swt) was showering on little me.

The days were beautiful after the work was done but because of the harsh chemicals that I had to use my feet and hands were callused and raw. The dry skin finally cracked leaving my hands bleeding when used very much. If I stood still in one place for too long my feet would become numb so that when beginning to walk it was agony. Sandals were permanently bloodstained from walking and irritating the cracks. I noticed that shop owners and produce vendors were avoiding me. I looked like a leper and a darned skinny one at that. The only thing that helped forget the pain was to look at the children and walk the narrow streets of the souq...up to the top of the Mt. of Olives...out to Ein Karim to sit up on the cliff overlooking the wadi...Nazareth and the Galilee! Tiberius and a boat trip across the Sea of Galilee to the Mount of Beatitudes! The Dead Sea where I went to swim. Gorgeous! Well...life was tough and life was beautiful. After going to Mass every evening I walked home to the patriarchate down the same dusty roads.

One evening as I walked in excruciating pain I talked to God. My God, are You there? Do You really exist? I dont know if Im a Jew, Christian or Muslim or Atheist! My God...if You are there, Im throwing everything that Ive ever knew of You right here in this gutter. You have to teach me because I sense

something but dont know what it is! With that I looked up at the sun setting over the golden Dome of the Rock...ah, Ya Allah! As I walked home I cried. It felt as though I had just attempted spiritual suicide and was falling off of the top of a cliff into a black abyss. I could feel myself dropping and knew that I would either land in the pits of Hell or...or...God could save me! My thoughts were that God is One...He transcends whatever anyone Id heard had said. Please God, Ya Allah take me! was all that I could think.

After that I became ill. The Syrian Catholics were not nice. One day I was told to leave by afternoon...no more work. By evening I was back on the street pulling some luggage with me, some stored at a little house in the courtyard, and nowhere to sleep. Eventually I found a room in a hostel in East Jerusalem. After a few weeks my body froze up due to the lupus condition. The American Embassy made emergency arrangements to fly me back to the US to find some doctors. It was probably the saddest thing that could have happened. Just before I left I went back to the Notre Dame and had my usual cappuccino on the terrace with its beautiful view of the City. Sitting there I knew that it was a brief period that I would remember for the rest of my life. I looked out over the City at the Dome of the Rock with the Mt. of Olives rising behind it and prayed, My GodPlease do not let me die until I once again see al-Quds. My God, let Jerusalem live always in my heart. I have never taken a photograph of al-Quds yet I can see it still.

When I returned to the US, after a while of being sick and unable to move, I got better, went to work and continued bumping up against the thoughts and feelings of Jerusalem. God was there in my life...and God was One, Al Quyyoom, the Transcendent. I missed hearing the Adhans echoing in the streets of Jerusalem...Allahu AkbarAllahu Akbar. I missed

the little children running to me calling, Sabria, Sabria! I missed my Muslim friends and I wondered, Where is Allah?

One morning just before work I was compelled to stand in my kitchen and asked Allah to be my witness as I said, AshHadu ana La Illaha Illa Allah wa AshaHadu ana Muhammad Nabi waRasuulu. I read al-Fatiha and al-Falaq and walked out my door in tears, overjoyed at the thought I am Muslim! Allahu Akbar! My name had changed from Sabina or Sabria to Saabirah... the Patient one. Subhan Allah.

Salaamu Alaikum waRahmatulluh waBarakatuhu.

Holy Quran 48:28
He it is Who sent His Apostle with the guidance and the true religion that He may make it prevail over all the religions; and Allah (swt) is enough for a witness.**