From Arranged Marriage to Divine Encounter

As the eldest daughter in an Eastern and Islamic culture that prioritized obedience, Kingsley was raised to become a good wife and mother, with marriage as the ultimate goal.

Nikki Kingsley, born in Pakistan and raised in a liberal Shia Muslim household, grew up in a loving family that emphasized kindness and devotion to God, though not in the strict practices often depicted in media. "We didn't pray five times a day... It was more liberal, dressed in Western clothes, didn't have to wear the hijab," she recalls.

Her family moved to Africa when she was four, where she attended an American school and enjoyed a simple, happy childhood surrounded by her parents, sisters, and grandmother Fatima, whom they called Maji. "My parents had a beautiful marriage. My dad adored my mom. They were like best of friends," Kingsley shares, noting how her parents instilled a sense of loving Allah through good deeds and neighborly love, planting a "seed" of God as a figure of compassion rather than rigid doctrine.

As the eldest daughter in an Eastern and Islamic culture that prioritized obedience, Kingsley was raised to become a good wife and mother, with marriage as the ultimate goal. At 16, her parents arranged her marriage to a friend's son who was 10 years older, believing it a suitable match since both had grown up in Africa. Obedient by upbringing, she accepted it, influenced by romance novels that painted it as a fairy-tale union. "I thought I was going to marry my knight in shining armor," she admits.

However, when she expressed a desire to attend college like her friends, her fiancé—studying in America—denied permission, as she now "belonged" to him. "I felt like property. I felt I had no rights," Kingsley says, describing the moment as a door slamming shut on her dreams.

At 18, after high school graduation, she married in Pakistan, feeling like "cattle just being led" through a week-long celebration where decisions were made for her. Life after marriage shattered her illusions. Moving in with her Sunni in-laws in Pakistan, she faced a starkly traditional Islamic home where prayer was constant, and she had no autonomy. "I couldn't drive, couldn't go anywhere," she explains.

Her husband showed no respect or emotional connection, laughing at her pain and homesickness. "The thing that crushed me the most was the lack of respect of me as a person," Kingsley reflects, feeling isolated in a foreign culture despite being born there. Standing at a barred window, she wept, sensing she was in a "prison."

Divorce was unthinkable in her faith and family, equating to shame and a "life sentence." Depressed, she adapted by adopting traditional dress, learning prayers (namaz), and reading the Quran to gain respect and seek divine escape. Discovering the chapter on Mary (Miriam), mother of the prophet Issa (Jesus), captivated her: "I fell in love with her... her beauty, her holiness." She prayed fervently, begging Allah for salvation.

After three years, her husband secured a job in the United Arab Emirates (UAE), allowing them to live independently, though the marriage remained loveless. There, she bore a daughter and later a son, but emotional rejection persisted amid his travels. "He didn't care to even look at me or spend time... If he saw me crying, he would actually laugh at me," she says.

Suicidal thoughts plagued her on their 17th-floor balcony, held back only by her children. Friends, all Muslim, seemed to have better marriages, intensifying her isolation. In Muslim culture, airing marital issues was taboo, so she confided only in her parents, who urged endurance. Her sisters, studying in Canada, had escaped arranged marriages, possibly a lesson from her plight.

At 30, on the verge of a nervous breakdown, she told her father, "I don't want to live anymore," and insisted on going to America, not Canada, feeling it would "save" her. With his financial help, she escaped with her children in 1999, clutching them on the flight in fear her husband might intervene.

Landing in New York, she kissed the ground: "For the first time as a woman, I felt free."In America, Kingsley rebuilt: learning to drive at 30 ("I felt like a queen"), securing a job with sponsorship, and enrolling her kids in school. Her husband followed, pressuring reconciliation, but after six months of worsened abuse, she filed for divorce amid threats to kidnap the children.

Freed by American laws that protected women equally, she continued practicing Islam devoutly, now more than her parents, as God had been her sole hope. "I was praying, fasting, reading the Quran... begging God now to reveal himself," she says. Her prayer shifted from mere salvation to knowing God's identity: "Allah, who are you?" Yet, a mental "wall" blocked access during prayers, yielding only silence.

A pivotal moment came during a New York vacation when TripAdvisor led her to St. Patrick's Cathedral as a tourist. Gazing at a stained-glass Jesus, she felt his eyes "alive" and piercing, uncomfortable as a Muslim viewing it as idolatry. Seeking forgiveness from Allah, she heard a woman's whisper: "Come back. Come back." Recognizing Mary's voice, she returned to Mary's chapel, experiencing profound peace amid kneeling worshippers. "This is so beautiful... the reverence, the silence," she thought, though conflicted.

