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Words from the Web - Mutawakkil - 05-19-2003
Aslaamu'Alikium Wa Rahamatuh Allah Wa Barakatuh.
Masha'allah...from time to time one finds some beautiful and inspiring poetry and stories on the web...
Alhamdulillah...I'll try and share them with you...
The Nail In The Fence
There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His Father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.
The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence. Finally the day came when the boy didn't lose his temper at all.
He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone. The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, "You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won't matter how many times you say I'm sorry, the wound is still there."
A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.
You are my brother/sister and Iam honored !
Please forgive me if I have ever left a hole in your fence.
Words from the Web - Mutawakkil - 05-19-2003
Aslaamu'Alikium Wa Rahamatuh Allah Wa Barakatuh.
A Lesson For All Of Us To Learn
Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window.
The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his room-mate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline would be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene. One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band -he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.
Then unexpectedly, a sinister thought entered his mind. Why should the other man alone experience all the pleasures of seeing everything while he himself never got to see anything? It didn't seem fair. At first thought the man felt ashamed. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He began to brood and he found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that window - that thought, and only that thought now controlled his life.
Late one night as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running in. In less than five minutes the coughing and choking stopped, along with that the sound of breathing.
Now there was only silence - deathly silence. The following morning the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take it away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window.
The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone. Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed.
It faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased room mate to have described such wonderful things outside his window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall. She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."
Epilogue. . . .
You can interpret the story in any way you like. But one moral stands out: There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy.
Words from the Web - Mutawakkil - 05-19-2003
Aslaamu'Alikium Wa Rahamatuh Allah Wa Barakatuh.
A Muslim Named MO
This is the story of a Muslim named Mo.
It's a symbolic story that many of us may know.
He was born in a Muslim family but they were weak in the deen.
He was a lovely child, he was more precious then anything you've seen.
He grew up so quick; it was just a flash before his parent's eyes.
They didn't get to teach him about Islam. You know how the time just flies.
Before they knew it, they were sending him off to school.
They were so happy; he shined like a precious little jewel.
He was taught that he was a Muslim, but that's about all he knew.
He wanted to know more but his dad had way too many things to do.
He had cute little cheeks; they turned rosy as he got tired.
He was a handsome little guy, he was always admired.
But with his parents so busy, he never got to learn about Allah.
The days past by and his parents never taught him how to do Salah.
Some more years past by, and by now his voice began to change.
He felt new emotions, and he liked them, even though they felt strange.
His dad finally took him one day to some Islamic Sunday school.
But he had already learned from his friends that religion just wasn't cool.
Time past by and the little man grew older.
With the passage of time his temper became bolder.
His mother was getting worried, he was found to be ditching school.
But she didn't say anything, or else his temper would flare up like fuel.
He would go to parties and come home all drunk.
And in some of his classes he was now beginning to flunk.
Her cute little rosy-cheeked child had become a wild young man.
She cried every night because teaching him Islam was never in her plan.
He meet a pretty girl named Rose, he thought he loved her for sure.
She noticed how he felt, so she asked him to go out with her.
He thought it was love at first sight, she kissed him on the first date.
But she just wanted to sleep with him, yet to that he had no debate.
He would go out all night with her, sometimes without even saying good-bye.
"Why didn't I show him the deen?" His father could only cry.
He kept on partying while his family kept on weeping.
And he meet other girls, and with them too he was also sleeping.
He started to look sick, and he wasn't really felling so good.
His mother just had to cry, he didn't look like the way he should.
He went to the doctor for what he thought was a cold.
"Young man, you got AIDS," is what he was told.
When his mom found out she just couldn't take the pain.
For not teaching him his deen, she knew she was to blame.
Mo got sicker and you could see him getting weaker day by day.
And he didn't know Allah, so to Him he never prayed.
What could she do now for her once precious little guy?
She knew he needed the deen, but now she could only cry.
His time came one day so the Angel came for his spirit.
His dad told him to say la ilaha illalah, but Mo didn't hear it.
"What's that dad? I can't seem to hear you, everything's going dull."
But before Mo ever heard it, the Angel was off with his soul.
His father fell to his knees and cried like he never did before.
He knew he should have taught him the deen, so he felt guilty to the core.
This is the story of little Mo. Lets not let it be the story of our kid's
situation.
So please, my dear brothers and sisters, take this deen to the next generation!
By Masood
Words from the Web - Mutawakkil - 05-19-2003
Aslaamu'Alikium Wa Rahamatuh Allah Wa Barakatuh.
Dady May I Borrow $10.00.....
A man came home from work late, tired and irritated, to find his 5 year old son waiting for him at the door.
"Daddy, may I ask you a question?"
"Yeah, sure, what is it?" replied the man.
"Daddy, how much money do you make an hour?"
"That's none of your business! What makes you ask such a thing?" the man said angrily.
"I just want to know. Please tell me, how much do you make an hour?" pleaded the little boy.
"If you must know, I make $20.00 an hour."
"Oh, " the little boy replied, head bowed. Looking up, he said, "Daddy, may I borrow $10.00 please?"
The father was furious. "If the only reason you want to know how much money I make is just so you can borrow some to buy a silly toy or some other nonsense, then you march yourself straight to your room and go to bed. Think about why you're being so selfish. I work long, hard hours everyday and don't have time for such childish games."
The little boy quietly went to his room and shut the door. The man sat down and started to get even madder about the little boy's questioning. How dare he ask such questions only to get some money. After an hour or so , the man had calmed down, and started to think he may have been a little hard on his son. May be there was something he really needed to buy with that $10.00 and he really didn't ask for money very often. The man went to the door of the little boy's room and opened the door. "Are you asleep son?" he asked.
