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Be encouraged by this powerful testimony of a young Muslim woman coming to Jesus. I have been blessed to have known her for many years. -KC

His face filled the sky

While a passenger in a car driving in Lebanon’s Beqa’a Valley, I rested my head on the back seat looking out the car’s rear window and spoke silently one word in my heart: “Jesus.” Suddenly, a face filled the whole sky from horizon to horizon looking straight at me, and smiling. I instantly knew it was Jesus. And he made me feel at that moment like I was the only person in the world that mattered to him!

I looked at Jesus’s smiling face and was instantly filled with an indescribable joy that I never knew existed in this life. The vision of Jesus ended but the waves of joy continued. The three other passengers in the car were completely unaware of what had just happened to me. The joy kept sweeping over me, my heart was pounding, but I kept silent. There was no way I could explain what a life-transforming event had just happened to me.

We were on our way to a picnic. My half-sister was playing matchmaker but I was not in the least bit interested in the man who was in the car with us. I just wanted more of Jesus! I wanted more of what I had just experienced and was still experiencing. I wanted the picnic to be over, to return to Beirut, and to start my new life with Jesus right away!

Who are you, Lord?

Why would a twenty-four year old Shi’ite Muslim woman be thinking about Jesus, of all people? Perhaps the reason was because for four long years I cried out to Allah without any results. I poured out my hopes and dreams for the future and there was only silence from Allah. I even offered prayers in the name of our prophet Muhammad. He was just as distant. No matter how fervently I practiced my Islamic faith the surprising result was that I grew depressed, more so every day. What was wrong? What was wrong with me?

Although I was not a Christian, as a Muslim I believed Jesus was a prophet, as all Muslims do. I certainly didn’t believe that he was God incarnate, God in the flesh. Such a concept was completely foreign to me and I would immediately reject such an idea. Indeed, I denied it for years after Jesus appeared to me.

However, I was drawn to him. I wanted to know everything about him. And of course I wanted to know why Jesus appeared to me and poured his love into my disappointed and hurting heart.

The six-year long search for God

During that same six year period while I was drawing nearer to Jesus, I became more and more distant from the religion of my birth. The rituals that I had recently adopted, trying to give meaning to my life, such as prayer five times daily, reading the qur’an, fasting ramadan, covering my hair and my body (hijab), no longer appealed to me, no longer comforted or made sense to me.

Our clan is originally from Baalbeck in Lebanon’s Beqa’a Valley. We are asyaads, that is, our family is related to the prophet of Islam, Muhammad ibn Abdullah. My father, Sherif Sayed Abdallah al-Husseini, therefore was a sayed. Even so, despite our illustrious genealogy, coming from a respectable Shi’ite Muslim family, in the bloodline of Muhammad, we were not observant Muslims, we were cultural Muslims. We lived very secular lives.

I had a home in Africa

I am a Lebanese born outside of Lebanon. My grandfather had a textile business in Nigeria. My father joined him in Africa at age fourteen to work in the family business. When he turned nineteen my grandfather insisted he become a respectable and settled man and arranged a marriage to a tall, beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed Shi’ite Lebanese woman. They had five children together and when the children were grown, my father left his wife and remained single until he met my mother, Shadiya Ali Ahmad. He was forty-five and she was twenty.

My mother had been married three times before she met my father. Her first marriage, at age 12, was an arranged marriage to her forty-year old cousin. She came from the southern Lebanon town of Blat near Marjayoun at the base of Mt Hermon, one of the most beautiful and picturesque areas of Lebanon and walking distance from the border of Israel.

I grew up in the northern Nigerian village called Kano, an hour’s flight from Nigeria’s former capital, Lagos. Despite both of my parents’ previous marriages and children, I was raised as an only child. My parents loved traveling and sometimes took me with them. I enjoyed trips to Europe starting in grade school.

My parents had an active social life and so they engaged a succession of nannies to look after me. In addition to the nannies, we had a houseboy, cook, driver, and a gate man. But my father did all the gardening; that was his main form of relaxation. He also had a vegetable garden. I loved our home with its broad lawns and gardens. It was green everywhere. I had lots of pets including a dog, a cat, a parrot and monkey who lived inside the house in a cage.

All my neighbors were Lebanese Shi’ites and I played with their children. My best friend was a boy, his name was Rida. We played in our tree house and swing set. My uncle, who lived nearby, had a swimming pool and we would splash around for hours. I didn’t know or play with or interact with local children. We lived in a cozy Lebanese community. I attended Kano’s Lebanese primary school where I did well. My favorite class was art class; I still enjoy art. I did not receive religious instruction at school or at home. We never prayed, attended mosque or fasted ramadan.

