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“This Too Shall Pass”

"This Too Shall Pass"

 

 

 

 

یہ مضمون اردو میں پڑھیں

I brought the question to him on a day when things felt particularly heavy. Not because anything catastrophic had happened, but because life had become difficult enough that I could not see beyond it, the way a single loud sound can drown out everything else in a room.

He listened quietly, as he always did, letting me finish before he spoke. Then he smiled. “Have you heard the story about Alexander the Great?”

I shook my head.

“According to a famous story, Alexander once asked one of his advisors for a piece of wisdom that would help him in both times of happiness and times of sorrow.”

“What kind of wisdom?”

“Something that would comfort him during hardship and keep him grounded in success.”

“And what did the advisor tell him?”

He paused, the way he did when he wanted a line to land with full weight. Then he replied, “This too shall pass.”

For a moment, I was disappointed. It sounded too simple. Surely the great conqueror of the world deserved something more profound than that, some elaborate secret rather than a phrase you might find stitched on a cushion.

He must have sensed my reaction, because he laughed. “You don’t seem impressed.”

“Honestly,” I admitted, “it sounds obvious.”

“It is obvious,” he replied. “The problem is that we rarely live as though it is true.”

I thought about that for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“When we are suffering, we unconsciously act as if the suffering is permanent.”

That resonated with me immediately because whenever I am anxious, disappointed, embarrassed, or hurt, the feeling never announces itself as temporary. It feels endless, as though the walls of the moment extend infinitely in every direction.

He continued. “Think about the last major difficulty you faced.” I immediately thought of several: a professional setback that had felt like the end of something, a misunderstanding in a relationship that had cost me sleep, and a long period of uncertainty when nothing seemed to move forward. At the time, each had felt overwhelming, the kind of thing that reorganizes your whole sense of what the future holds.

“Do those things affect you today in the same way?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because time passed.”

He smiled. “Exactly.” Then he leaned back and said something I found genuinely interesting. “The strange thing is that people usually understand this lesson intellectually, but they struggle to remember it emotionally.”

I asked him to explain. “When you’re anxious, your mind acts as if this moment will last forever,” he said. “When you’re sad, it feels permanent. When you’re worried, it feels permanent. When you’re embarrassed, it feels permanent. But none of those things are permanent.”

I remembered something from years ago. I had once been deeply upset over a professional issue, the kind that occupies every idle minute. For weeks, it dominated my thoughts. I replayed conversations I had already gone over a dozen times. I imagined consequences that never arrived. I lost sleep over decisions that, in hindsight, mattered far less than they seemed to at three in the morning. And yet years later, I could barely remember the details, only the vague shape of having once been very upset about something at that job.

When I told him this, he laughed. “Exactly. Most of the things that dominate our minds today will barely occupy them a few years from now.”

Then he surprised me. “You know, the phrase is just as important in success.”

I had never thought about that. “I understand why it helps in hardship,” I said. “But why in success?”

“Because success creates a different illusion.”

“What illusion?”

“The illusion that good things will stay forever.”

I sat quietly because that was true too. When life is going well, we quietly begin to assume it will continue indefinitely: the job, the health, the relationships, the recognition, the comfort, the stability. Without ever deciding to, we begin treating temporary gifts as permanent possessions, as if a person might forget that a rented house is not actually theirs to keep.

He nodded as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. “That is why the phrase is so powerful. It comforts you in difficulty and humbles you in success.”

I remembered an elderly man I once knew who had suffered enormous financial losses. At the time, he believed his life had been ruined and that everything he had built was gone for good. Years later, when speaking about that same period, he described it very differently. “Looking back,” he told me, “that was one of the best things that ever happened to me.” When I asked why, he smiled and said simply, “It forced me to become a different person.”

I shared the story with him. He nodded. “You see? At the time, he could only see the pain. Later, he could see the growth.” Then he said something I found myself returning to long after the conversation ended. “The present moment is a terrible place to judge the entire story.”

I laughed. “That sounds true.”

“When you’re standing inside a chapter, you can’t see the whole book.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Then I asked, “If everything goes as planned, doesn’t that make life less meaningful?”

He shook his head immediately. “No. It makes life more meaningful.”

“How?”

He pointed toward the window. “Imagine a sunset.”

“Okay.”

“Would it be as beautiful if it lasted forever?”

I thought about it. Probably not. A sky that stayed gold and pink all day, every day, would eventually become wallpaper, something the eye no longer registered.

“The fact that it ends is part of what makes it precious,” he continued. “A child is small for only a few years. A conversation happens only once, exactly this way, with exactly these people, never to be repeated in quite the same form. A season comes and goes. The very fact that these things pass is what gives them much of their value.”

I had never considered impermanence from that angle before. We usually treat permanence as the thing worth wanting, the goal underlying most of our other goals. Yet so much of what we cherish draws its beauty from being temporary in the first place.

“Then maybe,” I said, “the problem is not that things pass.”

“The problem is that we keep expecting them not to.” He smiled. “I think that’s a big part of it.”

As the conversation drew to a close, I asked him one final question. “What should I do when I’m overwhelmed?”

He paused for a moment. “Ask yourself a simple question.”

“What question?”

“Will this feel as important a year from now?”

I laughed. “That would ease many of my worries.”

“Probably.”

“And if it still matters a year from now?”

“Then deal with it, but remember that even this chapter is not the whole story.”

As I left that day, I kept hearing those words in my mind. “This too shall pass.” Not as an invitation to indifference. Not as an excuse to avoid responsibility. Not as a reason to care less. But as a reminder to keep perspective.

The difficult moments will pass. The joyful moments will pass. The praise will pass. The criticism will pass. The success will pass. The failure will pass. Perhaps wisdom lies in learning to walk through both triumph and trial with the same quiet awareness: “This too shall pass.”

