“The meaning of life is to find your gift.

The purpose of life is to give it away.”

—Zig Ziglar

My teacher asked us to reflect on the above quote. It reminded me of this quote by Rumi that I have on my study wall:

“Everyone has been made for some particular work

And the desire for that work has been put into every heart.”

There is so much profundity in this notion. If each person pursued the concept with honesty and determination and found his or her own answer to it, each life could become a joyous outpouring of gratitude to the Divine!

Imagine finding the time and the ‘silence of mind’ to sit and ponder on what this means for oneself. Imagine then having the courage to make space in one’s life to nurture the talent that is your own special gift of Divine favour. Imagine how generous God is, that He gave everyone a special gift that only they are aware of inside themselves, and then on top of that He gave them the love for its development!

Most of us hide this inner knowledge from ourselves and others. It is a kind of kufr (denial). Just as we are prone to deny God, so we are prone to shy away from acknowledging His gifts to us. Those who are more creative by temperament sometimes cannot hide them (it would drive them crazy to do so!), but even so, they often do not develop them to the point of their being useful to the soul and beneficial to others.

Sometimes other people, or life itself, metaphorically beat the love of our gift out of us. We end up so spiritually downtrodden that we forget what used to make our hearts come alive. (The Qur’anic phrase ‘wronging themselves’ comes to mind.)

Did you love to draw/paint/dance/ride/build/explore when young? Are you a people/animal/nature lover? Did you always know that you were good at making others feel at ease or feel good about themselves? Do you love to ferret away at finding interesting facts, or meticulously manufacture things of beauty? All these things are gifts and all these things can be used for benefit of the self and others.

Whether your God-given talent becomes a career or remains a hobby, it is your intent and joy in it that matter. How can you use your talent to better the world? How can this talent that is from the Divine be utilised to make you grow closer to its Giver? The first answer leads to the second. If you can spend some time pondering and then implementing a way to do good with your special gift, and if you carry this out with sincere intent for God and concern for the world – and if you do it all with joy and gratitude – then the result will be His drawing you closer to Him.

It is really a win-win situation. Do what you love to do, with a focused and joyful intent, and travel up through the spiritual ranks to reach God. How can we even resist such a bargain when He only asks us to do what He has instilled in us to love to do anyway? Could He have been any kinder in His Benevolence?

There are too many people around these days who seem to take delight in telling us that what we love to do is haram (forbidden). They seem to draw pleasure from frowning and killing the joy. This is because their own joy has been stifled for so long that they cannot let others have some of it.

The voice of my teacher comes to mind. There are very few things that are haram, he says; a few foods and drinks, gambling, riba (usury), and anything in the arena of illicit sexual encounters. These are all things that people whose hearts are joyful would not find pleasure in engaging with anyway. Perhaps it is because the haram are so few that some people seem to delight in hunting around for more things to add to the list!

What if the frowning and finger-wagging people turned into smiling people (it is sunnah – tradition of the Prophet ﷺ – after all!) and said to you, “Follow your heart and worship your Lord through the gifts and talents that He gave you.” Imagine how empowered that could make you feel. There is no ‘one size fits all’ to the extramural parts of religious life. When we look at the lives of successful worshippers of the past that is what we see.

In days gone by, pious Muslims would acquire some knowledge or a skill and then travel and ‘seek their fortune’ just as people of all faiths did. They would set off without fear, completely relying on God. They would do some work or trade along the way, and have great adventures—all the while learning about life, purifying their characters and making the internal journey to travel closer to their Lord.

Or, they might stay put and become craftsmen and artisans, making their daily toils an expression of love for the Divine. They would have the mindset of gratitude for the skills they had learned and would offer up their effort of beauty to God, knowing that when people benefitted from them, they would have fulfilled their own divine purpose.

People have moved a long way away from such lofty mindsets. Work, careers, craftsmanship, artistry; they have all become a means to material gain or to building egos. They have lost the soul that was originally imbibed within them.

Yet it is possible to return to and revive the soul of our endeavours, with a fairly simple tweak of orientation. Turn your face towards God and realise that He gave you talents. Take some quiet time to sit and think deeply about what you love to do and what you are good at. And then take it a step further and think how you can better the world with it. Find your place with your Lord, and see what He has given you to do. Put a Rumi quote up on your wall, and begin. The journey is guaranteed to be joyful!

