President’s Corner April 2025

Grace at Sunset: My Unexpected Ramadan Experience

This year, I did something unexpected. As a believer in Jesus Christ, I chose to observe the full month of Ramadan—not out of conversion, but out of curiosity, community, solidarity, and care. I wanted to support my Muslim friends, some of whom are alumni of the Urban Leadership Foundation of Colorado (ULFC), and honor the Pillars that means so much to them.

Naturally, the internet had questions. My social media posts during Ramadan sparked messages asking if I had converted or was now Muslim. My response was simple: I’m exploring, supporting, learning, and I hope—growing.

And what a journey it was.

For 30 days, I committed to fasting from sunrise to sunset, just as Muslims do. That meant no food, no water, and no indulgences during daylight hours. But Ramadan isn’t just about what you consume—it’s about what you cultivate. It’s about spiritual refinement, and I felt it deeply.

I gave up things considered haram—a term in Islam that means forbidden or sinful. These include not just certain foods like pork and alcohol, but also behaviors such as gossiping, arguing, cursing, and backbiting. In other words, “ No Crashing Out” my friends…lol. These acts aren’t just frowned upon—they’re believed to diminish the spiritual value of the fast. So I took a breath before I responded. I paused before I acted. I put myself in others shoes.  I slowed down—and in doing so, I found clarity, peace, and better decisions.

There’s a stillness in discipline that draws you closer to God. You begin to move more intentionally, speak more gently, and think more clearly. I wasn’t just avoiding certain things—I was building something: a stronger connection with the divine, a calmer relationship with myself, and a deeper compassion for others.

I also made serious changes to my diet. Ramadan encourages moderation, so I reduced fried foods, sugary snacks, and caffeine. Let me tell you—it was a challenge! I even slipped up on two days. But the beauty of this experience is that perfection isn’t the goal—grace is. And when I stumbled, I thought of the word again.

There is such beauty in trying again. The next move, the next moment, the next prayer could be the one that changes everything. So I did it again. And again. Because trying again isn’t failure—it’s faith.

The Growth

By the end of the second week, something shifted. The physical discomfort gave way to a spiritual calm. I stopped resisting the process and started embracing it.

One of the most surprising benefits was hydration. Drinking more water during non-fasting hours—especially when cutting out sugar and alcohol—transformed the way I felt. My skin looked healthier, my energy levels rose, my mental clarity improved, and I felt more emotionally balanced. We all know water is good for us, but when you remove the junk and pair hydration with intention, the benefits are amplified.

Another unexpected gift? I think I quit drinking—or at least, I’ve completely lost the taste or desire for my occasional evening whiskey on the rocks. Ramadan offered a reset I didn’t even know I needed. And now that I have it, I don’t want to go back.

The Spiritual Impact

I’ve always believed in the power of prayer and meditation, but during Ramadan, I took it to another level. I prayed close to seven times a day—morning, midday, afternoon, evening, night—and every time I bowed my head, I became more intentional.

This wasn’t routine—it was relationship. My meditations became longer, quieter, and more revealing. My prayers became more precise, more grateful, more hopeful.

And something changed.

My creativity flourished. My empathy deepened. My focus sharpened. Personally and professionally, I started moving with greater clarity and alignment. I felt more in tune with my purpose, and more committed to it than ever before.

Time with God.
Time with self.
Time with purpose.
There is unmatched power in that.

One of the most powerful parts of this journey was sharing Iftar—the evening meal that breaks the fast at sunset. I was invited into homes, into sacred spaces, and into moments of profound connection.

Iftar is more than a meal—it’s a spiritual and cultural celebration of gratitude, unity, and reflection. I watched families pray together, pass plates, and share stories. I saw elders serve youth and youth serve elders. I saw dates passed around as tradition dictates, followed by lentil soup, samosas, stewed meats, rice, and delicious traditional desserts like qatayef, kunafa, and basbousa.

It wasn’t just food—it was love.
It wasn’t just dinner—it was divine.

Whether I was in a family home or seated with friends in the broader community, the feeling was the same: welcome. The spirit of generosity, faith, and cultural richness filled the room. And as someone simply there to learn and love—it filled me, too.

At ULFC, we teach our fellows: Get comfortable being uncomfortable. That’s where the growth is. And let me tell you—Ramadan stretched me. It challenged my routines, invited new perspectives, and reminded me of the quiet strength in spiritual discipline.

This journey reminded me that support doesn’t require sameness. You don’t have to convert to care. You don’t have to agree to honor. You just have to show up—with humility, with love, and with open hands.

As a Christian, I found deep value in walking alongside my Muslim brothers and sisters—not to become one of them, but to stand with them. To listen. To learn. To support.

Because this wasn’t just about religion.
It was about humanity.
It was about grace.
It was about trying again.

And it was an awarding experience and something I will be doing again.