I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hell was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth. Revelation 6:8


Breaking Free from Islam

A Christian convert's torturous experience with Islam, and how she broke away from the cult of oppression and death alive and returned to her root...
I was born in the U.S. as a Christian, or at least I was called a Christian, as is the tradition of anyone born into the religion of his/her parents. I began going alone to a local Baptist church when I was around ten years old.
The preacher scared me intensely, during one of the Sunday Sermons, when he shook his stern pointer finger right towards me and said I was going to “hell in a hand basket“. He was talking to the entire congregation, but at ten years old and no one there to explain things to me, I felt he was indicating hell for me personally and solely.
I walked reluctantly up the church aisle a few times, between the ages of ten into my early twenties, to make a public profession of faith, more out of fear than understanding. I couldn’t comprehend the concept of some of the doctrine of Christianity, like the Trinity.
It was never explained to me about Jesus being the Word, as John speaks of in his Gospel. I memorized John 3:16 –“for God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life”.I was taught that He was the Son of God, but I really didn’t appreciate or assimilate the true essence of that statement.
My interpretation within the finite walls of my little pea brain, was that God was the mean and vengeful one and Jesus was the loving one who turned the other cheek. The Holy Spirit played no part in my life at all. Since I could never begin to understand His role, I just dismissed that part altogether. I had no inkling of God’s undeniable character and deep and abiding love for me at that time.
I thought I was saved, but my walks up the aisle at church didn’t seem to quite take hold in my life. I would become emotional at a church meeting or revival, but there was never a real change in my heart, nothing lasting. Rather than try to study and pray more in hopes of making sense of it, I turned from religion altogether when I was in my twenties.
My experience in church had become more of an emotional struggle than a spiritual awakening and personal walk with God. It would be years before I tried to even speak to God again. I didn’t think He cared about me at all. I no longer knew what to believe about the differing doctrines in the diverse churches and denominations I tried over that time. The more I saw in church, the more confused and skeptical I became. Church no longer played a role in my life at all. I became totally lost and thrown off balance by life’s circumstances, as I was naïve and perplexed about how to handle the trepidation of life.
I left God at church, and went out to find my own answers and seek my own way. I would later learn that we are all here on this earth for a purpose. That purpose is to worship our Creator, our loving Heavenly Father.
In 1998, I met a Muslim man online in a chat room. He began telling me about Islam. I was so naïve at that time about any and all religions, and as far as I knew, Muslims were the people who worshiped cows. I was completely ignorant on the topic. He promptly set me straight, informed me that this is not what Islam is about, and then proceeded to introduce me to a teacher at the Islamic Society of North America in a major U.S. city where I lived. This encounter eventually would lead to a drastic and chaotic chain of events that would forever change my life. The next ten years of my life would give rise to a reign of horror unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. That horror had a name – Islam.
I was given just enough of the teachings of Islam to be convinced that it was truly a religion of God, a religion of peace. It came at a time in my life when I was looking for spiritual fulfillment from a Higher Power, and definitely a little peace in my life. I believed in God, but that was about it. The Muslims had me at an advantage, because my religious slate was practically clean. They could easily convince me of anything they wanted, and they did.
It should have been a red flag to me that I was forbidden by this teacher to have a Qur’an, or even read it in the beginning, until he approved me to do so. Just the same, I was lured into this cultic fanatical religion based on the facts regarding Islam given to me at that time. Their teachings – first and foremost, Islam is a “religion of peace“.
I was taught that Islam shared the same Prophets as Christianity; the same Abraham, Noah, Moses, David, and even Jesus. Muslims’ belief in creation is the same as Christians in that they believe Adam was the first man born from the spirit of God, and Eve was created as his helpmate. That was pretty much the end of similarities between Christianity and Islam, as I would later learn. These basic beliefs in most of the same Bible characters appealed to me, allowing for a smoother transition and convincing proof for converting to this new religion called Islam.
I had been confused for years about the concept of Christianity’s Trinity, not being able to wrap my head around the idea of it, so I just let it go. Islam took care of that confusion by denying the Trinity altogether, and condemning that belief as a major, unforgivable sin called shirk – having more than one god, or associating partners with God.