Feeling comfortable in your own skin – why does it take so long to achieve? I’ve spent years feeling self-conscious in a crowd, stammering over how to respond to new acquaintances, struggling with finding the ‘right’ dress style, stiffening when presenting myself in new situations… the list goes on.

All this, I sense, is because of being unsure of exactly who I am and where I stand with myself. When you aren’t sure where you stand with yourself, where is the hope of knowing where you stand with others?

I’m sure some of the problem stems from temperament. Choleric and sanguine people would feel it much less. They might even not identify at all with what I’m trying to say. Whereas I’m certain melancholics and phlegmatics will know exactly what I mean. I can therefore safely assume that half the world suffers from this problem.

Getting to the root of the issue is difficult. What exactly is it that causes this vague lack of feeling comfortable and ‘right’ with the world of people? That sense of: ‘I have nothing to be stressed about in this social context, yet I know I’m not relaxed. I know I’m not completely being myself.’

For me, this matter manifested most clearly through my struggle with clothes (though it was subtly everywhere in my life). Finding that perfect dress style that expresses ‘the real me’ has been elusive. “Am I Bohemian, Funky or Traditional? I know I’m not Sophisticated or Trendy” The result of over thinking this has been that I usually leave the house looking like the Bag Lady.

Why obsess about clothes? Really it’s a symptom of a deeper crisis. Our clothes project an image, and we are inside them looking at others looking at us. Clothes are our flags of recognition for the outside world. Whether we are aiming to impress others or express ourselves, clothes matter more than most of us would like to admit.

As children we wear what adults dress us in, until a time when we start to exert our clothing preferences. For me there were some cultural confusions that compounded the matter. I’m half Indian and half English. Which half would claim my outward expression? This dilemma epitomised the deeper problem of “Which half do I feel I belong to?” The answer always came closest to neither.

For the first half of my life I couldn’t analyse this. Clothing and its deeper issue of comfortable rightness with the world was dealt with as a random succession of individual outfits, either sewn with great enthusiasm and anticipation (until I saw the reality of the less than dream-like result), or worn passively because it was given to me, and was therefore an expression of what others perceived I ought to look like.

I lived in the Middle East for a few years and wore the traditional black abaya most days. One might think that this would fix the problem, but it doesn’t. The dilemma just becomes more subtle. It also becomes disturbingly about class, and which fancy boutique you bought your perfectly cut and shaped abaya from. I still wound up looking like the Emirati Bag Lady, with my floppy abaya, and lack of high heels and sequined handbag.

In mid-life, I started the long process of questioning everything about how I was living my life, and digging down to the roots of matters. I took a long, hard look at clothing. I decided that because I was so ‘ungrounded’ in my own culture (well, I don’t really have one and that’s the problem), I’m a bit of a lost soul when it comes to dressing.

I decided that the root problem was one of identity. Being quarter Afghani (on the ‘Indian’ side) made me fantasize about being born in a little village, somewhere on an Afghan hillside. If I had, I would have grown up knowing exactly who I was and would have faced the world comfortably in that knowledge. I would have worn colourful dresses and flowing dupattas (traditional, long scarves), knowing that they were right for me. The way I fitted into the world would be forever grounded in a childhood spent running through fields with a bunch of goats.

I spent a long time lamenting this and being almost angry about my lack of cultural definition. It took a lot of time and soul searching, of fixing inner diseases of character one at a time, and of sitting and contemplating things with complete honesty with God – to finally stop feeling resentful and as if I was continuously treading water and trying to keep afloat in social contexts.

Know yourself to know God. This is what our teachers advise us and it is truly a great piece of wisdom.

If you can’t face God honestly and tear down the barriers between yourself and Him, then you can never be comfortable in your own skin. If you can’t face Him with every ugly vice that you force yourself to look at bare-faced without cringing away, then how will you face the world and have an honest interaction with it?

When you have gone through this painful process, you come to know that He, the most important Being, already knows how base you are in character and He hasn’t rejected you. In fact, He has guided you with Love; so much so, that you now know He is with you every step of the way.

This Love of His trips you up and makes you fall flat on your face so many times that after a while you stop counting. Every time it happens, you know that He is watching you and metaphorically chuckling, like a benevolent parent.

