10 Amazing Muslims Touched by God by Faisal Malick

“I am a Palestinian Arab, born in Haifa, Israel. My father was a wealthy merchant who inherited and carried on the family business of growing and exporting produce to Great Britain. He was a respected leader in the community, a good father, and a devout Muslim who strictly observed the tenets of Islam. I do not remember much of the home where I lived as a young Palestinian boy, but I do remember my family talking about a big white house in the midst of huge old olive trees overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. After the partitioning of Palestine, Haifa became part of the newly created state of Israel. Being a proud Muslim, Dad refused to live in Israel. So I was the last child in the family to be born in Haifa. My dad arranged for us all to get on a fishing boat, and we set out to our new destination—the island of Cyprus. The family grew to a total of five boys and five girls when three more siblings were born in Cyprus. We found favor in the eyes of the locals. We soon learned to speak their languages, Greek and Turkish. Cyprus is predominantly Catholic, so it was natural for us to attend the Catholic elementary school, which I entered at the age of six, along with my brother who was two years older than me, and, later, my younger sister. Being a proud Muslim, Dad refused to live in Israel. Education was very important to my family. My oldest brother, Muhammad, taught himself English and then enrolled in an American correspondence school. He eventually won a scholarship to Ohio Wesleyan University, in the United States, and later earned a master’s degree in mathematics from the University of Arizona. Remarkably, he secured a job as professor of mathematics at Ohio Northern University. Another of my brothers received a scholarship from Wilmington College in Ohio. After graduating, he earned his master’s from the University of Dayton in Ohio. He held the high jump record at the English school for about 15 years after his graduation. He, too, taught mathematics, at a junior college in Columbus, Ohio. He later married, had three children, and entered the real estate market, and is now a wealthy entrepreneur. My youngest sister mastered nine language The Tumor Meanwhile, back in Cyprus in my senior year in high school, a lump began to appear on my right thigh and kept growing. In the beginning, it gave me no pain whatsoever, and I used to make it move by poking it with my finger. At first, we thought nothing of it—perhaps it was a sports injury that would soon go away. However, it did not go away. It continued to increase to the size of a baseball and began to hurt, especially when I walked. It was finally diagnosed as a malignant tumor. The doctor recommended immediate amputation of my leg to prevent the cancer from spreading to my vital organs and causing my death. A second opinion by a specialist convinced my dad to sign papers authorizing the amputation. I was then moved to the intensive care unit and scheduled to undergo the amputation a few days later—a day or two before Christmas. Then, unexpectedly, the day before the operation my mother checked me out of the hospital, ignoring the doctor’s warning that I would be dead in a few weeks. I was moved to the intensive care unit and scheduled to undergo the amputation a few days later. I still remember the little Turkish coffee cup that Mom used to draw olive oil out of a large vase. In fact, it was the largest vase I have seen in my life. When I was seven or eight years old, it was as high as I was tall. I later learned it held over 50 gallons of oil. We had two such vases; one held only olive oil, and the other held olives aged in olive oil, garlic, and herbs. After checking me out of the hospital, it was from this large vase my mom massaged a cup of oil into the tumor of my bedridden body several times a day. Mom never cried in front me, but I would often hear her sobbing and notice the redness in her eyes when she would come into my room. Yet she would give me hope and promised me that I would not die and that I would grow up and have children of my own some day. Within a few days, she noticed that the tumor had begun shrinking. After two weeks of massaging this olive oil, the tumor had shrunk enough to allow me to bend my leg, and shortly after, it went away completely! The faith of a loving mother is contagious. Six months after my recovery with a second chance at life, I bid my family and my adopted homeland farewell, and left under scholarship for college in the United States. My priority, like the rest of my family, was education. I planned to complete my studies, get my Bachelor of Arts degree, and then attend law school at Ohio Northern University in Ada, Ohio. I was going to be an attorney. During my sophomore year, I met a girl of whom I became quite fond. She spoke much about her Christian faith. I made it clear to her that I was a Muslim and I was not interested in any other religion. There were no mosques nearby in my city, but that did not matter because like all Muslims, my entire life was patterned after my faith in Islam. My college years were during the “hippie” generation. My belief kept me from doing drugs and other things that were going on at that time. My roommate in college was a cocaine addict. He tried many times to get me to “just try it one time.” I never did. I went to clubs with friends but never had any alcoholic beverages, and I never smoked “grass.” The fact is that I was not even tempted to do so. I knew my religion forbade it and that was good enough for me. I Saw a Miracle The girl I was dating became unbearable when a “faith healer” set up his tent close to the college campus, babbling on and on about miracles and healings. I was convinced he could be nothing more than a charlatan preying on