 The title of my talk today is How Islam Made Me a Better American. But what does that really mean to be an American? There are likely many definitions for this. However, I'm confident that there are a set of ideals which resonate with most Americans. Compassion, integrity, mutual respect, kindness, generosity, equality. These are all qualities which I think good human beings, good Americans strive to embody. And what I would like to talk specifically today about is a topic I can address with what I hope is a sincere and passionate heart. And that's the topic of racism. Growing up, I was very close to my paternal grandparents. I would spend summers in North Carolina with them. And since I was an early riser like my grandfather, we would enjoy a daily 7 a.m. breakfast at a restaurant nestled at the bottom of the mountain where he lived. I was proclaimed his favorite granddaughter, partially because I was named after his eldest daughter, Sarah Jo, who had passed away in a tragic car accident just a year before I was born. And apparently I look like Sarah Jo as well, so his affinity towards me is clear and understandable to all. And in return I deeply adored him. He was a generous man who showered love and affection on all of us grandchildren. The one thing I remember not knowing how to love about him, however, was his deep seated racism and hatred for people of color. He openly insulted and disrespected black people. He frequently used the N word. I remember being really uncomfortable with his attitude and actions towards blacks. So naturally I exonerated myself from being racist. In hindsight, however, I realized that the post civil rights era in the South was still ripe with unspoken racism. Though there were African-Americans in town and in school, we had very little to do with one another. I didn't have any black friends. I didn't live near black people. I didn't sit near black people in class or at lunch. Basically there was minimal to no interaction between them and us. Separate but equal may have been banished by law, but it was alive and well in everyday actions, even in mine. And on my mind, however, I was all-American as Apple Pie, a blonde-haired, low-eyed high school cheerleader. My European ancestors landed on American shores in the early days of settlement. My mother is part Native American. I lived in the southern suburbia and was the daughter of a self-made businessman, attending some of the best public schools in the area, along with church on Sundays. And I had my mind set squarely on attending the service academy after graduation. Who could possibly be more American than me? In 1996, I had completed a couple of years at the U.S. Naval Academy before deciding military life was not for me. I transferred to the University of Maryland to get my degree in civil engineering. Marry my husband, Mike, and had our first son, Ben. Mike was still in the Navy and stationed in Japan, and I stayed in the States to finish my degree. And it was at this time that I was introduced to Islam. Since my talk is not about my conversion story, I won't go into too much detail about how I chose to enter into this religion. But I do want to share with you how being Muslim completely altered my understanding of race. Before I do that, however, I think this would be an appropriate time to share a few of the Islamic teachings regarding race, which come to us via the sayings of the Prophet Muhammad, be upon them, or via sayings from our, or verses taken from our holy book, the Quran, which we believe to be the direct word of God. And as I share these with you, please keep in mind the opening line of the preamble of the direct declaration of independence, the document which formed the foundation of our nation. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal. In Islam, we are taught that righteousness is the only quality that makes someone virtuous in the sight of God, not race or skin color or lineage or country. In his last and final public sermon to the Muslims over 1400 years ago, the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, very clearly addressed this topic of racism when he said, O people, your Lord is one and your Father Adam is one. There is no favor to them of an Arab over a foreigner nor a foreigner over an Arab, neither red skin over black skin or black skin over red skin except through righteousness. We were also taught by the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, that God created Adam from handfuls of clay and dirt collected from the different areas of the earth. So just as the dirt of the earth is different colors, we have black soil, white, sands, red clay. The children of Adam come in different colors as well. Finally, he taught us that there is no good in red skin or black skin, but that our value lies only in our righteousness and in our closeness to God. So these are just some of the teachings of Islam that slowly began to permeate my life and to help me develop a deeper understanding of the problems with racism. However, there was one crucial point of my life that these teachings really took hold and taught me the true essence of what it meant to be an American. My father, at the age of 50, was diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor, a brain tumor, a given two months to live. I wanted to take my young son Ben back home with me to South Carolina so I could take care of my father in his final days. He readily agreed to have me come home but firmly warned me against trying to convert him to my new religion. I had become Muslim only three months prior. I assured him I would do no such thing and I headed to South Carolina. Interestingly enough, in a very short period of time, after quietly observing me and my worship and noting my newfound mindfulness that I had brought to my day-to-day life, my father began questioning me about my new faith. Facing death, he was forced to think about his own mortality so he started seeking answers to the questions of what might be coming after death and what had been the real purpose