Allah is the Provider

Shaykh Sa’eed ibn Musfir narrates the following account:

I was walking out of the Haram (the Ka’bah in Makkah) when I saw a man begging from everyone that passed by him.

Just then a man who had parked his tinted Mercedes excessively close to the Haram in a designated VIP parking walked passed the beggar on his way to his car. As he pulled the keys out and the alarm did the ‘whup whup’, the beggar raised his finger to the sky and said, “Please, for the sake of Allah!”

Trying to end the moment and avoid a dip into the pocket, the Mercedes man said back, “Allah will provide!”

The beggar replied: “What! Did you at any moment think that I thought YOU were my provider! I’m not asking for your provision, I KNOW Allah will provide for me.”

Shaykh Misfir continues. The two stood there staring at one another for a moment and then the Mercedes tinted windows came up and the man drove away.

A needy African sister who was sitting nearby on the street selling textiles was moved by the incident. She did not have much, but from what she did have, she pulled out 1 riyal and placed it in the hands of that beggar.

He smiled and went on his way.

Meanwhile the Mercedes man could not drive on with the choke of guilt.

He turned the car around and made his way through the crowd to the place where the incident had happened.

Shaykh Misfir says…I saw with my own eyes as he pulled out a 10 riyal bill from his briefcase to give to the beggar. But he looked left and right and could not find him. What was he to do? He had already pulled out the bill to give for the sake of Allah and was not going to put it back. So he found the nearest person he thought was worthy of the bill, placed it in her lap and went on his way.

The 10 riyals sat in the lap of the sister that had given the beggar!

Hazrat Abu Hurairah reported that Rasulullah has said that Allah’s injunction is:

“O my servants ! Spend and you will be given.” [Bukhari, Muslim]

Hazrat Abdullah bin Abbas reported that Rasulullah has said that “Charity does not diminish wealth.” [Tibrani]

(Source: Al-Islaah publications)

The Bitter Harvest

by Muhammad Al-Shareef

I was a teacher in the Qur’anic study circle at our neighborhood Masjid at the time. I would see this young boy after Maghrib prayers, you might say he was about fifteen years old. He held a pocket Qur’an and sat alone reading from it – no, he wasn’t actually reading from it, he was just trying to make it seem as if he was. Now and again, he would shyly steal a few glances at us, curious to know what we were doing. Once in awhile, you might see him straining to make out what we were talking about.

Every time I caught his eye, he would avert his head and continue with his recitation, as if he had not intended to look this way.

Day after day, he sat in the same reserved manner, revealing the same timid glance. Finally after Isha Salah one day, I resolved to confront him.

“As Salamu ‘Alaykum, my name is Salman, I teach the Qur’anic study circle in this Masjid.”

‘And my name is Khalid.’

Strange, he replied so fast, as if he had been waiting to share this piece of information for such a long time and expected to be asked.

“Where do you study Khalid?”

‘In the Eighth grade…and I…I love the Qur’an a lot.’

Strange indeed, why did he add that last sentence?

Confidently, I asked him, “Listen Khalid, have you got any free time after Maghrib? We would be honored to have you join us in the class.”

‘What? The Qur’an? The Halaqah? Yes…why, yes of course (happiness overcame him). I’ll be there, Insha’Allah.’

That night, I couldn’t think of anything other than this young boy and the haze that surrounded his behavior. Sleep would just not come.

I attempted to interpret an answer for what I saw and heard, but there was none. A verse of poetry came to mind: ‘the coming days shall unravel the mystery / and the news may appear from where you could never see.’

I turned on my right side and slipped my right hand under my cheek. O Allah, I have surrendered myself to You and to You I turn over my affairs.

