A woman once asked her mother, "How will I ever find the right man?" Her mother replied, "Forget finding the right man, focus on being the right woman."

THE PATCHED ROBE

There was a Jew of Damascus who was reading a holy book one day when he came across the name of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) written in it. Not liking this, he removed the name. But the next day he found it there again. Again he took out the name; but on the third day it had appeared again. He thought: "Perhaps this is a sign that a true Emissary has come. I will journey southwards to Madinah."

And he forthwith started out, not tarrying until he reached the city of the Prophet. When he arrived there, knowing nobody, he was near the Mosque of the Prophet when the Sahabi Anas (ra) arrived. He said to Anas: "Friend, take me to the Prophet."

Anas (ra) led him into the mosque, which was full of people in anguish. Abu Bakr (ra) the successor was sitting there at the head of the assembly. The old man went up to him, thinking he must be Muhammad, and said: "O Chosen Envoy of God, a strayed old man has come to offer you peace." Hearing the title of the Prophet used, everyone present burst into a flood of tears. The stranger was uncertain as to what to do. He said: "I am a foreigner and a Jew, and I am unaware of the rites of the Faith of Submission to the Will of Allah. Have I said something untoward? Should I have remained silent? Or is this a ritual observance? Why do you cry? If it is a ceremony, I have never heard of it."

Omar (ra) said to him: "We do not weep because of anything which you have done. But you must hear, unfortunate one, that it is a but a week since the Prophet left the earth. When we heard his name, grief took possession of our hearts anew."

As soon as he heard this, the ancient tore his clothes in anguish. When he had recovered a little, he said: "Do me one favour. Let me have at least a robe of the Prophet. If I cannot see him, at least let me have this."

Omar (ra) answered: "Only Fatima (ra) could give us one of his robes." Ali (ra) said: "But she will not allow anyone to go near her." But they went to her door and knocked, and explained what they wanted.

Fatima (ra) answered: "Verily, the Prophet spoke truly when he said, shortly before he died: 'A wayfarer, who has love towards me and who is a good man, will come to the house. He will not see me. Give him, therefore, this patchwork robe as if from me, and for me treat him gently, offering salutations.'"

The Jew put the robe on himself and, professing Islam, asked to be taken to the Prophet's grave. It was at this place that he breathed his last.

Paid In FULL

A little boy came upto his mother in the kitchen one evening while she was fixing supper and he handed her on a piece of paper that he had been writing on. After his mum dried her hands on the apron, she read;

"For cutting the grass: $5.00For cleaning up my room this week: $1.00
For going to the store for you: £0.50
Babysitting my little brother while you went shopping: $0.25
Taking out the garbage: $1.00
For getting a good report card: $5.00
For cleaning up and raking the yard: $2.00
TOTAL OWED: $14.75"

Well his mother looked at him standing there. She picked up the pen and turned over the paper he had written on, and this is what she wrote;

"For 9 months I carried you while you were growing inside me: No charge
For all the nights I sat up with you, doctored and prayed for you: No charge
For all the nights filled with dread and the worries ahead: No charge
For the toys, food, clothes and care: No charge
Son, when you add it up, the COST of MY LOVE is: No charge"

When the boy finished reading what his mother had written, there were big tears in his eyes and he looked straight at his mother and said, "MUM I SURE DO LOVE YOU."

LOVE FOR THE MASTER (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) LOVE FOR THE MASTER (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam)

Zaid bin Haritha (R.A), one of the slaves of Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) had a fascinating life story. He was purchased as a slave and given to Khadija (R.A), the wife of Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam). She then gave him as a gift to Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam). He was only 8 years old at this time.

Zaid (R.A) father was grieved by the absence of his son. He and Zaid (R.A) uncle arrived in Makkah to ask Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) to allow Zaid (R.A) to return home. They were told that Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) was in the Masjid. The following dialogue took place between them;

They asked, "O son of Ibn Abdul Muttalib, you free slaves and feed the poor. We have come to you regarding our son who is in your service. Would you be so kind as to return him to us and accept compensation on his behalf?"

Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) asked, "What is his name?"

They answered, "Zaid ibn Harithah."

Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) suggested an alternative solution, "Call him and allow him to choose. If he chooses you, you may take him without any payment. If he chooses me, then, by ALLAH, I can never accept compensation over the one who has chosen me."

They happily agreed to the Proposal. Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) called for Zaid (R.A) and asked him, "Do you recognise these people?"

Zaid (R.A) answered, "Yes. This is my father and my uncle."

Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) said to him, "You know me and my relationship with you. You now have the choice of my company or theirs."

Zaid (R.A) replied, "I choose you. I will never give preference to anyone over you. You are to me like a father and an uncle."

His father and uncle reprimanded him sternly, "Shame on you, Zaid! How can you prefer slavery over freedom? How can you refuse the company of your father and family?"

Zaid (R.A) explained, "I have noticed something extraordinary in this man. I will never give preference to anybody over him."

When Nabi (Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam) heard this, he declared, "O people, bear witness that Zaid is my son. He will inherit from me and I from him."

It was then the verse was revealed, "Call them by their fathers name, That is more just in the sight of ALLAH [Surah Ahzab:4]

His father and uncle felt at ease and left.

THE YOUNG MAN PRFERRED THE COMPANY OF HIS MASTER TO THAT OF HIS OWN FATHER AND UNCLE BECAUSE OF THE EXEMPLARY CHARACTER AND PERSONALITY OF NABI 
(Salallahu Alayhe Wasallam)

STORY -- THE HOTEL

Not long ago, three friends came to the New York city. They decided to stay in a hotel during the visit. It so happened that their room ended up being on the 60th floor. The policy of the hotel was that every night after 12:00AM the elevators are shut down for security reasons. So on the next day, the three friends rented a car and went out to explore the city. They enjoyed movies, concerts and other things throughout the whole day. At one point they remembered that they have to get back to the hotel before 12.00AM.

When they arrived, it was beyound 12.00AM at night. The elevators were shut down. There was no other way to get back to their room but to take the stairs all the way to the 60th floor. All of a sudden, one friend got an idea. He said, "For the first 20 floors, I will tell jokes to keep us going. Then another one of us could say wisdow stories for the next 20 floors. Then we will cover the other 20 floors with sad stories." 

So one of the friends started with the jokes. With laughs and joy, they reached the 20th floor. Now another friend started saying stories of wisdom. So they learned alot whilst reaching the 40th floor. Now it was time for the sad stories. So the thrid friend started thus, "My first sad story is that I have left the key for the room in the car."

Now, what is the point of this story? This story resembles our life cycle. For the first 20 years of our life, we spend time in joking and enjoying whatever is out there. Then after we reach 20, we go into the work forve, get married, have kids and this is the time when we use our wisdom. Then IF we reach 40 we finally see the white hairs and begin to think that my life is coming to an end.

It is better that we start our life in the very beginning by remembering death rather than preparing for it at the end of our lives, when very few of us have the energy to obey ALLAH completely. 

May ALLAH make us carry this KEY (ISLAM) with us at all times, so it will enable us to open the doors to Jannah. Aameen

The Day I Died

It was Halloween night. I made plans with my friends Omar and Malik to go watch SAW 3 at a nearby theatre in Santa Monica, California. We were running late and I realized that I had not prayed Isha but I didnt say anything because I did not want to upset the mood. "Ill just pray afterwards," I told myself.

 

I only lived 26 years. My 27th birthday was exactly two weeks away. I always imagined I would live long. At least until age 60. It just wasn't imaginable that I would have such a sudden, unexpected death.

 

I graduated from the University of Southern California three years earlier with a degree that means absolutely nothing right now. Shortly after, I landed a job as the marketing director of a major clothing company. Aside from the usual life problems, I was living a normal life.

 

My girlfriend of 4 years was starting to pressure me into us getting a place together. I knew I wasn't supposed to have a girlfriend in the first place but I enjoyed her company and friendship. I wasn't ready to give that up. I used to always tell myself that eventually I would marry her. Plus, what would these few years of living a sinful life mean by the time I got older?

