That night in the hotel room, after Abba and I prayed isha salaat together, we discussed our plans for the next morning while getting into our beds.
“Billoo, you can sleep late tomorrow and then relax in the hotel. I have to go to a meeting first thing in the morning. When I finish in the afternoon, we’ll go to Epcot together.”
“I’ve got an idea, Abba. How about I drop you off so I can have the rental car? That way, I can go to Epcot when it opens, and then you can join me there.”
“Okay, but you’ll need to get up first thing in the morning to drop me off.”
“That’s not a problem, Abba.”
“Challo, beyta. Recite: Allahuma bismika amutu wa ahya.”115
This was the nightly prayer that Abba had me recite whenever he tucked me in from the time I was three years old. Kids will always be kids to their parents.
I recited it and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you, Abba.”
“Of course you do; you’re my son.” That was Abba’s way of saying, “I love you too.” With that, he turned the lights off.
It was dark in the room, but enough light poured in from around the curtains that I could make out the objects in the room. The day had been filled with laughter and joy, but my mind and heart were in a constant underlying state of perturbation. When the lights went off in Florida, just like every night in Virginia, my mind was immediately flooded with a longing for the truth about God.
As soon as I was sure Abba was fast asleep, I got out from under the comforters and crept to the edge of my bed. The precariousness of my fate manifested itself in my mind. Tearfully, I contended with God, pleading once again that He would reveal Himself. I admitted that, despite all I thought I knew, I actually knew nothing. I needed God to show me the truth. I couldn’t do it without His help, and I could not take the uncertainty much longer. It was quite probably the most humble moment of my life, and I begged Him desperately for a dream or a vision.
At that instant, the room went pitch dark. I looked out into the blackness before me. Where there had been a wall just a few feet from my bed, the wall was no longer. What I saw instead was a field with hundreds of crosses. They were glowing, in bright contrast to the darkness around them.
The tears ceased. My body was paralyzed, and time stood still. I panned over the crosses, but they were beyond number. And just as quickly as it had come, the vision was gone. I was back in the hotel room, at the edge of my bed.
In stunned silence, I considered what I had just seen. After a few moments, I looked up toward the heavens and said, “God, that doesn’t count!”
One side of my mind was asking, “Did God just reveal Himself to me? Did He finally answer my prayers? I saw a field of crosses. That must mean He wants me to accept the gospel.”
But the other side played devil’s advocate, arguing, “Nabeel, if you’re wrong about this, Allah will send you to hell forever. This could be Satan trying to confuse you because you have been flirting with shirk, the polytheism of Christianity.”
And, somewhere in my mind, the more rationalist side of me thought, “Maybe you’re just jet lagged and seeing things. Do you really want to make the biggest decision of your life based on one sleepy, emotional moment? Are you ready to give up everything for this?”
I turned toward Abba, who was softly snoring on his side of the room. I finally concluded to myself, “No, I can’t give him up just based on this. God will understand. I need more.”
I returned to God, shamed but emboldened. I prayed, “God, that doesn’t count! I don’t know if that was really what I thought it was. I could subconsciously want to become a Christian, and my mind could be deceiving me. So, I’m sorry I asked for a vision. Please give me a dream, and if the dream confirms the vision, I will become Christian.”
Perhaps I was subconsciously trying to stall the inevitable, but God would not allow it. He gave me a dream that very night.
To read an expert contribution on belief and doubt by Dr. Gary Habermas, Distinguished Research Professor and chair of the Department of Philosophy and Theology at Liberty University, visit contributions.NabeelQureshi.com.
Part 10
GUIDED BY THE HAND OF GOD
Give me eyes to see. Just show me which path is Yours, dear God, so I can walk it.
Chapter Forty-Eight
DECIPHERING DREAMS
IT WAS STILL DARK when I dropped Abba off at his meeting. There was some time before Epcot opened, so I decided to go back to the hotel and sleep. A few hours later, my eyes shot open, heart pounding.
God had given me a dream. And I had no idea what it meant.
The quality of this dream was unlike any I had ever experienced. Even while in the dream, I had an awareness that this was a message from God. I don’t know how; I just knew. But the dream was cryptic, full of symbols I did not understand.
After waking, I remembered the dream with crystal clarity and none of the vague fuzziness that accompanies my other dreams. Though it was emblazoned on my mind, I did not know how long I would remember it, so I wrote everything down, my mind still reeling from this apparent revelation. This is what I wrote that day:
In the beginning of the dream there was a poisonous snake with red and black bands going around it, separated by thin white stripes. All it did was hiss at people when they stepped into the garden. The people in the garden couldn’t see it — it was far away and watching from a perch on a stone pillar. This pillar was across a chasm. The perch then became my vantage point for the first half of my dream.
In a garden-like area with hills and lush green grass and trees, there was a huge iguana, like a dragon. It would lie still and hide by becoming like a hill — no one who walked on it knew it was an iguana. If they had known, they would be scared, but the iguana liked the fact that no one knew. Then a giant boy came, and this giant boy knew that the iguana was an iguana, and he stepped on it, accusing it of being an iguana. The iguana got angry, so he reared back to bite the giant boy, who had stepped on its tail.