Points for Reflection

  • Name the last thing that felt permanent. Recall a difficulty from a few years ago that once felt unbearable. Notice how much of its weight remains today, and what that tells you about the one you’re carrying now.
  • Ask the one-year question. For whatever is overwhelming you right now, ask honestly: will this feel exactly this important a year from now? Let the answer change how much of today you give to it.
  • Check what you’re treating as permanent. Where in your life, right now, during a season that is going well, are you quietly assuming the good will simply continue? What would it mean to hold it a little more loosely?
  • Remember the chapter is not the book. The next time a single moment feels like it defines everything, ask what you might be unable to see simply because you are standing inside it rather than looking back at it.
  • Let impermanence add rather than subtract. Choose one thing you love precisely because it does not last, a season, a stage of a child’s life, an ordinary evening, and let that temporariness deepen your attention to it rather than your anxiety about losing it.

 

 

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Why Comfort Is Not Enough

Why Comfort Is Not Enough

 

 

 

یہ مضمون اردو میں پڑھیں

I once asked him a question that had quietly bothered me for years: “Why do people who seem to have everything still feel empty?”

He looked at me for a moment and said, “What do you mean by everything?”

“Comfort, I suppose. Money. Status. Security. Entertainment. The freedom to do almost whatever they want.”

“And none of those seem sufficient?”

“Not always.”

I thought of several people I had known over the years. Some had achieved much of what others spend their lives pursuing. Their careers were successful. Their finances were stable. Their lives appeared comfortable from the outside. Yet whenever I spent enough time with them, I sensed a restlessness that those achievements hadn’t resolved. At the same time, I had known people whose circumstances were objectively more difficult. They carried burdens others did not. Yet they often had an aliveness that seemed strangely absent in people with easier lives.

He nodded and said, “So perhaps comfort and meaning are not the same thing.”

I expected a more satisfying answer. I asked, “Isn’t comfort part of a good life?”

“Of course it is. Rest matters. Pleasure matters. Security matters. There is nothing admirable about making life unnecessarily difficult.”

He paused for some time, and then added, “But suppose every discomfort disappeared. Would that automatically answer the question, What is my life for?”

I thought about it. “No,” I finally said.

He smiled faintly and said, “Then perhaps comfort solves one kind of human problem without solving another.”

That distinction stayed with me.

For much of my life, I assumed dissatisfaction meant something was missing from a person’s circumstances. More success. More recognition. More freedom. More enjoyable experiences. If enough problems could be removed and enough pleasures added, fulfillment would surely follow. Yet experience kept complicating that theory. A person could possess comfort and still wonder why any of it mattered.

After a few moments, he asked, “Have you ever been busy and yet strangely empty?”

I laughed and said, “More than once.”

“What was missing?”

The question immediately brought a particular period of my life to mind. My days were full. Meetings, responsibilities, deadlines, projects. From the outside, it looked productive. In fact, if someone had asked me whether I was accomplishing things, I would have said yes. Yet there was a question quietly following me through all of it. Why does any of this matter? I wasn’t asking it consciously every day. But I could feel its presence. Eventually I said, “I think I lost sight of why I was doing any of it.”

He nodded. “That is different from being tired.”

I thought about it for a moment and then said, “I was tired too. But this felt deeper.”

“Perhaps you were not only short of energy,” he said. “Perhaps you were short of meaning.”

That was the first time the word came up in our conversation.

After a pause, he asked, “Have you read Viktor Frankl?”

“Only a little.”

He nodded. “Frankl developed what became known as logotherapy around a deceptively simple idea: human beings do not merely seek pleasure, power, or the reduction of discomfort. We also need to experience life as meaningful.”

I had heard that idea before. Yet hearing it beside the discussion of comfort made it feel more concrete.

“So meaning was the main thing he thought people were looking for?” I asked.

“He described the search for meaning as a central human motivation.”

Then he added a qualification I appreciated. “That doesn’t mean meaning explains everything. Human beings are more complicated than that.”

I nodded.

He continued: “Depression, anxiety, trauma, grief, and many other forms of suffering can arise from numerous causes. Meaning is not a replacement for treatment. It is not a cure-all.”

“Then why is it so important?”

“Because even when you understand symptoms, habits, and emotions, something important may remain unexplored if you never ask what a person’s life is oriented toward.”

He paused. “What are they living for?”

That question felt larger than I expected. We often ask people what they want. What career do you want? What kind of house? What income? What lifestyle? What experiences? But what are you living for? belonged to an entirely different category.

It forced me to think not merely about what I hoped to obtain, but about what made obtaining anything worthwhile in the first place.

Seeing my expression, he offered an example: “Imagine two people doing equally demanding work.”

I nodded.

“Same hours. Same effort. Same salary.” He said. “One experiences the work as something to endure until payday. The other believes the work contributes to something deeply important. Wouldn’t both still become tired?”

“Of course.”

“So what changes?”

He smiled. “Not necessarily the exhaustion. The meaning of the exhaustion.”

I understood immediately. Meaning did not remove the cost. It changed the relationship to the cost. I thought about parents caring for a sick child. The sleepless nights are real. The exhaustion is real. Love doesn’t magically eliminate any of that. Yet most parents wouldn’t experience those sacrifices the same way they would meaningless deprivation.

“They know what the tiredness is for,” I said.

“Exactly,” he said. “A burden can remain heavy and still become worth carrying.”

He later spoke about Frankl’s experiences during the Holocaust and the ideas that eventually emerged in Man’s Search for Meaning. But he was careful. “People sometimes turn Frankl into a slogan.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“They hear his story and conclude that meaning allows people to overcome anything.”

I nodded.

“But that isn’t a careful conclusion. Extreme suffering can overwhelm people. Trauma is real. Human resilience varies.”

“So what’s the more accurate lesson?”

He thought for a moment and then said, “Meaning can give a person something to orient toward even when suffering cannot immediately be removed.” Something to live for. I found that formulation both humbler and more profound. It didn’t romanticize suffering. It simply refused to assume suffering had the final word.

I asked another question, “Did Frankl think meaning had to come from some grand achievement?”