My parents lived the high life in Nigeria with their Lebanese Shi’ite business colleagues. In the family Mercedes-Benz, the obligatory Lebanese symbol of material success, they visited bars, pubs, nightclubs, took drugs, gambled, and drank alcohol in public. Growing up, there was always alcohol in our house. My parents loved throwing catered parties in our spacious home and would dance the night away with their Lebanese friends.

My home life was chaotic and my mother was concerned for my well-being. When I was ten years old, she decided that I could not remain in this environment. Looking for a solution, she decided that I had to leave Nigeria and go to Lebanon. Through mutual friends, she heard about a Maronite Catholic convent boarding school in southern Lebanon, not far from my father’s village of Jouaya. While I was away at school in Lebanon, back in Nigeria, my parent’s marriage was unraveling. My father had Nigerian girlfriends. My mother had her own social life.

I would return home to Nigeria for summer vacations. At age sixteen, after six years at boarding school, my mother and I flew back to Nigeria to be with my father. At summer’s end, my mother left us. She returned to Lebanon to be with her young boyfriend who was more interested in her money than in a relationship. Although I was a virgin – and he knew it – he tried to molest me, unsuccessfully. I did not see or hear from my mother for six years. There was no social media back then and telephone calls were prohibitively expensive. We communicated exclusively by letters.

My mother leaving us, leaving me, was the hardest period of my life. I lived in Nigeria with my father but I longed for my mother back in Lebanon. My father had the reputation in the Nigerian Lebanese community for gambling and womanizing. He solicited prostitutes and would bring them into our home right in front of me, a different woman every night. I was starved for love and affection. I started to look for love in all the wrong places. Men, acquaintances of my father, tried to take advantage of me.

My struggle

I had the reputation as a party girl in the Nigerian Lebanese community. For a teenage Shi’ite Muslim this is unacceptable. My father wanted to be left alone to live his life his way. This attitude of my father’s was the result of him having a very harsh, strict and controlling father. Therefore, he did not make my private life his concern. He loved me but did not put any boundaries on me. Actually, he didn’t know how to raise a teenage girl. And Mom was back in Lebanon.

One day I was confiding in my first cousin, my father’s niece. Her father was as immoral as his brother, my father. But his wife, my aunt, was a devout Shi’ite Muslim. She and her daughter, my first cousin, both covered (hijab). She said, “Zeinab, you are so miserable. Why don’t you perform your salat (Islamic prayers)? Here is a prayer rug and a hijab (Muslim garb).” This conversation took place a week before ramadan. Perhaps the month of ramadan would be the appropriate time to make a life change, to turn over a new leaf in my life. I decided to practice my Islamic beliefs for comfort.

I went to my bedroom, put on a hijab for the first time in my life. I looked in the mirror and I loved what I saw. What did I see? What was I feeling? I felt security. I felt honor. At 16, I read a book on how Shi’ite Muslims should pray but I didn’t do anything with it. Now, in the privacy of my bedroom, I performed ablutions (ceremonial washing) and then knelt down on my cousin’s prayer rug and began salat, the ritual of calling on Allah.

I did not take the hijab off for the next four years. This garment transformed my life. My former wardrobe was trendy and colorful and caused men to leer, flirt and ogle me. Now, I was invisible. Not only so, I became an honorable woman in the eyes of the Lebanese Nigerian community. I felt safe, protected.

I dedicated myself to our Shi’ite Muslim faith praying and fasting. I was so devout I would not shake the hands of a man – even a male relative’s hand. I tried to be the best Muslim in the eyes of Allah. I had no social life whatsoever. I withdrew from my past life completely. In becoming a devout Muslim woman I was looking for healing from past exploitive relationships. I waited for Allah to send an honorable and loving husband my way to start a family and take my expected place as a Shi’ite woman in the Lebanese Nigerian community. I thought this would be Allah’s reward to me for forsaking my former life and embracing Islam.

While entertaining a prostitute in our home, my father had a stroke. Five days later, he was gone. I was all alone in Nigeria. I was devastated. The shock of my father’s death brought about a deep dissatisfaction towards my religion of Islam. But there were other factors, as well. I felt oppressed. For example, my devout aunt had a million and one Islamic legal scruples. And her legalism was choking me. I couldn’t breath around her. Her faultfinding was continual. If I didn’t perform my ablutions just so, the way she believed was right, she said my salat was unacceptable to Allah. She actually told me that my four years of performing salat was illegitimate because, according to her, I had left out a step and therefore performed it incorrectly. I was not able to express myself freely whether in conversation, dress, or social interaction. Four years of being a mutahajabi (covered woman) left me feeling estranged and empty. I started to wear more revealing and fashionable hijabs. I put on make up. And I felt like a hypocrite. For me, I’m either all in or all out. Either I am going to be the most devout Shi’ite Muslim or a secular woman. Nothing in between works for me. I took my hijab off.

