Does that Make Me an Extremist? My Definition of Religious

Asalamu aliakuam wa rahmat Allah wa barkatoo and Hellooo!

We're on day 49 :)

Anyways, we're living in a time when many people don't want to be 'considered religious', and that's mainly because many people confuse 'what being religoius means'. I thought I would...come to the rescue and offer my definition (which is completely based on Islamic texts/traditions).

 

Being religious means being gentle to your parents, treating your neighbors good, having a connection with the Supreme Creator, the Compassionate and the Just.

Being religious means understanding your purpose on this Earth is to worship the One who created you, created the stars, the universe, the Earth.

Being religious means being peaceful, it means honoring your promises, it means treating people like brothers and sisters, it means not harming yourself or harming others, it means calling your friends with names that they like, not talking about people behind their back .

Being religious means trusting in Allah. It means loving Allah and taking Him as a Protector, and a Victor: He will bring you victory.

Being religious does not mean acting better than those who are not as knowledgable as you in religion (in terms of rules, etc.). Allah hates those who brag. Being religious does not mean judging people: you never know. Who ever you judge and deem as stupid and worthless, might be loved by Allah.

Being religoius does'nt mean 'knowing theoretical rules of religion and the hadiths' but going around bragging , acting superior to everyone, turning your back on others. That would be irreligious!

Being religious means fighting a war with Shaitan everyday against temptation. It means fighting ignorance and the dark.

Being religious means following these two ayas:"Allah commands you to do justice, kindness and give charity to relatives and forbids you from all acts of lewdness, evil, and rebellion." "(Men and women of Allah) Control their anger, and forgive people; Allah likes righteous people."

Being religious means giving charity; caressing the head of an orphan, forgiving people, and not accusing people of things they have not committed. It is not lying, it is saying the truth, it is not being racist. A white is not better than a black, and a Arab is not better than a foreigner and a foreigner is not better than an Arab except in taqwa (piety).

 

Being religious is striving to live the way Allah has ordained. It's repenting when making a mistake. It's giving the da'awa kindly and correcting mistakes gently. It's turning to Allah always, and always...
 
 
:)

P.S. If you're wondering what jihad is, you can see anonymous's question in the Islam 101 post and my answer :)

What a Genius She is...

Asalamu aliakuam wa rahmat Allah wa barkatoo and HellOOo!

Guest post today by my very dear friend sister. She writes poetry but usually doesn't share it with anyone (other than me), but finally I convinced her to let me post some. Yes, most of the world doesn't know that behind these peering brown eyes is a poet...

Some day, though, they will know...the people who pass her by...what a genius she is! Some day :)

"When I Grow Up"

When I grow up, I’ll

I’ll…

I’ll shake hands with the man on the moon

Twirl with the stars

Dive in black holes and…

And race comets in the night,

I said.

“Silly, girl. You can’t do that.

Now, class, let us think of something she can do”,

My teacher said.

Twenty years later, I sat down for dinner with my family. After sitting alone for eight hours at a desk (alone except for a never ending stack of papers, which only seemed to grow and loom over me), it felt good to be alive.

 “Did you see the snow?” my father asked.

“What snow? It can’t snow here. We’re in a desert,” I said, laughing at the thought.

“I guess no one told the sky that,” my father answered.

“Because it’s snowing.”

 

A  Happy Family

He sat

Eyes super-glued to the screen,

Oblivious to everything

Like he was in his own glass booth

Or bubble

His eyes never blinked

Piercing eyes

Which never saw anything

His son sat

Glued like him to the TV

Stuck to the sofa

And except for his mouth,

which sang along with the commercials,

every damn one of them,

He never moved

Just sat, a ghost frozen in place

His wife was out

Shopping

For things that never seemed to end

But which they always seemed to need

Out with her friends

And she’d come home late

After they’d fallen asleep,

Like she always did

His daughter was on the phone

Again

Hidden from view

In her room

Her door locked

Her voice a whisper

And she giggled into the phone

And they were all happy

Each in their own world

One happy family-

Perfect strangers 

Happy- alone.

-------(New poem which purposefully doesn't have a title)

I woke up today morning

Without a voice

Opened my mouth

Nothing came out

Not a mutter, not a whisper,

Not even a croak

Nothing at all

At lunch, my mother came over

Began talking to me about this and that

And as I pointed frantically,

 with my hands, to my throat

Tried to mouth out what was wrong

My mom looked at me,

Glasses resting on her nose

And said,

“You never listen” and carried on…

Later at night,

After my fiancé called,

And I’d gone to work,

And watched the news,

I realized

Nothing had changed

And no one had noticed

No one at all

---

And one final short story by me (it's less than 500 words as the challenge was) that her second poem reminded me of. 

