MY CONVERSION TO ISLAM

April 1, 2010 at 11:40 am (Uncategorized)

Unfortunately, this is going to be a long post because before I tell you about my conversion (reverting) to Islam, I have to tell you about my conversion to Christianity.

When I found out that there was no Santa Claus, I decided that “God” sounded a lot like Santa Claus. And, since my parents had lied to me about Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny, and The Tooth Fairy, they were probably lying about the elderly person with a long white beard sitting on a throne in a place in the sky called Heaven. So, I stopped praying and even though I was compelled to go to church, I stopped believing in God. This was about 1st or second grade.

And, yet I guess I still believed in a God, because when my friend explained the facts of life to me on our way to school in the sixth grade, I told him that may be how he came to be born, but I was put in my biological mother by God. And, he had put me there because my Aunt wanted a child and couldn’t have one; so, he knew that my biological mother would be more than willing to give me to my adopted Aunt and Uncle for a few hundred dollars.

In sixth grade I began studying the books of Bruce Tegnar and Mas Oyama, and in the eight grade I began my life long study and practice of the martial arts with John Korab. My entire family study at the Dillman Martial Arts Dojo under Jeff Driscoll . My Sifu/Guru in JKD and Kali certification goes through several well known martial artist to Dan Inosanto

When I was fifteen, I was showing off for some girls at the swimming pool and decided to do a back flip off the diving board. I struck the back of my head on the board and knocked myself out. One of my three buddies who were Vietnam Veterans saw me floating in the water and literally throw the lifeguard into the pool to get me. They ask me how many fingers were held in front of my face. I said three, and they said you’re fine; go home and rest.

On my way home, I realized that I didn’t know where I lived. I asked a lady on a porch if she knew where I lived and she asked me my name. I didn’t know that either. A friend from school ran up from behind and got me in a bear hug. I threw him to the ground and was about to stomp him in the face as I pulled on his arm when he yelled my name. I then recognized him and asked him if he knew where I lived. He asked me if I was drunk. I told him no and that I had struck the back of my head doing a back flip off the diving board. He told me that I lived right up the street from him and he walked me to my house. Upon seeing my house, I recognized it. I entered and was able to walk right to my bedroom. After falling asleep, I was awakened by a woman yelling at me and slapping me. It was at that point that I knew I had a mom and she was yelling that she was sick and tired of my getting in fights and I got blood all over my pillow. So, I got up and walked out. I soon met the same friend that helped me get home and we went to a block party. I was drinking beer when someone told me that my mom was there and looking for me. I threw a bunch of Hall’s cough drops in my mouth to hide the alcohol smell. She asked why I didn’t tell her that I had hit my head at the pool and that Ricky’s mom had called her to ask how I was. I told her that she was so busy slapping me that I didn’t think she cared. She took me to the hospital ER. The doctor held three fingers in front of my face and asked how many finger he was holding up. I said three and he told my mom that I would be fine and just needed seven stitches to close the wound.

Gradually over the next few days my memory came back as I saw friends and family and neighbors. But, my emotional connections didn’t come back. I knew who my parents were, but I didn’t feel any emotional tie to them. I asked weekly if they would sign the paper for me to join the Marines. Finally, when I turned 17, my dad and I had an argument and he said he would sign the papers.

We were having one of the biggest storms of the decade. I trudge down to the Military recruiting offices and went into the Marine office. (My cousin and my friend were all Marines who had served in Vietnam and were dating high school girls; so, I figured the best way to get a girlfriend was to join the Marines.