My relatives disapproved. My covered aunt rejected me. She literally told me, “Get out of my house.” It was so hard. Rejection and feelings of insecurity returned. I had no father, no mother (she was in Lebanon), no social life, no expected husband, I was a young lady adrift. Because I disobeyed Allah in removing the hijab I expected him to kill me. For ten days I was terrified, but even so I never put on the hijab again. Ever.

I went back to my former social life. I hadn’t been to the seashore for four years. I went to the beach to swim with friends, to enjoy life again. Since my aunt kicked me out of her house, I went to live with my single uncle who was living the same life my dad used live. I realized this was not the environment I was looking for or needed. I saved money from my job in order to leave Nigeria and move to Lebanon to live with my mother.

Out of Africa

Upon arrival in Lebanon, I moved in with Mom and went looking for a job. Beirut International Airport was near our apartment so I applied for a position there. I was hired over more academically qualified applicants because of my fluency in English. I was on salary which included bonuses and comprehensive benefits. I was making money and friends and was so happy to be financially independent. It was my dream job.

Because of my vision of Jesus, and the waves of joy that I had experienced, my own religion, Islam, had no appeal to me. I knew in my heart that the course of my life was irrevocably changed. I knew this even though I hadn’t embraced Jesus as Savior and Lord of my life, yet. But my thoughts were consumed with Him. I thought of Him every single day and joy would fill my heart when I remembered the vision in the car.

At work, I met a Druze lady who told me she had become a Christian after having an encounter with Jesus. She gave me a Bible. I was so excited with what I was reading that I read half of the New Testament in one sitting. Despite the challenges and obligations of my new job at the airport, which were overwhelming at times, I would read the New Testament when I was able. But I wasn’t only reading the Bible. There were other spiritual influences vying for my attention.

Because of my complicated family life, I was looking for answers to my dysfunctional upbringing. I started reading books by the late Indian mystic Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, also known as Osho. Osho saw families as inherently dysfunctional and destructive and so discouraged marrying and having children. He was infamous as the “guru of free love and materialism.” I read books by the television personality, Phillip McGraw, better known as “Dr. Phil,” which I found interesting. I also read John Grey’s books including his bestselling Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus looking for answers as to why my relationships with men lacked depth and were invariably exploitative.

Although these many books on relationships that I devoured did give me insights on the fascinating subject of human psychology there was something missing. None of these people, with their advanced academic training and their rich life experience, could touch my pain, pain I experienced as a child and took with me into adulthood. I tried to cope with the world around me by burying my hurtful childhood memories but, as the saying goes, what is buried alive is still alive.

Compounding my emotional distress was that I was still unmarried in a culture that expected a young woman to behave responsibly by marrying and raising a family. Actually, I was in step with my culture’s expectations. I very much believed in the institution of marriage and desired to be married and raise a family ever since I was a young woman. But I wouldn’t settle for just anyone. I knew in my heart that the man God had for me had not yet come. I had marriage proposals but they were not what I was waiting for. They just didn’t feel right.

For six years I looked for solutions to the life-controlling issues in my life in my many books on spiritual topics and human relationships, but to no avail. I was feeling helpless, hopeless and becoming depressed. Out of sight in my bedroom closet, I kept a picture of Jesus kneeling and praying that I had purchased at the famous Lebanese Christian pilgrimage site Our Lady of Lebanon in Harissa, which even Muslims visit to receive baraka (blessing). I opened my closet one day and looked at the picture and said out-loud, “Jesus help me! I need you!” Four days later I had a dream.

My dream

I had a dream of Jesus sitting on a rock. As I stood before him, my head was at the same level as His chest. I waited for Him to notice me but He was looking straight ahead and didn’t see me standing in front and below Him. Then, someone appeared on His right side and spoke these words, “Zeinab loves you so much.”

Immediately, Jesus looked down and straight at me. Light was blazing from His eyes and He held my gaze. The light from His eyes stopped and when it did I ran towards the rock and hugged Him with my face buried in His chest. I wept and wept. I woke up from my dream wet with tears. Now I was wide-awake and still crying. This must be a vision not a dream, I thought to myself.

