Haven't written in a couple of days now. I've been busy with work and currently still finalising a few things for the wedding but once that's done and covered with, will definitely update you all with some progress! :)
For the time being, the story pasted below was actually recommended to me by a friend. It brought tears to my eyes as I was reading this, but the message conveyed is sadly true for a lot of married couples these days. I pray that mine will not turn out that way but if it does, that Allah will give me and my future husband guidance and the chance to reflect to make things right once again. Ameen.
Enjoy:
Ahmed came home from work, tired and frustrated after having to meet a hard contract deadline and correct the work of a colleague who was about two days from being fired. Firing him was not going to be a good solution, because then all his work would land on Ahmed's desk. The week promised to go from bad to worse.
Once inside the door, Ahmed took off his knitted cap and placed it carefully on the peg so he would be sure to have it the next morning to ward off the chill He dumped his briefcase on the sofa and left a trail of clothing on the way to the bathroom.... shoes, socks, necktie, shirt, pants. By the time he reached his "sanctuary" he was down to his skivvies, holding only the newspaper as he closed and locked the bathroom door. He had not yet said hello to his wife or uttered any word beyond a quiet "Salaam Alaikum" as he opened the door, so quiet that the words of peace did not reach his wife in the downstairs laundry room.
Aisha had heard the door open and hurried to toss a load of laundry in the washer before going up to greet her husband. She bustled up the stairs only to see the trail of dirty clothing and the light shining under the closed bathroom door. Sighing, she bent to pick up the clothing and then went back downstairs to add what her husband had discarded to the neverending pile of clothing to be washed. Closing the door on that task, she marched back upstairs to check dinner. Ah, ready, just in time. Over the years she had gotten her timing down to perfection, makings sure food was ready when her husband walked in the door, never making him wait. She fixed him a plate so it would cool a bit, poured water, and carried the tray to his favorite spot in the living room where he would sit and watch the news when he came home.
After about fifteen minutes, Ahmed emerged refreshed from the bathroom. He had washed up, made wudu, and then he went to pray the asr prayer. He said an absent salaam alaikum to Aisha as he passed her in the hallway and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then proceeded to his room to pray. He didn't ask if she had prayed yet or invite her to pray with him. Afterwards, he strolled out to the livingroom and sat in his chair. He said bismillah and started to eat. Aisha sat next to him, idly watching the news and noting his appreciative grunts as he ate. Finally, he swallowed a last bite, said "alhamdulillah" in no particular direction, and sat back. "Can you get me a toothpick?".
For a while while he digested, he talked to her, telling her about his day and mentioning how snowed under he was at work. He complained about his coworker and his boss, the traffic and the pollution downtown. Aisha nodded sympathetically and decided not to mention that her only "good" abaya had gotten torn, that the baby had sicked up on her twice, and that the garbage disposal was making funny noises if she used it. He had enough on his mind, she considered. She cleared his plates and went to check on the baby, who was still blissfully napping, and put on water for tea. While it was heatinng, she stole a few moments to review the verses of surah Kaafiruun, which she had been trying to memorize forever but whose repetitive lines were leaving her confused. She wanted to ask Ahmed about it but she didn't want to interrupt him while he was watching his favorite crime show.
Half an hour later, tea was drunk, the show was over, and Ahmed reminded her that they had a "thing" at the masjid tonight and he had promised to go. "I could go with you", Aisha said. "Well, that'd be fine, but I want to go early and you still have to feed and change the baby. I'll go now and you follow in the other car. Where's my galabiyya?" "In the front closet. It's ironed and your kufi is in the pocket." "Ah, thanks, okay. See you in a bit". He placed another absent-minded kiss on her forehead and walked out the door.
Aisha hustled to get the baby ready. It wasn't easy. Little Yasin woke up in a fuss, not wanting to settle to nurse, and once again he had pooped and had totally messed up his diaper and his shirt, necessitating the fifth wardrobe change of the day. As she dealt with the mess, Aisha felt alone and near tears. She tried to think of why, when she had just spent the last couple of hours with her husband. Well, she had been in the same room with him, but she didn't really feel as if she had been "with" him. He treated her with politeness, but with no more concern that he would a comfortable piece of furniture. He took for granted the clean house, quiet baby, freshly-cooked meal, and nicely pressed clothing. Yes, he was tired from work, but she worked, too, and her "job" did not allow her to clock out at a particular time and leave it all til the next day. Feeling down but determined to make it to the masjid, she finally worked the baby into his warm clothes, strapped him into his carseat, pinned the tear in her abaya, and dressed and made it out the door only a few minutes late for the lecture.
