“You alone we worship and You alone we ask for help” (Quran 1:5).
I’ve never been alone. God is always present. I sense, but can’t see His angels surrounding me. I know someone is busy recording my good deeds or bad. I let go of the self-consciousness that leads to self-absorption. I seek guidance. I move forward with His permission.
Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala is an ever-present friend. I let go of everyone, but Him. I am anchored to Him. He is my refuge when I am engulfed or in solitude. With Him, there is no end.
I waited for the bus with a few stragglers. One bus had already passed, so we waited quietly for the second opportunity to go east to the metro. I was on my way to work. I was stressed. My hair transitioned from thick black curls to white wavy strands. The wind caressed my skin. I was blessed to have direction in life, to have work to look forward to. Yet, I struggled as a lonely black librarian.
To fit in, I stopped wearing hijab. I stopped taking breaks from work to worship or submit prayer in a timely manner. I had the habit of making up prayers at the end of the day. My prayer life was a disaster. I’m sure my foibles produced demonic laughter.
I regretted not showing up in the lives of my friends. I missed them. Yet, I was rarely available when they needed me, to drive them to a medical appointment early in the morning, for example. I didn’t deserve a close companion I would neglect. I respected people from a distance, but I was not good at helping out when life got messy. I spent so much time wishing and not enough time praying to the Almighty, God-willing. God would give me strength if I asked him to help me, a humble slave.
The road ahead was paved with my good intentions. I hunched over and fretted not belonging in a library. I was surrounded by angels. Yet, I was losing my spark. Not just my skin, but my hope, like the sky, was dark. Every story has an arc. My fear was that the truth was too heavy and I could not carry my burgeoning responsibility. I wanted to play my part, but I couldn’t face my mirror image without wondering if I could face the Creator instead, as if I were art. After all, I was His creation, but I lacked patience. The promise to see His Countenance would not be fulfilled until after the end of our days on earth.
I assumed I was incapable of being a friend, because I had been labeled mentally ill. Did God make me different from the norm? This was the perfect storm.
May the days ahead produce patience and the willingness to sacrifice for my friends. Allah Azzawajal has given me life. The least I can do is give generously out of the abundance He has given me. Mercy. Time. Compassion. Life demands that we take action and live with passion. Otherwise, we’ll regret and be subsumed in sadness. I hope and pray to improve my character. Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala fashioned us. We must be among those whom people can trust.
With love,
Yeru
