The Story of Zahraa

Zahraa was a sweet 5 year-old girl. One day she saw a plastic pearl necklace. She asked her mum to buy it, but mum said, "It's a pretty necklace, but costs a lot of money. You will have to do a week of extra chores to pay 4 it. Zahraa agreed, and mum bought the neck-lace.

Zahraa worked on her chores very hard. Soon she had paid off the pearls. How she loved those pearls. She wore them everywhere - to pre-school, bed, even when she went out.

Zahraa had a very loving dad who used to read to her before she went to bed. One night, dad said, "Zahraa, do you love me?"
"Oh yes, Dad, you know I love you."
"Well, then, give me your pearls," Dad said.

"Not my pearls, Dad!" Zahraa said. "But you can have my favourite doll, You gave me last year for Eid."
"Oh no, darling, that's ok." Her father lovingly kissed her.

A week later, her father once again asked Zahraa, "Do you love me?"
"Oh yes Dad, you know I love you."
"Then, give me your pearls."
"Oh, Dad, not my pearls! But you can have my favourite toy horse." Zahraa said.
"That's ok," Dad said kissing her. "Bless you, little one. Sweet dreams."

A few days later, when Zahraa's father came to read her a story, she was sitting on her bed-her lip trembling. "Here, Dad," she said holding out her hand. Inside was her beloved pearl necklace. She let it slip into her father's hand.

He then pulled out a blue velvet box. Inside were genuine, beautiful pearls. He had them all along. He was waiting for Zahraa to give up the cheap stuff so he could give her the real thing.

So it is with Almighty Allah. He is waiting for us to give up the useless things in our lives so that he can give us a beautiful treasure. Are you holding onto things which Allah wants you to let go of like harmful partners, relationships, habits & activities you have become so attached to that it seems impossible to let go? Sometimes it's hard to see what's in the other hand but do believe this one thing... Allah Ta'ala will never take away something without giving you something beta in its place.

Remember that the greatest gifts happen when you share love & touch other's hearts.

Long story.. but worth the read

This is a story about a man named Rashed. He tells his story as follows...

I was not more than thirty years old when my wife gave birth to my first child. I still remember that night.

I had stayed out all night long with my friends, as was my habit. It was a night filled with useless talk, and worse, with backbiting, gossiping, and making fun of people. I was mostly the one who made people laugh; I would mock others and my friends would laugh and laugh. I remember on that night that I'd made them laugh a lot. I had an amazing ability to imitate others – I could change the sound of my voice until I sounded exactly like the person I was mocking. No one was safe from my biting mockery, even my friends; some people started avoiding me just to be safe from my tongue. I remember on that night, I had made fun of a blind man who I'd seen begging in the market. What was worse, I had put my foot out in front him – he tripped and fell, and started turning his head around, not knowing what to say.

I went back to my house, late as usual, and I found my wife waiting for me. She was in a terrible state, and said in a quivering voice, "Rashed... where were you?"

"Where would I be, on Mars?" I said sarcastically, "With my friends of course."

She was visibly exhausted, and holding back tears, she said, "Rashed, I'm so tired. It seems the baby is going to come soon." A silent tear fell on her cheek.

I felt that I had neglected my wife. I should have taken care of her and not stayed out so much all those nights... especially since she was in her ninth month. I quickly took her to the hospital; she went into the delivery room, and suffered through long hours of pain.

I waited patiently for her to give birth… but her delivery was difficult, and I waited a long time until I got tired. So I went home and left my phone number with the hospital so they could call with the good news. An hour later, they called me to congratulate me on the birth of Salem. I went to the hospital immediately. As soon as they saw me, they asked me to go see the doctor who had overlooked my wife's delivery.
"What doctor?" I cried out, "I just want to see my son Salem!"

"First go see the doctor," they said.

I went to the doctor, and she started talking to me about trials, and about being satisfied with Allah's decree. Then she said, "Your son has a serious deformity in his eyes, and it seems that he has no vision." I lowered my head while I fought back tears... I remembered that blind man begging in the market who I'd tripped and made others laugh at.

Subhan Allah, you get what you give! I stayed brooding quietly for a while... I didn't know what to say. Then I remembered by wife and son. I thanked the doctor for her kindness, and went to go see my wife. My wife wasn't sad. She believed in the decree of Allah... she was content... How often had she advised me to stop mocking people! "Don't backbite people," she always used to repeat... We left the hospital, and Salem came with us.