Once there, she entered the women's side and prayed two rak'aats of welcome to the masjid, then went to greet the ladies and cuddle babies, tousle the hair of the older children, and feel the warm glow of sisterhood. She felt so loved by these women. They always welcomed her with a heartfelt salaam, kissed her cheeks, inquired after her health, and made a fuss over the baby. Her friend Tasnim asked her how her Qur'an was coming. "Slowly, alhamdulillah", she replied. Tasim was her best friend. Her husband was the Imaam of the masjid and was a kind and gentle man. He had a ready smile and always took pains to include the women in any programs. Tasnim helped him teach and headed the outreach committee. She had seen that Aisha had been struggling recently and asked her what was wrong. Feeling guilty about telling her anything about her home situation, Aisha nonetheless shared with her that she was feeling a bit ignored by her husband, who seemed to have time for everyone but her. Tasnim didn't pry deeply but patted her hand and counseled her to patience, and she made du'a for her husband to wake up and learn to appreciate his wife. Since then, Tasnim had kept an eye on her friend and had talked to her husband about addressing the issue of husbands and wives. Tonight, he was going to speak on the topic. Directly after the maghrib prayer, the Imaam stood in front of the congregation, and after making du'a and reciting Qur'an, he began to speak.
"Brothers, what if I told you that there were some very special Muslims that I wanted you to meet? Wouldn't you like to know the details? If I told you to come to the masjid to meet a visiting scholar, you would run to listen to him. If I told you a chef was coming to cook a special meal, you'd break the speed limit getting here. If I told you that I knew a man who was very particular about cleanliness, you'd be very respectful of him. If I told you we had a visitor who was foremost in giving charity, you would crowd around to kiss him and hold his hand. If I told you that there was someone coming who taught the children our deen, you'd make du'a for him. If I told you there was a doctor visiting who always made housecalls and never complained when he was called out at night from a warm bed, you'd beg me for his telephone number. If I told you that all these persons were just ONE person, you'd tell me I was lying at that no one person could contain all these qualities. But I am here to tell you that such a person is among us tonight. This person has all these qualities and more, and this person has been living among you all the time and you didn't even know it. Who is this? You look back and forth among yourselves, wondering if the brother sitting beside you is the one, or that Moroccan guy over there, or the Palestinian brother who just moved here. You look at each other, but not ONE of you looks back to the women. Yes, the WOMEN. And not just one woman. The qualities that I mentioned, many of the sisters have them. They have some or all of those qualities in one level or another. Don't believe me?
There is a woman. She is a loving wife. She has taken pains to learn her religion so that she will know what her duty to Allah is, and what her duty towards her husband is. She has read so many books and attended classes, and she has taken what she has learned and tried to institute it in her life. She has learned how to cook her husband's favorited dishes so he doesn't feel so lonely, a thousand miles from his mother back home She has cleaned the house, scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees because she wants it to be clean enough for the kids to play on; she scrubs the bathroom walls, cleans clothing, washes dishes, cuts the kids' hair, trims their nails, bathes them, and still makes time to take a bath herself and apply perfume for her husband and to adorn herself to please him while at home. She spends her husband's money wisely, and makes sure the kids have money in their hands to tuck into the charity box on Friday. She forgoes jewelry and expensive clothing so that her husband can send money back to his family. When preparing dinner, she gives the best portions to her husband and children and does without if there is not enough. She teaches the children to say bismillah before they eat, recites Qur'an with them, reminds them to say please and thank you. She checks their homework and helps them with special projects. She wakes up in the night when someone is sick, or wants water, or just a cuddle, and still wakes up in the predawn to pray the fajr. She holds the qualities of a scholar, a chef, a doctor, a philantropist, a teacher, a friend. And yet... and yet....
So many of you men take your wives for granted. You treat them like children, giving orders and discipline, rather than your life mates and equals. Or worse, you treat them as servants, ruling over them harshly and either speaking cruelly to them or even striking them, Allah forbid. You rush out of the house to come to the masjid to be with your brothers and you ignore the one who is closest to you. You take her for granted and you rarely give her a kind word. You think of her as "wife" and forget she is also your sister in Islam and that she has rights on you. You break her heart every time you neglect to thank her for something she does for you fi sabil Allah. You kill her day by day until her heart is hardened against you and she either starts giving back what you're doing to her, or she simply "checks out" of the marriage and becomes that servant that you apparently wanted her to be. Shame on you brothers!
