Tag: islam

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Allah Heard, and the Sky Wept

It began raining this afternoon—soft at first, then steadier, almost as if the sky had been holding something in and finally let go. I stood by the window and just watched. I’d been making du’a all day—some of it quietly on my tongue, and some of it just sitting there in my chest, like a knot that needed untangling. I didn’t even realise how constantly I’d been calling out until the rain came and something in me softened.

You know, in Islam, these are not mere coincidences or empty sounds from the sky. Thunder and rain are seen not just as weather, but as signs—ayat—from Allah. Subtle and mighty. They speak in a language deeper than words, and sometimes they say exactly what the heart needs to hear.

The Qur’an says that thunder glorifies Allah. That verse always moves me. The idea that thunder isn’t just noise—it’s dhikr. Worship. It’s glorifying the One who controls everything. That roaring sound that shakes the air? It’s not chaos. It’s praise. Even the angels, we’re told, follow it in awe of Him. That changes everything for me. It makes the storm feel like a prayer in motion.

And rain… rain is mercy. It’s a reminder that something soft and life-giving can fall from the heights of the unseen. Surah An-Nur tells us how Allah gathers the clouds, layers them, and brings forth rain. It’s not a random process—it’s orchestrated. Carefully, lovingly. And it’s said that when it rains, du’as are more likely to be accepted. So when the drops began to fall this afternoon, I couldn’t help but wonder: is this Your way of answering me? Of letting me know You heard me?

I think sometimes Allah responds in ways only our hearts can translate. A feather. A verse. A breeze. A conversation that hits the right chord. Or rain—quietly soaking the earth and something within me at the same time.

Imam Ja’far as-Sadiq (peace be upon him) said that nothing is without meaning. And so I choose to see the signs. Not because I’m desperate for proof, but because I believe in a God who sees me in my stillness. In my longing. In my quiet, constant prayers.

Maybe the rain today was just rain.

But maybe it wasn’t.

And maybe that’s enough.

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“Genocide Live: The World Watches, the West Betrays, and Humanity Dies”

Today, I Sat to Write—But I Couldn’t

I opened my laptop, ready to write after a month of Ramadan, a month of seeking closeness to Allah. But I couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come. Not because I had nothing to say, but because there is too much—too much horror, too much betrayal, too much rage.

Instead, I find myself sharing images, videos, anything to get the truth out. The speed of this genocide has shifted into high gear, and the world is still watching, still doing nothing. I see things most will never see, images that burn into my mind, that keep me awake at night. And I have never been so angry. Never felt so helpless.

How did we get here? How did we let it come to this?

And worse—how do we stop it?

This is a time of reckoning, a time of unbearable weight on the conscience of the world. What is unfolding in Gaza is not just another conflict—it is a genocide in real-time, with the slaughter of innocent men, women, and children playing out before our eyes. It is a slow, deliberate extermination of a people, while those in power lie, cover up, and betray not just the Palestinians, but their own citizens, their own so-called democratic values.

The West, with its grand proclamations of human rights and freedom, has been unmasked. The governments that claim to champion justice and democracy are either complicit or cowardly, and the people are left screaming into a void. Protests, once a force of millions, dwindle in numbers. The outrage is still there, but the exhaustion is setting in. And so we ask, again and again—what is the answer?

Were we ever really in control? Did we ever have a say, or were we simply pacified, led to believe that our voices carried weight when in truth, the scales have always been tipped in favor of those who wield power through oppression? Perhaps the real illusion was that we were ever part of the equation at all.

Some say history repeats itself, but maybe it never ended. Maybe World War II wasn’t the end of an era of genocide but the blueprint for what we see now. The very horrors that justified the creation of Israel are now being used to justify its crimes. And yet, the world remains silent or, worse, cheers on the slaughter. The propaganda machine has done its job well—dividing, conquering, twisting reality until truth itself is seen as an act of rebellion.