 

My job, girlfriend and life-friends took up the majority of my time. It seemed I never had time to pray. I hardly even had time to sit down and eat. Offering prayer was always something that irritated me. I did give an effort to keep up on my prayers but for the last two years of my life I gave up. I pretty much stopped praying altogether.

 

I never made it home in time to pray that night. SAW 3 was a walk through the rose garden compared to what I was about to experience. I was doing 80 on the route 10 freeway. At 12 midnight, 80mph is not considered speeding. Omar flipped through FM radio stations searching for the song he liked. Malik had fallen asleep in the back seat. I began to doze off too. I used to hate when that happened. I shook out of what seemed like a 10 second snooze. I tried to keep my eyes open. But again I dozed off.

 

Omar screamed, "HEY!" It was too late. The car struck the center divider and spun back into the flow of traffic. An on coming car hit my door. That car was also hit by another vehicle. We finally came to a halt somewhere in the middle of the freeway, a hundred yards from the spot of the collision. I didn't feel any pain. I was just dizzy. I heard Omar and Malik moaning as good civilians tried pulling us from the wreck.

 

I wasn't rescued until the fire fighters arrived. It was quite a task recovering my battered body from my totalled car. Breathing became difficult. The fire fighters huddled around me and frantically applied device after device. "He's not gonna make it," I heard one of them say. I'm not gonna make it? How? I didn't feel like I was dying. I felt nothing. My heart started pounding. I was soaked in sweat and blood. I saw Malik standing over the top of me with tears in his eyes. "Don't quit on me", he told me. At that time I knew it was over. I started to cry.

 

The fire fighters moved him away as they made last attempts to revive me. I died. An angel came to me and removed my soul. I watched him fly away with it in disbelief. "How could you? I'm not even 27," I pleaded. "It's time," he told me and left...

 

Two minutes later they pulled a white sheet over me. Omar and Malik, apparently doing better than me, pulled the sheet back to look at me one last time. They cried their eyeballs out. I had known them ever since I was 13 years old and had never seen either one cry. It was a depressing sight.

 

The ride to the morgue, until then, was the worst experience I ever had. I was alone. It was dark and cold. I missed my mom. I missed my brother. I missed my sister. I wished I had spent that last night with my family instead of with Omar and Malik. I worried what my mother was going to do when she saw me in this state. I was ugly. When we finally arrived, I was placed in another cold room with dozens of other dead people.

 

I missed my family so much. Every so often a family came in to view their dead. I always thought it was my family but it wasn't. Hour after hour passed. No mom. No dad. I started to cry again. Then one odd hour I recognized voices. My father walked in with my mother in his arms. His face was worn from stress. Hers wet with tears. They just stared into my eyes and cried. I stared back. I wanted to tell them I loved them. I couldn't. I wanted to hug them. I couldn't. Mom stroked my bloodied hair and kissed my forehead. Dad held her up from collapsing. He slowly pulled her away.

 

I was to be buried the next day. When my parents left, it hit me. I never made Isha prayer! My heart jumped out my chest. I owed Allah a prayer and failed to deliver it to Him. I had hundreds of missed prayers over the past two years. Now I was about to face Him. I felt powerless. For those of you who have never experienced guilt at death, there is not a worldly feeling that amounts to it. It is guilt and sorrow at another level. I tried getting up to make Isha prayer but I couldn't move. It was over. I had no second chance.

 

Then I began to think back. I never knew my memory was so good. I had more than enough time to ponder as I was awaiting my burial. I literally remember every single prayer I missed and reasons why I missed them. Most were laziness, procrastination and neglectfulness. I knew I was in trouble. I wished they would take longer to bury me. I failed! I failed!

