From Property to Person: the Love of our Heavenly Father

Posted on Apr 02, 2020 Topic : Inspirational/Devotional, Men's Christian Living, Women's Christian Living
Posted by : Esther Ahmad

On the day I was born, my father waited eagerly while my mother was in labor. His first two children had both been girls, and he was happily anticipating the arrival of what he hoped would be his first son.

But I was a girl, and what would my father want with another daughter? According to him, no man should have to suffer the indignity of three lowly, worthless daughters.

In my father’s eyes, I would never be enough. Even when I volunteered to sacrifice my life in jihad—which the Qur’an promised would guarantee him instant access to heaven—he did not talk to me. There was no quiet conversation in which he asked whether I was sure that I wanted to go through with it, no nod of the head or half smile as he said he was proud of me. There was not even any message of support that he passed on to me through my mother. He may have been my father, but he never saw me as his daughter. I was property. That was all.

The Qur’an is full of verses that teach men that they are superior to women and that women are their property. From an early age, boys are taught that they can treat the women in their households however they want. Women are even refused permission to speak publicly to men in a mosque. They are separated, ignored, and overlooked. And it’s not just random verses from the Qur’an that teach this. The stories of Muhammad himself create a clear picture of a world in which women have no rights, no freedom, and no hope of equality.

The more I started to pray, to get to know God, and to ask questions, the more I began to realize that God did not see me as someone who had no value. He did not see me as someone who could only be of worth through my death. He did not see me as an inconvenience whose body could be mutilated at will just to prove a point. He saw me so differently that I could barely comprehend it at first.

It happened the night that I had my dream, just days before I was about to say goodbye to my family forever and begin my short journey toward jihad. I was at my lowest point, trapped between the idea that suicide was my only way to earn my father’s love and the fear that Allah would reject me. And yet in my dream, Jesus came to me. I felt neither shame nor fear in his presence. He talked with me. He called me his daughter. All my life I had been taught that faith was driven by fear and hate, yet Jesus offered nothing but love. And even though I had been prepared to die, Jesus was inviting me—a girl whose father had never thought her worthy—to experience the fullness of life and follow him.

All I had to do was take that first step.