Spiritual Reflections by a Converted
Muslim
Where
do I start? I am originally from
I
come from an avowed Muslim family. My father, now deceased, had the title
‘Al-Hajj’, which means ‘the pilgrim’ in Arabic. He got it after making the
pilgrimage to
My father had three wives. My mother, the youngest of all, is the only one of my parents alive. It is recommended in Islam for a man to marry up to four wives if he can treat them equally. Exceeding this number is prohibited because only their prophet, Muhammad, was allowed to have more. As you can tell, I have many siblings. The Orma language does not have ‘stepparent’ or ‘half-sibling’ in its vocabulary. Since families are close-knit together, divorce is rare. This baffles anthropologists who study the Ormas because in Islam it is the opposite. It is quite easy for a Muslim man to divorce his wife/wives because all he does is to declare to her ‘I divorce you’ three times and it’s done. Her opinion in an Islamic court does not matter. Even though her husband’s least favorite wife, the most senior wife is always considered the leader of the ‘younger’ wives. Paradoxically, she is the one who advises her husband when to marry more.
For fear of persecutions and per some advice I got from some Christians, I did not inform my family of my conversion to Christianity right away. They found out through my schoolmates at a boarding school six months later. The people who prayed for me to convert instructed me to be quiet about my faith until I was done at least with college. They were afraid for themselves—should my family and Muslim leaders discover that they prayed for me to convert—and for me because Islam commands for an apostate to be killed. I am considered an apostate and whoever carries out what is sanctioned by Allah is fighting for his cause hence goes straight to heaven upon death unlike the rest of Muslims who would face individual judgment. They believe that act carries an eternal reward, which is of the same magnitude as a martyr.
After
being separated from my biological family per the directive of the Kenyan
representative in my home area in May 1990, I lived in different parts of the
country with various Christian families from other tribes for about six years,
which was really hard. What made it even harder were the traditions and customs
of the other tribes that were diametrically opposite of mine. It was difficult
to adjust but I took solace in the Word of God that came to do the intended
purpose of making enemies within the same household for His Sake. I dealt with
some persecutions there but not to the degree of what another Kenyan convert
from Islam went through. Abdul Rahman was beaten severely and almost stabbed to
death for converting to Christianity. Since not much surgical repairs are possible
in
Having
emigrated to the
While
at
The
only church I was a member of in the
Sarah and I saw each other occasionally at some international Hope alumni gatherings. It did not take very long and I found out about her church. Some of my friends who have cousins in the PRC told me lots of ‘bad things’ about PR people and the PRC. Sarah did not fit their description of a PR member. As for the stereotypes about the PR denomination, I did not bank on their input. Since they failed at labeling PR people—Sarah proved them wrong by her walk—I discarded their entire allegations against the PRC.
She told me about some positive things about the church and where they were located. Since I hated the doctrine of predestination, she lent me Whosoever Will to read on the doctrine of predestination. I read it for a along period of time while doing research online about the PRC. A year and a half elapsed.
One Saturday afternoon in December 2003, Sarah came over for a visit with a copy of the Standard Bearer and a Christmas card in hand. We talked for a little while about the area PR churches and she left for the night. Since Saturday nights were the toughest nights for me to decide where to go to church, I went online and mapped out the area churches. I thought I had had enough with going to bed with headaches that resulted from thoughts of where to worship the following Sunday morning. Sundays were agonizing days for me. Before I retired for the night, I narrowed down to … and … PRC. Although the former is closer to where I lived, I decided on that latter partly because Mapquest told me it was 3 minutes faster. I went to bed that night with thoughts of going to a brand new place that I did not know what color the church building was. Sarah gave some heads-up on the Dutch people and their Sunday formal wear. That did not faze me as I showed up at church that morning I would live to remember. The nice usher put me where there was an empty seat, which happened to be the front of the church.
Surprisingly, the sermon was on the doctrine of predestination. Since I did not disagree with the interpretation of the scripture on that day, I decided before the service ended that I would be back the following Sunday to see if the preacher would goof up. By the way, I do not go to church to look for faults in preaching/teaching. With much agony I endured some Sundays in this country for the eight years I was looking for a church that at least strove to literally interpret God’s Word, I felt justified to think that way. After my second visit, I committed to coming to … PRC at least for another 38 weeks. Before that time elapsed, I committed to attending it indefinitely. The rest is history.
In conclusion, my family and I are still at loggerheads when it comes to many things, the chief being my faith in Christ. Even though they do not approve of it, I am certain that they would be proud that I go to a place of worship that shows reverence for God. My younger brother and I are good friends. I believe, Lord willing, that I will continue to be a member of a PR church as long as I am alive and reside in this country unless something that is beyond me happens. As to my friends’ objection to me being PR, we live in a free country and it’s their prerogative to say whatever they want as most of their allegations are unfounded anyway. For the little I have seen or heard from PRC members, none of it would merit for me to go elsewhere for church. Some friends have gone to the extent of insulting me for making a profession of faith. One of them, a former PR, went as far as telling me that I was better off a Muslim than PR. Ouch! The same way I parted ways with my family for His Sake, parting with friends has become a piece of cake. I am grateful for God’s provision of friends in Christ. Indeed, He has provided me with a family that encompasses wherever His Name is proclaimed.
Until next time,