 

My girlfriend paid me a visit. She was a devil. When I was alive I saw her as a pretty angel. My pretty angel who loved me and would do anything to make me happy. If I had the ability, I would have cursed her and demanded her to leave the morgue. She put her hand on my forehead. I allowed her to do that for the past four years. Now that I opposed to it, I could do nothing about it. The devil cried for hours at my side. She just would not leave. I felt cheated. I felt like she pulled a joke on me for the past couple of years of my life. I hated this devil! She was ugly! She smelled horrible! She finally left... As she walked out the door my heart was filled with fear and anxiety.

 

The funeral was simple. My body was washed. I didn't seem to care that my naked body was exposed. My worries far surpassed my desire to be modest. I was wrapped in three white sheets. About 300 people attended my funeral. I was saddened not to see my mom at the funeral. I wished she came to see me one last time before they put me in the ground. I never knew so many people cared about me. Many just stared at the tightly wrapped figure in disbelief. Others cried and cried some more.

 

The mass prayed for me. Thousands of individual prayers were made. They asked Allah to have mercy on me. They asked Him to forgive me. I wanted to pray for myself but I couldn't speak. I was helpless. I was carried to the hole in the middle of the barren desert. The people followed. It seemed like slow motion. I didn't want to go. If I had 24 bonus hours I would pray non-stop. They lowered me into the ground. The anticipation was eating away at me. I had surely failed life.

 

I thought back on everything I had worked so hard to accomplish. I earned a college degree. I had a well paying job. I spent hours and hours in the gym ever since I was 16 years old developing my body. I had a pretty girlfriend who loved me. In that life, that was a badge of honor. But as they were lowering me into this grave, which seemed like it took forever, I realized I couldn't use any of those "accomplishments". If only I had been that dedicated to praying five times daily, I would have been at peace right now. Instead I am a nervous wreck beyond anything you all can comprehend.

 

Dirt fell in my hole. Darkness overcame my new home. The last shovels of sand filled the grave. Everyone sadly walked away. The graveyard started to empty. Family by family. Mine was the last to leave. I could hear their footsteps as they walked away. By nightfall it was just me. All alone. My wrapping was soaked in sweat. I nervously awaited the angels to come and question me.

 

They finally did. My final judgment has not been reached yet. I am now waiting for judgment day. Still lying here, alone, as day comes and night falls. Soon I will meet Allah Himself and He will decide whether He will forgive me or not. I can only lay here, wait and hope The All Forgiving, The Most Merciful forgives me and does not punish me. I hope. That is all I have right now. Hope.

 

THIS IS A STORY BUT THIS IS ALSO THE REALITY OF LIFE. YOU WILL DIE ONE DAY. COULD BE TOMORROW. COULD BE TODAY. FOR THE SINNERS THERE WILL BE TORTURE IN THE GRAVE. PLEASE TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY. DO NOT WASTE THIS PRECIOUS TIME WHILE YOU ARE ALIVE.

She's My Sister

Bismillahi Ar Rahmani Ar Rahim - In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious and the Most Merciful

As Salamu Alaykum Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatuhu My Dear Sisters and Brothers in Islam!

I hope you all are doing Great, InshaAllah! May Allah (Subhanahu Wa Ta'alaa) grant you all with the best of health and strong emaan (faith), Ameen!

There is a pretty emotional story that brought tears into my eyes, but it has a Great message and I would like to share it with you! InshaAllah, we will all benefit from it and take the lesson the message is giving us!

Mohammad Alshareef translated the following true story from the book "Azzaman Alqaadim" and gave it as his final speech at the MYNA East Zone conference.

 

~*~   She's My Sister   ~*~

Her cheeks were worn and sunken and her skin hugged her bones. That didn't stop her though, you could never catch her not reciting Qur'an. Always vigil in her personal prayer room Dad had set up for her. Bowing, prostrating, raising her hands in prayer. That was the way she was from dawn to sunset and back again, boredom was for others.

As for me I craved nothing more than fashion magazines and novels. I treated myself all the time to videos until those trips to the rental place became my trademark. As they say, when something becomes habit people tend to distinguish you by it. I was negligent in my responsibilities and laziness characterized my Salah.

One night, I turned the video off after a marathon three hours of watching. The adhan softly rose in that quiet night. I slipped peacefully into my blanket.

