By Heba Alshareef
The scent of frankincense is powerful, a slight haze fills the room. The massive windows are lined in rich plum velvet curtains and drawn back with golden tassels. The ornate picture frames that line the remaining walls are heavy; if they were to fall from the hooks that hold them up, they look they would do considerable damage. The floor is lined with authentic Turkish carpets, their intricate pattern hypnotizing. The traditional Arabian seating is close to the ground and lined with cushions and more cushions. It’s a room that pays homage to the traditions of the North African Bedouin peoples. All it’s parts proclaim this to be.
All its parts, except for two. There’s the T.V. and the old plastic patio chair that sits right in front of it.
In the chair sits an old woman. Her face is overwhelmed by tribal tattoo dots that are now being muted by deep wrinkles. Her head scarf ties back thinning hair that that has been turned orange by henna.
Indeed, the hardship of her youth now takes its toll. She can no longer bend to sit on those floor cushions. She sleeps in her bed most of the days.
But today is Friday.
Today, the T.V. shows the Jumuah prayer in Mecca. And so she insists that her children set up the chair for her close to the T.V. because she want to touch bayt Allah.
I watch her as the imam of the haram gives his khutbah and a close-up image of the kaaba flashes across the screen. She uses the chair’s flimsy arms for support as she rises and bends over to kiss the T.V. There are tears running down her face and she makes dua to Allah SWT. In her native tongue, she prays, “Oh Allah, grant me the chance to visit your house again before I die!”
I watch her, hear her words, and then I feel the hate…I feel the hate.
It’s hard for people to get along with each other all the time. People fight. They make-up. They fight again. Sometimes they never find reconciliation. Sometimes they live in anger, unable to get past what they see to be a major injustice towards them.
Those that have, those that are able to look past the hurt and pain are the ones who have swallowed a tough life lesson. We must maintain our pride, we think, so we put up these walls because we are afraid to get hurt again, to be disappointed again, to trust again. Forgiveness, we think, is just a testament to our own stupidity and weakness. The “I am a doormat” for people to walk all over image frightens us and doesn’t allow us to get over things and events – things or events that are holding us back from moving forward.
And yet, the reality is that forgiveness is in fact a selfish act. It is a gift we give not to those who have transgressed against us, but one that we give to ourselves.
The “I can forgive, but I won’t forget” mentality is better, but flawed still. Does the inability to forget then continue to hold us back?
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Exercise:
Pull out your journals now. Think of someone you feel has transgressed against you. Write 5 qualities/traits/actions of that person that you think are good. Really try to step into his/her shoes and see things from their perspective.
Write them a letter in your journal.
I’m not going to make you send it to them. But I do want you to reflect on it. When you are done the exercise, you may be surprised to see how much the two of you actually have in common. The process can be very cathartic.
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The old woman I introduced you to at the beginning is actually my mother-in-law. But it isn’t her I hate – it is me.
Years back, my husband had put aside enough money to pay for a Hajj trip and he decided to send her. I didn’t get to go. I resented the situation then and now I regret the time I spent resenting her for the situation. I’ve since come to the realization that “all that is on earth will perish, but will abide forever the face of your Lord, full of majesty and honor.” (Surah AlRahman 26, 27).
I’ve come to the realization that despite all our obvious differences, my mother-in-law and I do have much in common, not the least of which is this:
We both would love to undertake the journey and visit bayt Allah with hearts that are pure.
