Folding Air Bed

Islam, the ultimate obsessive-compulsive religion

Although it has been seven years, I still have the vestiges of Islamic rituals stamped into my brain. For example, I still refuse to pet my dog before I pray. Why? Well, because in Islam, dog saliva makes all prayers null and void.

There are tons of circumstances and elements that can cause a Muslim's prayer to "not count," like sighing, talking, clapping, turning away from the Qibla (direction of prayer), folding one's hands, not washing up properly, intentionally laughing, intentionally weeping about "worldly matters," prostrating an incorrect number of times and (excuse me for being crass) farting. These silly rituals that have nothing to do with my relationship with the Lord still "come a knocking" when I least expect it – grim reminders that I spent eight years of my life attempting to become the best "white, female, American, Muslim in the world!"

I used to think that my conversion to Islam was Satan's first attack against me, but I was wrong. Yes, this was Satan's most ferocious and spiritually lethal barrage, but it was far from his initial attempt to hijack my soul. No, my salvation was "up for grabs" the moment I popped out of the womb and looked into the eyes of my self-pronounced agnostic father and Sicilian mother who had been raised by her Jewish stepfather.

The fact that my parents were not Christians, never stopped them from stringing Christmas lights or hiding Easter eggs. My father loved the "essence" of Christmas – the tangible fellowship and joy that seemed to permeate the air. He loved "playing Santa," decorating Christmas cookies and singing "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" while spinning me around in his arms. It was this "pretense of Christianity" that we practiced twice a year, combined with my paternal grandparents' staunch Baptist faith, that allowed me to say, "I'm Christian," if anyone happened to ask. But what did that mean? I didn't know. Sadly, I could spew out facts about Santa Claus and the Easter bunny, but when it came to Jesus, I was clueless. I knew that Jesus was somewhere in the Bible (He made cameo or two) and that a large cross was involved, but that was the extent of my Christian knowledge. Pretty pathetic.

Needless to say, I was an easy target for Satan – a virtual sitting duck. Yet, at age 11, I was still too young for thought-provoking ideologies and religious conversion. There had to be a progression – a progression that would turn me into a spiritually deprived and almost "soulless" human being. This soul-sucking movement began the day I found my mother curled up on her bedroom floor in the fetal position, eyes open, mouth wailing. It was a terrifying sight. She had just received "it," the phone call that my grandmother had shot herself in the throat. It was all downhill from there, which is usually the case when God is not part of your life. After the initial stages of grief had passed, the three "Ds" (depression, divorce and drugs) led by the big "D" (the Devil) completely and unapologetically obliterated my family.

Folding Air Mattress

Folding Air Mattress

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