A Night of Peace

“This has got to be it,” I tell myself, reassuringly. I have been anticipating this moment for the past 25 days, patiently at times, and not so patiently at times, awaiting its silent solitude and its calming sense of peace to wash over me. And I’m ready for it. I have been preparing for it, expecting it, but I have only been faced with disappointment so far. “I can’t lose hope,” I have told myself on the countless occasions that I have flirted with the idea of just giving up and accepting that I’m not worth the grandiosity of this moment and that my actions cannot and will never surmount that elusive threshold of faith required for the greeters of this moment. Yet, I knew that I must be patient, and I must persevere. I have no other choice.

And so I find myself in the car, well past two in the morning, lending company to the deserted streets leading up to my destination. It’s chilly, but it’s a bearable, and in fact, welcomed chilliness, one that brings a sense of calmness with it. Everything about this night is calm—its clear black heavens sparkling with specks of dusty light, its majestic moon holding dearly onto the month passing with greater swiftness each restless night, its gentle breeze welcoming and embracing the seekers of peace.

The entire ride I struggle to gather my scattered thoughts. I haven’t slept since 8 in the morning. But sleep is hardly a concern now. I have to be up bright and early the next morning to fulfill obligations—obligations that are only a means to my ultimate end, I remind myself. Except this revival, nothing else matters at this time. I am dying a slow, painful, yet oblivious death and saving myself is the only option I have. Only, it’s easier said than done.

The streets aren’t familiar to me; I don’t come here often. But as I near my destination, I peek out the window and notice so many others like me that are traveling the same way, undertaking the same journey. To God we belong, and to Him we return.

I feel a strange chill all over the moment it comes into my view. I have finally arrived and am greeted by the sight of numerous people, young and old, walking from all sides, coalescing into one united body. It’s a beautiful sight, one I know will be entrenched in my memory for a long time.

It’s been calling me for a long time now, a call I have been ignoring and consistently failing to answer until now. As I emerge from the car, my feet slapping against the concrete pavement, the melodious, heart wrenching sound greets my ear. Come, it seems to be calling. The door is wide open. You have always been welcome.

Eyes cast down, huddling in my warm jacket, I walk towards the entrance, each sacred step drawing me closer. I yearn to get inside, to stand alongside those like myself, gravitating towards this peace—the source of all peace.

It is dark inside. The darkness always bothered me, but not today. Even in the darkness, it is only light that I can see today.

Never despair the mercy of God. It took numerous futile endeavours and several bouts of frustration at prayers void of comfort and solace to rekindle the lamp, but the gracious mercy of God prevailed. My efforts were not in vain, I realize, as I stand humbled, in complete submission, the words of God penetrating into the depths of my soul, awaking me from the shackles of my routine existence. The tears that I had struggled for now fall freely, nothing holding them back. Tonight, at long last, I have found my way home.

…
That fateful night in Ramadan is now just a blur in my memory. But I can recall it vividly, its significance and power is such. My faith is still at the mercy of the winds, but that night was pivotal in grounding it. Every now and then, when I am up late at night and I look out my window towards the canopy of the heavens, I am reminded of that merciful night and the soothing rhythm of Iman washes over me, comforting every inch of my being. It is my safe haven. Yet the journey is far from over, I realize. My struggle will be endless and its only just begun.