“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” — Rumi
When I was in college, I developed a fondness for the renowned Persian poet, Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi. It was a relationship that had me quite confused at the start, but when I decided to give him another chance, I fell in love with his words. And although he stole many hearts with a mere translation of his work (he’s the No. 1 best-selling poet in America, after all), I find particular passages and verses speak directly to me.
Like the line quoted above, for example.
We all suffer our own struggles and fight our own battles. Me? I failed plenty of times. Things I thought would work out simply didn’t. Even though I knew it was all for the best, I couldn’t help but feel sort of defeated. Mentally and emotionally, life sure can take a toll on a young Muslim woman sometimes.
But it’s sort of amazing, too. At a moment in my life when I felt like I was thrown off an emotional rollercoaster without warning, at a moment when I stayed in bed for two days trying to sleep off everything I was thinking and feeling while avoiding face-to-face interaction with the people in my own home, at a moment when that emotional wound formed—that was the moment I felt a connection with Allah, subhana wa ta’ala. I felt the Light enter me.
That made all the struggle, confusion, and stress worth it. I mean, how could it not?
You know how you avoid talking to certain people about some things because they just wouldn’t understand? Explaining all the details and backstory ends up being a wasted effort. But it’s never like that with Allah, subhanahu wa ta’ala. No one understands us and what we’re going through the way He does. No one can guide us toward the best like He can. He’s right there with you, and He always has been. Simply sitting in your room and pouring your heart out to Him may be the exact conversation you need to have.
Everything we do while walking through this life as travelers is supposed to be for the pleasure of Allah, subhana wa ta’ala. That’s something we hear in every Islamic lecture we attend. Although it’s a message oft-repeated, it’s obviously not easy to remember whenever life throws lows in your direction. When you’re at home with the flu and the rest of your friends decide to hang out, that kind of stinks. The first thought that enters your head isn’t, “Ooh, maybe this illness is a purification for my sins!”
But what if it is?
Narrated Abu Sa’id Al-Khudri and Abu Huraira: The Prophet ﷺ said,
“No fatigue, nor disease, nor sorrow, nor sadness, nor hurt, nor distress befalls a Muslim—even if it were the prick he receives from a thorn—but that Allah expiates some of his sins for that.”
Pairing the above saying of RasulAllah ﷺ (one of my personal favorites) with those verses from the Qur’an that ensure Allah won’t test us with a burden beyond our capabilities is kind of an amazing mix of motivation. It’s like, “HEY, I know this is really hard right now, but guess who guarantees you’ll make it through? Yeah, that’s right—GOD.”
So that pain you feel—the one I felt—that wound, think of it as a means to become closer to Allah, subhana wa ta’ala. A reason to have Him re-enter your life. That pain, then, becomes a good kind of pain—perhaps even a great kind. A kind we all need to experience now and again to keep our relationship with Allah subhana wa ta’ala passionate, real, and heartfelt.
As I go through my struggle today, I remind myself of the ones from my past. A knowledgeable teacher, friend, and confidant once told me, “Insha’Allah, there is khayr in everything.”
Even in the wounds.
I stumbled across this in my Google Drive today, and it’s something I wrote in Fall 2014 for a project that fell through. I thought I’d post it here instead, because although it’s 2.5 years old, it still holds reminders I need to keep in mind and perhaps can help someone going through a difficulty.