“No,” He said, smiling. “And that may be one of the most liberating parts of his thought.”

I leaned forward slightly. “How so?”

“Because meaning can be found in many places.” He began counting examples. “It may emerge through work that contributes something worthwhile. Through creativity. Through service.”

I nodded.

He continued, “Meaning can also emerge through experience. Love. Friendship. Beauty. Nature. Genuine encounters with other people.” Then he paused for a while and added, “And sometimes, when suffering truly cannot be removed, meaning may emerge through the way a person chooses to meet that suffering.”

I frowned slightly. “That sounds dangerous.”

“In what way?”

“It could sound as though suffering itself is good.”

He nodded immediately. “That’s why we have to be careful.”

I appreciated the answer. There was no romanticizing pain. “If suffering can be prevented, treated, corrected, reduced, or resisted,” he continued, “then responsibility may require exactly that. There is no virtue in preserving avoidable suffering simply because it might be meaningful.”

That felt balanced. “Then attitude becomes important when the situation genuinely cannot be changed.”

“Precisely.”

I thought about losses people carry. A loved one who cannot be returned. A diagnosis that cannot be erased. A limitation that must be lived with. An irreversible chapter of life. “What then?” I asked.

He looked at me quietly. “Then the question becomes: How will I meet what I cannot remove?”

I found myself thinking about several people I knew. One had lost much of the independence they once enjoyed because of illness. Another had suffered a loss that permanently altered the shape of their life. Neither person seemed happy about what had happened. Nor should they have been. Yet both possessed a dignity that did not depend on pretending the suffering was good. Perhaps meaning, in those moments, was not found in the circumstance itself. Perhaps it was found in the way they carried it. “Meaning is larger than usefulness,” I said.

“Much larger.”

That distinction felt especially important. We live in a culture that often measures worth through productivity. What have you built? What have you produced? How much have you accomplished? Those questions matter. But if they become the only questions, what happens when productivity becomes impossible? What happens during illness? Disability? Old age? Dependence? Would meaningfulness disappear simply because output decreased? Frankl’s vision suggested otherwise. A person can create something meaningful. A person can love meaningfully. A person can receive beauty meaningfully. A person can endure suffering meaningfully. The possibilities were larger than productivity alone. I found that reassuring. It meant meaning was not postponed until some future day when I finally accomplished something impressive. It might be present in an ordinary afternoon. A sincere conversation. A responsibility handled well. A moment of honesty. A difficult choice made faithfully. A beautiful sunset actually noticed rather than rushed past.

He seemed to sense the direction of my thoughts. “Why do you think people postpone meaning?” He asked.

I smiled. “Because we associate it with something big.”

“Go on.”

“One day I’ll discover my purpose. One day my work will matter. One day I’ll do something important.”

He nodded. “And what happens to today?”

I laughed. “It becomes something to get through.”

That answer felt a little too familiar. For years I had treated the present as preparation for some future significance. Perhaps meaning was always waiting somewhere beyond the next milestone. Frankl’s perspective challenged that assumption. Instead of asking only, What do I want from life?, it invited another question: What is life asking of me right now?

When I asked how that worked in practice, he offered examples: “If someone needs to be heard, meaning may lie in listening well.”

I nodded.

“If a piece of work requires integrity, meaning may lie in doing it honestly.”

“Yes.”

“If you’re witnessing something beautiful, meaning may lie in being present enough to receive it.”

I smiled and asked, “And if I’m facing something I cannot change?”

“Meaning may lie in the kind of person you choose to remain while carrying it.”

The idea had become surprisingly concrete. Meaning was no longer a distant mission statement. It was this person. This responsibility. This situation. This response.

Eventually I asked him something else: “If meaning matters so much, why do we choose comfort instead?”

He smiled and said, “Because comfort usually asks less of us.”

The answer was immediately understandable. Distraction is often easier than reflection. Entertainment is often easier than contribution. Scrolling is often easier than learning. Avoiding a difficult conversation is often easier than having one. Comfort is immediate. Meaning usually asks for participation.

“But comfort isn’t the enemy,” he added.

“No?”

“Of course not. A meaningful life can include rest, pleasure, laughter, friendship, leisure, and joy,” he said. “The problem arises when ease becomes the standard by which everything is judged.”

That felt true. Many meaningful parts of life are not easy. Parenting can be exhausting. Learning can be frustrating. Keeping promises can be inconvenient. Creating something worthwhile can require years of effort. Yet afterward these experiences often leave behind a kind of fullness that passive comfort rarely provides.

“Not easier,” I said. “But fuller.”

He nodded.

I remembered a man I once knew who changed careers. The new work paid less, involved more uncertainty, and demanded more effort. When I asked why he seemed happier, he replied with a sentence I never forgot: “For the first time, I feel useful.”

I shared that story.

He smiled and said, “That may have been one source of meaning for him.”

“Not the only one?”

“No. People are not machines whose worth depends on output.”

Again, the idea widened. A human life could matter without becoming impressive. A person could matter during seasons of giving and seasons of receiving. Presence mattered. Love mattered. Gratitude mattered. Dignity mattered. The way joy was received mattered. The way suffering was carried mattered.

As I reflected on my own life, I noticed something. Some days filled with entertainment left almost no lasting impression. They were enjoyable enough, but strangely thin. Other days contained very little excitement, yet remained memorable because of a meaningful conversation, a period of concentrated learning, an act of service, a moment of beauty, or a responsibility taken seriously. Those days were not always happier. But they felt more inhabited. I had participated in them rather than merely consumed them.

As our conversation drew to a close, I returned to my original question. “So why do people who seem to have everything still feel empty?”

He thought for a while before answering. “Sometimes because what they have answers questions the human heart was never ultimately asking.”

I waited.

“Money answers, ‘What can I afford?’ Comfort answers, ‘How can I reduce inconvenience?’ Status answers, ‘How am I regarded?’ Pleasure answers, ‘What feels good right now?'” Then he added quietly: “But none of them necessarily answers, ‘What is worth giving myself to?'”

