CRAIG ROBERTSON, FORMER CATHOLIC,

CRAIG ROBERTSON

         My name is Abdullah Al-Kanadi. I was born in Vancouver, Canada. My family, who were Roman Catholics, raised me as a Roman Catholic until I was 12 years old. I have been Muslim for approximately six years, and I would like to share the story of my journey to Islam with you. I suppose in any story it’s best to start from the beginning. 

    During my childhood, I attended a Catholic religious school and was taught about the Catholic faith, along with other subjects. Religion was always my best class; I excelled academically in the teachings of the Church. I was pressed into service as an ‘altar boy’ by my parents from a very young age, which pleased my grandparents a great deal; but the more I learned about my religion, the more I questioned it! I have this memory from my childhood, I asked my mother on Mass: “Is our religion the right one?” My mother’s answer still rings in my ears to this day: “Craig, they are all the same, they’re all good!” Well, to me, this didn’t seem right. What was the point of me learning my religion if they were all equally good!?

• At the age of twelve, my maternal grandmother was diagnosed with colon cancer and died a few months later, after a painful battle with the disease. 

• I never realized how deeply her death affected me till later on in life. 

• At the tender age of twelve, I decided I would be an atheist to punish God (if you can even fathom such a thing!) 

• I was an angry little boy; I was angry at the world, at myself, and worst of all, at God. 

• I stumbled through my early teenage years trying to do everything I could to impress my new “friends” in public high school. 

• I quickly realized that I had a lot to learn, for being sheltered in a religious school you don’t learn what you would in a public school. 

• I pressed all my friends in private to teach me about all the things I did not learn, soon enough I gained the habit of swearing and making fun of people weaker than me. 

• Even though I tried my best to fit in, I never actually did. I would get bullied; girls would make fun of me and so on. For a kid my age, this was devastating. 

• I retreated to myself, into what you would call an ‘emotional shell’.
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    My teenage years were filled with misery and loneliness. My poor parents tried to talk to me, but I was belligerent towards them and very disrespectful. I graduated from high school in the summer of 1996 and felt that things would have to change for the better since I believed they couldn’t get any worse! I was accepted into a local technical school and decided that I should further my education and maybe make some good money so that I would be happy. I took a job at a fast-food restaurant by my house to help pay for school. 

    A couple of weeks before I was to start school, I got an invitation to move out with some friends from work. To me, this seemed like the answer to my problems! I thought I could forget my family and be with my friends all the time. One night, I told my parents I was going to move out. 

    They told me I couldn’t, that I wasn’t ready for it, and that they wouldn’t allow it! I was 17 years old and very headstrong; I swore at my parents and said to them all sorts of horrible things, which I still regret to this day. I felt liberated by my newfound freedom and believed I could follow my desires as I saw fit. I moved in with my friends and didn’t speak to my parents for a long time after that.

    I was working and going to school when my roommates introduced me to marijuana. I was in love with it after the first ‘puff’! I would smoke a bit when I got home from work to relax and unwind. Soon though, I started to smoke more and more, until during one weekend I had smoked so much that it was Monday morning before I knew it, and it was time for school. 

    I thought, well, I’ll take one day off school and go the next day since they won’t possibly miss me. I never returned to school after that. I finally realized how good I had it. All the fast food I could steal and all the drugs I could smoke—who needed school anyway?

    I was living a great life, or so I thought; I became the ‘resident’ bad boy at work and consequently, the girls started to pay attention to me like they hadn’t in high school. I tried harder drugs, but alhamdulillah, I was saved from the really terrible stuff. The strange thing was, when I wasn’t high or drunk, I was miserable. I felt worthless and completely valueless. 

    I was stealing from work and from friends to help maintain the ‘chemical haze’. I became paranoid of the people around me and imagined police officers were chasing me around every corner. I was beginning to crack and I needed a solution, and I figured that religion would help me.

    I remember seeing a movie about witchcraft and I thought that would be perfect for me. I bought a couple of books on Wicca and Nature Worship and found that they encouraged the use of natural drugs, so I continued. People would ask me if I believed in God, and we would have the strangest conversations while under the ‘influence’. But I distinctly remember saying that no, in fact, I don’t believe in God at all—I believe in many gods as imperfect as me.

• Through all this, there was one friend who stuck by me. He was a ‘Born Again’ Christian and was always preaching to me, even though I would mock his faith at every opportunity. 

• He was the only friend I had at the time who didn’t judge me, so when he invited me along to go to a youth weekend camp, I decided to go along. 

• I had no expectations. 

• I thought I would have a huge laugh making fun of all the “Bible Thumpers”. 

• During the second evening, they had a huge service in an auditorium. 

• They played all sorts of music that praised God. 

• I watched as the young and old, male and female, cried out for forgiveness and shed tears over everything. 

• I was really moved and I said a silent prayer along the lines of “God, I know I have been a horrible person, please help me, forgive me, and let me start fresh.” 

• I felt a surge of emotion come over me, and I felt tears roll down my cheek. 

• I decided at that moment to embrace Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior. 

• I raised my hands in the air and started dancing around (yes, dancing!). 

• All the Christians around me were staring at me in stunned silence; the guy who mocked them and told them how stupid they were for believing in God was dancing and praising God!

    I returned to my party home and eschewed all drugs, intoxicants, and girls. I promptly told my friends how they needed to be Christians so they could be saved. I was shocked that they rejected me because they always used to pay attention to me before. 

    I ended up moving back with my parents after a long absence and used to badger them with the reasons why they should become Christian. They, being Catholic, felt they were already Christian, but I felt they were not, for they worshipped Saints. I decided to move out again, but this time on better terms, and was given a job by my grandfather who wanted to help with my “recovery”.

    I started to hang out at a Christian “youth house,” which was basically a house where teens could go to get away from family pressures and discuss Christianity. I was older than most of the boys, so I became one of those who talked most and tried to make the boys feel welcomed. Despite this, I felt like a fraud, so I started drinking and dating again. 

    I would tell the kids about Jesus’ love for them, and during the nights, I would drink. Through all this, my one Christian friend would try to counsel me and keep me on the right track.