Her voice carried from her prayer room. "Yes? Would you like anything Noorah?" I said.

With a sharp needle she popped my plans. "Don't sleep before you pray Fajr!"

Agh...there' s still an hour before Fajr, that was only the first Adhaan!

With those loving pinches of hers, she called me closer. She was always like that, even before the fierce sickness shook her spirit and shut her in bed. "Hanan can you come sit beside me."

I could never refuse any of her requests, you could touch the purity and sincerity. "Yes, Noorah?"

"Please sit here."

"OK, I"m sitting. What's on your mind?"

With the sweetest mono voice she began reciting:

"Every soul shall taste death and you will merely be repaid your earnings on Resurrection Day"

She stopped thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Do you believe in death?"

"Of course I do."

"Do you believe that you shall be responsible for whatever you do, regardless of how small or large?"

"I do, but Allah is Forgiving and Merciful and I've got a long life waiting for me."

"Stop it Hanan ... aren't you afraid of death and it's abruptness? Look at Hind. She was younger than you but she died in a car accident. So did so and so, and so and so. Death is age-blind and your age could never be a measure of when you shall die."

The darkness of the room filled my skin with fear. "I'm scared of the dark and now you made me scared of death, how am I supposed to go to sleep now. Noorah, I thought you promised you'd go with us on vacation during the summer break."

Impact. Her voice broke and her heart quivered. "I might be going on a long trip this year Hanan, but somewhere else. Just maybe. All of our lives are in Allah's hands and we all belong to Him."

My eyes welled and the tears slipped down both cheeks.

I pondered my sisters grizzly sickness, how the doctors had informed my father privately that there was not much hope that Noorah was going to outlive the disease. She wasn't told though. Who hinted to her? Or was it that she could sense the truth.

"What are you thinking about Hanan?" Her voice was sharp. "Do you think I am just saying this because I am sick? Uh - uh. In fact, I may live longer than people who are not sick. And you Hanan, how long are you going to live? Twenty years, maybe? Forty? Then what?" Through the dark she reached for my hand and squeezed gently. "There's no difference between us; we're all going to leave this world to live in Paradise or agonize in Hell. Listen to the words of Allah:

"Anyone who is pushed away from the Fire and shown into Jannah will have triumphed."

I left my sister's room dazed, her words ringing in my ears: May Allah guide you Hanan - don't forget your prayer.

Eight O'clock in the morning. Pounding on my door. I don't usually wake up at this time. Crying. Confusion. O Allah, what happened?

Noorahs condition became critical after Fajr, they took her immediately to the hospital ... Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un.

There wasn't going to be any trips this summer. It was written that I would spend the summer at home.

After an eternity...

It was one O'clock in the afternoon. Mother phoned the hospital. "Yes. You can come and see her now." Dad's voice had changed, mother could sense something had gone deathly wrong. We left immediately.

Where was that avenue I used to travel and thought was so short? Why was it so long now, so very long. Where was the cherished crowd and traffic that would give me a chance to gaze left and right. Everyone, just move out of our way. Mother was shaking her head in her hands crying as she made dua'a for her Noorah.

We arrived at the hospitals main entrance.

One man was moaning, another was involved in an accident and a third's eyes were iced, you couldn't tell if he was alive or dead.

We skipped stairs to Noorahs floor. She was in intensive care.

The nurse approached us. "Let me take you to her." As we walked down the aisles the nurse went on expressing how sweet a girl Noorah was. She reassured Mother somewhat that Noorah's condition had gotten better than what it was in the morning.

"Sorry. No more than one visitor at a time." This was the intensive care unit. Through the small window in the door and past the flurry of white robes I caught my sisters eyes. Mother was standing beside her. After two minutes, mother came out unable to control her crying.

"You may enter and say Salam to her on condition that you do not speak too long," they told me. "Two minutes should be enough."

"How are you Noorah? You were fine last night sister, what happened?"

We held hands, she squeezed harmlessly. "Even now, Alhamdulillah, I'm doing fine."