*** Subhan Allah, how the calendar was jogging by. Khalid was now a regular in our Qur’anic circle, energetic and successful in memorization. He was friends with everyone and everyone was friends with him. You could never catch him without a Qur’an in his hand, or find him in any other line in Salah other than the first. There was nothing wrong with him except for his occasional long lapses of attention. There were times when his stoned eyes would reflect the fathomless thought going on in his mind. Sometimes we knew his body was with us, but his soul was somewhere else, suffocating in another world. Occasionally, I would startle him. All he had was a mumble to reply with, he would have been the first to admit its fabrication.

One night, I walked with him after class to the beach shore. Maybe his big secret might meet something equally large, relax somewhat, and release its distress and pain.

We arrived at the beach and traced the waves. The full moon was out.

A strange sight. The darkness of the night found the darkness of the sea, with a lit moon in-between them.

It sat somewhat embarrassed at its intrusion, similar to my shyness towards Khalid right then.

The rays of the silent moon rested on the silent waves of the sea. I stood behind the silent boy. The scene was silence.

Just then! It all shattered and crushed to the ground as the young boy fell to the bottom, bleeding his heart with tears. I chose not to interrupt Khalid’s emotional release, perhaps the saltiness of his tears might help him relax and cleanse his distress.

After a few moments he said from behind his tears, ‘I love you all…I love the Qur’an…and those who love it. I love pious brothers, moral, pure brothers.’

‘But…my father…it’s my father.’

“Your father? What is wrong with your father Khalid?”

‘My father always warned me not to hang around with you people. He’s afraid. He hates you all. And he always tries to convince me that I should hate you too. At any chance he gets, he’ll try to prove his point with stories and tales.’

‘But…when I saw you people in the Halaqah reciting Qur’an, I saw something entirely different. I saw the light in your faces, the light in your clothes, the light in your words, even when you were silent I could see the light even then.’

‘I doubted my father’s tales and that’s why I would sit after Maghrib, watching you, pretending that I was part of the circle, trying to share in the light.’

‘I…I remember Ustadh Salman…I remember the time you approached me after ‘Isha prayer. I’d been waiting for that moment for such a long time. When I began the classes, my soul locked itself into a world of purity with your souls. I began the circle and was persistent. I wouldn’t sleep, my days and nights became Qur’an. My father noticed the change in my routine. He found out, one way or another, that I had joined the circle and that I was now hanging out with “terrorists.”

‘Then, on a dark night…

‘We were waiting for father to come home from the coffee shop, his daily ritual, so that we could all have dinner together.’

‘He entered the house with his hardened face and slaps of anger.’

‘We all sat together at the dinner mat. Silence settled on the gathering as usual, all of us were afraid to speak in his presence.’

‘He knifed the silence with his roaring and immediate voice. “I heard you’ re hanging out with the fundamentalists.”

‘I was caught red. My tongue looped and failed. All the words in my mouth attempted to come out at the same time. But, he didn’t wait for the answer…

‘He snatched the teakettle and threw it maliciously at my face.’

‘The room spun and the colors united before my eyes. I stopped distinguishing the ceiling from the walls from the floor, and fell.’

‘My mother held me.’

‘A damp cloth on my forehead reminded me of where I was. The vicious voice turned on my mother, “Leave him alone, or you’ll be in the same lot.”

‘I crawled out of my mother’s lap and whimpered away to my room. He followed me down the corridor with the cruelest curses.’

‘There was not a day that he didn’t beat me in some way. Curses, kicks, throwing whatever was nearest to his hand. My body had finally become a shiver of fear, grotesque colors formed all over. I hated him.’

‘One day while we were sitting at the dinner mat, he said, “Get up, don’t eat with us.”

‘Before I could get up though, he pounced immediately and kicked me in the back, making me slam into the pots.’

‘At that moment, lying there on there on the ground, I pretended to stand taller than him and shout back in his face…’

‘One day, I’ll pay you back. I’ll beat you just like you beat me, and curse you just like you cursed me.’

‘I’ll grow up and become strong. And you’ll get old and become feeble.’

‘And then…I’ll treat you just like you treated me. I’ll pay you back.’