In reality, I didn't pay much attention to him. I pretended that he wasn't in the house with us. When he started crying loudly, I'd escape to the living room to sleep there. My wife took good care of him, and loved him a lot. As for myself, I didn't hate him, but I couldn't love him either.

Salem grew. He started to crawl, and had a strange way of crawling. When he was almost one year old, he started trying to walk, and we discovered that he was crippled. I felt like he was an even greater burden on me. After him, my wife gave birth to Umar and Khaled. The years passed, and Salem grew, and his brothers grew. I never liked to sit at home, I was always out with my friends... in reality, I was like a plaything at their disposal [entertaining them whenever they wanted].

My wife never gave up on my reform. She always made Du'aa for my guidance. She never got angry with my reckless behavior, but she would get really sad if she saw me neglecting Salem and paying attention to the rest of his brothers. Salem grew, and my worries grew with him. I didn't mind when my wife asked to enroll him in a special school for the handicapped.

I didn't really feel the passing of the years. My days were all the same. Work and sleep and food and staying out with friends. One Friday, I woke up at 11 am. This was early for me. I was invited to a gathering, so I got dressed and perfumed, and was about to go out. I passed by our living room, and was startled by the sight of Salem – he was sobbing! This was the first time I had noticed Salem crying since he was a baby. Ten years had passed, and I hadn't paid attention to him. I tried to ignore him now, but I couldn't take it... I heard him calling out to his mother while I was in the room. I turned towards him, and went closer. "Salem! Why are you crying?" I asked.

When he heard my voice, he stopped crying. Then when he realized how close I was, he started feeling around him with his small hands. What was wrong with him? I discovered that he was trying to move away from me! It was as if he was saying, "Now, you've decided to notice me? Where have you been for the last ten years?" I followed him... he had gone into his room. At first, he refused to tell me why he'd been crying. I tried to be gentle with him... Salem started to tell me why he'd been crying, while I listened and trembled.

Do you know what the reason was?! His brother Umar, the one who used to take him to the masjid, was late. And because it was Jumu'ah prayer, Salem was afraid he wouldn't find a place in the first row. He called out to Umar... and he called out to his mother... but nobody answered, so he cried. I sat there looking at the tears flowing from his blind eyes. I couldn't bear the rest of his words. I put my hand over his mouth and said, "Is this why you were crying, Salem!"

"Yes," he said.

I forgot about my friends, I forgot about the gathering, and I said, "Don't be sad, Salem. Do you know who's going to take you to the masjid today?"

"Umar, of course," he said, "... but he's always late."

"No," I said, "I'm going to take you."

Salem was shocked... he couldn't believe it. He thought I was mocking him. His tears came and he started crying. I wiped his tears with my hand and then took hold of his hand. I wanted to take him to the masjid by car. He refused and said, "The masjid is near... I want to walk there." Yes, by Allah, he said this to me.

I couldn't remember when was the last time I had entered the masjid , but it was the first time I felt fear and regret for what I'd neglected in the long years that had passed. The masjid was filled with worshippers, but I still found a place for Salem in the first row. We listened to the Jumu'ah khutbah together, and he prayed next to me. But really, I was the one praying next to him.

After the prayer, Salem asked me for a Qura'an. I was surprised! How was he going to read when he was blind? I almost ignored his request, but I decided to humor him out of fear of hurting his feelings. I passed him a Qura'an. He asked me to open the Qura'an to Surat al-Kahf. I started flipping through the pages and looking through the index until I found it. He took the Qura'an from me, put it in front of him, and started reading the Surah... with his eyes closed... Ya Allah! He had the whole Surah memorized.

I was ashamed of myself. I picked up a Qura'an... I felt my limbs tremble... I read and I read. I asked Allah to forgive me and to guide me. I couldn't take it... I started crying like a child. There were still some people in the masjid praying sunnah... I was embarrassed by their presence, so I tried to hold my tears. My crying turned into whimpering and long, sobbing breaths. The only thing I felt was a small hand reaching out to my face, and then wiping the tears away. It was Salem! I pulled him to my chest... I looked at him. I said to myself... you're not the blind one, but I am, for having drifted after immoral people who were pulling me to hellfire. We went back home. My wife was extremely worried about Salem, but her worry turned into tears [of joy] when she found out I had prayed Jumu'ah with Salem.