"No daddy, I'm awake," replied the boy.
"I've been thinking, maybe I was too hard on you earlier," said the man. "It's been a long day and I took my aggravation out on you. Here's that $10.00 you asked for."
The little boy sat straight up, beaming. "Oh, thank you daddy!" he yelled. Then, reaching under his pillow, he pulled out some more crumpled up bills. The man, seeing that the boy already had money, started to get angry again. The little boy slowly counted out his money, then looked up at the man.
"Why did you want more money if you already had some?" the father grumbled.
"Because I didn't have enough, but now I do," the little boy replied. "Daddy, I have $20.00 now... Can I buy an hour of your time?"
Words from the Web - Mutawakkil - 05-19-2003
Aslaamu'Alikium Wa Rahamatuh Allah Wa Barakatuh.
With Tears And Regret I Began...
A young man was getting ready to graduate college. For many months he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted. As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car.
Finally, on the morning of his graduation his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautifulwrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Quran. Angrily, he raised his voice at his father and said, "With all your money you give me a Quran?" and stormed out of the house, leaving the holy book.
Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care things.
When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search his father's important papers and saw the still new Quran,just as he had left it years ago. With tears, he opened the Quran and began to turn the pages. As he read those words, a car key dropped from an envelope taped behind the Quran. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had desired. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words...PAID IN FULL.
How many times do we miss ALLAH blessings because they are not packaged as we expected? If this touched your heart, please pass it on, it really touched mine.
Words from the Web - Ali - 05-19-2003
Assalaamoalaikum
A very nice post
-- Ali
Words from the Web - HINZ - 05-19-2003
yes masaalah very lovely post!
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Words from the Web - Ali - 05-19-2003
I want to print the MO poem and make copies of it and distribute them to the muslim parents. THese days they seem that they are only concern with the worldly education of their children, and not religious education.
Words from the Web - Ali - 05-19-2003
[b:0c60286864]She's My Sister [/b:0c60286864]
[i:0c60286864]A true story translated by Muhammad Alshareef [/i:0c60286864]
Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. Always vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again, boredom was for others.
As for me I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and laziness characterized my Salah.
One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching. The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.
Her voice carried from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?" I said.
With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray Fajr!"
Agh...there's still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhaan!
With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always like that, even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan can you come sit beside me."
I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and sincerity. "Yes, Noorah?"
"Please sit here."
"OK, I"m sitting. What's on your mind?"
With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:
"Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on Resurrection Day"
She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"
"Of course I do."
"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?"
"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I^زve got a long life waiting for me."
"Stop it Hanan ... aren't you afraid of death and it's abruptness? Look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so and so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die."
The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now. Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the summer break."
Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are in Allah^زs hands and we all belong to Him."
My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.
I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it that she could sense the truth.
"What are you thinking about Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty? Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. "There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:
"Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed."
I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.
Eight O'clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don't usually wake up at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?
Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.
There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home.
After an eternity...
It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. "Yes. You can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.
Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right. Everyone, just move out of our way. Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made dua'a for her Noorah.
We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.
One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third^زs eyes were iced, you couldn^زt tell if he was alive or dead.
We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.
The nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her." As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah^زs condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning.
"Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time." This was the intensive care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.
"You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."
"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"
We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, Alhamdulillah, I'm doing fine."
"Alhamdulillah...but...your hands are so cold."
I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. "Sorry ... did I hurt you?"
"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words
One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)
{waltafatul saaqu bil saaq}
"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase."
A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us ^ض two sisters - to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister^زs palm which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.
At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point ... Noorah had died!
I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.
Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.
I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed, the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:
"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)" and I knew too well the truth of the next verse: "The drive on that day we be to your Lord (Allah)!"
I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.
I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many tears for so many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.
Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an, her prayer mat and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.
I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.
At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who had died? Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.
Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...
The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.
Now and insha' Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning.
We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?
Words from the Web - Mutawakkil - 05-19-2003
as-salamu`alaykum wa rahmatullahi wa barakatuh
jazakumAllah khairan Ali for that post. Aywa, we all need to hear reminders.
Originally posted by S Nazir (submitted by Abu Zubair of as-sahwah.com)
[b:2ac081c43f]We watched...[/b:2ac081c43f]
I fear You.
How will we answer to You on Qiyamah?
When our Sisters and mothers were raped we watched
When our Brothers were sodomised, we watched,
When our Elders were mutilated we watched,
When the Mujahideen were tortured, we watched,
When Children were beheaded we watched,
When Depleted uranium burned their insides, we watched
When Pregnant bellies were slashed open we watched,
When Babies were thrown to their deaths we watched,
When His mother lay there bleeding and motionless, we watched.
When Children became insomniac because of atrocities their eyes witnessed, we watched
When Grenades explode in schoolyards we watched.
When He witnessed the gang rape of his mother, we watched.
When Children became mutes because of the incomprehension of atrocities, we watched.
When the Infant was trampled on infront of his screaming mother, we watched.
When Children stopped smiling in we watched.
When Boys were forced to take up arms to defend their women folk, we watched.
When her Brother was used as a human shield, we watched.
When Muslim land was occupied and terrorised, we watched.
When She was raped at the age of four we watched.
When Her husband was beheaded and torched, we watched.
When we saw Mujahids sacrificing their lives for Akhirah, we watched.
When we were called to Jihaad we watched.
Yaa Allah, we watched and ignored.
We shed tears whilst they shed blood for you yaa Allah!
Will you forgive us? Will the beloved Prophet of Islaam even glance at us yaa Allah?
When the Ummah was humiliated we watched and sat here complacently.
Yet we call ourselves Muslims.
And yet here we stand, and again we watch.
From one who claims to be your slave.
Fee Amaanillah