Crumbs of a Family

            I remember how it used to be. I remember how we’d all be sitting around the dinner table, waiting for the sun to set so that we could break our fast. I remember the noise. There were always four conversations going on at once. My big brother would be discussing something about the university with my dad, and at the same time, he would be arguing with my mother about his engagement party. My sister and I would be laughing over something that happened in class, and my younger brother would be talking to himself. It wasn’t always the same people talking to each other, but there was always somebody talking to somebody, even themselves. I remember the crunching and munching noises. I remember how it used to be if somebody slurped. I remember how I would tense up, sigh and glower all at the same time at the offender. I remember how I was always annoyed at all the noise around me. Why couldn’t everybody just be quiet for once? Why couldn’t we be a normal family? I remember how I would complain that the way certain members of the family ate made my appetite go away. I remember. And now, my father works overtime. My big brother lives far away, with his wife in a different house. My sister eats dinner with her friends out. My younger brother skips dinner to play soccer outside. And now, only my mother and I dine together in silence, and I wonder…What happened to the family? I hit my spoon against my bowl. Anything to break the dreaded silence. And I remember. How alive we used to be.

P.S. It really did SNOW in the desert (in certain parts of the UAE and of Saudi Arabia) in recent years.

P.S.S.

The Language of Giving

Aslamu aliakum wa rahmat Allah wa barkatoo and HelllOOoo,

The scene: two little boys who look to be originally Pakistani (but perhaps UK nationals since they spoke English) sit next to an Egyptian lady and her 3 year old toddler

The Problem: The Pakistani boys want to play with the toddler, but there appears to be no common language between them. They speak Pakistani and English, and he speaks (3 year old) Egyptian…

But then, the Pakistani boys did an incredible thing.

They had been eating some chocolate while looking at the toddler and they’d finally reached their last chocolate.

There it was…the very last piece.

They decided to offer it to the toddler.

As the toddler’s mother “unwrapped” the chocolate, she offered it back to the boys. My twin said, you could see that the boys really did want it, their mouths practically salivating over it, but still, they shook their heads no,

And left it with this toddler,

This toddler they didn’t know,

This toddler that didn’t speak their language-

That, my friends, is the language of giving. And it, along with love, is the language of humanity.

Aishah, the Prophet's wife and the mother of the believers (may Allah exalt their mention) said: A poor woman came to my door carrying two little girls. I offered them three dates (i.e. since I had nothing else). She gave each of her two girls a date, and lifted the third one to her mouth to eat. Both her daughters urged her to feed them more, so she split the last date into two pieces and gave one half to each of her two daughters. I admired what the woman had done and told the story to the Prophet of Allah (Peace be upon Him) who said upon hearing it:

"Verily Allah obligated paradise for her due to this act of hers".

You shall not attain righteousness until you spend of what you love. Whatever you spend is known to Allah. (3:92)

(This is the reason our Imams say ‘don’t only give used clothes for charity/etc. Give what you love. Your new favorite piece of jewelry, etc.]

How the Silence Roars

Asalamu aliakum wa rahmat Allah wa barkatoo and HellOooo!


I believe that words are important. They can hurt, they can heal, they can break down a person, they can strengthen and give courage to a person.That's why- we have to pay attention to what we say,

and what we

don't say.

Because the silence...it roars:

How the Silence Roars

It’s funny, how you expect me to listen to you whenever you want me to,

And funnier still-

I do.

Listen to you.

Every word you say.

And every word you don’t.

I hear it well,

As it tears my heart into pieces.

            How the Silence Roars! Loud and clear—it often drones out everything else. The hugs, the gifts, the pats, all forgotten as the son waits for his father to say “I’m proud of you”, as the wife waits for her husband to say “I love you”, the student waits for his teacher to say “Great job” and the waitress waits for the customer to say “Thank you”….as they wait and wait and never hear it. Never hear anything but the silence.

            How the silence roars! Loud and clear until the people waiting to hear the magic words begin to lose a bit of themselves, a little bit of pride or pieces of their hearts. And it doesn’t matter if the word is thank you” or “sorry” or “I love you”, what matters is that these people never get to hear these words; they are ignored as if they don’t matter at all…

P.S. Sunday's Dare: Today- tell someone:

-          You love them,

-          Thank you

-          You’re a phenomenal woman/a great dad/friend

They might just need to hear it.

           

P.S.S. MD, I love it. I love you for the sake of Allah. Jazaki Allah koli khair!

P. +3's. I'm gonna be all sneaky here. I promised not to make this a  religious post. I'm going to keep my promise, but I'll turn this question to my readers. Who can tell me a hadith (a saying of Prophet Mohammed, peace and blessings be upon him) that touches upon this topic?