Back home, the experience lingered. In early December, asleep, she felt a gentle touch: Jesus and Mary at her bedside. "The joy I experienced, I don't have words for... like I met my long-lost friends," Kingsley describes. Her spirit embraced them, reviewing her life, infused with light.

Waking transformed, a "bubble of energy" enveloped her, drawing her eyes to churches, Bibles, and crosses everywhere. "I was blind, but now I could see," she marvels, terrified yet compelled, as Islam forbade exploring other faiths.

More dreams and callings followed. At an outdoor shrine, angry, she demanded of Mary's statue, "What do you want from me?" Hands turned her to a Sacred Heart Jesus statue, mesmerizing her with "rays of love." Reconciling this with Islam's view of Jesus as a mere prophet proved impossible: "This Jesus was alive... with power and authority." Arguing with God, she pleaded, "I have prayed for so long asking you who you are. Why are you sending me Jesus?"

Desperate, she attended a Protestant Christmas Eve midnight service, participating fully per a "deal" with Jesus, but felt his absence: "He wasn't there." A work friend urged her to her Catholic church; entering empty, she sensed him immediately: "He's here. I found his home."

Daily, she argued with the crucifix—"You're not the son of God"—then shared her day, leaving peaceful, unaware Jesus had become her "best friend."Months later, God's audible voice echoed: "Who are you to tell me who I can be and cannot be? If you really want to know the truth, come back like a child and I will tell you the truth." Returning with an emptied mind, a "bolt of light" from the crucifix hit her heart: "I believe. I believe you are the son of God."

Infused with knowledge, she accepted his sacrifice: "He came to save me from my sins... I accepted his death on the cross for my sake." The prayer wall crumbled, revealing God the Father: "I have waited so long for you," with waves of love. "Truth is a person and his name is Jesus Christ," she realized. "I went from being an orphan to a daughter." Colors brightened; she felt "born again," like Sleeping Beauty's kiss awakening her.

Becoming Catholic involved Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA), but telling her devastated parents was wrenching: "You'll go to hell for that." They invoked honoring parents, but she prioritized the first commandment. Muslim friends abandoned her as "demon-possessed," leaving isolation, yet Jesus' love sufficed: "I was just in love." Baptized and receiving first Communion, joy overflowed: "Who am I to say that God cannot be fully present in that piece of bread?"

Her son joined RCIA at 16, zealous; her daughter entered Catholicism later. A sister and niece followed. Her mother, initially opposed, conceded, "It has to be God," after observing changes. Before passing, her father saw Jesus on his prayer mat, experienced confession with Jesus forgiving sins, and requested a Jesus image for his bedside—evidencing baptism of desire.

Healing extended deeper. At a generational healing Mass, God surfaced buried memories of two abortions during reconciliation with her husband, decisions born of desperation to avoid re-enslavement. "I felt like I had no choice," she says, having suppressed emotions mechanically. Sobbing for a week, a Mass for the children—with names God revealed (a boy and girl)—brought acknowledgment and peace. In vision, Jesus carried her son and held her daughter's hand, the girl waving lovingly: "I have acknowledged that I had four kids and the two are in heaven."

This unblocked healing, though life became a "construction zone," per C.S. Lewis: God demolished bad foundations, exposing betrayals, unlike the "cottage" she expected. Suffering as a Christian differed: "When you suffer as a Muslim, you're alone... He suffered with me."

Kingsley highlights stark differences between faiths.

In Islam, women are objectified—Quran permitting gentle beatings for disobedience, valuing one man's testimony over two women's, and enforcing segregation that masks lust, not respect. "The respect for women is just not there," she asserts. God is a distant master and judge, believers slaves in a communal "ummah" without personal identity or relationship—seeking one is sin.

Christianity elevates all as God's children: "In Christ there is no man or woman, slave or free." God is Father, personal, relational. To Muslims, she urges: "There is more for you... Seek truth, the divine truth... Ask Mariam, who is your son?" Commending their zeal, she adds, "Take that discipline... You will find [love] that will transform your life. When you look at the cross... see the place where love died for you."

Addressing Protestant concerns about Mary as distraction, Kingsley counters: "Mary led me to Jesus... We're not worshiping her. We're asking for her help," like enlisting a mother for her son's ear.

Security fears linger from radical Islam's apostasy penalties, but "love has the power to transform hate." Her ministry focuses on Christ's goodness, inviting Muslims: "If Muslims embrace Christ, the world will be transformed." Through her book Thirst for Truth: From Muhammad to Jesus and speaking, she spreads that Jesus is alive, calling all—regardless of past—to his mercy: "It's never too late... That's our God of love."