You make a thousand mistakes, you behave grossly, and still He picks you up, dusts you off, and teaches you how to do better.

If you’ve been through all this with Him, until finally you know a whole lot more about yourself and you know that He knows everything, then what problem is it, after that, to step out into the world and face people? Does it matter that they don’t see you at your best, when you know that He already knows you at your worst? Living and experiencing all this is what makes you begin to feel comfortable in your own skin.

I finally came to a point of orientating my framework properly. I set my face towards Allah and accepted the way He had designed things for me. I accepted that my being born and raised halfway in everything—a jack of all trades and master of none in the realm of cultural identity—was my qadr (fate) from Allah. He gave it to me in His infinite Wisdom.

That acceptance was when I began to feel a relaxation start to take hold. That’s when I started to feel a smile creep onto my face while walking down the street, knowing that if I wanted to, I could jump up onto a wall and walk along it without fear of reprobation. I finally felt like I could just be myself and not worry about the possibility of ‘myself’ not being good enough.

Knowing that my unique identity is good enough for Him suddenly makes it good enough for me and everybody else. I now know that if I want to go out and skateboard, I’ll go out and skateboard. If I want to sit in a park and write in my journal, I’ll sit in a park and write in my journal. If I want to be quiet at a gathering and people-watch rather than talk, I can do so without feeling the need to explain myself.

This freedom to relax and accept myself in Allah’s sight has, almost surprisingly, given me the sense of joy in dressing that I was searching for. I can now wear my skater dresses and motley collection of scarves with something approaching pizzazz, and ‘carry them off’. I’m comfortable with them. They are me. They are not a half-English girl trying to be Indian, nor are they a half-Indian girl trying to be English. They are just ‘me’.

I suspect that I still often look like the Bag Lady. But now I feel that I can just laugh and embrace her. She is me, and I’m okay with that.

Photo: G Cacakian

By Leila Adam

Being left without an imam (religious leader) at your local mosque makes you realise things that never occurred to you before. Exposure to new and different styles of leadership helps you to learn what will be good for your community and what will cause them to suffer. It’s a strange experience if a city has never been without spiritual leadership in living memory.

In that situation, one can really take off long-worn blinkers and realise the possibilities and profound nature of an imam’s position in the community. An imam carries the community on his back. At the very least, he keeps them safe from wolves and packs of marauding dogs – the troublemakers who fill the void when leadership is absent.

Yet his potential is vastly more than this. Like the pastor of a church, the principal of a school or the CEO of a company, he sets the tone for the whole community. He has the ability to sway them, to lift them to great heights of inspiration or send them crashing against one another in deadly waves of animosity. If he is bored, they will be bored; if he is pumped, they will be pumped; if he is elitist, they will be elitist. Whatever is deep inside his nature will manifest in the people. That’s an awesome and frightening responsibility.

When you see a sublime example of a good imam, who stands right there – as opposed to being a distant figure online – and inspires you, opening your heart, it’s exciting. ‘Could this really be possible?’ you ask yourself. ‘Could communities really be so fortunate as to be uplifted and inspired every week at jumu`ah (Friday congregational prayers), and perhaps even more often than that?’ ‘Could a local imam also be a team leader who helps people get up and do great things in their community; feeding the poor, consoling the wretched-hearted and turning neighbours into friends?’ ‘Is it really possible to stop isolated struggles and feel real community togetherness and fellowship, becoming a cog within a beautiful set of machinery that lights up the whole environment?’ What a wondrous possibility.

A fortunate community will have an imam who teaches them to love themselves and others, to the extent that they each go away and begin working in their own realms of light and benefit. A community that loses out on this blessing will keep going through the motions of daily prayers and weekly jumu`ah without ever being properly awakened from their state of slumber. Like every comfortable sleeper, they will not even want to be awakened. A community with very negative leadership will be driven to stir up trouble and throw dogma at one other, until the mosque becomes a place in which everybody watches his or her back for fear of criticism. After a while, they will tire of the effort and stop coming altogether – and so the mosque stands empty.

So when an imam departs, what does the future hold for the community left in flux? A time of change is, at the very least, an opportunity to figure out what is desirable, and then get up in the depths of night and pray for the best result, through Allah’s Grace and Mercy subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He).