Another positive aspect of Islam for me at that time was the idea that all Muslims were considered equal, and no racism supposedly existed under the umbrella of Islam. Racism is something that I had vehemently abhorred most of my life.
An astounding statistic introduced to me was that Islam was the fastest growing religion in America at that time. It was recorded that one fifth of the world’s population were Muslim. I had to wonder why this was the case. What was it about this religion I had never heard of before that was so appealing to so many Americans today, especially women? One reason for this is that Islam teaches that women are important citizens of Islam, being allowed to keep their own name when they marry, as well as their own property, and are to be protected by their male counterparts. Muslim women are to be allowed their freedoms, according to Islamic propaganda. Another reason, besides the “peace” factor, is that Islam advocates giving to the poor and needy. How can such a religion that upholds charity as one of its main tenets of faith be bad?
One major belief held by Muslims is that Jesus is not the Son of God. One who holds the belief that Jesus indeed is the Son of God is called a kafr or infidel, according to Islam. This was the hardest part of Islam for me to swallow. I had a difficult time letting go of that long-held Christian belief about Jesus, but was eventually convinced with traditional Islamic propaganda that Jesus wasn’t the Son of God as the so-called kafr’s believe, but indeed was highly respected by Muslims as “one of the mightiest messengers of God” and a major prophet of Islam, bringing the message of the Oneness of God to the Israelites by way of the Injil, or the Gospel.
Muslims also deny that Jesus indeed died on the cross, believing instead that Judas Iscariot died in his place, and Jesus was ascended up to Heaven. It took a while for me to be convinced that Jesus was not the Son of God, but rather a messenger for God to the people of Israel only.
According to Islam, all prophets came with the same message, preaching One True God – Allah. Four prophets came with Holy Books – Moses brought the Torah for his people, David came with the Psalms for his people, Jesus with the Injil, or the Gospels, for the Israelites, and Muhammad, the final messenger of Allah, the Qur’an, for all mankind. They strongly believe and teach that the Bible has been corrupted, and only parts that coincide with the Qur’an are accurate.
Once I fell for the lies and manipulation, I began attending the Islamic class, and converted to the religion the following month. I was treated like royalty; waited on hand and foot, invited to various homes, made to feel extremely important, and completely accepted, like I had never experienced before in my life. What human being wouldn’t be enticed by that sort of special treatment, especially if you are longing for that sense of belonging and persistent yearning to be loved and accepted by your peers. Hence the reason for so many cults these days. Parents and teachers should beware of these dangers.
Eventually I was assigned a ‘wali’, which, for a convert, is sort of like a step-father. My wali just happened to be the Pakistani teacher of the Islamic class in the city where I lived. During that same time, it became a foregone conclusion that I should marry, as it is an important part of the religion.
I met and married a Palestinian Muslim man from the class a few months later. He seemed very kind, loving, and thoughtful, at least at first. As soon as we were married, within the first week, everything changed. He no longer was kind, but became extremely controlling, overbearing and quite physically and verbally aggressive toward me. I was immediately ordered to begin wearing Islamic clothing any time I would leave my home, which included to work. He would show up at my job to make sure I was wearing traditional Islamic dress, which included a hijab (head scarf), and he insisted that I wear no makeup, perfume or jewelry.
I was not to talk to any men at all, even friends I had before we were married. My husband was extremely jealous. He, however, used ‘dawah’ (spreading of Islam) to collect emails from women. He met a myriad of unsuspecting females in the grocery stores, all in the name of Islam, despite the fact that Islamic law prohibits men from looking into the eyes of a woman who is not his wife, or be alone with them. He always used Islam to capture their attention, citing that he wanted to “save them from the hellfire”.
It was only within a few months that I became completely isolated from all my prior friends and ultimately my family as well. I was not allowed to go shopping or do any of the fun things I had done before, like seeing movies or going to the beach. I was denied to have any collectibles, and to have any pictures of my family on the walls was forbidden. I was often called stupid, crazy, dog, and a few other choice names. I was berated and told that I was weak-minded, that I needed him, that I couldn’t make it without him, that no one in the world cared about me or loved me. What little confidence I had became completely shattered.
