Islam found me when I had no intention of being discovered.

I grew up in Southern California during the 1960s in a non-practicing Christian home. I don't recall feeling particularly religiously inspired growing up, except maybe while singing "O' Holy Night" with Johnny Mathis on my parents' hi-fi. Some years we went to church on Easter Sunday, and some years we barbecued a steak instead.

Matters of faith were not discussed with any depth in my home; I remember my stepfather saying, "Kari, did you leave this milk out on the table? No? Well, Jesus knows if you're lying...Jesus knows." But, there was no further discussion about what Jesus would do about the spoiled milk. "Jesus knows" was just left hanging cryptically in the air.

My mother felt uncomfortable discussing anything, well, personal. Her way of instructing me on topics of any delicacy was to deliver the message via books and pamphlets. So, I learned about the facts of life through a pamphlet, and I learned about Christianity through the Golden Children's Bible. I read that Bible in its entirety many times as a child, taking comfort from the stories of the Prophets. Abraham, Noah, Moses, Solomon and David, John and Jesus -- I read all their stories, but what I lacked was the context and relevance of their lives to mine. Without a thread linking the words on the page to my life, they were only stories. read more