When a Muslim commits a sin against his brother or sister Muslim, it is not enough that he repents to Allah. He must also apologize to the one he has offended. So I abjure you, my Muslim brothers, to apologize to your mothers, your wives, your sisters, and your daughters if you have treated them in the manner I have described. It is not a shameful thing to admit you are wrong. It is not a shameful thing to apologize. You are not making yourself look weak if you soften your heart towards your women. You are showing that you are strong in your Islam and that you understand that Allah created women to be our helpmates, not our slaves. If you do this one thing, which is really look at your wife, see her as she is, respect her, and TELL her that you respect her, I swear by Allah that your life will improve. If you ignore me and think that your life is just fine and I'm a soft stupid wimp and women need to be "put in their place", then the sin of that is on you and I wash my hands of you. Don't ignore this message, brothers. You marriage is the foundation for your life and the safe spot that you need as you go out in a harsh would to make a living. If the home is a place of peace and tranquility, you can overcome any obstacle that is in your way."
And on that note, the Imaam made a closing du'a and left the minbar, leaving the masjid in a state of silent shock as people tried to absorb what they had heard. Rarely had anyone spoken to the men in such a strong, forthright fashion. They were unsure what to do next, and most just sat there, pondering. The women were quiet as well. The usual chitchat had evaporated the moment the Imaam began to speak. Many women were in tears. Aisha was one, crying, trying not to sob out loud, surruptitiously wiping her eyes on the hem of her abaya. She decided she had to leave right away before she fell apart, and asked Tasnim to tell her husband that she was going home. She managed the drive somehow, not remembering one minute of the road before she pulled up in her driveway. She took the baby from his carseat and ran into the house, put him in his crib, and then collapsed on the floor in front of it, sobbing so hard that she felt she would break apart. She felt that the lecture had been only for her, that the words were directed to her household, and she was afraid her husband would be angry and think she had been gossiping about her situation with her friends. After her tears subsided, she managed to stumble to the bathroom and wash her face. The cold water helped her gather herself. She changed clothes and then picked up the baby, holding him close and promising herself to raise him to be a compassionate man. She stiffened as she heard her husband's car arrive. Not knowing what room to escape to, she simply stood by the baby's crib and held him, waiting for the storm of accusations to rain down on her.
Ahmed entered the house as he had done hours before, uttering a quiet Salaam Alaikum. Aisha heard him this time and returned the salaam just as quietly, fearful. Ahmed didn't stop to take off his shoes or jacket; he came straight up the stairs and walked directly to her, towering over her from his substantial height. Aisha was afraid to look up but hazarded a glance, and she was surprised to see that his eyes were bright with tears and red from crying. He opened his arms to her and grabbed her and the baby up in a fierce embrace, and with his voice cracking from emotion, he whispered "I'm sorry, I'm sorry", again and again. Aisha felt the tension in her bleed out of her body, and she slumped against him, allowing him to enfold her and hold her and comfort her as the tears came yet again. It seemed they stood that way for hours, but of course it was just minutes, and when he finally let them go he held her face in his hands and looked into her eyes, seeing the emotion reflected in them, and the pain.
"I promise, I swear by Allah that I will try to be a better husband to you. You are my heart and you are half my deen. I love you and I respect you so much, and I won't take you for granted again." She could see the sincerity in his eyes and she sent a silent prayer of thanks to Allah for blessing her with a husband who was so strong and good. She knew now that they would be able to renew the bonds they had forged when they first were married, and she could smile through the tears and straighten her spine and know that they could together conquer whatever the world would throw at them. She prayed that the other women would be as blessed as she was by the Imaam's strong reminder, and that the other men would be as strong as her husband and would be able to admit their mistakes. She promised herself she would work even harder to be a strong Muslimah, wife, and mother, and that she would never stop loving this man who stood in front of her. And as if to punctuate the thought, her baby happily threw up on both of them, and all she could do was laugh and rush to change as Ahmed held the baby and looked helplessly at the stream of half-digested milk that decorated his clothing. Life goes on....
Original article was taken from here. Jazakallah.
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