While driving through my neighbourhood recently, my son and nephew remarked on the changing leaves. This led to a discussion about the seasons. My son mentioned that “fall is okay but I don’t like winter.” I asked why. “Because I don’t like how all the leaves fall down and the plants and trees die.” I reassured him that this was nothing to be sad about as the leaves would return and plants would come back to life in the spring. “Yes, spring is my favourite season, I like seeing all the colourful flowers growing in the garden.”
I found myself thinking back to this conversation often in the days that followed. I felt simultaneously endeared and amused by his innocent sadness at the loss of even completely unintelligent lifeforms. I was struck by how small the scope of his perception was, not able to fully process the well-known cycles of seasonal life. There was something more, though, that struck me. With his simple observation my son had given voice to how I felt as I absorbed the current state of the Muslim ummah. Instead of trees and grass, I watch helplessly as my brothers and sisters suffer and die in all corners of the globe.
It seems I cannot even finish processing one horror before another is brought to my attention. There is the precarious reality of Rohingya Muslims living in underfunded refugee camps. The constant violent lynching and horrific mob violence that threaten religious minorities under a Hindu Nationalist regime in India. The utter depravity of innocent Uyghur children being harvested for their organs while their mothers are trapped in concentration camps. Every few months a natural disaster debilitates areas that have already been ravaged by war and poverty.
And now, there is Gaza. A tragedy of such immense and heartbreaking scale that every description feels utterly adequate. The numbers climb with alarming speed, while the images pouring out of our screens batter away at our souls. This moment in time feels like the winter of our Ummah. Humanity is becoming cold and inhospitable, devoid of justice, compassion, or even basic humanity. The future of our global community seems inarguably barren and bleak, and it is so tempting sometimes to let the frost numb us if only to escape the pain and creeping despair.
Except that we need to remind ourselves, as I did my son on that car ride, that winter doesn’t last. Spring always comes. Moreover, I have learned, in my limited forays into gardening, that fall and winter are critical times for the avid gardener. Trees must be pruned, shrubs covered and winterized, and fertiliser distributed. Many coveted flowering plants can only be planted at the end of the year. It seems strange to think of sowing seeds surrounded by chill air and bare branches, and for someone with low patience, a reward that will take months to materialise is often not enough to motivate me, but I always regret not taking the time to do so when the new season begins.
What, then, of the spring for our Ummah? When will it come? Civilisations do not move with the clockwork of our planet. It is easy to lose heart when we are inundated with news and images of loss. Easy for our motivation to wane when we see people far better than ourselves gone without having seen the success they most deserve. To ask, in our lowest moments, is anything worth the unfathomable depths of this suffering. The answer, of course, is yes. Not because we are deluded or grasping at straws or numbed to horrors, but because our Lord, the Almighty, All Wise, Most Merciful, has promised us that it is.
While it is our duty to work towards a rebirth on this earth, the true Spring we anticipate is that of the promised Afterlife. This spirit is encapsulated in the hadith of the Prophet SAW when he told us to finish planting a tree even if the world is ending. The seeds we sow here are meant to fill the gardens of an Eternal Paradise. Our beloved brothers and sisters who we are helpless to bring comfort to here, will be the ones leading the believers through its gates and one breath of its sweet perfume surrounded by colours beyond our wildest imagination will be enough to erase all memory of their suffering. As for those we mourn, the named and the unknown, their spring is already here, for Allah SWT assures us in Surah Al Imran, ayahs 169-170, “Never think of those martyred in the cause of Allah as dead, they are alive with their Lord, well provided for, rejoicing in Allah’s bounties and being delighted for those yet to join them.”
It is worth it.
The question we should be asking is, where will we be on the day when all our Lord’s promises come true? When all the people we feel distress and grief for now, will fly through the trials of that hardest day, where will we be? Will we have earned our place behind our cherished heroes, following them through the gates and rejoicing with them at the success of the work we did? Or will we lag far behind, struggling to account for how we used the wealth, comfort, safety, free time, and endless resources we were blessed with. When we were confronted with goods produced on stolen land, or through the forced labour of our fellow Muslims, did we choose an alternative, or did we shrug because it was on sale and highly rated? When we were faced with falsehood, did we try to correct it, or did we stay silent because confrontation made us uncomfortable? Did we take lessons from the signs Allah SWT put in front of us and renew ourselves in worship, obedience and serving the Deen, or did we escape into frivolous pursuits that made us the weak links compromising this Ummah?
We cannot let fatigue or hopelessness drag us into complacency. Recognize that the hurt we feel is our belonging to this Ummah, an echo of the illness it suffers when so many of its parts are in acute pain. The challenges we face might seem unsurmountable, but we cannot stop climbing. Allah SWT will not judge us by the heights that we reached, only measure our progress by how many steps we took. Look out for every opportunity at our disposal. Don’t ignore the calls of those who need us to be their voice. Don’t let oppressors, or their apologists manipulate us into turning a blind eye to their offences. Don’t stop making Dua, the prayers of our oppressed brothers and sisters might be the most powerful, but our prayers keep us connected to them and help us find relief in our Lord.
For a believer, this life is a life of toil and labour that will lead us to leisure in the next. So let us tend to our gardens. Prune away the bad habits that distract us from our true purpose. Cover and protect our families and communities from heedlessness and immorality. Sow seeds of truth and justice even if it seems the frost will kill them. And fertilise it all with the remembrance of the One who does not let a single leaf fall without His knowledge. Let us learn to trust in Him with the same certainty with which we look forward to the first shoots of green breaking through the soil every year. Let us never lose sight of the spring to come.
Fatimah Murad
12551 Emily Ct
Sugar Land TX 77478