‘After that, I left home and ran away. I just ran, anywhere, it didn’t matter anymore.’

‘I found my way to this beach. It helped me wash away some of the sadness. I held my pocket Qur’an and began reciting until I could continue no longer because of my excessive crying.’

And here, a few of those innocent tears descended again, tears that sparkled under the moon like pearls under a lamp. I couldn’t say anything, the surprise had arrested my tongue. Should I be aghast at this beast of a father, whose heart knew nothing about mercy? Or, should I be amazed at this patient young lad, whom Allah had wished guidance for and inspired with faith. Or, should I be shocked at them both, at the father-son bond that had broken, causing their relationship to transform into that of a lion and a tiger, or a wolf and a fox.

I held his warm hand and wiped away a tear from his cheek. I reassured him, prayed for him, and advised him to remain obedient to his father. I told him to remain patient and that he was not alone. I promised that I would meet his father, speak to him, and try to evoke his mercy.

*** That incident slipped further away with each passing day. I tried thinking of ways to open Khalid’s case with his father. How should I speak to him? How was I going to be convincing? To be frank, how was I even going to knock on his door? Then finally, I collected my courage, rehearsed my plan, and resolved that the confrontation…uh, meeting…would be that day at five o’clock.

When the time arrived, I left for Khalid’s house with all my ideas and questions for his father dangling from my pockets.

I rang the doorbell. My fingers trembled and my knees were melting. The door opened. There it was, standing in the shadow with it’s frowned lips and veins beating with anger.

I tried beginning with a candid smile. Maybe it might smooth out some of the wrinkles before we even started.

He snatched my collar and jerked me towards him. ‘You’re that fundamentalist that teaches Khalid at the Masjid, aren’t you?’

“Well…uh…yes.”

‘God help me, if I ever see you walking with him again, I’ll break your legs. Khalid won’t be coming to your class anymore.’

And then, he mustered all the saliva in his mouth and spit on my face. The door slammed behind it.

Slowly, I unfolded a tissue that was in my pocket, wiped what he had honored me with, and retreated down the stairs consoling myself. Allah’s Messenger – sal Allahu alayhi wa sallam – suffered more than this. They called him a liar, cursed him, stoned him with rocks and caused his feet to bleed. They broke his teeth and placed dung on his back and expelled him from his house.

*** Day after day. Month after month. No sign of Khalid. His father forbade him from leaving the house, even for the congregational prayer. He even forbade us from seeing or meeting him. We prayed for Khalid…Until we forgot about him. Years passed away. One night, after the ‘Isha’ prayer, a shadow walked behind me in the Masjid and rested a familiar harsh hand on my shoulder. The same hand that held me years ago. The same face, the same wrinkles and the same mouth that honored me with what I was not deserving of.

But … something had changed. The savage face had shattered. The angry veins had subsided, belittled and still. The body looked tired of all the pain and conflict, weakened by sadness and grief.

“How are you?” I kissed his forehead and welcomed him. We took a corner of the Masjid. He collapsed on my lap sobbing.

Subhan Allah, I never thought that that lion would one day become a kitten.

Speak up. What’s wrong? How is Khalid?

‘Khalid!’ The name was like a dagger piercing his heart, twisting inside, and breaking off. His head slumped.

‘Khalid is no longer the same boy that you used to know. Khalid is no longer the generous, calm and humble young lad.

‘After he left your circle he befriended a pack of evil boys, ever since he was little he loved to socialize. They caught him at that time of life when a youth wants to leave the house. Vanity, jokes.’

‘He began with cigarettes. I cursed him, beat him. But there was no use, his body had grown accustomed to the beatings, his ears were used to the curses.’

‘He grew quickly. He started staying up with them all night, not coming home until dawn. His school expelled him.’

‘Some nights he would come home to us speaking abnormally, his face loose, his tongue confused, his hands shivering.’