In the UK, we see this sickness manifest in other ways. Hate-fueled mobs target immigrants, burn buildings, barricade people inside—because anger, when misdirected, becomes a weapon for the powerful. Instead of rising against the true oppressors, people are manipulated into fighting each other. This is by design. It has always been by design.

And so, we return to the question—how do we stop this? Can we? Or has the balance of power tipped so far that resistance is nothing more than an echo in the wind? As an Ummah, as a global community, where do we turn when our voices are drowned out, our efforts dismissed, our people slaughtered without consequence?

If there was ever a test of humanity, of faith, of perseverance—it is now. And yet, the fear remains: What if we fail? What if we already have?

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Today, I Planted an Olive Tree

Today, I planted an olive tree.

Its roots curled into the earth, searching,

and as I patted the soil down, it whispered to me.

It told me of the land—

of the golden sun that kissed its ancestors,

of the winds that carried the laughter of children,

of the call to prayer that wove through the hills

like a thread binding hearts to Allah.

It told me of the people—

the hands that had tended its forebears,

calloused but kind, strong but gentle,

their fingers stained with the ink of history

and the scent of jasmine and warm bread.

It told me of the other trees—

the ones who had stood for centuries,

silent witnesses to faith and struggle,

until the axes came,

until the fire rained down,

until the ground drank something deeper than water.

It spoke with tears,

for the earth is drenched in blood now.

And the trees that remain murmur in mourning,

their branches heavy with loss,

their roots tangled with the names of those

who stood and gave their lives to defend them.

And I wonder—

will this little sapling see peace?

Or will it, too, one day whisper of sorrow?

For the Prophet ﷺ said,

“The trees will speak at the end of days.”

And I fear what they might say.

But today, I planted an olive tree.

And one day, it will grow tall.

And one day, it will tell its own tales.

Let us pray they are of love and laughter,

of golden suns and gentle winds,

of a land where no more blood is spilled,

only water, only rain,

only mercy.

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The Beauty of Istikhara: Surrendering to Divine Guidance

Life is filled with decisions—some small, some life-changing. Often, we stand at a crossroads, unsure which path to take. In these moments, we turn to Istikhara, a prayer not for signs, but for facilitation. It is a means of surrendering our limited knowledge to the One who already knows what is best for us.

But Istikhara is often misunderstood. Many people believe they must sit and wait for a sign—a dream, a repeated number, a sudden message from the person they’re seeking guidance about. They analyze every small detail, searching for meaning, when in reality, the answer is already unfolding before them. The true response to Istikhara is not in symbols or coincidences, but in what Allah facilitates—or prevents.

The beauty of Istikhara is that your decision is not just guided—it is made easy for you. If something is right for you, Allah smooths the way, brings it closer, and blesses it with barakah. It will feel like a door naturally opening, like the pieces of a puzzle effortlessly falling into place. But if it is not meant for you, obstacles will arise. No matter how much you push, it will not come together. You may be blocked, redirected, or even distanced from what you thought you wanted. This is your answer. Yet, because of ego, attachment, or fear, we often refuse to see it. We mistake resistance for a test, when in fact, it is divine protection.

Many of us become so fixated on waiting that we forget to live. We pray Istikhara and then sit still, expecting the answer to drop from the sky. But Istikhara is not passive—it requires movement. If you have prayed, made your decision, and entrusted it to Allah, the next step is action. You must move toward what you seek. Only through action will you see if Allah is facilitating your path or closing it off.

Istikhara is not just about seeking an answer—it is about trusting the answer when it comes. It is a tool of calm, a practice of surrender. In praying it, we translate faith into action. We place our heads on the ground in sujood, admitting our weakness, our lack of knowledge, our inability to see the full picture. And in that moment of submission, we testify to His supreme knowledge of what the future holds.