An Army Recruiter came into the office and I snapped to attention, then seen the word Army on his uniform and sat back down. “Can I help you,” he asked. “Naw, I’m here to join the Marines I said as my chest swelled out and I sat more erect.” “The Marines,” he said, “I was in the Marines for five years. Come on over to my office and I will tell you what you have to look forward in the Marines.” I told him I didn’t want to leave the Marine office because I wanted to be there when the Marine Recruiter came in to the office. It was about eight thirty AM and the snow was already a couple of feet deep. “This guy never gets in to after noon and if he comes in he always stops by my office.” So, I was lead to his office. “Do you want a cup of coffee”, he asked. “No, I don’t drink coffee.” “All Marines drink coffee!” he told me. “Well, OK, I’ll have a cup.” He gave me a cup of black coffee and asked why I wanted to join the Marines. I told him I wanted to go to Vietnam, win some medals, and come home and date high school girls. With a straight face he told me, “There aren’t any Marines in Vietnam any more.” “My cousin recently had his leg blown off and was shot three times by machine gun fire and three of my best friends just came back from Vietnam?” Well, he said without a pause, “They were probably some of the last Marines over there. If you want to go to Vietnam, if I were you, I would join the Army.” “Really?” I asked. “Well, what do you want to do in the Military?” I want to be a machine gunner.” “Why?” “Well,” I continued, “I want to win medals and then come home and get a girl friend.” “If you really want to go to Vietnam and win medals than you should be a medic, but the Marines don’t have Medics. But, I might be wasting my time. You may not even pass the test to get into the Army. We all use the same test so why don’t you come with me into the testing room and that way I can tell you if you qualify for the Military and if you foolishly want to still go into the Marines, the test will already be done.” He said as he set the hook. I took the test and nervously waited as he graded it. After grading it he came over shook my hand and told me “Good news, you qualify for any job the military has.” I have one spot left for medic, but you would have to sign up today because it may be filled by tomorrow. He told me as he began reeling in the line. “How old are you?” I am 17 but my dad said he will sign the papers!” “Well lets get started, fill out these papers while I call in that the medic spot is now taken by you and then I will give you some papers for your dad and the school to sign. He said handing me the papers and landing the fish.

I did well in all my training, but because I was still only seventeen I didn’t get to go to Vietnam immediately like all of my class mates in medical training. I was sent to Fort Knox. For the first few months I worked in the flight medical clinic. I drew blood, took blood pressures and pulses and urine samples. Then the doctor told me that the military was going to try a new program picking up accident victims in a helicopter and flying them to the hospital. He said he thought it would be a good opportunity for me to make rank. Now, I was clearing airways, ensuring respiration, stopping bleeding and starting IVs all why flying in a helicopter. I loved it. And, I had gotten a girl friend. Shortly after my promotion to E4 and my eighteenth birthday, my request for Vietnam was approved.

I was stationed at Camp Eagle (Home of the 101st Airborne) and I volunteered for ever mission into the bush. I was in firefights, rocket attacks, mortar attacks, and spent a lot of my time in the jungle on recon missions. I was promote to E5 and my request for R&R to my home was approved. I came in from the bush and as it was customary for the medics to have three days off after returning from the bush before doing aid station duty, I went to the NCO Club and got drunk. My friend from practically my home town was going home at the same time and had his hooch connect to the NCO club, I slept on the floor at his hooch. Two of the medics came banging on Gary’s door. Gary had seen plenty of combat and was as most of the guys from his town totally insane. He fired his 45 through the door and the medics started identifying themselves and saying I was in trouble with E6 Johnson. I went down to the aid station and asked Johnson what the problem was. He told me that I missed formation. I told him we hadn’t had a formation since I got there two months before him. He told me he was thinking about cancelling my leave and having me demoted to E4. I went down to my hooch, pulled the box of grenades I kept under my bed and took one out. I pulled the pin and started heading for Johnson’s hooch. Bob Hope was giving a performance for the USO and there wasn’t anyone around except Johnson, the Christian private, and me. The Christian asked what I was doing. I told him that I was on my way to blow up Johnson. He told me I couldn’t do that and I told him of course I could, I had the grenade and I had pulled the pin out. All I had to do is throw it in as I released the pressure handle and boom. He spent about an hour talking me into putting the pin back in the grenade. I finally did, and headed back down to my hooch. The Christian, Tom, came down and said Johnson wanted me. I hadn’t turned my M16 in so I went up to see Johnson with my rifle. He said he had decided to let me go on leave and keep my rank if I would fill up 500 sandbags. I told him no problem.