From that day on, I never missed the congregational prayer in the masjid. I left my bad friends... and I made righteous friends among people I met at the masjid. I tasted the sweetness of Iman with them. I learned things from them that distracted me from this world. I never missed out on gatherings of remembrance [halaqas], or on the witr prayer. I recited the entire Qura'an, several times, in one month. I moistened my tongue with the remembrance of Allah, that He might forgive my backbiting and mocking of the people. I felt closer to my family. The looks of fear and pity that had occupied my wife's eyes disappeared. A smile now never parted from the face of my son Salem. Anyone who saw him would have felt that he owned the world and everything in it. I praised and thanked Allah a lot for His blessings.

One day, my righteous friends decided to go to a far away location for da'wah. I hesitated about going. I prayed istikharah, and consulted with my wife. I thought she would refuse... but the opposite happened! She was extremely happy, and even encouraged me... because in the past, she had seen me traveling without consulting her, for the purpose of sin and evil. I went to Salem, and told him I would be traveling. With tears, he wrapped me up in his small arms...

I was away from home for three and a half months. In that period, whenever I got a chance, I called my wife and talked to my children. I missed them so much... and oh, how I missed Salem! I wanted to hear his voice... he was the only one who hadn't talked to me since I'd traveled. He was either at school or at the masjid whenever I called them.Whenever I would tell my wife how much I missed him, she would laugh happily, joyfully, except for the last time I called her. I didn't hear her expected laugh. Her voice changed. I said to her, "Give my Salaam to Salem," and she said, "Insha'Allah," and was quiet.

At last, I went back home. I knocked on the door. I hoped that it was Salem who would open up for me, but was surprised to find my son Khaled, who was not more than four years old. I picked him up in my arms while he squealed, "Baba! Baba!" I don't know why my heart tensed when I entered the house.

I sought refuge in Allah from the accursed Shaytaan... I approached my wife... her face was different. As if she was pretending to be happy. I inspected her closely then said, "What's wrong with you?" "Nothing," she said. Suddenly, I remembered Salem. "Where's Salem?" I asked. She lowered her head. She didn't answer. Hot tears fell on her cheeks.

"Salem! Where's Salem?" I cried out.

At that moment, I only heard the sound of my son Khaled talking in his own way, saying, "Baba... Thalem went to pawadise... with Allah..."

My wife couldn't take it. She broke down crying. She almost fell to the floor, and left the room. Later, I found out that Salem had contracted a fever two weeks before I'd returned, so my wife took him to the hospital... the fever got more and more severe, and didn't leave him... until his soul left his body...

And if this earth closes in on you in spite of its vastness, and your soul closes is on you because of what it's carrying… call out, "Oh Allah!" If solutions run out, and paths are constricted, and ropes are cut off, and your hopes are no more… call out, "Oh Allah." Allah wished to guide Salem's father on the hands of Salem, before Salem's death.

How merciful is Allah! Indeed

Makes Sense??!

..something to think about...

Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approx. 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.

4 minutes later:

the violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

6 minutes:

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly.

The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time.

This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.

45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people's priorities. The questions raised: in a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One conclusion reached from this experiment might be this: If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.... How many other things are we missing?

Repentance Draws Allah's Mercy

During the time of Musa Alaihis Salaam, the Bani Isra'il were afflicted with a severe drought. Together, they begged Allah for rain but it was of no avail. The heat became more intense and the skies remained cloudless.

Musa Alaihis Salaam then cried out to Allah, "O Allah, if my status is nothing to you then I beseech you by the grace of Muhammad Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam to please grant us rain."

Allah sent a revelation down to him: "Your status is noble in My sight, however, there is person amongst you who has disobeyed Me for forty years. It is because of him that I am holding back the rains from you."

Musa Alaihis Salaam stood up and addressed the congregation, "O sinner who has disobeyed Allah for forty years, please leave this gathering."

The sinner said to himself, "If I stand up in this gathering to leave, the entire Bani Isra'il will realise that I am the guilty one." He lowered his head in shame and said, "O my Allah, I beg Your forgiveness."

Immediately the rain came down in torrents.

Musa Alahis Salaam asked, " O Allah, why did You send us rain?"

Allah replied, "Due to the sinner who repented."

Musa Alaihis Salaam asked, "O Allah, reveal his identity to me."