With Istikhara, we are not left to navigate uncertainty alone. We are given the comfort of knowing that whatever happens next—whether the path is made easy or closed off—is exactly what was meant for us. And there is no greater peace than that

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The Beauty of Patience: A Reflection on Sabr Jamil

Patience is not passive. It is not merely enduring hardship with gritted teeth, waiting for the storm to pass. True patience—Sabr Jamil—is an active trust in Allah, a deeply rooted certainty that every test is woven into the fabric of Qadr, designed not to break us, but to shape us.

Life has felt like an unending series of trials, one after another, testing me beyond what seems humanly possible. Yet, in every moment of hardship, I have chosen patience—not because it was easy, but because hope in Allah has always been my foundation. Patience is not just a feeling; it is an action. It is the deliberate choice to restrain the ego, to quiet the whispers of frustration and despair, and to submit to the wisdom of Al-Alim, the All-Knowing.

Allah reminds us in the Qur’an that He is with the patient (Surah Al-Anfal 8:46). This is where patience begins—with the deep internalization that we are never alone in our struggles. It is from this understanding that we make the conscious choice to be patient, knowing that Allah loves the patient (Surah Aal-e-Imran 3:146). And when we commit to patience as a way of life, trusting in Allah’s timing and wisdom, we reach the realization that “if you remain patient, indeed, that is better for those who are patient” (Surah An-Nahl 16:126).

Patience is not about suppressing emotions or pretending that pain does not exist. It is about holding onto the rope of Allah while the storm rages, knowing that He is the one who will bring the dawn. And with every hardship, with every test, it is as if another knot is tied into that rope, giving me a firmer grip, a stronger hold, a way to climb higher and draw closer to Him. These trials are not roadblocks; they are steps, each one elevating my soul toward the One who is always near.

It is a journey of self-discipline—of resisting the ego’s demand for instant relief, of choosing faith over fear, of allowing hardship to refine the soul rather than harden the heart.

And in the moments where patience feels impossible, when the nafs screams for an end to the struggle, I remind myself that patience is a seed planted with trust. Allah will water it. He will let it grow. And soon, these difficulties will be nothing more than stories of how Allah carried me through.

This journey toward Taqwa, toward complete reliance on Allah, is intense. It demands everything from the soul. But it is also breathtakingly beautiful. Because in patience, we witness miracles—in ourselves, in our hearts, and in the way Allah unfolds our story in ways we never could have imagined.

And so, I choose patience. I choose Sabr Jamil. Again and again. Because I know that with every hardship, Allah is near.

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The Illusion of a Good Character

Islam teaches us to conceal our past sins because Allah is the Most Merciful, and when we repent sincerely, He forgives.

But when those sins are not in the past—when they are patterns we continue to uphold, behaviors we refuse to correct, and lies we maintain—then they are no longer hidden sins; they are an active deception. And deception is a sin in itself.

The Illusion of a Good Character is one that needs highlighting in our communities from tik tok sheiks to speakers corner wanna be’s and in particular dating apps specifically for Muslims.

A person can wear the mask of good character (akhlaq), quoting hadith, speaking of sincerity, and pretending to have righteous intentions. But if, beneath that, they are manipulative, deceitful, and self-serving, then they are not hiding sins—they are living in hypocrisy. Allah says in the Qur’an:

“They seek to deceive Allah and those who believe, but they deceive none except themselves, yet they do not realize it.” (Surah Al-Baqarah 2:9)

The true sin is not in a past mistake that was left behind—it is in the continuous choice to uphold dishonesty. And when people discover this, they have every right to walk away. Trust is built on truth, and once that truth is shattered, it is rarely repaired.

The Consequence of Living a Lie is something that is often dismissed I’ve noticed, with the application of “only Allah can judge and forgive me” this statement seems to be used as a sweeping statement to excuse bad behaviour and to not have self accountability.

Whilst Allah is all forgiving, he has also given every person the right to make informed choices about who they allow into their lives. Yet breaking ties is also looked down upon often without our communities also so where is the line ?