As the iguana was about to bite the boy, the boy had a huge cricket that challenged the iguana to a fight. My vantage point changes now, and I am directly beneath the iguana, looking up at its head. The iguana nodded and accepted the challenge, and as the cricket flew away to go to a fighting place, the iguana turned to me and tried to lunge at me and kill me. The cricket saw that the iguana was lunging at me, so he came back and bit its head off, decapitating it.
All morning, my thoughts were consumed with this dream. What did it mean? What were the symbols, and how did they fit together?
I immediately tried fitting the pieces together:
The snake on the stone pillar had to symbolize evil. What else could it be? The garden was the world. That I started seeing the world from the snake’s perspective means I must have some hidden evil inside me from the beginning of my world. This strikes me as a Christian concept: original sin. Or perhaps it means that Islam, which was in me from the very beginning, is evil? I’m not sure, but both seem to point to Christianity.
As I looked into the world, what seemed to be a natural part of the landscape was actually another reptile, reminiscent of the snake but so massive that people were walking on it thinking it was a hill. Then a boy came along and challenged it, calling it out for what it actually was. In tandem, these symbols only fit one explanation: the boy was David, calling out the iguana, Islam, as a falsehood. The iguana, Islam, was naturally deceptive and tricked people into thinking it was a natural part of the world.
The boy’s cricket had to be Christianity, which challenged the iguana. That the cricket could speak and the iguana could not means that Christianity is able to speak for itself, or in other words, it has a strong case. That the iguana could not speak means it is unable to provide proof for itself. This is confirmed when the cricket challenged the iguana but the iguana tried to kill me instead of rising to the challenge.
When the iguana tried to kill me, the cricket saved me. This strikes me as salvati
on, which comes from no merit of my own — another Christian concept.
I turned the dream over and over in my head, trying to find meanings that would fit better, but this was the best I could come up with. But it was pro-Christian, so I did not have much confidence in my interpretation. I began to think about ways to get the dream interpreted without revealing my internal struggles.
I decided to survey people for advice. I called David just as I walked into Epcot and saw the iconic sphere, Spaceship Earth.
“Nabeel, the real deal! What’s up? How’s Florida?”
This was not a moment for small talk. “Not bad. I’m having fun. I’ve got a question for you. Do Christians get dreams from God?”
David didn’t miss a beat. “Why, what did you see?”
“I didn’t say I saw anything. Answer the question.”
David thought for a moment before answering. “The Bible is full of stories where people get dreams from God. Joseph, for example.”
“Joseph the prophet or Joseph the father of Jesus?”
He chuckled. “Both, actually. In the New Testament, Joseph the father of Jesus gets like five dreams, which were clear instructions from God. But I was referring to the Old Testament Joseph, who was able to interpret really symbolic dreams. That’s how God rescued him from prison.”
The Bible talked about interpreting symbolic dreams? This was exactly what I was seeking. “So how did Joseph interpret the dreams? How do Christians interpret dreams today?”
“He had a gift of interpretation from God. I don’t know of any Christians who interpret dreams today, but I don’t doubt that if God gave someone a dream that needed to be interpreted, then He would also provide the means to interpret it.”
His words triggered a memory in the recesses of my mind. Ammi sometimes referred to a dream interpretation book, written by ancient dream interpreter, Ibn Sirin. Maybe God would guide me through it?
Anxious to call Ammi, I hurried to get off the phone with David. “Alright, thanks man. I’ll catch you later.”
“Yo, you going to tell me the dream you saw, or what?”
“I didn’t say anything about seeing a dream.”
“I didn’t say you said anything. But are you going to tell me?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you. But let me sit on it for now.”
I got off the phone with David and immediately called Ammi. This was going to be tricky. I wanted to share the symbols in my dream without telling her the whole story.
“Hello?”
“Assalaamo alaikum, Ammi.”
“Wa alaikum salaam. Are you with Abba?”
“I’m at Epcot. Abba will be meeting me here after work. I can’t talk much right now, I want to make the most of my time at the park. But I had a dream last night. Do you have Ibn Sirin’s book nearby?”
“It’s upstairs. What was your dream?” Ammi’s tone took on a note of concern, which I found exasperating. How was it that everyone could see right through me?
“Ammi, it was long and complicated, nothing to worry about. I’ll share the details with you when I get home. I just want to know what some symbols mean so I can think about it for now.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Billoo. You have to share the whole thing for me to interpret it.”
“But Ammi, can’t you just read me what the book says? I want to interpret it for myself.”
“Beyta, the book says a lot. The symbols depend on their context. Challo, tell me the first symbol.”
“A snake.”
“Astaghfirullah!” she gasped. “What kind of dream is this?!”
“Ammi!”
“Okay, fine. Was the snake in water? Was it sleeping? Was it eating? What did it do?”
“Why does that matter?”
“The book says different things. Just a snake means a deceptive or avowed enemy, but if the snake eats someone or if someone turns into a snake, then it can mean something else.”