"Alhamdulillah. ..but...your hands are so cold."

I sat on her bedside and rested my fingers on her knee. She jerked it away. "Sorry ... did I hurt you?"

"No, it is just that I remembered Allah's words

One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud) {waltafatul saaqu bil saaq}

"Hanan pray for me. I may be meeting the first day of the hearafter very soon. It is a long journey and I haven't prepared enough good deeds in my suitcase."

A tear escaped my eye and ran down my cheek at her words. I cried and she joined me. The room blurred away and left us ^Ö two sisters - to cry together. Rivulets of tears splashed down on my sister's palm which I held with both hands. Dad was now becoming more worried about me. I've never cried like that before.

At home and upstairs in my room, I watched the sun pass away with a sorrowful day. Silence mingled in our corridors. A cousin came in my room, another. The visitors were many and all the voices from downstairs stirred together. Only one thing was clear at that point ... Noorah had died!

I stopped distinguishing who came and who went. I couldn't remember what they said. O Allah, where was I? What was going on? I couldn't even cry anymore.

Later that week they told me what had happened. Dad had taken my hand to say goodbye to my sister for the last time, I had kissed Noorah's head.

I remember only one thing though, seeing her spread on that bed, the bed that she was going to die on. I remembered the verse she recited:

"One leg will be wrapped to the other leg (in the death shroud)" and I knew too well the truth of the next verse: "The drive on that day we be to your Lord (Allah)!"

I tiptoed into her prayer room that night. Staring at the quiet dressers and silenced mirrors, I treasured who it was that had shared my mother's stomach with me. Noorah was my twin sister.

I remembered who I had swapped sorrows with. Who had comforted my rainy days. I remembered who had prayed for my guidance and who had spent so many tears for so many long nights telling me about death and accountability. May Allah save us all.

Tonight is Noorah's first night that she shall spend in her tomb. O Allah, have mercy on her and illumine her grave. This was her Qur'an, her prayer mat and this was the spring rose-colored dress that she told me she would hide until she got married, the dress she wanted to keep just for her husband.

I remembered my sister and cried over all the days that I had lost. I prayed to Allah to have mercy on me, accept me and forgive me. I prayed to Allah to keep her firm in her grave as she always liked to mention in her supplications.

At that moment, I stopped. I asked myself: what if it was I who had died? Where would I be moving on to? Fear pressed me and the tears began all over again.

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar...

The first adhan rose softly from the Masjid, how beautiful it sounded this time. I felt calm and relaxed as I repeated the Muadhdhins call. I wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and stood to pray Fajr. I prayed as if it was my last prayer, a farewell prayer, just like Noorah had done yesterday. It had been her last Fajr.

Now and insha' Allah for the rest of my life, if I awake in the mornings I do not count on being alive by evening, and in the evening I do not count on being alive by morning.

We are all going on Noorah's journey. What have we prepared for it?
---------

May Allah (Subhanahu Wa Ta'alaa) strengthen our emaan and keep us firm on the straight path to Jannah and make our journey in the Hereafter easy, Ameen!!

Stay Strong Dear Sisters and Brothers in your deen and emaan! Keep Allah (Subhanahu Wa Ta'alaa) in rememberance and prepare yourselves for the Hereafter, only Allah (Subhanahu Wa Ta'alaa) knows when we will meet the Angel of death!

Stay Blessed all!
Wa Alaykumusalam Wa Rahmatullahi Wa Barakatuhu

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Anything good that I have said is from Allah (Subhanahu Wa Ta'alaa), and if anything I said was bad and wrong is from myself. May Allah (Subhanahu Wa Ta'alaa) forgive our mistakes and sins and increase our knowledge of the deen, Ameen!
['Amr bil Ma'ruf Wa Nahi anil Munkar! (Command the good and forbid the evil!) - So, please dear sisters and brothers - correct me if I do a mistake or say something wrong! InshaAllah, Allah (Subhanahu Wa Ta'alaa) will reward us for correcting the mistakes of each other!