Often I see many forgetting or choosing to overlook the point that If someone presents a false version of themselves, manipulating others into trusting them, they are committing ghish (deception), which the Prophet ﷺ warned against:

“Whoever deceives us is not one of us.” (Sahih Muslim 101)

The problem is not that their past sins have been exposed. The problem is that they were never truly left behind. And when a person repeatedly chooses dishonesty, they should not be surprised when others choose to leave.

In the end, there is no righteousness in maintaining a false image. True honor lies in sincerity, in repenting not just to Allah but in striving to be a better person. Pretending to be righteous does not make one righteous—only true effort and sincerity do. and this is where the Noor will shine through your face to the world

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There is my plan, and there is Allah’s plan

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On what could have been one of the nights of Laylatul Qadr, I had my own intentions set. I had planned to immerse myself in du’a, dhikr, and the recitation of the Quran, hoping to make the most of a night where every moment carries the weight of a thousand months. But before the evening even arrived, I was struck—suddenly and mercilessly—by chronic pain, dizziness, and a migraine so intense that it left me unable to do anything but lie there in the dark, eyes shut, body heavy with exhaustion.

It feels as though this Ramadan has tested me at every turn, challenging not just my physical endurance but my faith itself. And yet, each test has forced me—driven me—to seek out new ways to connect with Allah. Even as I lay there, unable to stand in prayer or hold the Quran in my hands, I found solace in the quiet whisper of dhikr. My lips moved in remembrance. My heart reached out in du’a. And in that moment, I realized: He was still there.

“And We have already created man and know what his soul whispers to him, and We are closer to him than his jugular vein.” (Quran 50:16)

I finally understood this verse—not just with my mind, but with my entire being. Even in my weakness, even when I could do nothing but endure, He is near. Not just when I am bowed in sujood or standing in prayer, but in my suffering, in my stillness, in my silence. Just as He was there in 2022, when I lay in intensive care, He is still here now.

And maybe, just maybe, one of His angels has been watching over me all along. Perhaps one of those Mu’aqqibat, the angels who guard by Allah’s decree, was also present today—just as they were before, just as they always have been. 

In that I take great comfort

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Rooted in Faith, Resting in Stillness

Look at a tree, a flower, a plant. Let your awareness rest upon it. See how still it is, how deeply rooted in being. It does not rush, nor does it question its existence. It simply is, fulfilling its purpose as Allah has ordained. Allow nature to teach you stillness.

In a world that constantly pulls us in different directions, where our minds race with worries of the past and anxieties of the future, we often forget the power of simply being—of grounding ourselves in the present, in the remembrance of Allah. Yet, when we turn to nature, we see a reflection of what it means to trust in His divine wisdom. The trees do not fret over their sustenance, nor do the flowers anxiously wait for the rain. They remain firm, deeply rooted, surrendering to the will of their Creator.

“And the good word is like a good tree, whose root is firmly fixed, and its branches reach to the sky.” (Qur’an 14:24)

Our faith, too, must be like this—deeply rooted, unwavering, constantly reaching towards the heavens. Just as a tree finds nourishment in the earth, we must find our sustenance in our connection with Allah. Salah, dhikr, patience, and gratitude—these are the roots that keep us firm amidst the storms of life. Without them, we are like scattered leaves, easily carried away by the winds of hardship and uncertainty.

Stillness is not just about quieting the noise around us—it is about quieting the noise within. It is about trusting that no matter what life brings, we are held by the One who created us, just as He holds the trees, the flowers, and the plants in perfect balance.

So, let nature be your teacher. Let it remind you that just as every tree stands firm in the earth, you too must stand firm in your faith. Just as every flower blooms at its appointed time, your journey is unfolding exactly as Allah wills. And just as every leaf eventually falls, returning to the earth in peace, we too must learn to surrender—to trust, to let go, and to find stillness in the presence of our Creator.