‘That body, which used to be strong, full, and tender, passed away. What remained was a feeble worn frame. That pure frosty face of his transformed. It became dark and filthy. The scum of misguidance and sin clung to it.’

‘Those shy and simple eyes of his changed. They shot red like fire as if everything he drank or took showed immediately in his eyes like some sort of punishment, in this life before the next.’

‘Hostility and disrespect replaced that shyness and cowardice he once knew. Gone was that soft, respectful young heart. In it’s place grew a hardened center, like a rock, if not harder.’

‘Seldom a day would pass without incident. He would either curse, kick, or hit me. Imagine it, my own son. I’m his father, yet he still hits me.’

After releasing all that, his eyes returned wet and bitter. But, he added quickly, ‘I beg you Salman, visit Khalid. Take him with you, you have my blessing, the door is open.’

‘Pass by him sometime. He loves you. Register him in the Qur’anic study circle. He could go with you on field trips. I have no objection. In fact, I am even willing to allow him to live in your homes and sleep over.’

‘The important thing, Salman…the important thing is that Khalid returns to the way he was.’

‘I beg you lad, I’ll kiss your hands, warm your feet, I beg you and beg you…’

He collapsed, crying and wheezing, into the memories of the grief and pain. I allowed him to complete everything he had to say.

Then I addressed him…

“Despite what has passed, let me try. Brother, you planted this seed. And this is your harvest.”

The Wisdom of the Shaykh

An incident once took place when a student of Knowledge was taking a walk with his teachers in one of the gardens of their Madrassah. During this walk, the student decided to address a problem he was facing and seek its remedy from his teacher. He began to tell his teacher, ‘I have a spiritual ailment; I am habitual of talking ill of others and mentioning matters about them behind their backs.’

The teacher carried on walking for a moment and then asked him, ‘do you have a mobile phone?’ The student answered affirmatively and took out his phone to show his teacher. The phone was one of the latest models on the market and he had just purchased it recently.

Upon seeing the phone and the student’s attachment to it, he asked the student to throw the phone in a nearby mud patch and trample upon it. Whilst astonished by the teacher’s request, the student questioned, ‘how can I throw this phone on the floor? It has cost me a lot of money and is worth a lot to me.’

The teacher replied to him with the following words of wisdom, ‘So too is the respect and honour of your brother as sanctified and valuable as this in the eyes of Allah. How can it be easy for you to trample upon this honour and respect with such ease?’

The student realised how he had never understood nor appreciated the true value of a Muslim brother; and from that day onwards he never failed to compare the respect of his brothers to all those items which were the most valuable to him.

Jazakallah to Maulana Zain for his help in putting together this story.

The Worms

A king was once passing along his way when he saw some animal droppings. And he saw some worms in those droppings. The thought came to his mind that there is no purpose behind the creation of these worms. They are useless, with no real job.

Very soon thereafter he lost his eyesight. Being rich, he spent thousands of rands trying different treatments to restore his eyesight. All to no avail. Then it was mentioned to him that a certain pious Hakeem (natural medical practioner) was very good. The king sent for him.

The Hakeem refused to go to the king and asked that the king come to him. On examining the king, the Hakeem prescribed a powder that was to be put in the king’s eyes three times a day. Gradually the king’s eyesight returned until he was fully cured.

He went to the Hakeem with lavish gifts which the Hakeem refused. The king said, ‘At least tell me what you used in that wonderful medicine.’ The Hakeem replied that he used the worms which one finds in animal droppings. He dried them out, crushed them into powder and made the king apply that to his eyes. The king bowed his head in submission to Allah, Who created every atom with a definite purpose.

Never look down on any creation of Allah Ta’ala, for everything is there for a reason. The events that happen to us also have definite purpose. Every human is a valuable treasure who can benefit the world.
Source: http://islamicfocus.blogspot.com

Be Observant

Chuan and Jing joined a wholesale company together just after graduation. Both worked very hard. After several years, the boss promoted Jing to sales executive but Chuan remained a sales rep.