Allah answered, "When I did not reveal his condition as a sinner, how can I now expose him when he has sincerely repented?" (Nuzhatul Majalis)

Lesson

1. Sins are an obstacle to the acceptance of dua.
2. Allah is Sattaar. He conceals the sins of man out of His kindness.
3. Allah is Ghafoor. He forgives the sins of man when man turns in repentence. When man repents sincerely Allah grants numerous bounties. The Quran says, "Ask forgiveness of your Lord. Verily He is Most Forgiving. He will send rain to you in abundance. And He will increase you in wealth and children and bestow on you gardens and rivers." (Surah Nooh, verse 10 - 12)

courtesy: Muslims@work

A Touching Story...received from my Dad

ﺒﺴمﺍﷲﺍﻠﺭﺤﻤﻥﺍﻠﺭﺤﻴم

ﺍﻠﺴﻼمﻋﻠﻴﻜمﻭﺭﺤﻤﺔﺍﷲﻭﺒﺭﻜﺎﺘﻪ

Dearest Daughter

The following story was sent to me by my dad…it is a tad bit long, but the lesson learnt makes it worth the read. . .

The Daffodil Principle

Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, "Ummi, you must come and see the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from Boston. Going and coming took most of a day - and I honestly did not have a free day until the following week.

"I will come next Tuesday," I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call. Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I drove the length of Route 91, continued on I-215, and finally turned onto Route 18 and began to drive up the mountain highway. The tops of the mountains were sheathed in clouds, and I had gone only a few miles when the road was completely covered with a wet, gray blanket of fog. I slowed to a crawl, my heart pounding. The road becomes narrow and winding toward the top of the mountain.

As I executed the hazardous turns at a snail's pace, I was praying to reach the turnoff at Blue Jay that would signify I had arrived. When I finally walked into Romaana’h’s house, I hugged and greeted my grandchildren I said, "Forget the daffodils, Romaana’h! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these darling children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!"

My daughter smiled calmly, "We drive in this all the time, Ummi."

"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears - and then I'm heading for home!" I assured her.

"I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car. The mechanic just called, and they've finished repairing the engine," she answered.

"How far will we have to drive?" I asked cautiously.

"Just a few blocks," Romaana’h said cheerfully.

So we buckled up the children and went out to my car. "I'll drive," Romaana’h offered. "I'm used to this." We got into the car, and she began driving.

In a few minutes I was aware that we were back on the Rim-of-the-World Road heading over the top of the mountain. "Where are we going?" I exclaimed, distressed to be back on the mountain road in the fog. "This isn't the way to the garage!"

"We're going to my garage the long way," Romaana’h smiled, "by way of the daffodils."

" Romaana’h, I said sternly, trying to sound as if I was still the mother and in charge of the situation, "please turn around. There is nothing in the world that I want to see enough to drive on this road in this weather."

"It's all right, Ummi," She replied with a knowing grin. "I know what I'm doing. I promise, you will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."

And so my sweet, darling daughter who had never given me a minute of difficulty in her whole life was suddenly in charge - and she was kidnapping me! I couldn't believe it. Like it or not, I was on the way to see some ridiculous daffodils - driving through the thick, gray silence of the mist-wrapped mountaintop at what I thought was risk to life and limb. I muttered all the way. After about twenty minutes we turned onto a small gravel road that branched down into an oak-filled hollow on the side of the mountain. The fog had lifted a little, but the sky was lowering, gray and heavy with clouds. We parked in a small parking lot adjoining a little stone church. From our vantage point at the top of the mountain we could see beyond us, in the mist, the crests of the San Bernardino range like the dark, humped backs of a herd of elephants. Far below us the fog-shrouded valleys, hills, and flatlands stretched away to the desert.

On the far side of the Maasjid I saw a pine-needle-covered path, with towering evergreens and manzanita bushes and an inconspicuous, lettered sign "Daffodil Garden."

We each took a child's hand, and I followed Romaana’h down the path as it wound through the trees. The mountain sloped away from the side of the path in irregular dips, folds, and valleys, like a deeply creased skirt. Live oaks, mountain laurel, shrubs, and bushes clustered in the folds, and in the gray, drizzling air, the green foliage looked dark and monochromatic. I shivered. Then we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight, unexpectedly and completely splendid. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes where it had run into every crevice and over every rise. Even in the mist-filled air, the mountainside was radiant, clothed in massive drifts and waterfalls of daffodils. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow.