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Tahajjud…A whisper into the night

Ya Allah, in the stillness of this night, I come to You—tired, restless, yearning for peace. The world is quiet, but my mind is loud. My thoughts circle endlessly, carrying worries I cannot control, fears I cannot silence, and regrets I cannot change. Ya Rabb, I lay them before You now.

I am weary of overthinking, of holding onto burdens that only You can carry. I do not want to live imprisoned by my own mind, restless even in moments of stillness. Ya Allah, soothe the storm within me. Quiet the chaos in my heart. Replace my anxiety with trust, my fear with faith, my uncertainty with the peace of knowing that You are in control.

Ya Rahman, You see what weighs on me, even when I do not speak it aloud. You know the pain I hide, the battles I fight, the silent prayers I whisper when no one else is listening. Tonight, I leave it all with You. I surrender, not in defeat, but in trust. I do not need all the answers—I only need to know that You are near.

Ya Rabb, as I bow before You in this sacred hour, I ask You to calm my restless heart. Grant me the kind of peace that only comes from You. When my mind is unsettled, remind me to turn to You. When my heart aches, remind me that You are the Healer. When I feel lost, guide me back to You.

Ya Allah, let me wake with a heart unburdened, with a soul at ease, with a mind that trusts in Your divine plan. And if peace is written for me, let it be a peace that draws me closer to You.

Ameen.

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Productive Activities for Revert Sisters unable to fast in Ramadan

Dear sister,

If you’re unable to fast due to whatever reason, as that’s between you and Allah don’t feel discouraged. You are still earning rewards by obeying Allah’s command and quite often your medical team.

Here are some beneficial ways to stay spiritually connected during this time:

1. Say Alhamdulillah – Instead of feeling upset. Understand that everything is by the will of Allah and you are still being rewarded for following Allah’s guidance.

2. Start Everything with Bismillah – Begin all your actions in the name of Allah to bring blessings into your day.

3. Memorize the 99 Names of Allah – Reflect on their meanings to strengthen your connection with Him.

4. Recite Surah Ikhlas – Since it equals one-third of the Qur’an, reading it three times is like completing the entire Qur’an.

5. Engage in Dhikr – Keep your heart connected to Allah by frequently saying SubhanAllah, Alhamdulillah, Allahu Akbar, La ilaha illallah.

6. Seek Forgiveness – Say Astaghfirullah often to purify your heart and soul.

7. Learn and Memorize Short Duas – Focus on their meanings and incorporate them into your daily life.

8. Read Hadiths – Gain wisdom from the sayings of the Prophet (ﷺ) in a language you understand.

9. Listen to Qur’an Tafseer & Islamic Lectures – Deepen your understanding of Islam through beneficial talks.

10. Read the Qur’an’s Translation – Reflect on the words of Allah in your native language.

11. Study the Seerah – Learn about the life of Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ) and draw inspiration from his character.

12. Read About the Women of Islam – Discover the lives of the Mothers of the Believers and female Companions for motivation and strength.

13. Share Islamic Knowledge – If you have online friends or sisters in faith, engage in discussions and share beneficial reminders.

14. Avoid Gossip & Negative Speech – Protect your heart by staying away from backbiting and idle talk.

15. Revive the Sunnah – Implement small Sunnah acts, like making du’a before sleeping and greeting others with Salam.

16. Improve Your Worship – Practice perfecting your wudu, salah, and supplications so you can return to/continue prayer with renewed sincerity.

17. Engage in Acts of Kindness – A kind word, a supportive message, or a sincere du’a for someone else is a form of charity.

18. Plan Your Ramadan Goals – Use this time to set spiritual goals for the remainder of Ramadan and beyond.

19. Make Niyyah (Intention) for Allah – Every good deed done sincerely for His sake will be rewarded.

20. Tag a Sister Who Can Benefit – The Prophet (ﷺ) said: “The one who guides to something good has a reward similar to the one doing it.” (Muslim)

Remember: In Ramadan, good deeds are multiplied 70 times! Even if you can’t fast, there are countless ways to earn immense rewards.