Hakim the Reluctant Convert


I was kneeling on my prayer rug in the mosque when I heard a voice in my heart, “Your peace is not here.”  I thought my friend kneeling beside me said this, so I leaned over on my rug and punched him.  He go angry at me and denied it.


After our Muslim prayers, I went back to the car repair shop to fix the power steering on a taxi.  My boss, a Christian, often told me Jesus was in many holy books including the Koran.  I was sick of his daily efforts to evangelize me.  Once I angrily told him, “Then tell Jesus, Himself, to come by and meet me!”


On that mosque day, Friday, the taxi slipped off the jacks and fell on my chest.  Unconscious, I was taken to the hospital.  I was in a coma for a week.  After taking X-rays of my crushed chest, I was finally covered with a sheet in the morgue.  Doctors thought I was dead.


During my coma, I saw two angels come and lift me up.  I said, “Why are you doing this for me?” and began to struggle with them.  One angel said, “You will meet the Mighty One, and He is the truth, Isa Al Masih” (Jesus the Messiah)


We went up a path in a bright light to a throne.  On the right side were many angels praising worshiping Him.  On the left side were some elders.  The angels told me, “This is the Might One who sits on the throne.  You must bow to Him”  When I bowed, the Might One touched my shoulder and said, “I am Jesus.”


I awoke from my bed in the morgue.  The sheet fell off my face.  My boss, his wife and two children standing there had been praying for me.  Two doctors took me back to the X-ray room, and they found no broken ribs.  One said, “This has never happed in our medical work.  We must believe this is a miracle.”  My boss told the Muslim doctors, “Nothing is impossible for those who believe.”


The next morning, at my bosses house, he could not believe I had that vision, because I was still a Muslim.  He let me stay in his house for three months.  I saw his church newsletter and told him I was going to attend his church.  He was so shocked, he and his family began to pack to leave town for three days.


I had been a Muslim activist, so now they wanted to avoid me.  Some Christians in Indonesia are like this.  The want to evangelize, but they do not want to be responsible for what happens.  Also, his car repair shop was in a Muslim area, and he thought my going to his church would hurt his business.


Standing in his yard on Sunday morning, I told him I was going.  I left through the front gate before he could stop me, but he kindly gave me some money.  I got on the bus to his church, while his family left town. 


At the church they welcomed me, but not many shook my hand.  Some avoided me.  Most were from different ethnic backgrounds – Chinese and others.  The knew from my skin color and face I was a Muslim.  I did not go back to their church.  I still wanted to be a Muslim, but something kept pulling me.


One month later, my boss finally gave me a Bible because I insisted.  When I read this Bible I found real peace, real life.  I met a pastor and asked him, “Should I be baptized so I can become a Christian?”  He told me, “You must be born again,” and after discipling me, he baptized me..


I found my true identity with Jesus, the One who is the Highest, from reading about Him in the Bible.  I became a committed Christian and an evangelist.


A few years later, I took a bus back t my village.  One of my cousins had told my family of my conversion.  The said, “You are in infidel and you deserve to die.  We are committed to kill you,” but they did not beat me.  I answered questions about Islam and Christianity, but they only became angrier.  After a week with them, I returned to the city.


Sometime later, I was walking through their area (a Muslim neighborhood) after  attending a small church meeting.  They got ready for me.  All of the lights in the houses were turned off.  A voice in the dark alleyway shouted, “You are an infidel and a threat to Islam!”  I replied, “I simply believe in Jesus, the Messiah.”


Six or seven men began to beat me with their fists.  I fell to the ground, then got up laughing.  Then more of the hit me with rocks and sticks.  Rolling on the ground, I held on to my pocket Bible.  The police report said there were about 100 men circled around me.


Finally one of the men in this mob dragged me out and carried me on his back to his house while the village leader and the crowd followed us.  We went into the house and shit the door, but a dozen men forced their way into beat me.  The owner’s seven family members locked themselves in the bedrooms.  The owner – my rescuer – pushed the attackers outside.


It was quiet in the hose.  The mob outside was yelling and cursing.  The owner called the police.  I sat and read my picket Bible, which did not fall out in the road (during the attack).  I turned and asked him, “Why did you help me?”  With his family now sitting around he said “I do not know.  I just felt some power encouraging me.”


Then there was a tremendous noise.  The mob outside had torn up some foundation posts and began to shake the wooden house.  For two hours, the house was shuddering.  I continued to read my Bible.


The family was in a panic.  My Bible reading that day was about how God knows the hairs on your head and is watching over you.  On of the family members leaned over and asked above the noise, “Why do you read the Bible and stay so calm and peaceful?”  I told them, “If God looks over you, He will not let you be harmed.”


Some of the women began to wash the dirt off my cuts and bruises.  My eye was swollen.  I continued to reassure them, “God will watch over us.”


Finally the police came.  The mob stopped shaking.  I thanked the Muslim man to rescued me.  The police asked me what happened.  The took me to jail for two days to protect me.


The Muslim man who had rescued me came to the jail and testified against the mob.  The police put 28 of the Muslims in jail and released me.  As my cell door opened, I told the police that Jesus loved them and not to treat the persecutors badly.  The presented me with a letter of accusation against the attackers, but I would not sign it.


I asked one officer, “Why do you not release them so I can eat with them?”  He stepped back and looked confused.  “But we need bail money for them,” he replied.  I looked at this man and said, “I will give you my life, my body as bail for them.”  After a conference together, the police officers took me to the large holding cell where my 28 attackers waited.  The agreed to see me.


The cell was unlocked, and the filed out so we could eat together.  I sat in the center of our circle on the floor.  As we began to eat the rice, the looked at me nervously.  They were afraid, thinking I would sue them.  I told them, “God has brought trials to us, but He also releases us from those trials.”  Surprised by this, the became friendly to me.  I told them, “My God can save all of you.”


The village chief who had led the attack said to me, “Now I believe that your God is good.”  Most of them stood up and walked over to me to apologize.  As they shook my hand, they asked for forgiveness.  Some said, “If you want to sue us, it is OK.”


The police were standing quietly around the edge of the circle.  I told the officers I would not press charges.  They released most of the prisoners and took them back to their village in a police van.


Since then, I have met many of those who were in the mob, and we are friends.  They are learning about Jesus in their heart and believing in Him, but a cultural Muslims in public.


I am still an evangelist and also a farmer.  I am now married.  Our farm is near a Church of 12 Christians.  I have returned to the home of the Muslim man who dragged me from the mob. Now, he and his family are secret Christians and worship in their home.