That seemed to bring the entire conversation together. The problem was never pleasure. Or comfort. Or success. Or wealth. The problem was expecting them to carry a weight they were never designed to carry.

Later, I reflected on our conversation. When restlessness appears, perhaps the first question should not always be: How can I feel better? Sometimes another question deserves to stand beside it: What am I living for right now? What matters in this moment? What is being asked of me here? Is there something worth loving, serving, creating, receiving, or enduring that I have stopped noticing?

Meaning does not eliminate pain. It does not guarantee happiness. It does not replace treatment when treatment is needed. But it can provide direction where comfort alone cannot. Perhaps human beings need more than a pleasant life. We need a life that points somewhere. Something worth loving. Something worth serving. Something worth creating. Something worth receiving with gratitude. And when suffering truly cannot be removed, some way of meeting it that allows us to remain human rather than be defined entirely by what has happened.

Comfort can make life easier. Meaning helps us understand what makes the living worthwhile.

 

/by

Fear as a Reminder of Blessings

 

 

یہ مضمون اردو میں پڑھیں

Most people see fear as something negative — a burden to escape, a weakness to overcome. Yet, fear also contains a hidden gift: it reveals blessings we might never have noticed. We can only fear losing something if we genuinely value it. Often, we only realize how precious a gift is when the possibility of losing it confronts us. In this way, fear is not just an enemy to fight but a teacher guiding us toward gratitude and humility.

Fear Exposes What We Value

We do not fear losing what has no meaning to us. We only fear losing what truly matters—health, safety, loved ones, livelihood, dignity. The strength of our fear reveals how much we value these things. The problem is that we’ve lived with these blessings for so long that we no longer see them as blessings.

  • The fear of illness serves as a reminder that we have enjoyed good health.
  • The fear of poverty highlights the stability we often ignore.
  • The fear of conflict exposes the peace we once took for granted.

Key Insight: Fear reveals the hidden gratitude we tend to forget to feel.

From Taking for Granted to Thankfulness

Many blessings quietly exist in our daily lives. We walk, see, sleep safely, share meals with family — without intentionally expressing gratitude. Only when faced with loss do we suddenly realize: This mattered to me all along.

Exercise: Next time you feel fear, pause and complete this sentence:

I fear losing ___, which means I value ___, and I now realize I am grateful for ___.

This changes fear from a paralyzing emotion into a pathway for gratitude.

Fear Teaches Humility

Fear not only points us to blessings — it also reminds us how fragile those blessings are in our hands. We cannot ultimately safeguard our health from illness, our wealth from loss, or our relationships from change. Fear reveals the illusion of control and forces us to face reality: what we have is never completely secure.

This realization is humbling. It shifts our mindset from entitlement (“this is mine, I deserve it, I can keep it safe”) to gift (“this was given to me, and I cannot guarantee it will remain”. True humility comes from recognizing that life is not under our control but entrusted to us for a while.

Reflection Prompt: When fear arises, attempt to transform it into a prayer.

This fear shows me how much I value this gift. Thank you, God, for granting it. Help me to use it wisely while it lasts, and give me strength if it leaves.

Fear as Preparation

Gratitude during good times prepares the heart for difficult times. When fears become reality — when health weakens, wealth decreases, or relationships shift — a grateful and humble heart remains steadier and less shaken. Fear then acts as practice: it teaches us to hold loosely what we cannot control while deepening our trust in God.

Practice: Before bed, recall one fear that crossed your mind during the day. Ask:

  1. What blessing did this fear reveal?
  2. How much control do I genuinely have over protecting it?
  3. How can I transform this realization into gratitude and humility?

Final Reflection

Fear and gratitude are intertwined: fear reveals what we value, gratitude turns that realization into peace, and humility stabilizes both by reminding us of our lack of control. When we take blessings for granted, fear jolts us awake. It whispers: “You cared about this all along — don’t wait until it’s gone to give thanks.”

The next time fear surfaces, let it guide you not into panic but into awareness. Behind every fear is a hidden blessing, a lesson in humility, and an invitation to gratitude.

/by

The Lens of Faith: Life as an Interaction with God

 

 

یہ مضمون اردو میں پڑھیں

He prayed regularly, gave charity, and fasted. Everyone who knew him thought of him as a devout and model Muslim. Life went smoothly, and God was kind to him.

One day, however, he experienced a significant setback in his business. Although visibly worried, he remained humble and reassured himself and others that God would soon help solve his problems. Shortly afterward, a family member fell ill. His prayers grew longer, his pleas more frantic and earnest.

But when nothing seemed to change, questions began to trouble his heart: Why is God not listening to me? Why has He turned away from me? What did I do to deserve this indifference? His internal dialogue grew harsher, along with his displeasure. Slowly, complaints started to form in his heart.

Deep inside, he had expected that these acts of worship would guarantee him a life of ease and protection — that his faithfulness to God would be repaid with worldly comfort. For him, faith was like a contract: “I serve God, He would give me what I want.” His prayers grow more intense, his pleas louder — but when the outcomes remain unchanged, his heart darkens. He begins to feel abandoned: “If God won’t protect me after all my worship, what is the point?”

This is what the Qur’an describes:

“Some people worship God [as if standing] on an edge. If they benefit, they are satisfied with Him, but if they face a trial, they turn around. [By doing so,] they lost the [life of this] world and the hereafter. That, indeed, is an evident loss.” (Al-Hajj 22:11)

The Qur’an also critiques this fragile, transactional approach.

Whoever [despairs of God’s mercy and] thinks that God will not help him in this world or the hereafter should find means to reach the heavens, sever [his connection with God], and then see if his plan relieves his frustration. (Al-Hajj 22:15)

When faith becomes just a tool for worldly success, it turns shallow and fragile. The first disappointment shatters it.