While home on leave, I found out that the Dear John Letter that I had received in The Ashau Valley was in fact a reality and “my girlfriend” was now someone else’s girlfriend. I got drunk and went to a dance where some college football players stood in my path. I said excuse me and when one of the bigger lads grinned, I placed my knife under his throat and said ,”excuse me means move big boy.” They moved and I found a friend to whom I could give the knife. Sure enough one of the security guards came at me from a 45 degree angle which is the best angle from which to attack someone. As he threw his punch, I caught his arm and threw him to the floor and pulled the lead weight glove off his hand. I got my back to the wall and there was now three security guards. They told me all they wanted to do was to take me into the back room and see if I had a knife. If I didn’t have a knife, I could leave. The head security guard was also the chief of police and was known for beating kids in the back room. I told him I would go in the back room, but if they started hitting me, I would be back the next night with a shotgun and kill them all since I had to return to Vietnam in a week. They searched me in the back room and told me to leave the property. I walked out the door and the football team plus twenty or so of their buddies were waiting. So, I challenged the original Big Boy to a fight if he was man enough to to up on the hill without his friends. He took the bait and we went up into some woods on a hill. For the first three or four minutes I was beating him like a punching bag. I had continued my karate training in Vietnam from Captain Chey a Korean ROK Captain. Then I heard people approaching from behind me and when I turned to look, big boy tackled me. Now I would never do such a foolish thing now, but back then no one in my part of the country knew Brazilian Ju Jitsu or Russian Sambo, so I rolled over onto my stomach and covered my head with my arms. He did manage to get two punches in on my face before I rolled over. Apparently one of my friends from my town came up behind Big Boy and wacked him with a wooden object. He fell off me and the guys from Big Boy’s town were fighting the guys from my town. I fought my way to my 1969 GTX and drove off.

I spent the rest of my leave in a mountain behind my parents house at a pond. I didn’t know if God existed, but that Christian Private sure made it seem real. I prayed, God if you exist, let me know. When Gary and I finally returned to Vietnam and arrived back at Camp Eagle the Captain asked how did we get back so quickly. He then said he thought the typhoon would have kept us in DaNang for another week or two. We told him we jumped on the first plane heading North because we wanted to get back since we had already been stranded for two extra weeks down South.

The Christian asked me if I wanted to come up to the chapel and listen to some gospel music that he and his friend were playing. I said yes and he looked like he was going to drop over. I had threatened to shoot him several times for witnessing to me about God. That night when we enter the Chapel, Tom asked me if I would open with a prayer. “I have prayed since I was in grade school.” I said. He told me to just talk to God like He was my friend and ask him to bless this singing. I managed to say “God when I was driven to my knees almost as if a mighty hand was pushing me down. I began thinking of all the wrong I had done in my life and was sobbing. Then, I felt like I was drenched in light and I began to speak in tongues. I had never read about, seen, or heard anything about the phenomena as my dad was Roman Catholic and my Mom was Protestant. Tom told me that he would show what was happening to me in the Bible and just keep talking to God even though I didn’t know what I was saying.

After that experience, I began to read the Bible constantly during my free time. I started with the Book of Acts, then the 4 Gospels, then the Epistles, then the Old Testament, and finally The Book of Revelation.

Once I returned from Vietnam, I would stand on the street corners on the weekend and pass out tracts. During the week, I worked in the ER at Walson Army Hospital, Fort Dix. I did procedures that many doctors never got to perform: Veinous Cutdowns, Inserting Chest Tubes, suturing faces, delivering babies (once twins) and treating every type of trauma you can imagine.

I had gotten married to a Merit Scholar who had a college education. I spend much of my free time in the library trying to figure out what she was talking about when she mentioned Van Gogh and Impressionism, Sartre and Existentialism, etc.

