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| The Light of Eid |
It’s Ramadhan and I am here again. Reflecting on where I am in life. What does life mean to me. What direction am I heading in. What’s working out. What’s
not. What I want. What I don’t. What I should pray for. Can I be forgiven for the things I’m not proud of? Will I be closer to my God, will I be more “religious”? It’s
another year for me to also observe what goes on in the community of followers and how it relates to me.
Since I was very young, I understood that Ramadhan has great meaning for Muslims from all walks of life. I watched my parents abstain from eating, drinking,
participate in prayers and make special supplications to God every day. I saw their religiosity increase over the years. It used to be, I thought, that they
followed these rituals, out of habit. Over time, their worship grew more passionate and emotional, more hopeful and content. With age, their knowledge of
Islam and the tears in their eyes as they raised their hands to God, grew into something more meaningful – no longer just a ritual. The joy that my parents
express on Eid now is immeasurable. It’s contagious. It’s inspiring. What did they experience during this arduous and strenuous month that was so
transforming?
I am lucky enough to be a part of a community that takes Ramadhan very seriously, and at the same time, very lightheartedly. There is almost a daily
celebration of family, life, friends and food. Sometimes I watch how the sisters in the mosques go on talking while small children might be making a mess or
potentially get into a brawl with others. They have such a laid back view on life. They place everything in Allah’s hands. I am so proper that I would quickly
scold my children for not being more careful or run to protect them from possibly getting hurt. Sometimes I get annoyed when mothers bring their sick kids to
the mosque. I mean, don’t you care that other children might get sick? Or how about when everyone is trying to pray and there are children crying or throwing
tantrums in the background? Why don’t they just stay home? Exasperated, I once asked this question, although in a much nicer way.
The response was far from apologetic and went something like this: I don’t want my child to miss out on any blessings. I want him to feel the love and faith
exhaled in this room. This room is filled with the deepest and most heartfelt expressions of love for our Creator. Everyone checks their own personal flaws and
prejudices at the door and is more conscious of these things during Ramadhan. My son is young but the collective spirituality of our community will permeate
his soul. It will be embedded in his being. It is a gift he is receiving and at one point in his life, I pray that he will give it to others, Inshallah. I was speechless
and never complained about a crying child in the mosque again.
Fasting on the other hand is strange for me. On some days, it is so easy. The day flys by and I break my fast with humility and gratitude for having had the
wherewithal to make it through. Other days, it is excrutiating especially at work and having to constantly explain why I couldn’t join everyone for lunch for that
day. There were also times when I couldn’t fast, like after an operation I had. Instead of focusing on my recovery, I was overwhelmed with guilt. And then, there
are times when I reveled in the fulfillment that comes with giving genuinely to charity and to needy persons. I was once very hungry and right after Maghreb, I
bought the most savory sandwich that I was fantasizing about at work, then boom! On the ground sat a weeping, hungry man. I gave it to him. His eyes lit up.
And strangely, the hunger pangs in my stomach subsided.
One of the most gratifying aspects of Islam for me is the direct connection with God. I can sit on my prayer mat, kneel, prostrate, bow my head and tell Allah
whatever it is I feel. I can cry. I can be angry. I can be miserable. I can be overjoyed and grateful. I can express my fears and my hopes – and ask for
guidance. After making the obligatory prayers, I know that it’s just me and Him and it is at that moment, that I release all of the emotions I would normally
suppress and ask for guidance. I swear that one Ramadhan, I saw bright lights flashing in my room, when I talked to Allah about about a major decision I had
to make. Another Ramadhan, I was recovering from my back surgery and as I pleaded with Allah to lessen my pain, I felt a cool and soothing sensation spread
down my spine and it would be years before I experienced back pain again. Call it psychosomatic if you want, but for someone who’s suffered with back pain
for years, I call it a miracle.
This Ramadhan, I ask for love and kindness. I see it all around me but marital love, the kind I hope for, doesn’t seem to come very close. Is it that I am unable
to recognize it? Has life gotten the best of me so that I can no longer feel? My basic human need for love, I think, is so powerful that it can sometimes lead me
to question everything. I can also give up and fall into oblivion. Like an alien in a strange world, I fight for my inner survival. When I think of the dearth of love
and kindness that exists in this inner world, I find myself fighting to experience it and then I look to the blessings that I received every Ramadhan.
One Ramadhan, on Laylut al Qadr, I asked for guidance. The answer was lucid. Another Ramadhan, I asked for better health and before I knew it, I was on my
feet again. I had a great loss one year and asked Allah to replace it, He did and more. I once lost my job and couldn’t see how I would pay my rent again as a
single woman. A well-off friend of mine offered me her empty apartment until I became employed again, rent free! And so, the list goes on…
It’s easy to lose sight of the many blessings that come our way when we are experiencing a lack of something that is very important. My parents’joy. The
support of a community, strong in faith. A track record to remind me that God is listening. A lesson taught to me by a mother who understands her child’s place
in the mosque. And faith. Faith that love will come. All of Ramadhan I asked for love and kindness and for the right person (my naseeb) to come. It is Eid. And
Eid Mubarak it is. I feel that he is on the way. The light of Eid blesses all of us in mysterious ways.
| Husna Hani |
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