By Leila Adam

Last night, my Mum and I braved the icy wind and went to the mosque to listen to a talk by a visiting Malaysian scholar. Many people were leaving the mosque after Isha prayer as we arrived, so I half wondered if the talk had been cancelled. But there was a small group of men gathered around in the men’s hall and when they knew that a couple of women had turned up, they put the microphone on so we could hear.

Sitting in a cold mosque with faint speakers on a wild night, where the wind outside was louder than the man’s voice, it would have been easy to dismiss it all and go home, but I was suddenly overcome by one of those rare feelings of peace that wash over you, and I knew that we were in a good presence.

When he started to talk about ‘the challenges of being in a non-Muslim country,’ I thought “Here we go, he’s going to say the clichéd bit about keeping up with religion when those around you are heedless,” – but no! Instead, he spoke the words I’ve been hoping to hear a public speaker say for the longest time.

He said that the general people in these countries have inherent goodness and good morals. That their natural, God-given fitrah (innate disposition) is alive and well and they’re doing the best they know how to do in their limited dunya (worldy) paradigm. That, deep down, they know “Alastu biRabbikum (Am I not your Lord?),” “Balaa, Shahidnaa (Yes, we have testified)!”– but they don’t know how to apply it (Qur’an, 7:172). And that all they need is for Muslims in these countries to have the kind of upright character that will make them notice the beauty of Islam and turn to it, so that they can do as well for their akhirah (hereafter) as they have for their dunya (worldly life).

Hooray and alhamdulilLah (praise be to God)! Finally, a voice that speaks of love for the people of a non-Muslim country. Finally, a perspective of fairness in opportunity for all peoples to have the blessing of eternal success. So refreshing, after hearing that same old guarded, introspective ‘protect yourself from the kafirs (disbelievers)’ mentality. Finally, a perspective that truly reflects the Prophetic perspective of the whole world being part of his ministry and in that sense, being also part of his ummah (global community).

He spoke about Muslims proclaiming Islam one minute and in the next wracking their brains about how much profit they can squeeze out of their customers, rather than thinking of their careers as a positive contribution to society and as a khidma (service) to humanity. “If you’re going to be a chef,” he said, “Be the best and most upright chef you can be.” Replace your secular thinking with the mindset of iman (faith). Then, and only then, will Allah turn to you as a community and change your situations.

Alhamdulillah, it was worth braving the cold night. Those men who left the mosque before the talk don’t know what they missed.

By Leila Adam

Don’t allow undisciplined fear to make you jump on a bandwagon or act rashly on impulse against perceived injustices.

Surah Al Qasas 1-46 is the story of Prophet Musa (Moses), `alayhi as-salaam (peace be upon him), growing up in the house of Fir`awn (Pharoah) and then entering his life of prophet-hood. I have spent some days with it, and I realized this story might have some significance for Muslims in the world right now. But of course I am not a scholar of tafsir (Qur’anic interpretation), so please understand that these are just my personal thoughts and responses.

Prophet Musa and Fear

It is fascinating to note that many times when Prophet Musa (as) is mentioned in the Qur’an, the word ‘fear’ is mentioned, and Allah, subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He), shows him in some way how to overcome his fears and have courage, steadfastness and confidence. I know myself to be a fearful person about so many things in life, hence my recognition of it in Prophet Musa’s story (as).

When Prophet Musa (as) was young, after growing up in the house of Fir`awn, the Qur’an says that God (swt) gave him the strength of perfected manhood, as well as wisdom and deep religious knowledge, yet still he struggled with fear for much of his early life (28:14).

When he (as) accidentally killed a man, he feared reprisals from Fir`awn’s people and ended up having to flee to save his life. When he met his future father-in-law in Madyan and told him of fleeing Egypt, the father told him to fear not, and be glad of his escape from unjust people. When he approached the fire on the hillside and God (swt) instructed him to throw his rod and it became a snake, he ran away in fright. God told him to return and not be fearful because he was in fact in a situation of security and safety. When Allah (swt) told him to put his hand in his bosom and bring it out, and it was glowing white, He then told him to keep it close to his side, to guard against feelings of terror. When he was ordered to return to counsel Fir`awn, he spoke of his fear of being caught and killed for the accidental manslaughter he had committed. He asked for his brother Haroon to be allowed to accompany him and help, because he feared the people would accuse him of falsehood. God (swt) said that He would strengthen him with his brother’s help and reassured him that the people would not be able to touch them with harm (Qur’an, 28:18-35).

