A wife whose husband has thoughtlesslybetrayed her a thousand times finds dire pain in forgiving. Even at the melodyof her kneeling husband's sobs, her anger runs deep. He broke her. His love forher was mild and shallow enough to never be his internal compass for making hera priority. What kind of love is it that never touches the heart? What kind oflove is this that never helps a husband grow gracious and heedful of his wife'sdelicate and sensitive nature? A fake, alleged love it is. Our gracious creator has made us creaturesof affection, spurred naturally by our likes and dislikes, driven by anintrinsic fuel towards the destinations that we personally choose. Our heartsare always overwhelmed by mad obsessions and love toward different things thatwe value and honor ranging from the most trivial to the most cherished likeloving your wife, your parents, or your siblings. And in this soothing state oflove, we summon the will for enduring the most troublesome circumstances forthe sake of this person whose love has resurrected our bleak hearts.
And there is this deep kind of love that Iconfidently claim yet never undertake; an alleged love that resembles acarefully worded poem uttered by a husband who thrives upon infidelity; it ismy love for Allah that seldom inspires me to make him a priority. And recentlydid I realize why my prayers for help have been as ineffective as the pleadsfor aid amidst the lands of the dead
Like the husband who may justify his lovefor his wife by buying her roses or giving her a heartless kiss on the cheek, Isometimes justify my love for Allah by an effortless share on a social network,an act of charity or by a prolonged prayer after which I feel worthy ofblessings and mercy.
And to the surprise of my heart, the actsthat are far more reflective of my love for my lord go unattended for;opportunities for an expression of love that remain unexploited. And I can onlyimagine how that is perceived in the eyes of Allah. When he calls for hisworshipper to take the effort of interrupting the lust of sleep to wake up fora prayer that truly stands for a hearty love and then his worshipper fails toendure the effort of that. When he calls for his worshipper to make his holyreligion of Islam a priority through the mindful reading of Qur'an, the modesttreatment of women, and the continuous remembrance of his blessings, he seesthat as the true and required expression of love. And if a wife who's madlyloved by a passionate husband can feel willing to wander the universe for hissake, what can Allah possibly do for a worshipper whose love for his lord runsdeep under his skin?
My shame is more eloquent than words canexpress. Incessantly do I ask for his aid and his help and all what I give inexchange is a limp, vulnerable form of love. No wonder why my deep wishes forredemption expires at end of my prayer. No wonder why I feel perplexed, notunderstanding why am I not getting the aid that I claim to have earned. How do I expect my gracious lord to make me apriority when my heart managed to make worldly obsessions deeper and moreprofound than my love for him? How shameful it is to only have my cheeks getwet and my breathing grow heavier when I am in deep trouble, knowing heartilythat he Is the only one that can help me. And in times of security andpsychological safety, my heart grows forgetful of fearing him.
Loving Allah meaningfully is the only wayto finding this discernible euphoria in praying where you pause from the hecticstream of life to breathe long enough to wash your sins away; where youheartily solicit for his aid, promising to allow your love for him to finds itsway to seriousness and sincerity. The greatest comfort is within allowing yourlove for him loom large in that valuable soul, heart and mind of yours,allowing you to lead a righteous, purposeful and balanced life in which youfind serenity and quietness.
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