I was born far from here, in North Africa. My family is from Libya, which is just west of Egypt. My parents were followers of Jesus in a place where that wasn’t always safe. They went to a private Bible study in someone’s home—something that’s actually illegal in Libya. Someone told the authorities, and the police came. They didn’t just warn us; they evicted us.
It felt like everything was being taken away, but God had another plan. My mom was pregnant with me at the time. My dad went ahead to America, and my mom stayed in Egypt until I was born. When I was about nine months old and strong enough to travel, we came to the United States to start a new life.
When I was four, my parents began to realize something was wrong. I wasn’t responding like other kids. I couldn’t speak, and I struggled to communicate. Doctors eventually discovered I had nerve damage from being born premature. Back then, they called it “hard of hearing,” but really, I was deaf.
My parents were going to an Arabic-speaking church at the time. That was their language, their culture, their comfort. But once they realized I was deaf and didn’t have access to Arabic, they made a huge decision: they stopped going to the Arabic church and started attending an English-speaking church so that I could have better access to God’s Word and community.
At the age of nine, I accepted Jesus into my heart. Three weeks later, my parents and I were all baptized together as a family. It was a beautiful moment—a picture of how God had been guiding us all along.
Before I had sign language in my life, I was very lonely. Imagine being surrounded by people but unable to truly connect with anyone. It was frustrating and isolating. I didn’t want to live that way. When I finally learned sign language, everything changed. I found friends. I found a community. I discovered my deaf identity—and, even more importantly, my identity in God. I can honestly say now: I thank God for being deaf. It has shaped who I am and how I see Him.
But the journey wasn’t easy. There was a season when I was deeply depressed because I couldn’t find a church in Monterey County that provided interpreters. I called everywhere. My parents called too. The answer was always the same: “No, we don’t provide that here.” Every “no” felt heavier than the last.
Then a friend told me about Compass Church.
As soon as I heard, I drove here right away. I walked into the office at the Padre campus, not knowing what to expect. That moment was the beginning of something beautiful—open doors and a warm welcome for deaf people at Compass. We’ve been coming every Sunday ever since. It has been wonderful.
I can’t imagine my life without God. He truly is the center of my life—my compass.
If you know someone who is deaf, hard of hearing, or deaf-blind, please tell them about this place. I would love to meet them. Deep down, I want them to know what I’ve come to know so clearly: God loves all of us so much. He sent His only Son, Jesus, to die for us. There is something incredibly special about that kind of love.
Let your story become part of God’s story. There’s a place for you—and for the deaf community—here at Compass Church.