I was thrilled! My depression was gone! The joy that filled my heart left no room for anything else including the pain related to my childhood memories. People would ask me, “Zeinab, why are you so happy?” It was so clear that I was a transformed person but it didn’t make sense to them. I would tell people about my dream, in fact, I was driving everyone crazy telling and retelling my dream. But while they couldn’t deny that my mood had been transformed, they couldn’t understand why.

I had questions, too. First the vision of Jesus in Lebanon’s Beqa’a Valley and now this vivid and life-transforming dream. What had happened to me? Some time later, looking for an explanation to my dream, I typed into the YouTube search engine: “Dreams of Jesus.” I came across testimony after testimony – over a hundred testimonies! – of Muslims who, through dreams and visions, have received revelation that Jesus is God incarnate and the Savior of the world. I was surprised and delighted beyond words. As a Shi’tte Muslim woman, I sincerely believed that Islam was the perfect religion and that Muhammad was the perfect man the, “seal of the prophets,” who exceeded all the prophets who preceded him. Now, suddenly, I realized that Islam is not only not the perfect religion but all that I found objectionable and off-putting about my faith made sense. Watching these video testimonies of my fellow Muslims, I realized that I wasn’t the only one getting the silent treatment from Allah. They supernaturally encountered the same Jesus I did. I was amazed!

I had many questions. For example, did Jesus die on the cross, as Christians believed? Is the qur’an the word of God to humankind, or not?

I also watched videos of Christians and non-Christians becoming Muslims. But their stories did not resonate with me. I found them lifeless.While watching YouTube video testimonies of former Muslims, I spotted other videos that addressed my questions. An Arab Christian theologian, from a Sunni Muslim background, addressed my question concerning the truth about the qur’an. One person’s testimony answered my question concerning the crucifixion to my complete satisfaction.

An unforgettable video of an Iranian believer’s testimony, who was a former member of the Iranian branch of Hizb Allah, talking about his supernatural encounter with Jesus, left me convinced that Jesus is who He says He is: He is the living, incarnate God. I received a revelation of God the Holy Spirit and was filled with Him.

I watched videos explaining the origins of Islam, something I knew next to nothing about. I was amazed to learn that the “perfect man,” as we call the prophet of Islam, Muhammad, was not at all perfect. This shocked me. Also, I learned about the human origins of the qur’an which Muslims believe is of divine origin, the very word of Allah revealed via Angel Gabriel to Muhammad.

The Search for a Church

After a year of watching videos on YouTube I was hungry for knowledge of the Bible. I started looking for a church. I returned to my former Maronite Catholic school and shared with some of the faculty my encounter with Jesus. Their response was one of disinterest. They were polite but unwelcoming. This surprised me. One Maronite priest thought I was hallucinating.

Puzzled by the response or lack of response on the part of Lebanese Maronite Catholics I stopped sharing my story with them. If the Maronite Church would not accept me perhaps He has another plan? I decided to ask for direction, to seek the Lord’s guidance on this matter very specifically. I prayed, “Lord, which church do you want me to be part of? “ Although I prayed a specific prayer I didn’t receive a specific answer. Nevertheless, I trusted God to lead me. It was my habit to exercise on Beirut’s corniche or seaside sidewalk. Beirut lacks parks and green spaces so thousands of Beirutis walk the corniche all hours of the day and even at night. One day, I met a Dutch evangelist and his family and shared my testimony with them. They were thrilled. Later, I met an American couple who were distributing Arabic and English tracts. I had seen videos on YouTube of persons that were just like this Dutch and American couple. I felt they were the real thing, the genuine article. I wanted fellowship with them. I wondered, What church did they belong to? Would they accept me as a member? I was afraid they would reject me, too.

The American couple invited me to a Lebanese congregation that was bi-lingual, Arabic – English, but I hesitated and did not accept their invitation. I continued to pray. “Lord, I want to be part of a church that You have chosen for me.” I also wanted to be baptized by a pastor who really knew Jesus. I also prayed that the Lord would make it possible for me to be baptized in the Jordan River and on a special day for Him. Lebanon and Israel have been in a state of war since 1948 so I would not be able to go there for my baptism. But I could be baptized in the River Jordan in the country of Jordan. Anyway, I left the details in God’s hands. I simply prayed and waited.

My mother broke her arm. Three times a week I would accompany her to the physiotherapist. On one of the visits I met a woman who was also bringing her mother for therepy for a sprained arm. She introduced herself and started sharing the Lord with me. I was amazed! When I shared my testimony with her she was even more amazed than I was! I told her that I wanted to be baptized and she invited me to her congregation. I was determined to go to the church of God’s choice, could this be the one? She promised to talk to her pastor about me and assured me that her congregation would be delighted to meet me: ahlan wa sahlan (Arabic for Welcome!). When I asked the woman why in a crowded waiting room she walked up and greeted me she replied, “The Lord spoke to me these words: ‘That woman over there and her mother will be in heaven together with you.’”