Each different-colored variety (I learned later that there were more than thirty-five varieties of daffodils in the vast display) was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue.

In the center of this incredible and dazzling display of gold, a great cascade of purple grape hyacinth flowed down like a waterfall of blossoms framed in its own rock-lined basin, weaving through the brilliant daffodils. A charming path wound throughout the garden. There were several resting stations, paved with stone and furnished with wooden benches and great tubs of coral and carmine tulips. As though this were not magnificent enough, Mother Nature had to add her own grace note - above the daffodils, a bevy of western bluebirds flitted and darted, flashing their brilliance. These charming little birds are the color of sapphires with breasts of magenta red. As they dance in the air, their colors are truly like jewels above the blowing, glowing daffodils. The effect was spectacular.

It did not matter that the sun was not shining. The brilliance of the daffodils was like the glow of the brightest sunlit day. Words, wonderful as they are, simply cannot describe the incredible beauty of that flower-bedecked mountain top. Five acres of flowers! (This too I discovered later when some of my questions were answered.) "But who has done this?" I asked Romaana’h. I was overflowing with gratitude that she brought me - even against my will. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

"Who?" I asked again, almost speechless with wonder, "And how, and why, and when?"

"It's just one woman," Romaana’h answered. "She lives on the property. That's her home." Romaana’h n pointed to a well-kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory.

We walked up to the house, my mind buzzing with questions. On the patio we saw a poster. "Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking" was the headline. The first answer was a simple one. "50,000 bulbs," it read. The second answer was, "One at a time, by one woman, two hands, two feet, and very little brain." The third answer was, "Began in 1998."

There it was. The Daffodil Principle. . . For me that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than thirty-five years before, had begun - one bulb at a time - to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top. One bulb at a time…There was no other way to do it. One bulb at a time. No shortcuts - simply loving the slow process of planting. Loving the work as it unfolded. Loving an achievement that grew so slowly and that bloomed for only three weeks of each year. Still, just planting one bulb at a time, year after year, had changed the world. This unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of ineffable magnificence, beauty, and inspiration.

The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principle of celebration: learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time - often just one baby-step at a time - learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time. When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.

" Romaana’h," I said that morning on the top of the mountain as we left the haven of daffodils, our minds and hearts still bathed and bemused by the splendors we had seen, "it's as though that remarkable woman has needle-pointed the earth! Decorated it. Just think of it, she planted every single bulb for more than thirty years. One bulb at a time! And that's the only way this garden could be created. Every individual bulb had to be planted. There was no way of short-circuiting that process. Five acres of blooms. That magnificent cascade of hyacinth! All, just one bulb at a time."

The thought of it filled my mind. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the implications of what I had seen. "It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Romaana’h. "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"

My wise daughter put the car into gear and summed up the message of the day in her direct way. "Start tomorrow," she said with the same knowing smile she had worn for most of the morning. Oh, such profound wisdom!

It is pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson a celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use tomorrow?"

While this may seem rather odd coming from me, with nothing at all to do with Islam, I thought it apt to remind us of a valuable life lesson: That no matter what the goal/task at hand, or how great it may be, the important thing is to: (i) decide on the best action plan then (ii) take consistent action towards it, (iii) tweaking/adapting your plan along the way and life’s path.

Your goal may be as simple as to learn to recite the Qura’an or improve your Tajweed, or it may be as lofty as to constantly strive to improve yourself and draw closer to Allah (swt). You may be aspiring to study hifs (yet not even know the Arabic alphabet!), or to do tafseer of the Glorious Qura’an, or raise your children and live your life for Allah (swt) and according to Allah (swt’s) Deen . . . No matter what you long for, the principles remain the same . . . consistent effort will bring rewards . . . No, more likely than not, your dreams will not be realized over night. . . Yes, you will encounter challenges, storms that will threaten and even kill some of your daffodils, but what is important is NOT to focus on the negatives! Be grateful for the experience and remember that even if just one of your daffodils survives, if you’ve only learnt 1 new Dua’a, 1 new Surah for the day, or recited just one page of the Glorious Qura’an for the day, you’re that much richer for it! May the Almighty reward you abundantly for it

Tomorrow is another day, rich in possibility. If you remember to rise in the morning with gratitude to Allah (swt) in your heart and a positive attitude, you’ll find the strength to plant the next daffodil by doing what needs to be done. . . At the end of each new day, you’ll yet again be that much richer! Given time, our daily efforts will become habits which we’ll follow through on without much effort . . . So don’t let the sheer size/complexity of your goals/dreams rob you of your dream or hold you back nor discourage you. No matter how daunting or even unattainable they may seem, I’m sure there’s just 1 step (even if it’s just finding more info) that you can do right now. Find that step and DO IT! Then the next, and the next, and the next. . .