A Different Attitude

True servitude to God is not a transaction to achieve desirable outcomes, but about aligning our responses to His will. Life is a test, not a bargain. The purpose of prayer, patience, and gratitude is not to secure specific worldly results, but to elevate the soul and prepare for eternal success.

This requires a different perspective — the Lens of Faith — through which every event, whether joy or pain, is seen as part of God’s merciful, wise, all-knowing, and all-powerful plan.

Why We Need a Different Approach

Life constantly presents us with challenges — illness, unfair treatment, accidents, disappointments. On the surface, these seem like results of our own or others’ choices or random chance. A boss insults us, a family member hurts us, a driver causes an accident. Instinctively, we focus on the “actor” in front of us.

But faith encourages us to look more deeply. The Qur’an tells us that nothing reaches us except by God’s permission, and that His knowledge, wisdom, mercy, and power support every situation. If this is true, then the true test is not “Why did they do this?” but “How do I respond to God in this moment?”

This is the Lens of Faith — to see every event as ultimately an interaction with the Divine, not just with people.

The Director and the Actors

Imagine life as a grand play. The people around us are actors delivering their lines — some kind, some harsh, some unfair. But the Director is God, who allows certain scenes to unfold in a way that tests and trains us.

When I focus only on the actors, I get caught up in anger, blame, or revenge. But when I remember the Director, my attention shifts: “This scene was written into my life for a purpose. What response will please Him?”

The Paradigm Behind the Lens

To view life through the Lens of Faith is to remember that:

  • A merciful God governs all. His focus is on our eternal salvation, not temporary comfort.
  • A wise God never allows an event without purpose, even when His wisdom is concealed from us.
  • An all-knowing God observes not just what occurs but also our inner motives and struggles.
  • An all-powerful God guarantees that nothing and no one can surpass His will.

Nothing can happen without His permission — and nothing receives His permission unless His mercy, knowledge, wisdom, and power enable it.

What Does Response Mean?

Response does not imply passivity. It means:

  • Remaining within moral and legal limits, even when provoked.
  • Choosing forgiveness when possible, understanding that God values those who trust Him with their concerns.
  • Maintaining gratitude even during difficult times, trusting in God’s blessings that may still be hidden.
  • Seeking correction when we fall short — asking for forgiveness, reflecting on why we reacted poorly, and preparing better for next time.

The Qur’an frames it beautifully:

If you choose to retaliate, do so only to the extent you are wronged; however, if you persevere patiently [instead of retaliating], it will be much better for those who remain patient. Be patient. You can only be patient with God’s help (Al-Nahl 16:126)

Internal Dialogue: Training the Heart

The Lens of Faith is not adopted once and for all — it is cultivated through inner dialogue.

  • Whisper to yourself during moments, big or small.
         This, too, comes from God. I must respond to Him.
  • Do this in everyday inconveniences: traffic delays, minor illnesses, a harsh word.
  • Over time, this dialogue becomes second nature — a protective shield against despair and resentment.

Faith then stops being just an abstract belief and turns into an interpretive lens, shaping every moment of life.

A Shift in What Matters

When I wear this lens:

  • My goal shifts from controlling outcomes to honoring God through my response.
  • I do not measure success in worldly results, but in the integrity of my attitude.
  • Pain becomes bearable because it is not wasted; it serves as a doorway to purification and eternal reward.

As the Prophet ﷺ said:

“No fatigue, nor disease, nor sorrow, nor sadness, nor hurt, nor distress befalls a Muslim, even if it were the prick he receives from a thorn, but that God expiates some of his sins for that.” (Bukhari, Muslim)

What this hadith means is that such trials, in and of themselves, are not automatically a source of reward. Instead, it is the believer’s response to them — patience, gratitude, and turning to God — that results in either the addition of good deeds or the wiping away of sins. The event is the test; the reward depends on how one endures and reacts to it.

Practicing the Lens of Faith

Daily Micro-Exercise:

  1. At night, reflect on a challenging moment from your day.
  2. Ask: “What if I had seen this as a transaction with God?”
  3. Notice the difference between your current response and the response you aim for.
  4. End with a dua: “God, help me see every moment through the lens of my faith in Your mercy, wisdom, power, and knowledge.”

This simple practice can reprogram the heart and keep you grounded in hope, patience, and gratitude.

__________________

Reflection Exercise for You

Spend a few calm minutes with pen and paper.

  1. Recall a positive and a negative event from the past few days.
  2. Write down your immediate reflex response and feelings at the moment.
  3. Now, view those events through the Lens of Faith — remembering that a merciful, wise, all-knowing, all-powerful God allowed them for your growth and eternal success.

Now reflect:

  • How does this new construction influence your feelings about the event?
  • What difference do you notice between your reflexive reaction and your renewed, faith-based response?
  • In your opinion, how could your life change if you viewed it through the lens of faith?

(Readers are requested and encouraged to share their experiences in the comments below).

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Comparison and Gratitude: Two Mindsets

 

یہ مضمون اردو میں پڑھیں

Humans are natural comparers. From childhood, we notice who is taller, smarter, richer, or more admired. Comparison can motivate us, but more often it takes away our peace. Gratitude, by contrast, shifts our focus from what we lack to what we already have — and in that shift lies freedom.

The Trap of Looking Sideways

Most comparison happens “sideways”—looking at those who seem to have more. A friend buys a bigger house, a colleague gets a promotion, a sibling enjoys better health. Each glance can fuel feelings of inadequacy or resentment. We begin measuring our worth not by who we are but by what others possess.

Exercise: The next time you feel the sting of comparison, pause and name the feeling: “I’m jealous,” or “I feel left behind.” Simply acknowledging the emotion diminishes its hidden power. Then, ask yourself: Is this comparison helping me grow, or is it only making me bitter?

The Comfort of Looking Downward

Sometimes comparison is framed positively: “At least I have more than others.” For example, seeing someone with greater illness or hardship can make us feel fortunate. This may bring temporary comfort, but it is fragile. If we always measure our blessings against someone else’s suffering, what happens when we can no longer find such comparisons?