Her last words caught my attention. Shortly after the snake was introduced into my dream, I started seeing from its vantage point. Was that me turning into the snake? I probed the matter as discreetly as I could.
“Well, it can’t be all that different from ‘enemy,’ right? Like, what does it mean if someone turns into a snake?”
Ammi answered, “It means that person is questioning his religion.”
My heart froze. Did she just say what I thought she said?
I probed some more. “Well, the snake was on a pillar. What does that mean?”
Looking it up, she read, “A pillar is the symbol for someone’s religion.” This was getting to be too much. Was she reading my mind? She continued, “Do you remember what the pillar was made out of?”
“Stone.”
She paused for a moment. “This is strange . . . not what I would have expected. The book says that a stone pillar means someone’s religion or the way they see the world is changing very quickly.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. It was as if every symbol spoke exactly to my situation. I was quickly becoming certain that God intended me to interpret the symbols based on this book.
“Okay, Ammi. That’s good enough. What about an iguana?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a big lizard.”
After flipping through some pages and clarifying the symbol, Ammi found this under monitor lizard: “It means a cruel, hidden enemy who appears very great and fearsome, but if it is challenged, it will fail because of inability to provide proof.”
I was stunned. Could it really say all that? Those were my exact concerns about Islam, which is how I had understood the symbol. Plus, in the dream, the iguana started off hiding through deception, ultimately unable to speak for itself. “What about a boy?”
“What kind of boy? A newborn, a little boy, a teenager?”
“A little boy,” I said, hurriedly. I was eager to piece together what God was telling me. “Little boy by age, not size.”
“A young boy in a dream is a friend who will help you overcome your enemies. He is the bearer of good news.”
Good news? That’s exactly what the word gospel means! David was my friend who came bearing the gospel. And overcoming my enemies? In the dream, the boy helped me overcome the lizard. My head began reeling.
“Wait,” Ammi added. “Was the boy beautiful?”
“Yes, actually. He was quite handsome.”
“Then not only will this friend help you overcome your enemies, he will provide you with something you are seeking, something that will give you an abundant life.”
By this point, I could hardly speak. “Last one, Ammi. Cricket.”
“A cricket bat or a cricket ball?”
“No, not the game. A cricket, like a grasshopper.”
Like iguana, the symbol was not in the book, but she found something related under locust. “A locust is a warrior.” Once again, the interpretation fit the dream perfectly. “Did it cause you harm?”
“No, it caused my enemy harm.”
“If it did not cause you harm, then it means a warrior that will bring you joy and happiness. Oh, and here again it says it will help you overcome your enemies. Beyta, I don’t know the dream you had, but the symbols are related. I think this dream was from Allah.”
“Acha, Ammi. I have written it down. You can tell me your interpretation when I come home. I have to go, Ammi, before the park gets busy!”
“Okay, have fun, beyta. Call me when Abba gets there.”
“Acha.”
“Or call me if he’s taking too long.”
“Acha.”
“You know what? Just call me.”
“Acha, Ammi, I will! I love you, khuda hafiz.”
When I hung up the phone, I could hardly believe what had just happened. Every single symbol fit perfectly, all pointing to the interpretation I came up with shortly after seeing the dream. And far from barely fitting, they fit almost too well.
But the devil’s advocate started whispering.
I began focusing on the two symbols that did not fit with perfection: it was not a monitor lizard, it was an iguana; it was not a locust, it was a cricket. Why would every other symbol have fit perfectly when these only came close?
I began turning the words over in my mind. Cricket. Iguana. Cricket. Iguana. Cr . . . I . . . Cr . . . I . . . Christianity. Islam.
No, it was too much. It was all too much. I needed some time to sit on this.
Chapter Forty-Nine
THE NARROW DOOR
I SAT ON THE DREAM for another two months, each day the devil’s advocate in my mind growing louder and louder. Could I really hinge my life and eternal destiny on a dream? Just one dream? And that dream so symbolic that I needed Ibn Sirin or Joseph to interpret it for me?
Perhaps I interpreted the dream in favor of Christianity because, subconsciously, I wanted Christianity to be true? Or perhaps I wanted Islam to subconsciously be true, so Shaitan was trying his best to trick me into damnation? Like the vision in the hotel room, the dream was just so ambiguous that I could imagine explaining it in a variety of ways.
In fact, that is what happened. I shared the dream with Ammi, who told me she did not know exactly how all the symbols fit together, but it was a sign from Allah that ought to confirm my confidence in Islam. When I shared the vision and dream with David, he said there was no doubt that the dream pointed me to Christianity.
All these thoughts mixed in my head, and I did not dare ask God for another dream or vision. In my heart, I knew He had given me one of each, but I was too broken to be sure what they meant. The opposing forces, the uncertainty, and the potential costs almost paralyzed me.
Almost.
I remembered what David had said about the Joseph in the New Testament. God had given him “clear instructions” through dreams. That was what I needed. And, surely, if God wanted to guide me, a broken skeptic, He would know that I needed more.
Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus: A Devout Muslim Encounters Christianity Page 23