When Allah (swt) called out to him from the side of Mount Tur, he must have got a huge fright and been struck with unimaginable awe (Qur’an, 28:46). And when he, out of his great longing for God (swt), asked to see Him and was granted the experience of seeing Allah’s manifestation on the mountain and it disintegrated—he fainted! (Qur’an, 7:143). One might imagine that that was the most frightening experience of his life! At that same time, Allah (swt) gave him the Tablets (Ten Commandments) and instructed him to take them and hold onto them with firmness (Qur’an, 7:145).

Musa’s Bravery in the Face of Fear

But then, after all the spiritual lessons and experiences that Allah (swt) put him through, finally when he went to confront Fir`awn, he was fearless, steadfast and confident in trusting in God. When he was leading his people away from Egypt and the army was following them, it must have been like the manifestation of his earlier fears when he first left Egypt, but this time he did not waver. When his people cried out in fear:

“We’ll surely be caught!” Musa said,“By no means! My Lord is with me! He will soon guide me” (Qur’an, 26:62).

When they came across the barrier of the sea, he didn’t cower or hesitate or even turn back or run sideways. He instantly knew that his Lord would help him, and he was then inspired to strike the sea with his stick, leaving the result in God’s hands—and the sea miraculously divided (Qur’an, 26:63). It must have been frightening to run through the two mountainous sides of the divided sea. It would have been a severe test of faith to trust that God (swt) would not let the sea fall back on them while they were at its mercy, travelling through it. But by then, Prophet Musa (as) had already dealt with all his fears and Allah (swt) had helped him master them through putting his entire trust in Him.

So what do we fearful people learn from all this?

When we suffer from fear, we waver, and we are not firm in our intended action because we think ahead about the possible consequences. Sometimes our fears are irrational, but often they are realistic. Prophet Musa’s fears after accidentally killing a man were founded in reality, and his acting on them by running away saved his life. But also, fear can make us hesitate when we are required to act. Sometimes fear is so great that it is paralyzing and we come to a complete standstill. Perhaps many of us today dwelling in unfamiliar environments far from our homelands are living through this kind of paralyzing fear that stops us in our religious development.

Our fear often stops us from thinking clearly and doing what is just and right, because those who are powerful around us might harm us if we speak or act outside the limitations they have placed on us. But then also, we should not act impulsively and put ourselves and others in undue danger before such action is properly backed up by a strength-giving force. We should not allow undisciplined, so-called ‘brave’ action, in reaction to our fears and sense of injustice, to take the place of wise and far-seeing behavior. We need to do preparatory beneficial actions and build ourselves up to a point where we can cope with the required bigger action when the time comes.

Acting Out Impulsively from Fear

This also requires wisdom and clear thought processes—otherwise we will end up inadvertently becoming tyrannous ourselves. When Prophet Musa (as) rushed to the aid of one of his countrymen, he assumed that the one who asked for his help was on the side of right, but he found out later that the man was nothing more than an opportunist. When the man was in trouble a second time and asked for Musa’s help yet again, and Musa was about to jump again to his aid, the enemy to whom he raised his hand said, “O Musa! Is it your intention to kill me as you killed a man yesterday? You merely desire to become a tyrant in this land, and not a person who sets things right!” (Qur’an, 28:19).

This shows that lashing out without proper thought, even when in the face of apparent injustice, is unwise. It was true that Musa’s people were oppressed at that time, but jumping to violent action when they were weak in the land wasn’t the right thing to do and would have brought more tyranny and oppression in the long run. And the same happens today, when people rise up against tyrannous leaders, without having either the inner spiritual strength to act correctly or the military strength to fight a just war. No good can come of it in my opinion, because the people are not themselves in a good enough state to cope well with the consequences.

Prophet Musa (as) was not strong enough to cope with the troubles of his people until he had gone through whatever spiritual lessons Allah (swt) decided he should go through. These lessons included increasing his tawwakul `ala Allah (putting one’s full trust in God) and overcoming his impulses to act on his fear and terror and to act on quick judgements. He had to go through years of discipline (working for his father in law) and some very strong spiritual experiences (on the Mount and with al Khidr) before he was able to stand up to the might of Fir`awn in the correct way. Even then, the correct action turned out to be one of flight, rather than fight, according to what God (swt) decided was best.

