On the 4th day of Shawaal, we were coming from the hospital and had stopped at a small masjid to pray Maghrib. At the women's section there was a plate of dates and some waters bottles for those fasting. I was surprised and comforted by the masjid's kindness and thoughtfulness. My masjid probably wouldn't have this, I thought. I quickly broke my fast, and joined my mom and two other women for salah. Moments before we started the prayer, I glanced over my right shoulder and saw a women crying, her black mascara running with her bold tears. What battle she was fighting? And then the prayer started momentarily after, and as the imam recited the words with beauty and conviction, I could hear the sister softly reciting those same words with pain and pauses for air. I finished, made my du'a and included her. And when I left, I wished I had given her a hug... I did get a chance, but I just couldn't do it. I guess I'm not at that level of maturity (or is it compassion?) where I am compelled to comfort strangers as my heart wants to.
In the car, my mom noticed what I had noticed, and she, too, wondered and wished.
"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." - Plato
|my sister's battle|