I was instructed to memorize verses from the Qur’an and to read the entire book each month, which I did faithfully. I was strongly advised also to read and write Arabic, as Allah would not accept my prayers if I did not pray them in Arabic, which was the chosen language of God. I read the hadiths (sayings and teachings of Muhammad) daily, and gave my husband a report on what I learned. Most of the teachings he had never heard of before, as he obtained most of his knowledge about Islam from the Imam at the local mosque. It is quite a familiar scene to find Muslims, especially women, who are not educated about the teachings and beliefs of Islam. Oftentimes, as was in my case, the converts became better teachers of the religion due to the fiery fervor they exude in relation to their newfound faith.
I was often whisked off to churches and other sites to speak to Christians and Americans in general about Islam, and show them that a blue-eyed, blond-haired American woman believed in Muhammad and Islam, so they should too.
Basically, I was used to help spread their propaganda and win souls into the fold of Islam. I was used to teach new Muslim women the five daily prayers and the basics of Islam, and eventually became a scholar of sorts for the women in the Islamic community. In general, women of Islam are not encouraged to study their own religion, yet American converts are pushed to the forefront, in the hopes of getting more converts to embrace Islam.
Once I was showing my husband some revealing negative stories and aspects about Muhammad from these hadiths. One story read that Muhammad had a couple killed for rejecting Islam, despite the religion’s teaching that there is no compulsion in religion.
Another hadith is about a non-believing woman who was married to a Muslim man. She was saying all sorts of evil things against Muhammad. Her husband killed her; Muhammad was grateful to him and appreciated his actions. Muhammad ordered his men to kill all non-believers, I.e., Jews and Christians (People of the Book), as well as Pagans.
Muhammad married one of his wives, Aishah, when she was six years old, consummating the marriage when she was nine years old. When she was older, she often complained when Muhammad would compare women to dogs or donkeys. When I shared these stories from the Islamic books with my husband, he accused me of “trying to shake” his faith, or that the “Jews must have planted” these awful stories in his own Islamic books.
Shortly thereafter, I made the mistake of saying something that he didn’t like. He beat me so badly that I could barely sit for a full week. Many times I tried to leave, but when I attempted, he would pull my hair, throw me to the ground and call me names. I was told that I was no good, and that no one cared about me except him. He convinced me that I would never make it on my own. Never in my life have I felt so alone and hopeless.
On September 11, 2001, I was completely and utterly devastated, as were all Americans, and even the entire world. If you were old enough to remember that tragic event, you remember exactly what you were doing on that horrific day that forever changed the lives of every American for all time.
I was teaching third and fourth grade at an Islamic School. One of the other teachers, who was an American convert married to a Saudi Muslim man and had seven children, came running to tell me what had happened. At first, I thought, how sad that a plane hit a building in New York. A few minutes later, she came running back to tell me that a second plane hit the second tower, and that it was apparently intentional. I became terrified and wondered what was happening in my world, just as millions of other citizens were wondering the same thing. My husband became defensive when I questioned him about these terrorists being Muslims, telling me that no Muslim could do this, believing that it had to have been the Jews who were responsible.
His hatred for the Jews was unwavering. When I asked him why he hated them so disdainfully, he stated, "I’ll have to get back with you on that". In other words, he had no answer without speaking with the Imam first.
After the 9/11 tragedy, I really began having misgivings about this marriage, as well as about the religion of Islam. The day after this horrific terrorist attack on our homeland, he ordered me to dress in full Islamic clothing and paraded me around at the local U.S. Post Office. I begged him not to make me do this. I felt he did this only for show. He wanted people (Americans) to see me like this for his own wicked and twisted agenda. It was as though he wanted to flaunt it in their faces. I was terrified of how I would be treated after such a devilish ordeal the day before.
The next few years were not good ones for our marriage and my faith. I no longer had any faith to speak of. For one thing, I could not understand why God/Allah, would not accept my prayers unless I said them in Arabic. It seemed to me to be a lot of ritualistic acts with some head knowledge, devoid of any heart connection with God at all. To me, this didn’t seem right. I began doubting that Islam was really the truth from and about the God that I knew as a child and young adult. I started to veraciously soul search, but didn’t exactly know how to begin or where to turn.
I read a book by Ibn Warraq, “Why I Am Not A Muslim”. I went to different sites all over the internet, trying to find out what would make a Muslim want to leave Islam. I was looking for a good excuse to leave, even though I no longer had faith in Islam at all. I was looking for help, a way out. I also began corresponding with renowned Egyptian activist and author Nonie Darwish. She had converted to Christianity after being born Muslim, and having a father in the Fedayeen, who died a martyr when she was young.
