A bad dream. And I wake up to the Fajr prayer. So many
times. And I’m forced to wonder if these are signs to warn me. To think. To
become more reflective. They could also just be my fears playing on me. The
silence in that moment when the dark night is about to die, drowned in the disturbing
images from the dream push me to spread out the prayer mat and turn to Allah.
And a strange peace follows as I get back to bed. As if I didn’t disappoint the
opportunity that Allah gave me in that small window of time to reach out and
ask for help. That’s my faith.
I believe when my heart is prompted to say a prayer for
every passing airplane, I am being heard. I am connected to all those boarded
on those random flights and my reaching out to Allah for them might turn out to
ease my journey beyond the skies one day. Missing out on the opportunity almost
feels like a huge curse or failure.
Driving on the road, watching the delivery boys scoot on
their motor bikes, a prayer for their safety pops up almost instantly. I see
struggle, effort, hope. A child, no matter how grown up deserves a prayer while
leaving home. Saying a prayer as I drive past the young soul, a strong sense of
safety wraps up my own child somewhere on the road and I feel peace.
Prayers are fueled by faith.
If you don’t feel your prayer makes a difference, it will
not.
If your prayers are selfish, they will be buried with you.
If your prayers are for display, know that your truth will
unfold in this world.
A Prayer offers connection.
It isn’t about you, your child, your home, your community, your
country or your religion.
It is about your child and their children, your home and their
homes, your community and their communities, your country and their countries,
your religion and their religions.
It is about us.