Gratitude based on others’ misfortune is fragile. True gratitude must be more sincere.

The Shift Toward Humility

The real breakthrough happens when we shift from comparison to humility. Instead of saying, “I’m glad I have more than others,” we realize: “Nothing I have is truly mine or under my control.” Wealth, health, relationships, even breath itself are not entitlements. They are gifts.

This mindset changes how we view both gains and losses. It makes success seem like thankfulness instead of pride, and loss feel like patience instead of despair.

Exercise: Each morning, select one everyday blessing — your eyesight, the ability to walk, clean water, safe sleep — and take a moment to imagine life without it. Then quietly say a simple phrase: “This is not my right; it is a gift.” This practice deepens humility and nurtures gratitude.

Breaking the Cycle of Complaint

Comparison often leads to complaints: “Why me? Why don’t I have what they do?” Gratitude breaks this cycle. By seeing blessings as gifts, complaints transform into appreciation.

A useful technique is the gratitude swap. When you catch yourself complaining — “I wish I had a bigger home” — immediately identify one blessing related to what you already possess: “But I’m grateful I have a safe place to sleep tonight.” Over time, this rewires your inner dialogue.

A Tale of Two Mindsets

  • Comparison Mindset: Focuses on others, sparks envy or pride, and makes happiness dependent on outside circumstances.
  • Gratitude Mindset: Focuses on gifts, fosters humility and peace, and makes happiness independent of what others possess.

The choice between the two isn’t made just once but every day, even moment by moment. Each thought of comparison is an opportunity to shift back toward gratitude.

Final Reflection

Comparison is part of being human, but gratitude is a higher calling. One pulls us sideways into rivalry and restlessness; the other lifts us upward into humility and contentment. By practicing awareness, reflection, and daily gratitude, we gradually replace envy with appreciation and complaint with peace.

The mindset you foster influences the life you lead. Embrace gratitude — it’s the foundation where joy blossoms.

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Remembering the Highs and Lows: A Practice of Daily Gratitude

 

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Gratitude is often called the key to happiness, yet for many it remains unclear: “Be thankful,” people say, but how can you truly live it, especially when life feels heavy? One effective way is to intentionally remember both the high points and low points in our lives. By recalling what once weighed us down and how we were lifted from it, along with what we now enjoy but once lacked, we develop a perspective that steadies the heart.

Daily gratitude isn’t just a passing feeling; it’s a disciplined perspective. It helps us avoid despair during hardships and arrogance during ease.

Why Both Highs and Lows Matter

When life feels comfortable, we quickly adapt. Blessings such as health, mobility, safe shelter, or supportive relationships fade into the background. They seem ordinary, though they are anything but. Psychologists refer to this as hedonic adaptation—our tendency to stop noticing what we once longed for.

On the other hand, when hardship hits, we often feel like it will last forever. Pain limits our perspective, trapping us in the current moment of loss.

By intentionally recalling the highs and lows, we break this cycle. We remind ourselves:

  • In hardship: “I have been through valleys before, and I came out of them.”
  • In ease: “I once longed for the very things I now take for granted.”

This balance keeps gratitude alive in both “seasons.”

Gratitude in the Lows: Remembering Past Deliverance

Recall a time of personal crisis—a health scare, financial hardship, or emotional heartbreak. In that moment, it might have felt impossible to endure. But here you are, having overcome it.

Recalling such experiences makes us stronger when new struggles come. The memory whispers: “You have suffered before, and God lifted you. This too shall pass.”

This remembrance turns hardship into a chance for patience and trust. Instead of despairing, we ground ourselves in the knowledge that deliverance can happen because it has already occurred.

Gratitude in the Highs: Valuing the Present

Just as important is remembering what we once lacked but now enjoy. The car that reliably gets you there, a safe commute without accidents, and a warm shower on a cold day—none of these were guaranteed.

By comparing the present to our past lows, we learn to see blessings not as rights but as gifts. Every sip of clean water, every night of restful sleep, and every ordinary day without disaster become reasons for gratitude.

This remembrance prevents arrogance and entitlement. It transforms routine into richness.

A Faith-Centered Reframe

For those who believe in a Creator, gratitude is not just psychological—it is spiritual. Every high and every low is part of a divine plan, overseen by an All-Knowing, Merciful God.

  • Highs test whether we will remain humble and grateful.
  • Lows test whether we will remain patient and trusting.

When we realize that both ease and hardship serve a purpose, gratitude transforms from just a feeling into worship—an acknowledgment of God’s mercy in every circumstance.

How to Practice Daily Gratitude with Highs and Lows

  1. Morning Reflection: Start your day by recalling a previous low point you overcame. Allow it to remind you of resilience and divine support.
  2. Evening Reflection: End your day by acknowledging a blessing you once didn’t have but now appreciate. Write it down or whisper a prayer of thanks.
  3. Connecting Blessings to Difficulties: When encountering a challenge, remind yourself of blessings still there—such as health in one area, supportive people, or even the strength to keep going.
  4. Conversations of Gratitude: Share stories of highs and lows with family or friends. Gratitude multiplies when spoken aloud.

Conclusion

Remembering the highs and lows is more than just nostalgia—it is a way to gain perspective. The lows remind us of resilience and God’s past deliverance. The highs remind us of blessings we once longed for. Together, they ground us in gratitude, protecting us from despair during hardships and arrogance in times of ease.

Daily gratitude isn’t about ignoring pain or overstating happiness. It’s about seeing life as a whole, with all its contrasts, and finding meaning in both. For believers, it’s about recognizing that behind every high and low is a Wise and Merciful God, inviting us to grow in patience, humility, and thankfulness.

Living this way means staying awake—to sip water as if it’s precious, to endure hardship knowing it will pass, and to walk through life with awareness that both our trials and triumphs are gifts that point us back to the Giver.