One day Chuan could not take it anymore, tender resignation to the boss and complained the boss did not value hard working staff, but only promoted those who flattered him.
The boss knew that Chuan worked very hard for the years, but in order to help Chuan realise the difference between him and Jing, the boss asked Chuan to do the following. Go and find out if anyone is selling water melon in the market?
Chuan returned and said yes. The boss asked how much per kg?
Chuan went back to the market to ask and returned to inform the boss the price is $12 per kg.
Boss told Chuan, I will ask Jing the same question?
Jing went, returned and said, boss, Only one person selling water melon.
Price is $12 per kg, $100 for 10 kg, he has inventory of 340 melons.
On the table 58 melons, every melon weighs about 15 kg, bought from the South two days ago, they are fresh and red, good quality.
Chuan was very impressed and realised the difference between himself and Jing.
He decided not to resign but to learn from Jing.

My dear friends, a more successful person is more observant, thinks more and understands in depth.
For the same matter, a more successful person sees several years ahead, while we see only tomorrow.
The difference between a year and a day is 365 times.
Think! how far have you seen ahead in your life?
How thoughtful in depth are you?

Stroll in the Mountains

Zun-Noon relates, whilst I was walking the mountains of Intakia I saw a girl who looked insane, wearing a gown made out of wool. I greeted her with Salaam. She replied accordingly and then said, “Are you Zun-Noon?” I replied, “How did you recognise me?” She replied, “Through Allah’s recognition”. She then asked, “What is generosity?” I replied to her, “To give”. She added, “That is in regards to worldly things. What is it in regards to Deen?” I replied, “To hasten to the obedience of the creator.” She pursued, “When you hasten to the creator do you seek a reward?” I replied, “For every single deed, a reward multiplied by ten”. “This is considered bad in love”, she remarked. “Hasten to God in such a manner that when he looks into your heart he sees that you want nothing from him in return. Oh Zun Noon I have been waiting for 20 years but I am ashamed to ask fearing that I become like a bad labourer, one who wants his wage as soon as he has done his work. I work only to seek his honour and glory”.

Sufyaan Thawri relates Shaibaan and I left for hajj. On the way a lion came before us, I said to Shaibaan, “Do you not see this lion that has come before us” Shaibaan responded, “Do not fear oh Sufyaan”. As soon as the lion heard what Shaibaan said it came wagging its tale like a dog and Shaibaan began to rub its ear. I said, “What is this glory?” He replied “This is not a glory Oh Thawri, if I did not fear fame I would have carried my provisions on his back to Makkah.”

A pious saint relates, Once I was very angry with my nafs. I said to it that I am going to throw it in some place of destruction. I used to live near a jungle in which was a den of lions and I went and lay in the midst of two cubs, hoping to be devoured by their parents. After a short while their father came carrying a piece of meat in his mouth. When he saw me he threw the meat and it sat a distance from me. Then their mother came, carrying a piece of meat. She too threw the meat, roared and came to attack me, but the lion stopped her with his head. She sat down with the father and both of them did not move. After a while the lion walked towards me and one by one carried the cubs to their mother.

The Student of Shaykh Sirri

A disciple of the great Sufl Shaykh Sirri relates that Shaykh Sirri once had a female student who’s son visited an Alim. The Alim sent him to work the hand mill. On his way there the child fell into a lake and drowned. The Alim then informed Shaykh Sirri about the incident. Shaykh Sirri accompanied his companions to see the mother. He related the virtues of patience and of being content with fate. She wondered aloud, “What is the motive behind these words”. He informed her that her son has drowned. She cried, “My son?” He replied, ”Yes”. She proclaimed, “Allah has not done this.” Shaykh Sirri informed her that there is no doubt that her child has drowned. She demanded, “If what you say is true then take me to that place.”

