took Shahada in a black Nissan Sentra at the end of Chairfactory Road, outside my best friend's house overlooking a cornfield. It was morning and the wind had picked up, and the tree outside her house was waving hello. I don't know if this is the type of thing done often in a rental car, but my friends didn't need to be awakened with my proclamation, and I hoped I would think of it often in future times when I got behind the wheel, because it's nice to think of one's unity with God when in ordinary places.

I know of my responsibilities associated with this three-second activity, the ones both real to me and the ones projected upon one who makes such an utterance. That is why I waited so long to say it with intention. But the time and task feel right, and I believe there is no God but God, and I love Muhammed (SAAS), so why does it need to be any more complicated?

Shahada to me is the seal in the wax, the ring on the finger. Making it official, saying yes to something I've loved for a long time. Needing no witness but God. Needing not to awaken any sleepers. Just taking one moment in the silence that is only stirred by wind to invoke, to testify, and then turning the key and driving on down to breakfast.