The face of love

Last night I called my sister in Islamabad and as soon as she heard my voice she started laughing. “I thought it might be you,” she said. “The kids were just talking about you.”

My nephew and three nieces were watching a fairy cartoon and when a rainbow-winged fairy swooped into view they all exclaimed, “She looks like Khala Baraka!”

My sister, eying the slender, white-skinned fairy and seeing an equally beautiful brown-skinned fairy hovering close by, asked, “Why do you think Khala Baraka is like her?”

“Because she is so special!”, said the 8-year-old. “And beautiful!” chimed in the 5-year-old. “She’s pretty,” agreed the 4-year old in her heavy desi accent. “Hum ki khala hai!” gruffed her twin, my nephew.

My sister and I had a good laugh at the little ones. Beauty is not something I’ve ever associated with myself as a brown girl in a fair-skin obsessed Pakistan, but their conversation got me thinking about how beauty and love are intertwined.

When we are very young the most beautiful people in the world are those who love and adore us. That’s before societal measures butt in, whispering how her skin is too dark, or sneering that his body is too fat, and well before the character judgments of adolescence that sweep us away from those who have loved us so long.

I remember my mother’s face being the most beautiful in the world. And then I recall the many years when all I could see were the countless ways I thought she had failed herself and me. If you’re lucky, as I was, that passes. Now, when I look at her I see a face of such radiant love and patience that it takes my breath away.

I think that’s what my nieces and nephews see, for now. The face of love. Oh, how fiercely I have loved my nieces and nephews, particularly my beloved first-born niece. I have reveled in being Khala, I have been solely theirs, belonging to no other child and having none of my own. When they visit I am with them instead of the adults, playing and reading stories, distracted by nothing save fulfilling their desires. They set up beds in my room and we talk into the night and sometimes I wake up to look at them sleeping all tousled, sticky-sweet, and innocent and my heart feels like it will burst with love.

That’s one part of this pregnancy that is bittersweet, for I will no longer be solely theirs, but shared. They’ve each reacted differently to the news, with the eldest immediately offering to move in with us and help with the baby. The second eldest shyly watches me and my growing belly from the corners of her eyes, not sure how to interact with me anymore. And the youngest two are simply amazed at the silliness of babies in bellies at all and prance about the house singing, “There’s a baby in my belly!” before falling over laughing at this very great and ridiculous cosmic joke.

I have loved my four babies so much that sometimes I’ve wondered how anyone could take their place. But as I go through this pregnancy I realize that it’s not a matter of replacement, but of hearts growing to make space for new love.

A blessed Thanksgiving and Eid to you all – may you too be surrounded by faces made perfect and beautiful by radiant love.

Brass Crescents and Influential Muslims

The polls for the 6th annual Brass Crescent Awards are open till the 27th! The excellent blog Muslimah Media Watch received three well-deserved nominations. Their editor-in-chief Fatemeh Fakhraie, whom I had the pleasure of meeting at Muslim Leaders of Tomorrow earlier this year, was also interviewed by elan today.

The Royal Islamic Strategic Studies Center (of “A Common Word Between Us and You” fame) has just released a report: The 500 Most Influential Muslims in the World.

Quite a few royals to start off with, but things get interesting after that, with some of my dear friends like Shahed Amanullah and Farhana Khera included, as well as excellent local Bay Area scholars like Shaykh Hamza Yusuf and Shaykh Kabir Helminski.

Congratulations you movers and shaykhers!

[One aside: Couldn't they find some women for the cover? And why are women and youth segregated to their own sections like in too many  mosques?

Perhaps it's to make them easier to search for, but it also highlights the divisions within the community.]

The Becoming

My dear friend Rachel at Velveteen Rabbi has written a trio of extraordinary posts (1, 2, 3) on her pregnancy, for which I am grateful as she so beautifully articulates what I cannot.

Most often these days I find myself struck speechless by this experience that is both mundane by virtue of being one of the most common experiences in the world, and yet unique in being one that is unfolding in my body for the first time.

My body has been my canvas since 2003. I’ve intimately and often publicly explored my medical condition, its physical horrors and spiritual delights, here. But, now, words no longer seem enough. To have my body be transformed from a source of sorrow and pain for so many years – how can I express that joy and humble gratitude, subhan’Allah?

Though I am rendered mute, tangled, and empty of words, I am also filled. I am a container for growing life, filled with constant gratitude to and remembrance of a Creator who still engages the world today, the One who is actively creating through me as I write.

The last two verses of Sura Baqara (2:285-6) have long been part of my nightly reading and the sentence, “We hear and obey, Your forgiveness O our Lord, to You is the becoming!” is one I’m fascinated with.

Alternately translated as “with You is all journey’s end”, “to You is the end of all journeys”, or “unto You is the journeying”, the phrase “the becoming” is the one that sticks in my mind like a burr, causing me to poke and wonder at it.

During this pregnancy, I’ve thought a lot about the idea of becoming. The infant resides for 9 months in a womb of nurturing darkness without being able to imagine the light that is to come, the world in which it will become human. The pregnant woman is in a state of becoming – a state of transition between being just herself and being the mother of a child. The man, woman, and baby are all three on this bridge of becoming, together – toward family, fatherhood, motherhood, toward the more than the sum of our parts that lies ahead.

