My Journey to Find My Savior

A Story of Faith and Finding Home Written by Khatera Scott

My biological mother had me on December 11th, 1972, a week before her husband came home from his year long job at the capital. Knowing that I could not be his child, he gave her an ultimatum: she could stay with him and raise their other two children or divorce him and take the three children with her. They made the decision to leave me in the middle of the night at the Masque or Muslim Temple. 

On the same day they planned to leave me, my biological mother’s mother-in-law came to visit. She was surprised and shocked to see me, but they were honest with her and told her their plans. She thought about their choice for only a few seconds before making the decision to raise me under the condition that she would receive full guardianship. On my 17th birthday, I could decide if I wanted to come back to them. She would not ask them for any money, clothes, or food; she was a kind and goodhearted person, and she loved and cared about everyone. How unfortunate for my life to begin that way, but my first blessing from God was to be taken in by my “paternal grandmother”, the woman I called mother. I had a happy childhood in a sweet home.

As a young child in Afghanistan, we got to watch American movies on Thursday nights. This was our favorite night of the week and many of the stories spoke about Jesus Christ. As soon as I saw those movies, I felt in my heart that Jesus Christ would be my future. I could not mention this to anyone else in my family, which was strict Muslim. These American movies were my first experience with God, and they filled my heart with hope and wonder, but I did not know where to find my Savior. Growing up I knew something was missing.

One cold, snowy, winter night on December 25, 1979, the whole country was awoken by jets, missiles, and tanks; the dark sky was lit like it was Christmas in the North Pole. By 4am we heard on the radio and television that Russia had invaded Afghanistan. The Russians had secretly purchased the country of Afghanistan from the king, who took the money and left the country. The citizens did not know why the Russians showed up with tanks. I was frightened to the core not knowing what was going to happen to us. Our freedom had been taken away like we had done something really bad. As a little girl, I witnessed dead bodies laying on every street corner and sidewalks stained with blood. 

As time passed, we became used to having Russian soldiers on our streets. My mother often made her special Afghani food and asked my father to take it over to the soldiers as she believed they should have homemade food; she said they, too, were someone’s child. I can still to this day smell and taste the sour hard bread that my mother would prepare for them once a week, and I would volunteer to carry the tray of food to them across the street. 

As the nightly fights got worse, our house was hit by a bomb in the front yard. Luckily we were not there for it, but we were forced to move on to other parts of the city for safety. You could not trust anyone for fear that people would turn you in to the Russian soldiers for any little thing. In exchange for someone’s safety and security; we could be punished or killed. The rich fled to other countries near and far, but the poor suffered. 

I was nine years old when we had to flee Afghanistan. We could finally afford the journey across the country to Pakistan, which was an absolute horror in itself. Arrangements were made to leave my sweet home that I loved so much; it will be a dream in a memory for me to cherish until the end. I was not told why we were packing up for fear of me saying something. We had to pay coyotes, people who smuggle individuals across a border, to take us to Pakistan. We took the belongings that we could carry on our backs and left everything else. 

Dressed in old, shabby clothes, we snuck out in the middle of the night to begin to our long journey into the unknown. I remember vividly one hot and sticky day when more than twenty-five adults and children were piled into a bus with no seats, squeezed together for our freedom and safety. The coyotes took us away from Kabul and then left us. We walked for six more days and rode camels and donkeys or whatever was available until we finally reached our destination in Pakistan. 

Once we arrived, my mother and father were able to immigrate to the United States before me, so during that time I lived with my biological mother and her husband in Pakistan. They always treated me so differently and never called me one of their kids. They had two children after me. My biological mother was always cruel and physically, mentally, and emotionally abusive towards me. She would call me the most awful names and tell me that I was my father’s and every other man in the family’s whore, that I was a bastard child. At the age of nine, she tried to strangle me and then told me if I told anyone the next time would be worse. Three days later she threw a knife at me that left a scar near my left eyebrow for the rest of my life. I was not allowed to play with my siblings, and as a result I was not close to any of them. As a child I was consistently told by her that I was dirty and filthy and not worthy of anything or anyone. She told me it would be better if I were dead. I believed a lot of what she said, but not once did I feel dirty or filthy. I knew I was not a whore. 

After two years in Pakistan, we were finally able to immigrate to the United States, and I was able to go back to living with my adopted mother and father, my “grandparents”. 

