One day, I sat there thinking, He has the entire universe in His hands, every star, every ocean, every soul ever born — what will our little patience mean to Him? But then I thought maybe that’s exactly why it matters, because in all that vastness, He still sees us standing here, holding something fragile and real, asking Him not to let it slip away.
Of course His plan is grand and vast — perhaps what He wants is for whatever grows between us to outlast the infatuation of this day. Not like a toy a child begs for, cherishes for a moment, then lets it collect dust the day a new one comes along — but like a dua a mother makes for her child, one he doesn’t fully understand yet, but grows into, and one day looks back on with gratitude and tears.
Someone once told me that Ibrahim (AS) spent his best days in the fire — such was his intimacy with the Divine. But I fear that we, being human, never quite return from those blessed states.
Sometimes I wonder why He doesn’t just grant us our desired end — whatever it is He has planned. But then again, perhaps we wouldn’t understand the worth of what we have if it came too easily. The husn-e-zun we develop through this waiting, that quiet beautiful trust — maybe that is the goal itself.
But I will be here, waiting still, somewhere between longing and surrender, for my Dua to complete, in this life or after.