Anxiety. Palpitations. A sweaty head. My mind was restless trying to shut down all traces of the subject of my latest anxiety. It does that when it know it’s guilty of something. I had done something quite adverse, but surely not irreversible. I saw a possible, most logical solution, but I wanted to get there by myself. I prayed for a miracle, in order to get to that solution, but it was purely lip service, purely for mention’s sake because it did not come from my heart. There was no surrendering. No confessing of sin, no shaking of the voice that usually comes with admitting the state of vulnerability and neediness one was coming from. I actually thought I was the master of my own fate.
For several days I dodged dua’. I kept away from raising my hands to the sky and avoided the gaze of my sajjadah, using my monthly biological condition as an excuse. All of this due to the fear of what? Confrontation. I just couldn’t bring myself to admit that I had done something I should not have, in the name of desperation. Of course I had a long list of justifications. Whether or not they were valid doesn’t matter, the problem was that I refused to seek His help when I clearly needed to. I thought that if I busied myself actively trying to look for the solution by my own, the solution would present itself to me and I wouldn’t have to deal with the feeling of guilt and smallness, which usually came with making dua’. I knew exactly that that was the most beautiful aspect of dua’- the confession of a servant that he is in need, and the acknowledgment on his part that His Creator is the Architect of his life events. I had already known of that property of dua’ because I had tasted it in the past, yet I chose to ignore it because I thought I could handle this little test by myself. How wrong was I to believe so. What I did not realize was the magnitude of this action- not the magnitude of the sin, but the consequence of me, having already been acquainted with the role and function of dua’ as a means of obtaining something I wanted and needed and yet chose not utilize it, is one of the worst things ever. In retrospect, it certainly is worse than the sin itself.
The day I chose to run back to Him was a day I asked for tears. For over the course of those dua’-dodging days, I had felt my heart harden. No tear would come out, no pain did I feel in my chest at my first attempt of confession. But lo and behold, at the contact of my forehead to the ground, a massive weight slipped off my mental capacity and shoulders, and a light soon entered me. Tears blurred my vision, rolled down my cheeks and moistened the sajjadah which I had been avoiding. I poured my heart out, reached out to the One who loves His servants to ask from Him, and slowly but surely I gained more and more confidence that I would be granted what I had asked for. The solution was now clearer in sight than it was before. Soon after that intimate moment was over, I grabbed a mirror to inspect my swollen face. After all I am a female. I liked to know how “ugly” I looked at all times. A countenance that was in no way attractive to anyone blessed with perfect eyesight appeared on the reflection, but it was one that I was overjoyed to see. It was always assuring to know that your heart is still receptive and mould-able, and not rock hard, by one’s ability to cry. As I was scrutinizing each eye, I noticed something. Was that a hole in my water line, nesting in the corner of my lower eyelid? Wait. I brought the compact mirror closer. Had that always been there? I had to check the other side. There it was, a hole as small as a needle’s tip. Instinctively I checked the upper corners of both lids, and felt a wave trying to escape my chest. It rushed and crashed against the walls of my soul and immediately, I fell once again into a series of eye-bawling, followed by some heaving. I must have studied this in Biology in my O-level days, but it was as if it was my first time seeing it that day. This discovery of the lacrimal punctum. The four holes from which tears escape. How in the world had I mustered the audacity to think that I was the master of my own affairs, when the One who created me didn’t miss out a single detail, not even the system which transports tears out into the rims of each of my eye in creating me?! And to think that this feature is present in every other human being! How minute and well-thought out of a network just to ensure that I was able to bring clear, salted liquids to the surface of my eyeballs when I feel grief or when I am overwhelmed with extreme joy. Or when words fail me. At that moment I could not say anything. My tears were my words; “I surrender”. You handle not only my external and interpersonal affairs, but also the affairs of my anatomy. These tiny, pinprick sized holes in my eyes are a sign enough for me. A tear system. And a perfectly working one too. No clogging. No drying up. How can there be people who deny Your existence?
Look into the mirror and see how perfectly He has moulded you. How can you not trust Him to handle your affairs for you, when He has thought of even the smallest of things in order for you, as an organism, to function. He even provides for those who disobey him; I was still able to cry. That means He still wanted to forgive me, there was hope for me. Wouldn’t that mean there is hope for those who disbelieve in Him too? Yes, surely. Ar-Rahman still allows their bodies to function perfectly. If He can provide for those who transgress their bounds, what made me think that He would not answer my prayers?
Ya Rabb, the Ever Living and Eternal One, by Your Mercy I make a plea, I beg and I implore You to set all my affairs right. Do not leave me to handle my soul even for a blink of an eye.