I make Dua’a that Allah (swt) guides and blesses us each and every day. May we learn and remember the value of the moment, and appreciate and invest it wisely. . . May we strive for Allah (swt) pleasure and closeness, beg of Allah (swt)’s mercy and forgiveness and remember Allah (swt) always with love and gratitude. Inshallah Aameen!

Jummah Mubarak! May we strive each day to plant our own special “daffodils” for the Aakirah!

With lots of love & my very best Dua’a always

Fi amaanillah - I leave you in the protection of Allah Ta’ala

Wasalaamu Alaykum Wa Raghmatullaahi Wa Barakaatu

The window through which we look

A young couple moves into a new neighbourhood.
The next morning while they are eating breakfast, the young woman sees her neighbour hanging the wash outside.
"That laundry is not very clean", she said.
"She doesn't know how to wash correctly.
Perhaps she needs better laundry soap."

Her husband looked on, but remained silent.

Every time her neighbour would hang her wash to dry, the young woman would make the same comments.

About one month later, the woman was surprised to see a nice clean wash on the line and said to her husband: "Look, she has learned how to wash correctly. I wonder who taught her this."

The husband said, "I got up early this morning and cleaned our windows."

And so it is with life. What we see when watching others depends on the purity of the window through which we look.

My Mother's Hands

My Mother's Hands

Eid was nearing and I felt it was necessary to get my Grand Mother (nani ma) a new Abaya (Cloak) as her other Abayas were frail and worn out. I stopped by on Saturday morning and told my nani to come along as I have a surprise for her.

I don't normally like to go shopping as I'm not a patient person, but we set off for the mall together. We visited nearly every Islamic Clothing Store that carried ladies' Abayas and she tried on many. We were so undecided. Some were too huge, others too small..some were just right but the colour was not so smart etc.

As the day wore on, I grew weary. Finally, at our last stop, my nani ma tried on a lovely Brown Abaya that had lovely beige ribbon trimmings. The Abaya had some bows in front. As I stood in the dressing room with her, I watched as she tried, with much difficulty, to tie the bows. Her hands were so badly crippled from arthritis that she couldn't do it. Immediately, my impatience gave way to an overwhelming wave of compassion for her. I turned away to try and hide the tears that welled up involuntarily. Regaining my composure, I turned back to tie each of the bows for her.

Our shopping trip was over, but the event was etched indelibly in my memory. For the rest of the day, my mind kept returning to that moment in the dressing room and to the vision of my nani ma's hands trying to tie that bow. Those loving hands that had fed me, bathed me, dressed me,
caressed and comforted me and most of all prayed for me, were now touching me in the most remarkable manner.

Later in the evening, I went to her room, took her hands in mine, kissed them and much to her delight and surprise I told her that to me they were the most beautiful hands in the world. Tears started falling profusely from her aged and weak eyes as I narrated my appreciativeness for all that her beautiful hands had done for me since I could remember. I could not forget how she stood at my bed side for days and fed me with those beautiful hands while I recovered from an accident. I was 17 at that time. Today at 27 I can only pray that some day Allah (swt) will let my hands and my heart achieve such a beauty of their own.

"We have enjoined on man kindness to his parents: In pain did his mother bear him, and in pain did she give him birth." Qura'an-[Surah al-Ahqaf 46:15]

The Prophet Muhammad (Sallahu Alayhi Wassallam) is reported to have said (may Allah (swt)'s [peace and blessings be upon him): "Jannah [heaven] lies under the feet of your mother"

"Shall I not inform you of the biggest of the great sins?" We [his companions] said, "Yes, O Allah's Apostle [pbuh]" He said, "To join partners in worship with Allah (swt) and to be undutiful to one's parents."

Let us not wait for a special day to show kindness to our parents! Do as much good today as they may not be with us tomorrow!!!!

May Allah (swt) grant our mother's / grandmothers that which they rightly deserve. Let us make Dua'a for each them and treasure them for what they do and have done for us...