Applying the Lessons of Musa Today

What were the consequences of the action that finally took place? The reality of it was that there was a hard slog of dealing with his people who followed their whims and acted in undisciplined and destructive ways. He had to have enormous strength and patience to take them through their forty years of purification in the wilderness. And so it will be if the uprisings we see ever come to some kind of positive leadership; they will have to take their people through many ups and downs and curb their dangerous untrained impulses.

People think that the Arab Spring is a marvelous chance to gain some kind of utopian freedom. It is not. It is a hard slog road that probably should not have been taken in the first place. At least not until people have learnt to deal with their many fears and inadequacies in positive ways and until they can distinguish real courage from sheer foolishness built on an impulsive sense of righting injustices.

I believe that right now, people in many places are severely insecure and filled with fear of what will happen next in a world with a myriad of different problems, all of which are very serious. Many of us are paralysed by our fear and despondency. Some of us think that lashing out and joining in a protest march is doing something positive. But we have not looked far enough to see where such ‘brave’ actions will lead. The more sensible action right now is probably to put our heads down and look inward in order to better ourselves in ways that will allow us to be strong and fearless when the right time comes. For those of us who believe in God (swt), we should be nurturing that faith until our trust in Him has built up to magnificent proportions. We need His Name constantly on our lips to be able to do that. Prophet Musa (as) had his hand that glowed pressed close to his side as a constant reminder that God (swt) was always with him. We have to do a similar thing with whatever remembrance of God we have at our disposal. Increase your dhikr (remembrance). We all need it.

“The mosques of Allah are only to be maintained by those who believe in Allah and the Last Day and establish prayer and give zakah and do not fear except Allah, for it is expected that those will be of the [rightly] guided .” (Qu’ran, 9:18).

I have met people who get frustrated with their local mosque and leave to form other groups. I know that a lot of good can come from such groups, yet I feel disturbed at the process of distancing oneself from the mosque. Sometimes, groups are forced to have classes somewhere else besides the mosque. I understand that and I’ve experienced it, but this can lead to such a distance that the group decides to  set up its own musallah (prayer space), which then becomes a mosque environment — an environment of like-minded individuals.

I know the mosque can be frustrating sometimes, like a big family where different personalities clash and vie for attention; where mealtimes are noisy and people step on each other’s toes in the kitchen; where certain siblings deem their rooms to be out of bounds to other siblings. You see the similarities—but  that’s the point; the local mosque is one big, untidy family.

Things are not perfect in our mosque. There are several ugly issues that crop up from time to time that get us all down. Despite this, I’ve always resisted the temptation to disconnect from the local mosque.

We have a long standing tradition in Ramadan where, every weekend, different groups host a big open-invitation community iftar (breaking the fast program) in the mosque. One evening last year, I remember being greatly touched by the sight of a Somali friend coming into the mosque and sitting down, exhausted after helping to cook iftar for 500 people. Then I saw another friend, a Cambodian woman, who was among those who came to eat, get up and go over to give her a shoulder massage. That same night, I saw a Pakistani woman praying next to a Somali woman, putting her hand out to gently try to stop a child (not her own) from disturbing her neighbor. At the end of the prayer, the Somali woman smiled at her and said, “Don’t worry, I feel no disturbance from these children while I’m praying.”

How beautiful are these women in our local mosque family, subhan’Allah (all praise be to God). These women spend several hours together in classes each week, smile at each other every Jumu`ah (Friday), see each other come and go over the years, and stop in the hallways to coo over their latest babies and rescue each other’s toddlers from causing havoc in the toilets. These are the same women who truly don’t mind whether a Malaysian or an Arab or an African teaches their child in Sunday madrasah (school); they’re just grateful that someone is kind enough to volunteer to teach.

I know there are groups out there that are experiencing success and like-minded synergy of action and learning. I will even join such groups and InshaAllah (God willing) benefit from them, just as a child from a family will go and join a karate club or play a team sport. But at the end of the day, I will return to my beautiful, jumbled and precious local mosque family.