Over the years, I had watched videos of wonderful singing in churches and wondered if such churches existed in my country. I googled “American Evangelical singing church, Lebanon.” I discovered that the church, the American couple I spoke to on the corniche had invited me to (but didn’t go), and the church this woman I met at the physiotherapist’s clinic, was inviting me to was the same church that turned up on the Google search engine. It is a Lebanese congregation with Arabic and English worship and preaching in Arabic. Perfect!

The next Sunday, I went to visit the congregation, which was approximately thirty minutes drive from my home. I walked into a room full of music performed by a live band. I immediately recognized the worship as exactly what I’d seen and heard on the Internet. I started worshipping, arms raised high, with waves of joy rolling over me. I’d finally found what I was looking for. The Lord answered my prayers. After the service the Lebanese woman introduced me to the pastor. I excitedly shared with him how I came to the service and of my desire to be baptized. The pastor promised to baptize me upon his return from a brief ministry trip to Jordan. We agreed on the following Saturday, which was Easter weekend. This was the answer to my prayer that it would happen on a special day for Him! But what about the Jordan River?

As we gathered for my baptism on the agreed day, the pastor announced that he had a special surprise. He held up a bottle of water and said, “I’ve made many ministry trips to Jordan over the years. However, this trip I felt prompted by the Holy Spirit to bring a bottle of water from the Jordan River back to Lebanon which I will use in our service today.”

I couldn’t believe my ears! Water from the Jordan River? The pastor had no idea that I had asked the Lord specifically to be baptized in the Jordan River. Here he was holding a bottle of water from the Jordan…oh-my-goodness!

I was baptized in the sea at Byblos (Arabic Jbeil) along with twenty others from our church wanting water baptism. We were also joined by lots of curious onlookers wondering what was going on as they watched us one-by-one immersed into the sea and brought up again accompanied by prayers, declarations, songs and hugs. What a day of rejoicing!

Soon after finding a church, the Lord opened up an opportunity to take a Bible intensive course on the island of Cyprus. I joined other Muslim background believers from Lebanon, Syria, Turkey, Iraq and Iran. I now travel every year as volunteer staff (we are all volunteers) to help with this discipleship program.

The Adventure Continues

The Bible says, “Honor your mother and your father that your days may be long on the earth (Exodus 20:12) .” Is there anything more challenging than family members? You can share your testimony once, but after that you must show them the proof of Jesus’s redemptive work in your life every single day. My mother has had a hard life. Her childhood was abruptly interrupted at age twelve when her parents married her off to a man of forty. Naturally, she resents this. And the root of bitterness has borne its fruit. Although still an attractive women, her four marriages have left her scarred and she struggles with life-controlling issues. The Lord has used my mother to polish the rough edges of my character. I have learned that love is a choice, not a special way of feeling. I long for the day when my mother will experience salvation and receive Jesus’s healing touch in her life.

Although I’m the only believer in my family, they nevertheless love me. They don’t understand my relationship with Jesus, who is only a prophet to them – one of many in Islam, but they are accepting of me. I invest particularly in the lives of my nieces and nephews: they love their Auntie Zeinab! Their parents have even allowed them, on several occasions, to accompany me to my church.

I am passionate about helping young women from a similar background as my own in their relationship with the Lord. I’m learning how to communicate in a loving way, showing patience, understanding and forbearance as they grow in their walk with Jesus. The Lord has also given me a burden for trafficked women and the LGBTQ community here in Lebanon. I am trusting the Lord to open doors for me among both groups.

Locally, I am part of a weekly home group of Muslim background seekers. They enjoy the worship, Bible study and fellowship. Each one is on a journey towards Jesus. What a joy it is to meet and encourage them to know the lover of their souls, Jesus.

I have particular joy in exercising my gifts, the gifts of helps and service, in my church here in Beirut. I have a handicrafts business which is not only a source of income but an outlet for my passion to create and my passion for art. This includes the design of jewelry and crochet products.

I look to the future with confidence and with peace, the peace I always looked for never found until the vision of Jesus, the Prince of Peace, in the Lebanon’s Beqa’a Valley. God’s assignment to me is to love. To love God, love others, and make disciples. The adventure continues!

Zeinab al-Husseini
Beirut, Lebanon