The Story of our Lives

Once, a group of people were traveling on rocks at night...A voice came from the sky that whosoever picks up the rocks will regret and whosoever doesn't pick up the rocks will regret... Now, the people were confused...How can this be?...Whether you pick up the rocks or not, you will regret!...Anyway, some people picked up the rocks and some didn't...

In the morning when they reached their homes, they saw that the rocks turned into diamonds...Now, those people who didn't pick up the rocks started regretting saying "If only we had picked up some rocks..."

Those people who did pick some rocks also started regretting saying "Why didn't we pick up more rocks..???"
Both sides ended up regretting...

Dear Muslims, this same incident will take place with us on the Day of Judgment...Those people who spent their time in useless things will start regretting by looking at those who achieved a great position in Paradise by spending their time in the way of Allah...Now, those who did achieve a position in Paradise will start regretting by looking at those who did more than them and are higher in status..." Alas! If we had only done more to please Allah....!!!"

"Whoever guides or directs to good, then he gets the same amount of blessing (reward) as the one who does it" [Saheeh Muslim]

The story is about a Muslim man named Rashid.



'I was not a practising Muslim, I had bad friends. I enjoyed going out with them. I was almost never home, but always at gatherings with friends. In these gatherings we backbited, gossiped and made fun of people. I was especially known among my friends to make jokes and ppl were impressed by the way I was so good at it.



One night (at the time I was 30 and married and my wife was pregnant with our 1st child). I was as usual gathered with my friends and talking useless talk. I was telling them how I was at the market one day and I saw a blind man and I put my leg out in front of this man and the blind man tripped and fell on his face.. My friends laughed.



When I returned back home that night, my wife asked me 'where have u been? 'I am so tired, really sick and I think I am in labor.' A tear dropped down her cheek. I felt guilty, for I hadn't cared about my wife properly since learning of her pregnancy.



I quickly took her to the hospital. She was in pain for a long time and could not give birth, I waited patiently, but eventually I left and told the hospital to call me when she gave birth. An hour later, they called telling me my wife had given birth to baby boy named Salem.
I quickly went to the hospital. I asked which room my wife was in. They told me I 1st had to see the doctor. I got mad at them and said 'What doctor? I want to see my son!?!' they insisted that I see the doctor first. So I went to the doctor, she first talked to me about calamities and that one must accept the will of Allah (swt).



Then she told me, 'your son is blind!' I lowered my head and remembered the blind man I tripped and made fun of. I didn't know what to say, I thanked the doctor for her kindness and went to see my wife. My wife was not sad, rather she accepted the will of Allah (swt). She had always advised me not to make fun of people and not to gossip nor backbite. We left the hospital but I did not care about Salem, I did not like him, I pretended that he wasn't even in the house. But, my wife loved Salem very much and cared for him. Salem grew and he began to crawl, he wasn't crawling properly. When he began to walk, we discovered that he was handicapped.



This was too much for me. Later, my wife gave birth to 2 boys, Omar and Khalid. Years passed, Salem and his brothers grew. I continued to hang out with my bad friends and did not like to be at home. However, my wife was patient with me and she always made Dua’a that Allah (swt) guide me.



One Friday, I woke up at 11 am (which was early for me) and was getting ready to go to a Walimah but my intentions were not to go for Jummah Salaah. I got showered, got dressed putting on a sweater and was about to head out the door when I saw Salem (who was 10 yrs old) crying very loudly in the living room.



So, for the first time in 10 years I cared and went to ask him why he was crying. When Salem felt me coming near, he stopped crying and pushed me away as if to say, 'Now you care, where were you for the past 10 yrs!' Salem was calling his mother and brothers, but no one was answering him, so he went to his room. I followed him At first, he would not tell me why he was crying.



Hmm Do you know why he was crying? His brother Omar, who normally took him to the masjid, was late. Salem was afraid that since it was a Friday, he would not be able to get a spot in the front row at the mosque. I said, 'is that why you cried Salem?'



Salem answered positively. I, out of disbelief from what I heard, forgot about my friends and the walimah. I then told Salem that I would take him to the mosque. Salem could not believe what he had heard. He thought his father was mocking him. He then began to cry. I wiped Salem's tears and took him by his hand to take him to the car. Salem refused. He said the mosque is near, and he wants to walk there by foot. I could not remember the last time I went to the mosque. The mosque was full, but I was able to find a spot for Salem in the first row.