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Blessings, Trials, and the Test of Life

 

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Most of us instinctively divide life into “good times” and “bad times.” When we succeed, enjoy prosperity, or are honored, we feel blessed. When we experience loss, suffer illness, or face hardship, we often feel cursed or abandoned. Yet the wisdom of revelation and the depth of human experience suggest something different: both ease and difficulty are tests.

This realization changes how we see our lives. The real measure isn’t whether we’re surrounded by blessings or trials, but how we respond to them.

The Misreading of Prosperity and Hardship

The Qur’an captures a common human error:

“When his Lord tries man, honoring and enriching him, he says, “My Lord has exalted me.” And when He tries him, straining his means, he says, “My Lord has humiliated me.”” (Surah Al-Fajr 89:15–16)

Neither assumption is accurate. Gaining wealth or status does not necessarily indicate divine approval, just as hardship does not automatically signify rejection. Both are forms of testing. Ease challenges our gratitude, humility, and generosity. Hardship tests our patience, trust, and resilience.

Hedonic Adaptation: The Psychology of Forgetting

Modern psychology describes our tendency to take blessings for granted as hedonic adaptation. When something new enters our lives—like a job, a car, or a relationship—it initially brings us joy. However, it quickly becomes ordinary. The excitement fades, and we start longing for something else.

As children, many of us begged for a toy we believed would make us happy. Once we got it, the excitement lasted for days or weeks until it broke or gathered dust in a corner. Adults go through the same cycle with bigger toys: houses, promotions, or material luxuries.

The danger is that as we become accustomed to blessings, we stop recognizing them as blessings. Gratitude diminishes, and dissatisfaction increases.

The Depth of Value: Separation and Loss

Sometimes, only separation teaches us value. As Khalil Gibran beautifully wrote:

“Love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”

We realize how valuable a relationship, health, or even a simple routine is only after it is gone. The loved one buried, the health lost, the comfort interrupted—suddenly, its worth becomes clear.

This too is part of the divine test: will we wait until loss forces appreciation, or will we learn to cherish while we still have?

Reframing Life’s Experiences

When viewed through faith, both blessings and trials carry meaning.

  • Blessings inspire thankfulness. They remind us of the Giver, urging humility and generosity.
  • Trials foster growth. They encourage us to build patience, surrender, and trust.
  • Both invite awareness. They challenge us to live consciously, avoiding arrogance in ease or despair in difficulty.

This reframing doesn’t diminish suffering. Pain is real. However, understanding that each situation is created by an Almighty, Wise, and Merciful Creator enables us to say: “This is not meaningless. Even if I don’t understand, there is a purpose.”

Daily Practice: Living the Test with Balance

  1. Pause with ease. While enjoying comfort, stop and ask: Am I grateful? Am I sharing what I’ve been given?
  2. Pause during hardship. When suffering, ask: What strength am I developing? How can I respond with dignity and trust?
  3. Break the cycle of adaptation. Name small blessings daily—clean water, the ability to walk, loved ones’ presence. What feels “ordinary” is often extraordinary.
  4. Anchor yourself in remembrance. Attach both gratitude and patience to God: “My Lord gave this ease; my Lord permitted this trial.”

Conclusion

Blessings and trials are not opposites. They are two sides of the same reality: life as a test. Both carry responsibilities, both shape our character, and both reveal who we are becoming.

Seeing life this way frees us from arrogance in prosperity and despair in adversity. It recognizes that every moment—whether joyful or painful—is an invitation to respond with faith, gratitude, and purpose.

And that response truly reflects the essence of a meaningful life.

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Taking Off the “Depression Glasses”

 

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The way we see the world is never entirely neutral. Our minds act like lenses, shaping how we interpret events, relationships, and even our self-esteem. For some, this lens becomes darker over time—formed by repeated disappointments, painful experiences, or internalized labels. Life might feel dull not necessarily because it is, but because of the “glasses” we are wearing.

This metaphor of “depression glasses” captures a truth many can relate to: depression is not only about how things are but also about how we have learned to see them. The first step toward healing often begins with realizing that we are wearing these glasses in the first place.

The Weight of Labels

When someone says, “I am a depressed person,” the label does more than describe—it defines. Over time, these labels become heavy and part of one’s identity. Every event is influenced by the belief: “Of course I feel this way, because I am depressed.”

But a label isn’t destiny. It captures a moment of struggle, not a permanent identity. The risk of labels is that they subtly train us to see ourselves through a single story, until those views become so fixed that we forget what the world looks like without them.

The Metaphor of the Glasses

Think of wearing tinted glasses: everything—sunlight, a flower, or a smile—looks different through that tint. Depression works in a similar way.

  • Joy feels muted. Achievements seem smaller, happiness seems fleeting.
  • Problems seem exaggerated. Small inconveniences appear much larger, as if seen through a magnifying glass.
  • Hope seems unrealistic. The future appears bleak regardless of the actual possibilities.

The tragedy isn’t that the world has changed, but that our view of it has.

Awareness: The First Step

The pivotal moment happens when we realize: “I am wearing depression glasses.”

This awareness doesn’t instantly cure the heaviness, but it creates a vital gap between “me” and “my thoughts.” It allows a person to say:

  • This isn’t the only perspective.
  • I am not my depression; I am a person going through depressive thoughts.
  • I can try taking the glasses off, even if just for a few minutes.

Once that realization occurs, a different form of agency becomes possible.

Taking the Glasses Off: Practical Steps

  1. Practice brief moments of awareness. Notice when thoughts sound absolute—“nothing ever works,” “everything is hopeless.” Remind yourself: this is the lens speaking.
  2. Challenge the label. Instead of “I am depressed,” try: “I am experiencing depressive feelings.” This minor change helps avoid the identity trap.
  3. Practice micro-actions. Spending three minutes on focused attention or quick gratitude reflections can ease negativity.
  4. Seek outside perspectives. Trusted friends, mentors, or professionals can serve as mirrors, helping you recognize what your biased view hides.
  5. Acknowledge your persistence. Even when negative thoughts come back, remind yourself: their persistence doesn’t make them true. They are intrusive but not controlling.