of life. I tried my best to answer his questions but my own limited knowledge of my new religion could not satiate his deep curiosity. He peppered me with questions and I literally ran out of answers. In desperation to provide him with what he was looking for, I searched for a local Muslim community where I might be able to take him so he could speak to someone, anyone who could give him the answers that I couldn't provide. I searched in the phone book, I asked around, nothing. I could find no Muslims anywhere close to us. I was desperate. For days and nights I prayed to God. Though I didn't know everything about Islam, I didn't know one of the irrefutable tenets of the religion is that one condition of prayer is that you have to recognize and submit to the knowledge that only God has the power to answer your prayer and answer it, he did. One morning my father stumbled across an ad in the local paper announcing the grand opening of an Islamic center in the next town. He eagerly showed it to me and I couldn't believe my eyes. It was truly a miracle. God had sent us some Muslims. The very next Saturday we drove to Rockville, South Carolina to meet these Muslims in the hopes that they could help my father settle the affairs of the soul. To my surprise and honestly to my disappointment we saw that the entire group was comprised of African Americans. Not one other white person was in the room. My heart's saying, certain that this was a mistake. Deep down I knew there was no way my father could be guided to a new belief system through a group of African Americans. It just wasn't possible. He had been conditioned his whole life to spurn them. But another fact we are taught in Islam, God is greater. What you often hear as Allah Akbar. God is greater than all the limitations that we place upon ourselves and the limitations we place upon others. For in fact when my father emerged from that center he was a man deeply moved by all those who he had met. He was a man who received the answers to the questions that had remained unanswered for so long and he was now a man of the Muslim faith. God is truly greater than anything we can imagine. Through the words and the actions and the sincerity of those when he had been groomed to hate he had found acceptance, love and a faith that he would embrace and practice as a means of drawing closer to his creator until his death almost one year later. May God have mercy on him. This is something Muslims say about those who have passed similar to when people say God rest his soul or may he rest in peace. The black Muslim community in South Carolina took very good care of my dad and me. They would invite us to their homes every Friday after congregational prayers. My father would be with the men and I would hang out with the women and children. The men became an unwavering web of support for my father teaching him, guiding him and helping him come to terms with his impending death. While I was comforted by and grilled with the peace that my father had finally found this was actually a momentous turning point for me as well. For the first time in my life I had black friends but they were more than friends to me. They were my sisters. We would pray together, sing together, eat together and laugh together. It was a beautiful and memorable time in my life. It was a Friday in February, nearly one year after my dad's conversion to Islam when he returned to his Lord. At the time of his passing, my two-year-old son Ben, an African American brother named Abdullah and I were all sitting at his bedside. By the way, Muslim women often refer to Muslim men as brothers and the men often refer to the women as sisters out of respect. Anyway, this brother had come to visit my father so that he could read from the Holy Quran in his presence. Muslims believe that the recitation of the Quranic words in Arabic brings solace to the heart and that specific reading of the chapter Yasin helps ease the soul's passing from this world to the next. It was through the lips of this black man that these verses aided my father's soul. It was the brothers from this community who came to pick up his body. It was they who shrouded him and who prepared him for his burial. They arranged for the funeral, transported his coffin to the cemetery, lowered his body into the ground and prayed over him in accordance with the Islamic rituals of burial. There were rows and rows of black men praying for my father's soul. If only my grandfather had been there to witness that tremendous and powerfully ironic scene. So that was the starting point from which all of my unrealized racism began to melt away. It was at this point that I became truly Muslim and truly American. I understood unequivocally the power of humanity without preconceived notions or discriminatory underpinnings. And upon moving back to California, I have continued to be blessed with the most amazing friends and community members from all backgrounds, races and religions. It is on this premise of mutual respect for all of the God's creation that I have found a true kinship with races, with all races and all people. I have been taught that to treat everyone with dignity and respect is an actual act of worship. Because of our faith, my life and my husband's life and my children's lives have been elevated. And I hope and I pray that we will always be positive contributors to the greater society in which we live. I can surely say with immense gratitude and humility that I am a better human being and a better American for it. It is my sincerest wish that my children, along with all of the children of our Muslim communities, will lead future generations of Americans based on the premise of God's command to get to know one another in peace and respect and to create a life that uplifts all that is good and suppresses all that is evil. Thank you for taking the time to get to know us and for honoring me by listening to my story. I sincerely pray that this afternoon it's just the beginning of a wonderful new friendship. Thank you very much.