After prayer was over, Salem asked me to get him a copy of the Qura’an. I thought, 'how can he want a Quran if he is blind!!!!' so I gave him one anyway so that his feelings would not be hurt. Salem then asked me to open to Surah Al-Kahf. When I opened it for him, Salem began to recite. He had memorized the entire Surah. I felt embarrassed and ashamed of myself. I took a Qura’an and began to read. I asked Allah (swt) for forgiveness and guidance. I then began to sob like a child. There were still people in the mosque, so I tried to hide my tears..I couldn't. I began to sob loudly.



I felt a small hand wiping my tears away. It was Salem. He hugged me and I thought, 'you aren't the blind one, for I am, because I ran after the evil people who would drag me into hell-fire. 'From that day on I never missed a prayer at the mosque. My wife was really happy and I left all my bad friends and tasted the sweetness of Imaan. I became closer to Allah (swt) and to my family. I thanked Allah (swt) for this great blessing.



One day my pious friends decided to go to a far away place to make dawah. I hesitated about going, I made istikharah and asked my wife, to my surprise she encouraged me to go. She was so happy, for before I used to travel without asking her. I told Salem that I would be traveling, he hugged me with his tiny arms, bidding me farewell. I was away for 3 weeks and I would call my family and I missed them greatly, especially Salem. Whenever, I called I would ask for him but he was either at school or the mosque. Everytime I told my wife how much I missed him, she would laugh cheerfully.
Except for the last call, she did not laugh but her voice had changed. I told her to pass my Salams to Salem and she said 'Inshallah' and was quiet. I finally came back home and hoped Salem would open the door for me, but instead Khaled did. Then I saw my wife, her face had changed. I asked her 'what's wrong?' she replied 'nothing.' Then I remembered Salem, and asked 'where is he?'
My wife lowered her head and did not answer. A tear dropped down her cheek. I gently asked her, 'where's Salem, where is he?'' My son Khaled (4 yrs old), said 'Daddy, Salem went to Jannah, he is with Allah.'
My wife could not handle it and she broke down in tears and left the room..I found out later that Salem had got sick with a fever and went to hospital 2 weeks before I arrived. The fever worsened and his mother stayed by his side and until his soul departed his body.'
NEVER TAKE ANYONE FOR GRANTED; YOU MAY NOT REALISE HOW LITTLE TIME WE HAVE LEFT.
EVEN THE SMALLEST/WEAKEST PERSON IN THIS WORLD CAN MAKE AN IMPACT;
AFTER ALL WE ALL SHARE THE SAME CREATOR MAY THE ALMIGHTY MAKE US HUMBLE
INSHALLAH

A Brother like that

Shuaib received an automobile from his brother as a Eid present. On Eid day when Shuaib came out of his office, a street urchin was walking around the shiny new car, admiring it. "Is this your car, Uncle?" he asked. Shuaib nodded. "My brother gave it to me for Eid." The boy was astounded.

"You mean your brother gave it to you and it didn't cost you nothing? Boy, I wish..." He hesitated. Of course Shuaib knew what he was going to wish for. He was going to wish he had a brother like that. But what the lad said jarred Shuaib all the way down to his heels. "I wish," the boy went on, "that I could be a brother like that." Shuaib looked at the boy in astonishment, then impulsively he added, "Would you like to take a ride in my automobile?" "Oh yes, I'd love that."

After a short ride, the boy turned and with his eyes aglow, said, "Uncle, would you mind driving in front of my house?" Shuaib smiled a little. He thought he knew what the lad wanted. He wanted to show his neighbors that he could ride home in a big automobile. But Shuaib was wrong again. "Will you stop where those two steps are?" the boy asked. He ran up the steps. Then in a little while Shuaib heard him coming back, but he was not coming fast. He was carrying his little crippled brother. He sat him down on the bottom step, then sort of squeezed up against him and pointed to the car.

"There she is, just like I told you upstairs. His brother gave it to him for Eid and it didn't cost him a penny. And some day I'm gonna give you one just like it...then you can see for yourself all the pretty things in the shop windows that I've been trying to tell you about."

Shuaib got out and lifted the boy to the front seat of his car. The shining-eyed older brother climbed in beside him and the three of them began a memorable holiday ride. That Eid, Shuaib learned what the RasulAllah (salAllahu alayhi wasalam) meant when he had said: "love for your brother what you love for yourself".