My conversion into Christianity was not a breeze to say the least. It was not a result of being convinced by anyone and taken to church while drugged to be secretly baptized. It wasn’t to fall in love with a woman or be accepted by her family. It certainly wasn’t out of rebellion of any kind or disdain for my own background. In fact, as previously mentioned I argued with Christians passionately for over thirty years even though, I hadn’t really figured it all out yet. My spiritual beliefs prior to Knowing Jesus were in the “New Age” arena, as I was married to a practicing “White Witch” named “Raven” for five years who had a love affair going on with her black cat (Pierre) and was a devotee of “Sai Baba”, a Hindu Guru or Swami as usually addressed by devotees, who claimed to be God, which left me wondering with the thought “There’s got to be something better than this”. Even though I was born on the west coast of the United States, I was birthed into an Islamic family here in the U.S, while studying for their degree’s at the time. My Parents were never really religious per say, as they both had a busy lives, both professionally and socially. A more modern lifestyle, as we lived in various parts of the middle east and Europe. So my spiritual beliefs were like much like a buffet of different philosophies and ideas.
My Story of faith in Christ begins in late October of 2010 when I was called out of the blue by my younger brother who was in Beirut, Lebanon at the time. Telling me that my elderly father, had suffered a horrible fall onto a marble floor head first in the city of Baghdad Iraq while on a business trip, and flown on an ambulance plane directly to Beirut, as he had suffered a severe traumatic brain Injury (TBI) at the golden age of 83 which will most likely take his life, and that I should get on a airplane to Beirut the very next day to say goodbye to him, as I might never see him again. At the very moment of receiving this urgent call, I was arguing with a Christian Fellow, who was a street musician and played the guitar rather well, so he caught my attention with his music. This was nothing new for me as I had always argued with Christians since I was nineteen years old. Because I grew up in a non-christian home and my family who were from an Islamic background were never truly religious in any way. I grew up believing in everything other than Christianity. I had invented my own doctrine comprising of a little of this and a little of that with mostly Buddhist ideas of re-incarnation along with what ever else sounded good and wholesome. Countless believers in Christ would try to talk me into “Jesus” and I would argue with them until they gave up in frustration. I would say “Why would God almighty need a son, that is ridiculous and preposterous. God is much bigger than that. In the Islamic faith, everyone is taught in school from childhood that God has no son and was never born or gave birth to anyone”. And this happens to be the prayer that Muslims recite daily 3 to 5 times depending on whether one is a shiaa or Sunni Muslim.
Now flying into Beirut at a momnets notice was hardly my cup of tea, as I had attended High School there many years ago and had barely escaped with my life, while being sniped at by live rounds, as I crossed from east to west Beirut, in an effort to get to the airport back in 1977. Upon receiving this urgent call to fly in a hurry across the globe to a place that left me with bad memories. I rushed and packed my bags and left everything behind as I had to say goodbye to my father who was in a comatose state of consciousness in the ICU at the American University hospital in Beirut and most likely would not be alive much longer. I was told by the Christian fella I was arguing with at the time, when I heard the news and I quote. “Ask Jesus to save your Dad and know that if he was saved, that it was Jesus that saved him”. I replied in a hurry with a “whatever dude, I got to go” and darted off to catch the next flight out of LAX the following day, to say my final goodbyes to my father. Because deep down I thought to myself “An accident such as this and at this age is meant to surely take his life as I have known of twenty year olds who have suffered falls from skateboards and could not survive their brain (TBI) Injuries to perish at that age. The odds were certainly stacked up against my old man and if there was any chance of reversing such an ill fate it would have to be through a miracle of God and none other.
When I reluctantly finally got to Beirut and I could see with my own eyes that my father was dying and the surgeon (Dr. Comair, Lebanon’s top neurologist) wasn’t being all that confident about his outcome or survival. I could see clearly that this was it. This was the time to put God to the test. After many Islamic prayers and a few attempts at waking him from a ten day coma had failed. I suddenly remembered what the Christian fella street musician had said along with his added addendum “and know that if he was saved, that it was Jesus that saved him”, which frankly made me want to test it out. So I blurted out the words and said “Ok Jesus, If you truly are who you say you are, then save my dad and we will take care of him after that”. At the time of this request my father was running a core temperature of 105 degrees, which is mostly deadly at that age, and he would not wake up from the comatose state he was in, and thus could not be operated on to drain the blood from his brain, which was essential for any capacity to recover. The following day after the daring prayer, right before my own eyes, he suddenly wakes up from a ten day coma, “Bright eyed and bushy tailed” as they say and to everyone’s surprise. His eyes just opened up wide like he was taking a 10 minute catnap. I rushed to ask the nurse if this was normal. Is this how they wake up from a coma ? “Not usually”, the process is gradual, especially for long term coma’s”, she said. Praise God, I think we have just been granted a miracle against all odds.