naïve people. Nevertheless, I liked the girl, so I went to the tent meeting with her. The flamboyant man, who looked to me more like an Elvis Presley impersonator than a minister, had taken a young child with a deformed leg and placed him on the stage declaring that Jesus was going to heal him. He called out for any agnostics and skeptics present, especially students (since this was a college town), to come on the stage to get a closer look. I did not hesitate and went up for a closer look. The child was a young boy no more than six or seven years old. His right leg was in some sort of leather brace, but his leg was clearly visible through this contraption. It was much thinner and shorter than the healthy one. The preacher sat him on a chair and removed the brace. He extended both of the child’s legs, supporting them with his left hand. I could see that the withered leg was three to four inches shorter than the normal one. The preacher picked up a microphone with his right hand, and he began to pray, asking Jesus to heal the little boy. The audience, as if on cue, suddenly rose from their seats and extended their hands toward the stage. In an instant that startled me, the withered leg extended itself to the same length of the other leg! Just as suddenly as it grew, it stopped growing. Then, as if someone blew air into it, like blowing air into a balloon, the leg “puffed up” and looked just like the healthy one! Apparently, the incident also startled the child. It took him a few moments to get his bearings and stand on both legs. He took a few clumsy steps and then seemed to gain confidence with each step. Soon after, he was running full throttle around the tent as the audience cheered him on. Deeply impacted by this miracle I witnessed with my own eyes, I was down on my knees sobbing and weeping uncontrollably. It was spectacular! Awesome, to say the least. I am not exactly sure what happened to me next or how it happened. Deeply impacted by this miracle I witnessed with my own eyes, I was down on my knees sobbing and weeping uncontrollably. My consciousness was arrested by thoughts of Jesus and my heart was searching for answers. I didn’t believe in miracles, and Muhammad the prophet of Islam never performed miracles. My Muslim mind could not process what had just taken place. I had no idea what a profound impact this would have on my life and where it would lead me. My Family Disowns Me I did not tell my family about the experience. But to myself I kept thinking that if Jesus had healed that boy’s leg, that had to mean that Jesus is alive! The only person I confided in was my brother who attended the Catholic school with me when we were kids. He just tried to talk me out of it. He told me he was sure it would all go away as if nothing ever happened. He told me to stop talking about Jesus and this miracle. I tried speaking to him a couple more times, but his response was the same: Renounce and forget about Jesus and continue to walk in the path of Islam. At that time I considered myself a Muslim, but I still could not renounce the possibility of the reality of Jesus; it was not even within my power to do so. Jesus never left my thoughts after the tent experience. Not even for a second. Some might think this is an exaggeration, but it wasn’t. I had seen too much. The only explanation was that Jesus had healed that boy! When my family was finally told what had happened at the tent meeting, they tried to persuade me to pretend it never happened. But I simply could not do so. Ultimately, and because of my profound reaction to this experience, my family disowned me. My dad explained to me why he had to do what he did. I told him I understood. The only explanation was that Jesus had healed that boy! Shortly after this, my friends, my family, and everyone I had known all my life seemed to conveniently disappear. Somehow my life did not matter anymore. I needed to try and sort things out and sought comfort in solitude. I felt restless and just wanted to get away, but I had nowhere to go. Only one place came to mind—a small town in the suburbs of Birmingham, Alabama. I had briefly met an older couple at the tent meeting. They told me how pretty the South was—the terrain, the trees—and that they lived close to the vicinity of a spectacular view the locals call “God’s Country” in Gadsden, Alabama. They had given me their address and asked me to come visit them should I ever be in the vicinity. My friends, my family, and everyone I had known all my life seemed to conveniently disappear. With nowhere else to go, I started heading toward their house in Alabama, while still undecided as to whether I should go or not. I just kept driving, too restless to stay put. After a couple days of driving, and about 1,000 miles later, I found myself driving through very dense forest that was scarcely populated on my way toward their home. I drove for almost 30 minutes in this forest. The scenery was breathtaking—especially when compared to the two-dimensional terrain back in Ohio. The only thing that reminded me that people must have been living close by was a little, white, wood frame country church on a deserted dirt road in the woods, right in the middle of nowhere. I had no intention of stopping, but something made me—perhaps the serenity, perhaps the solitude, or both. But now I know, due to what followed, it had to have been God leading me. My Quest for Truth It was around noon on a Sunday when I pulled up to this very small country church. It couldn’t have seated more than 50 people, though there were less than a dozen cars in the church’s rough parking lot and only about two dozen people in attendance. The minister was a woman of some age who introduced herself as Sister Prince. It had to have been God leading me.”

— 10 Amazing Muslims Touched by God by Faisal Malick