After my discharge from the Army, I was hired to work on a psychiatric ward and I sold alarm systems at night. My wife was close to delivery at the time of my discharge. When she went into labor two weeks early, I tried to bargain with God. I told Him that if he left my son live, I would serve him full time. I reminded Him how I was already preaching on Sunday Nights and how I passed out tracts. I told Him that I had faith that he would let my son live. My son died. Being a Vietnam Veteran, I was very stoic about the death. I would respond to people’s attempts at condolences with “Our finite minds can’t comprehend the Infinite and we had to just develop an Absolute relationship to The Absolute and a Relative relationship to The Relative. But inside I was furious with God. How could he take my son. I became successful in selling Alarms and had quit my hospital job after telling the two nurse who both believed they were the head nurse that they needed psychiatric help more than most of the patients.

I was offered my own franchise, but because I had never bought anything on credit I had to go to a loan shark. That didn’t work out well.

For the next twelve years, I didn’t think about God. I got an education at Penn State University where I maintained a 3:67 GPA. My wife and I got divorced while I was at college. I eventually went to work with my father. One Saturday, my dad called and said something had happened and their was a fire and my mom was burnt. I rushed to the hospital and saw that they were bandaging my dad’s hands which he had burned putting the fire out on my mother. I asked him what happen and he said he heard my mom scream for help and when he got out of bed and to the kitchen she was standing there totally engulfed in flames. The nurse asked if I wanted to see my mom. I asked where was she, upstairs in the operating room. She told me that I had walked right past her. My mother was so badly burned that I didn’t recognize her. I went up to her bed and said that there had been a fire and that she was okay but that I was having her sent to a hospital with better food so not to be frightened by the helicopter ride. The doctor asked the nurse if my mom was conscious to which the nurse replied, “Yes, Doctor, she is following him with her eyes.” Apparently, I was unconsciously moving back and forth. The Doctor ordered the nurse to give my mom more morphine and her eyes closed. I was told to drive my dad the thirty miles back home so he could get dressed. He was still in his pajamas and then drive to the other hospital and go to the burn unit.

We discovered that the butane lighter that my mother was using to light a cigarette exploded and she had thrown it into the sink. Her footprints were burned into the floor and above where she had been standing was a burn mark. My mother died two days later. I had dabbed the blood that pooled in her eyes with four by fours. I began having flashbacks of Vietnam which I am assuming was the result of the smell of burnt flesh. My father sued the company that manufactured the lighter and a year later when it was printed in The New York Times, The Local Newspaper, and run on several network news stations. My cousin decided that he would invite my dad over for a Sunday dinner. My cousin’s wife was there who was about my dad’s age and they started dating. The lawsuit was settled and I had remarried a beautiful woman with a even more beautiful personality. She and I bought a kennel in Florida where I trained personal protection dogs and breed Dogue De Bordeaux (Turner and Hooch dogs) . The business did poorly and finally I told my wife that she could do whatever she wanted but I was going back to church.

Shortly after returning to a Pentecostal Church, I was preaching again. Tom from Vietnam asked us to move to California. There I was ordained. I pastored a small congregation and had previously preached revivals. I left one church after another because of doctrinal differences. Finally, I left Christianity altogether. I re-read the Tao Te Ching, Guru Granth Sahib Ji, The Vedas, and several other religious texts. Finally, I started to read AL Qur’aan. I never accepted that Jesus was God and always felt that Christianity had somehow mistaken Messiah for God. I had never studied Islam and all that I ever heard about Muslims was negative. I started to visit Turn To Islam and began making friends with the people there. Although my wife was content in her Christian Beliefs she support me in my religious searching. Eventually, I was able to contact local Muslims and they invited me to a Masjid about 50 miles away. That night I did my public Shahada and have been studying Al Qur’aan, Ageedah, The Life of The Prophet (Salla Alayhu ‘Alayhi Wa Sallem), and Arabic ever since. I believe that Allah used Turn To Islam to help me accept Islam.

And, although it was a very long story with much left out, that is how I went from being an atheist, to agnostic, to Christian, to Muslim. There is a link to Turn To Islam in the link section.