Nonie sent quite a number of convincing emails to encourage me to leave this religion and my unhappy marriage to a man who had no respect for me as a human being, much less his wife.
In 2004, I finally left him with strong encouragement from my now grown children. It was a very difficult thing to do, because I had absolutely no confidence in myself to accomplish any task without his help. I couldn’t do anything on my own and feel good about it because I had been told how ignorant I was for so long that I completely believed every word he had said to me for all those years.
I had to sneak away while he was at work because I was terrified of my husband. I had no idea what he might be capable of. He considered this apostasy a betrayal towards him personally.
While living away from him, my tires were slashed. I called AAA, and the guy told me the tires were deliberately cut. My husband had his friends call me constantly to go back with him. I broke down and went back home to him after a short while. Even though I had been away from him for a six-month time, he still had me mentally in his grips.
In 2006, I really began soul searching and praying for God to show me the truth. I was feeling so hopeless at this point, that I didn’t even want to live any more. I literally begged God for death. I wanted to die in the worst way. I prayed to Him day and night, begging for His mercy and His forgiveness and His help. I told Him that if I couldn’t find the truth, I would rather die than to go on living the life I now believed to be untruths regarding Islam.
I couldn’t bear to hear any longer of how Christians would go to hell for making partners with God, but yet suicide bombers were martyrs, and would enjoy their 72 beautiful virgins in Paradise. I could no longer stand it when my husband would tell me that it was a good thing that a Jewish baby had been killed by Palestinians so he wouldn’t grow up and become a Jewish man. I couldn’t allow myself to listen to another absurd word from an Imam stating matter-of-factly how wonderful and blessed the 9/11 terror attack was. How wonderful and blessed? Are you kidding me? The mindset of some of these people now in my life was simply mind boggling.
My husband told me on numerous occasions that I would only be allowed to go to Paradise if he was pleased with me. For me, making that man happy was an impossible feat at this point in life. I could no longer pretend, as I had done for the past few years, that I believed in a god named Allah or his prophet Muhammad, who was evil incarnate.
I could no longer stand behind my husband and in all earnest pray to a god that didn’t hear me because I couldn’t pray in Arabic. I was finished with all the five daily prayers, dressing in Middle Eastern garb, and going to the mosque to listen to senseless rhetoric and irrational and foolhardy propaganda against my beloved country and its people.
I was finished with the unrelenting thirty-day fasts that caused excruciating bladder infections, bleeding stomach ulcers, and exceeding resentment, all done in vain for a man who had no respect for women, who followed and believed in a pedophilic, murdering false prophet with a hijacked religion called peace, backed up with a little made up god named Allah, also previously known as Allat, the moon god, who had no power to begin with.
I had been cut off from the Islamic community years prior because of my lack of faith in Islam and Allah and Muhammad. More than once I asked why they worship and follow after this dead guy. This, by the way, was not advisable conversation to have with devout Muslims.
Something in me told me to go back to my roots, back to the beginning when I had a little faith. Fearfully and tearfully I began going to church. I was afraid of what my husband might do if he found out, but I was also afraid I would go to hell for doubting the way I was, and for trying to worship God the wrong way by doing shirk (making partners with God). I literally shook over my entire body the first visit to church.
The first person I met was a very tall, friendly woman who could clearly sense my anxiety and apprehension, albeit she had no clue what was happening in my life. She came to me and put her loving arms around me as though she really cared, despite the fact she had never seen me before in her life. I could feel the power of God in this place. Everyone was so kind and nice and gentle, and real.
As she walked with me to show me where the worship center was, I told her a bit about my past few years and my involvement with Islam. This was my last best hope. I needed God more than I needed air to breathe.
This sweet and precious lady led me to a seat in the back of the church, per my request, in case I felt the need to run out. She promised to come for me and to walk me to a ladies class after the service.
I was worried that the devil might be in this place, as I had been taught in Islam. I was afraid that being in this church might cause me to be a kafir (unbeliever), and I definitely had enough faith to know I didn’t want to go to hell for being in a church with other kufar (unbelievers).
