Faith in the Fall
22:52
If someone were to ask me
what is the most difficult part of faith
I wouldn't say praying like clockwork five times a day
or staying without food for eighteen hours as the moon waxes and wanes
thirty days of detaching from the material world
I wouldn't say the obligatory parting of wealth in favour of charity
nor keeping some of that wealth aside for a pilgrimage thousands of miles away
it isn't the effort to be God-conscious nor staying away from worldly vices
like illicit relationships or gambling or alcohol
it isn't committing to, or memorising, His Book
nor is it wearing the Hijab - though, yes, that is one of my hardest struggles.
No,
the hardest part of faith, is sabr
in holding still
when I want to be standing on a cliff-edge screaming into the void
because the world has driven me to my knees
when I want to pull my hair out in frustration
and tear my heart out in desperation
because it hurts so much
the confusion, the pain, the wanting
the blind terror of the unknown almost too much to take
blind faith almost too much to summon
because all that I am searching for
evades me.
It is when the prayer feels heavy on the heart
and the world feels heavy on the soul
and supplicating feels heavy on the lips
and I crawl to Him anyway on my hands and feet
and push my head to the ground
forcing the earth to swallow the tears I cannot cry
broken hands and broken spirit pressed down in surrender
hurting heart hoping in shame
that my wretched effort is worth something.
It is when the space in which faith sits
finds itself hollow and empty
cold and dark and lonely.
I am not sure where she's gone wandering
but I need her to make it back soon
because I am lost without her.
She is the compass needle that constantly ticks
silently guiding me, keeping me on course
but sometimes, like this time, she ticks a little too close to the edge
and finds herself knocked for six.
And while she finds her way back to me
the hearth of her fire slowly gets colder
as I slowly get weaker
and the stonewall conviction that is born from her presence
and that keeps me warm on the coldest of days
fades.
I try to claw her out from beneath my bones
but I wear my nails down until they bleed
and they have nothing to show for it.
He knows, that I am searching for her
and I know, that He wants me to find her
but she is too far gone.
And the hardest part of having her in my life, I have realised
is losing her.
She glows in summer sunshine
radiant - resilient - redeeming
but sunshine and rainfall have always been an inseparable romance
and when the sun dips low
and the storm awaits
she dims in the crisp, cool air
and as the seasons change and the leaves morph from green into gold
torrential rains biding their time
she weakens
and as the clouds give way to the melancholic deluge
she snaps
into fragmented pieces
unable to bear the weight of its burden
a million shattered shards that embed themselves into my skin
as I drag myself over them
in my search to piece her together
...not knowing that even in her broken state
she is my map to Him.
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