At 16 I took my adopted mother to a doctor’s appointment. As we were sitting and waiting to be called back I saw in the corner of the room a children’s book with an amazing blue cover that read “The Bible” in beautiful black letters. I picked up the book and read it. In that short time we had, something deep in my heart felt warm and my heart leapt in joy, but I did not understand why I felt so genuinely happy and complete. 

Growing up Muslim and as a woman in a Muslim home, I was never allowed to speak my mind or express my opinions. I attended several churches, but never felt that same feeling in my heart about my Savior that I had back at home. It wasn’t until much later in my life that I was able to find God. Now I finally feel like I am home.

At 18​​ I went to visit my biological mother and her husband. While I was there, they were all peaches and cream and my biological mother was the one that asked me if I wanted to stay and get to know my siblings. She said it would be wonderful and a blessing for us to all be a family again. I fell for her evil words. They only needed another income because she had refused to work. She continued to be just as awful as she was to me when I was a child. 

A year later at 19 I was sent back to Pakistan by my biological parents to marry a man I did not know. He is my now ex-husband. I was later able to leave Pakistan due to being pregnant and not wanting my child to be born there. My husband at the time followed me after a year and became very abusive towards me and my daughter. I got pregnant again with a little boy. My husband’s abuse escalated to the point that he shook my son and left him with seven broken ribs and blood around his brain. 

Over a matter of a few days, my whole life turned upside down: I lost both my children, my son was hospitalized and eventually passed away, the state took my daughter, my husband was in jail, and I didn’t know what to do. My faith was very, very weak. At that point I didn’t believe that there was any higher being, and I felt as if I was being punished. I lost all hope, I lost myself, and I lost trust in people.

The next 12 years were very challenging. The judge had approved my divorce from my husband while he was in jail, and I eventually got my daughter back from the state. I had no relationship with any family members except my daughter. I worked and tried to put money together to pay rent to put a roof over our heads. As a single mother trying to provide, I felt stressed, overwhelmed, depressed, and would come home and drown myself in alcohol to get through the rest of the day. I worked so hard, I went to college to get a medical degree, but nothing was working. I kept saying, “I know you’re there, why are you doing this to me? I’m not getting any help or blessings.” But I knew in my heart of hearts that I was being blessed and watched over. He was always there by my side, but I never saw it that way. 

The first of the month would come around and there was no way I could pay for rent or food on the table. I would take 20 dollars and go play the slots and would come home with 1700 dollars. I would pay my rent, food in my fridge, gas in the car, with 20 dollars left until my next paycheck. This continued for so long. Looking back, I knew He was with me but didn’t connect the dots at the time. He blessed me but I didn’t know how to act on those blessings.

On March 18th, 2003 my heart stopped for nearly 10 minutes from congestive heart failure. In the moment before as I was being rushed into the hospital, all I could think of was that I needed to get home to my daughter. Once I was okay and out of the hospital I decided to change my life with my daughter for the better. I started attending churches, and I did a lot of praying asking God to help me find my way back. 

Years passed, and while working at a casino as a 21 dealer, my husband-to-be walked in. Since that day, we have never been apart for almost 12 years now. 

My husband, who has been a follower of Christ all his life and struggled with a gambling habit, invited me to church. I felt the spirit, I felt loved, and I felt like I had come home. He was the sweetest, kindest, and most gentle man. He did not judge me, he listened to me. He prayed with me, he cried with me, he held my hand and loved me unconditionally as he slowly showed me the way back to my Savior. It was not easy to change my lifestyle when I had lived a certain way for so long.

I joined his church congregation almost two years ago and my first assignment was teaching the four year olds, which terrified me. After a couple weeks, I just adopted those cute little souls.

Recently, I was able to have a special wedding ceremony with my loving husband, who cherishes me, in the temple of our God. It was the single most important event and day in my life. I have peace and joy in my life and happiness that I had never known in my previous  upbringing.

When I first met my husband I would say to him that my whole life was a punishment, but as I have grown in the gospel I would never say that. If it weren’t for my abusive mother giving me away, having to flee Afganistán, my arranged marriage, the loss of my son, the imprisonment of my ex-husband, and all that I endured since then I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t be doing what I am doing today. The Lord strengthened me through my experiences. Now I don’t see them as punishment and a curse, I see them as a blessing in my life. Sometimes the negative feelings from what my biological mother has said and done to me come back, but with my Savior’s love and the love I feel from my church family, I am able to let that go. I am healed. 

My favorite activities are raising my nine year old granddaughter, visiting my temple and serving others. I never could have imagined how loving and warm my life could be before I invited the Savior into my heart full time.