During the singing, the parishioners would begin waving their hands in the air, and by the end of the song, quite a few people were often shaking, and some were even collapsing, due to the fact that they believed the "Spirit of God" was moving through them.

Also, a few would utter nonstop in tongues, which is supposedly a language only God can understand that He would send through them.

Even at a very young age, I remember thinking, "This is preposterous." I stopped attending church when I moved from my father’s house at the age of 14, because it didn’t make sense to me.

Depsite this, I had always believed in God (Allah) - simply God. I had never called Him Jesus.

I had always believed that Jesus, peace be upon him, was a man alone. Try as they might, I had never been convinced of the Trinity as the whole of God.

I labeled myself Christian; though now I know that I did not hold the beliefs of one and, actually, I didn’t behave as one either – as I didn’t drink, do drugs, have premarital relations or engage in many other immoral acts.

The first time I met a Muslim, or even took the time to think outside of my circle, was when I was 18 and in college.

I fell in love with a man from India. I didn’t know until a while after we knew one another that he was a Muslim.

I realized later this was because he didn’t act as a Muslim, such as praying five times a day, fasting, etc. The first thought that came to mind when he told me he was a Muslim was of the movie, "Not Without my Daughter."

That is what I believed Muslims to be: the men were overbearing, abusive, sexist, and the women were subjugated, ignorant, forced to cover themselves with black cloths, without rights.

I believe this is the view that many Americans had and still have of Muslims. However, because I loved him dearly, I "overlooked" the fact that he was a Muslim.

We continued talking and were soon engaged and then married. We had agreed before marriage that we would teach our future children both religions, and when they came of age, they could decide which they followed.

Ironically, it was his lack of practice that led me to the truth. One day, not but a few months after we were married, we were talking, and he told me that he felt it would be too much work to teach the children both religions, so I could just raise them as Christians.

I hated the idea. Growing up, I had always wondered about my heritage. I knew I was part Native American with a mix of different European nationalities, but I didn’t really know about my background. Because of this, I had always had a strong desire that my children know and be proud of who they are.

Consequently, I decided that I would learn about Islam so that I would know what to teach my future children. I read the Qur’an, and I studied more on the miracles and science of the Qur’an. It didn’t take long to realize that, for a surety, the Qur’an is a book from Allah and, consequently, Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, must be a messenger of Allah.

Since I had always only believed in one God, I had no quarrels with that fact. I faced some uneasiness about giving up the concept of Jesus being the son of God and dying for our sins, as that is drilled into a Christian’s head from the time they’re born.

But after my husband talked to me (one of his few Islamic actions) and explained to me that Allah has no need for a son, and that Allah forgives sins and does not punish a messenger like Jesus on a cross in order to do it, I understood the reality of it.

The final issue that held me back from my Shahadah was that of hijab. I still viewed it as oppressive and unnecessary.

Once again, my husband’s lack of practice helped me, as he told me that hijab was not a requirement, and I didn’t have to wear it if I didn’t desire it.

In October of 1998, I took Shahada before my husband in our home. From then until three years later, I lived in a place where there were no Muslims. I taught myself, through the grace of Allah, about Islam.

I learned how to pray and make wudhu from a book. I would pray alone and fast alone. It took some time for me to become what I would even term as a decent Muslim, one who does the fard; not until I abandoned the idea that my husband would lead me.

After my conversion, the closer I became to Allah, the farther away he seemed to stray, and after 3 ½ years, our marriage ended in divorce.

Almost immediately after the divorce, I put on the hijab (the cloth I had always swore I’d never wear).

That was over five years ago, and Alhamdulillah, I still wear it, except now, it is from deep inside of me, not just a cloth.