I sat in a chair all alone in the worship center, yet I didn’t feel alone at all, but excited and extremely anxious, watching people connect with one another in a positive, loving manner, unlike the fighting I so frequently saw in the mosque. I saw husband caress the back of his beloved wife, and I saw neighbor reach out to neighbor in a friendly gesture, as they embraced one another in a way that seemed so genuine....
After the service, the tall lady came back to get me just as promised, and together we went to the Ladies Sunday School class to learn more. These ladies were the most accepting and loving group of ladies I had encountered in many, many years. The women I was used to at the mosque would push you and fight you for a meal during Ramadan. These ladies in the Sunday School class seemed like they would give you anything they had, and genuinely feel like they were blessed to do it.
I was very happy, yet nervous to be there, but I knew in my heart, it would not be my last visit to this wonderful and caring place. There was something there that I needed tremendously – hope.
I did indeed go back to that precious church with those kind and caring ladies in the class. At first, I would tell my husband I was going somewhere else that he would approve of. It didn’t take him long to figure out something was going on. The church knew about me, so they were being very discreet, never calling me at my home, but encouraged me to call them when it was safe and I was able to do so. Even then, these wise ladies knew the dangers that loomed around me during this pivotal time of my life.
The giveaway was that I had a newfound joy! God was changing my heart, and the Holy Spirit was leaping up and down in my gut, even though at the time I had no clue what was happening! I began to understand God and His precious love for me and all people, even Muslims.
The change didn’t happen overnight though. It took hours and hours, days and days, weeks and weeks of diligent seeking and earnest prayer. I would lock myself in my bedroom so I wouldn’t be discovered studying the Bible and researching old Biblical manuscripts on the internet.
God had to first convince me that the Bible was His Word, true and infallible. In Islam, I was taught, along with my husband, to tear the Bible apart, looking for inconsistencies. I believed, like he did, that the Bible was corrupted......
I believed and accepted Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior, converted back to Christianity and had an overwhelming desire to be baptized to show the world that I was a believer, that Jesus was my Savior, that He died for my sins, and that He loved me and knew me before the world was.....
By that time, I could no longer keep my new faith a secret. I began talking about it, in the hopes that my husband would be saved too, and that we could worship God together in a loving way like I had witnessed other couples in the church do. That wasn’t to happen. He became a nightmare.
He began to terrorize me mentally and emotionally. He told me I would be sorry if I went through with the baptism. He spit in my face and said, “If you do this, you will be in danger”. I took this threat very literally. I warned my family that if anything happened to me, he did it!
I prayed for his salvation and that God would open his heart and the eyes of his understanding. I wanted him to experience the awesomeness of God. I wanted salvation for him too, and I prayed fiercely for it, but it just didn’t happen. He would not even listen to my explanation of how I came to realize the truths about God. He wanted no part of it.
I asked him so many times to just pray to God, ask God to reveal to him anything that was not truth. He was arrogant about it, and refused to discuss it any further with me, but only became argumentative, telling me that it would be better for me to not believe anything at all, rather than to believe Jesus is God’s Son.
I went through this for about a year. I had to get out because I felt my husband was right when he said I was in danger. Not that I was afraid of what he could do to me physically, but rather most importantly, that my spirit would be harmed, and my faith would dwindle. My spiritual growth was at risk of being stunted.....
My husband was not willing for me to live with him under these circumstances. He made it adamantly clear that I was not wanted unless I was a Muslim wife and I gave up all ideas of Jesus being the Son of God.
That was all I needed. I had prayed for him long and exhaustively, but he wouldn’t budge. I felt God gave me permission to leave. It was time to take a stand for what I believed in. It was time to confess loudly and proudly to this man that I did and would forever believe that Jesus, the Son of God, the God gave me the confidence and the strength and the means to do what needed to be done, but He made it so easy for me, and confirmed that what I was doing was completely His perfect will. My husband not only signed the paperwork for an uncontested divorce, but he bought me a new car, and paid for my move to a new apartment.....
...My prayer is that God will use me to hopefully save some women from the same torment I went through. I considered myself to be one of the lucky ones because I got out alive. I don't call that luck. Now I call it BLESSED!

This is a truncated version of testimony that first appeared in Former Muslims United.


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