Spiritual Reframing: Suffering with Purpose

Every suffering that causes depressive thoughts can be reframed through faith. If the situation you face is not random but given by an Almighty, Wise, and Merciful Creator, then it cannot be without meaning.

Even when the exact purpose of a hardship is hidden from us, we can rest assured that it was not created in vain. Recognizing that God does not send us through pointless situations becomes a grounding truth.

This viewpoint enables us to transform our internal conversation.

  • This trial is not pointless. It has been allowed by a Merciful God.
  • Just because I don’t see its wisdom yet, doesn’t mean it doesn’t have wisdom.
  • The same God who permitted this pain is also the One who sustains me through it.

Persistently reminding ourselves of this truth makes faith an inner ally. It may not eliminate the heaviness of depression immediately, but it can ease it, providing strength, perspective, and hope. Over time, this spiritual reframing can become a powerful support—if not a full cure.

The Role of Gratitude and Balance

One of the most effective cures for depression glasses is gratitude. When life feels extremely negative, deliberately noticing small positives—like a safe shelter, a caring friend, or the ability to breathe freely—reminds us that the tint is not the whole picture.

This isn’t about ignoring pain or pretending everything is okay. It’s about refusing to let the dark lens erase the light that still exists. Gratitude, practiced regularly, slowly peels away the tint, allowing in more clarity.

The Journey of Persistence

Taking off depression glasses is not a one-time act. Often, we briefly remove them only to find ourselves putting them back on unconsciously. But with persistence—repeatedly practicing awareness, gratitude, and spiritual reframing—life begins to look different.

Initially, the change might be subtle: colors appear slightly brighter, conversations feel less exhausting, and hope seems a bit more realistic. Over time, those moments add up, and the glasses no longer feel stuck to the face.

Conclusion

Depression glasses distort how we see ourselves and the world, but they are not permanent. They can be recognized, challenged, reinterpreted, and slowly eliminated.

The journey is neither quick nor straight. But each moment of awareness, every refusal to see negative thoughts as the final truth, each act of gratitude, and every reminder that suffering serves a divine purpose are steps toward clearer understanding.

Seen from the perspective of a Merciful and Wise Creator, life—even with its hardships—gains purpose. And within that purpose, hope and healing are born.

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Death as a Master Reminder

 

 

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There are moments in life that wake us up more than any lecture, book, or conversation ever could. Few reminders hit as hard as death. One evening, a neighbor chats casually, and the next morning, news spreads that he slipped, fell, and never got up again. A friend shares dinner with you one day and is gone the next week. These sudden departures strike like lightning—brief, blinding, unforgettable.

The Illusion of Permanence

Most of us live as if tomorrow is guaranteed. We plan vacations months in advance, delay apologies, and postpone what truly matters. Death interrupts this illusion and reminds us that the future is not ours to promise. The only certainty is the present moment.

We see life as if it extends infinitely ahead, but in reality, each moment passes irreversibly. However, every moment is not lost—it becomes eternal. How we spend it will resonate forever. Every decision we make—whether in kindness or cruelty, gratitude or ingratitude—leads to a lasting consequence.

Everyday Encounters with Mortality

The reminder of death occurs not only during major events but also in everyday experiences.

  • Watching a funeral procession pass by.
  • Hearing about the sudden illness of a colleague.
  • Reading news of an accident involving someone your own age.

Each event whispers: “You too are temporary. But what you do now will last forever. How will you use your time?”

Death and Perspective

When death confronts us, many things lose their significance. Resentments suddenly seem trivial. The quest for recognition feels empty. Even material success, though not meaningless, no longer defines the value of life.

What grows sharper instead are questions of legacy:

  • Did I love sincerely?
  • Did I use my abilities to serve, or only to hoard?
  • If I leave tomorrow, what will endure from my choices today?

Death, like a stern teacher, refuses to let us hide behind distractions.

A Master Reminder, Not a Morbid Obsession

Some worry that thinking about death too often makes life feel heavy and joyless. But in reality, it can do the opposite. By reminding us that our time is limited, death encourages us to enjoy life more fully. A meal with loved ones tastes sweeter when we know such moments are temporary. An evening walk feels more valuable when we realize we might not have endless evenings left.

The reminder is not meant to paralyze but to prioritize. Death does not ask us to stop living; it asks us to live more deliberately—knowing that every breath is shaping eternity.

The Inner Dialogue Death Awakens

Encounters with death trigger a change in our self-talk. The complaint, “Why is life unfair?” often shifts to “What can I do with the life I still have?” Instead of endlessly delaying growth, we start to take action. Instead of holding onto bitterness, we forgive. Instead of fearing the end, we prepare for it by cherishing our present moments.

The Three Choices Before Us

If every moment is pushing us toward our unavoidable end, we cannot escape the need to choose how to face it. In reality, there are only three options:

  1. Ignore it: We can live in denial, distracting ourselves until the inevitable overtakes us. But ignorance does not protect us from reality; it only guarantees we arrive unprepared.
  2. Fret about it: We can become paralyzed by fear, and resent life’s impermanence, as if despair could slow the train rushing us forward. But this only wastes the time we do have.
  3. Eternalize it: We can give each moment meaning—through acts of compassion, words of truth, and efforts of integrity—so that when destiny arrives, it finds us ready, even eager, to face it.

The third choice is the only one that transforms inevitability into hope.

Conclusion

Death is not an end; it is a master reminder. It exposes life’s fragility, dissolves illusions, and brings into focus what truly matters. Though life is impermanent, every passing moment is becoming eternal.

We cannot change the train of time racing toward its destination, but we can choose how we ride it. We can ignore it, fret about it, or fill the journey with meaning. The last choice transforms the inevitability of death into the triumph of a life lived with depth, honesty, and purpose.

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