They took her to the river and showed her the place in which he had drowned. She called out, “Mohammad, Mohammad my son”. All of a sudden he replied, “I am here mother”. When she heard his voice she went into the water, holding him by the she pulled him out and then took him home. Shaykh Sirri turned to Junaid (one of the great Sufi Shaykhs’) in amazement and asked, “What is this? “He said, this woman adorns herself with obedience to the Creator and the blessing of that, if there is any matter concerning her, she is informed first of it, and because she was not informed that her son has drowned, she denied her son had died and said Allah has not done this”.

Mercy of Allah

Abu Abdullah al Jawhari relates, once I went for Hajj. On the night of Arafat at Muzdalifah I dreamt of two angels descending from heaven. One asked the other. “How many people made Wukoof (the stand before Allah) of Arafah this year . His companion replied, “600,000 of which only 6 peoples Hajj was accepted by Allah”. When I heard this I wanted to cry out aloud. ‘The first angel then inquired, “What did Allah do with he Hajj of the remaining pilgrims?” The second angel replied, “Allah looked at them with mercy and forgave 100,000 people for every one accepted Hajj’; thus accepted the Hajj of 600,000. “That is the Mercy of Allah, He bestows it on whomever He wills and the rnercy of Allah is great’.

A pious man relates that once I left for hajj. On the way I slept under the moonlit night, when I heard a voice of a weak man. “Oh Abu Ishaaq I have been waiting for you since yesterday. I went close to him and found that he was a very young thin man, close to death. He was surrounded by lots of flowers, some of which I had never seen before. I asked him where he was from. He mentioned a town and then said, “I was living a life of luxury when my nafs demanded seclusion from it all, so I left, puzzled and confused to the jungles and now I am here on the verge of death. I prayed to Allah to send me a Wali of His and I hope you are him”. I asked, “Do you have any parents?” he replied “Yes, I also have a brother and sisters”. I further questioned, “Did you ever desire to meet them or remember them?” He replied, “Never except today, I wished to smell their fragrance. These wild beasts took pity on me. They cried and brought me these flowers”. Ibraheem says, ‘A big snake then came with a big narcissus in his mouth and contended, “Remove your evil from him, Allah is aware of the condition of his friends and those that are obedient to him”.

Ibraheem revealed, “On seeing this I fainted and when I came round the young man had died”. I then fell asleep again, I woke up to realise that I was on the road to Makkah for Hajj. After I had completed the Hajj, I went to the city the young man had mentioned. There I discovered a woman who resembled him. She had a pot of water in her hands. I approached her and confirmed her identity. I then related the incident to her.

She asked, “So how did you find the young man? and then remarked, “I have been waiting three days for you”. I mentioned the words of the young man, which were, “I wished to smell their fragrance”- She screamed, “The fragrance reached him”. After this exclamation, she died. Later a few women came and took care of her burial.

Water With the Taste of Honey

A pious man relates, whilst I was sitting next to the Ka’ba an old man with his face covered came and drank water from the well of Zam Zam using a container. I then drank what he had left over and found that it tasted of honey. I turned to see where he had gone, but he had left.

The next day I came and sat next to the well, the old man came again with his face covered. On this occasion he drew out the water with a bucket and drank from it. As usual he left some behind which I drank. This time I found the water tasted of sweet milk. I had never tasted anything better.

Fire of Hell

It is related that Zainul Abideen would pray one thousand rakahs every night, even if he were travelling.  When he performed ablution he would turn yellow and during prayer he would tremble. When asked why this happened to him, he responded, “Do you not know who I stand before?” If the wind blew he would fall down unconscious out of the fear of Allah.

Once there was a fire in his house while he was prostrating in prayer. The people began to warn him, “Oh son of the messenger of Allah, FIRE! FIRE!” He did not raise his head untill the fire had extinguished itself. He was later asked why he did not respond to the cries of the people. He replied “The fire of hell had diverted my attention”.

1 2 3 4 5 7