This life is a series of thresholds or journeys of becoming something greater than we were – more compassionate, more filled with beauty and excellence, more giving and gracious. We move from being children to adults, from being single, to marrying, to having children, and then grandchildren. Some of us go through each of these phases, and some of us grow on other paths and in other ways , but we all finally face the threshold of death, after which we will become something we can barely imagine now.

Just as a seed must be cracked open to fulfill its potential, to become the more it was meant to be, my body too will be wrenched opened so that I can cross over the threshold into the unknown territory of motherhood.

Thoughts on Parenthood

I slipped on the stairs yesterday around 11 am & hurt my lower back. Initially I felt fine and the baby was be-bopping around so the nurse I called said not to worry, but to hydrate & rest.

But later that evening, for six hours I felt almost no movement at all. I rubbed oil on my belly in my nightly ritual, and Basil curled his large, warm palms there and talked to the baby. Usually, the baby responds to both of us, but this time there was nothing. I called the doctor and she asked us to come in immediately for a doppler/ultrasound to make sure everything was OK.

It was so surreal being in the same hospital where I’d been admitted for my many exacerbations over the past 6 years, but being there for a different, though still frightening, reason this time.

They did the Doppler soon after we got there in the middle of the night, and the heartbeat was strong so I relaxed a bit after hearing the soothing whoosh-whoosh, and watched Basil’s face melt as he heard it for the first time. But then they took a good 1.5 hours to come back for the ultrasound.

While waiting, I thought about how this was our first experience of being parents, and of being fearful for our child. The pregnancy has been a joy so far alhamdolillah, but last night made me think of the responsibilities coming our way too. It made me remember all of those nights that our parents stayed up with us when we were sick, or took us to the hospital for emergencies and how they must have felt, hearts in throats, every fiber of their beings praying for their child to be well.

The doctor finally came in to do the ultrasound and seeing Bean on the screen and knowing s/he was OK, I was flooded with relief and gratitude to God. She tried to get Bean’s profile shot but, as usual, the lil rascal covered his/her face and scrunched away. So she printed out ultrasound shots of the legs and arms instead, and holding those I was overcome by tenderness at their skinny, tiny, fragile perfection, subhan’Allah.

This little being, at 24 weeks old already has my heart and soul wound around his/her tiny finger. Those two hours at the hospital last night were a small taste of what it means to be a parent, to forever have a part of your heart walking around outside your body, so beautiful, independent, and yet vulnerable at the same time.

It filled me with gratitude for all those nights and days of sweet tender care that our parents provided for us growing up (and continue to provide even now),  that will enable both of us to provide for our child in turn, insh’Allah.

6th Annual Brass Crescent Awards

Apparently nominations opened a week ago so please nominate your favorite blogs, posts & writers.

So many great blogs have stopped publishing in the last year that I’d be interested to know what people are reading these days.

Peace

I often think about those who say that “Islam means peace” and expect that to be the end of the story. And yet each year it seems that anger grows everywhere and in everyone, regardless of religion or a lack thereof.

Peace is one of those words that is bandied about but the reality of which is so difficult to hold in one’s heart. It’s one thing to feel peaceful when one is surrounded by nature or in retreat from the world, it’s quite another to hold it in one’s thoughts, actions and words when confronted by challenging situations and people.

That’s why I like the quote below, it captures the necessity of peace as an active and lifelong pursuit, a planting of its roots deep in one’s heart and soul, like a kelp forest which gently sways when buffeted by waves, but never breaks.

On the eve of her 30th birthday

A dear friend of mine who has been battling infertility for two years, wrote a hopeful and moving piece about her thoughts and feelings about turning 30 tomorrow.

She is an amazing woman who has taught me so much about deep empathy and love, and I wrote a letter to her in response, which I’ve posted with amendments below.

—

Sweet Friend,

Your piece reminds me of the poet Mary Oliver and her question:

‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?’

The turning of years and, particularly, decades is hard. But, it is also a gift.

We snap out of the daily treadmill to reassess our lives, our selves, our relationships and make commitments to being better at all three. To being, as you said, more conscious of and present to watching the seasons change, as they do more swiftly every year.

I remember being overwhelmed at the thought of turning 30, and yet it has been my happiest decade thus far, even though I spent years of it paralyzed or blinded by or recovering from my medical condition, and being told that we would never be able to have a biological child.

My 30s taught me, to quote Mary Oliver again (from her poem “The Uses of Sorrow”):

‘Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand
that this, too, was a gift.’

It’s difficult to imagine while in the tunnel of challenging times, but hardship holds the possibility of many unexpected and wonderful gifts. I have developed deep roots and a more solid foundation because of the dark times. Those times have also brought me closer to God, my husband, and family. I have experienced a joy with them that I never thought possible in my 20s, when I was estranged from both God and family, and had given up hope on finding my soulmate.

In my 30s, I have found myself caring less about what other people think my life should be like, and becoming more interested in building a life that I am proud of, with the cards I have been dealt. None of us have been given a full deck, but – as any gambler or mystic will tell you – what matters is what we do with what we’ve been given.

As I approach 40, the spiritual mid-point of life, I find myself thinking about my life thus far. I have fallen short in so many, many ways, yet without this pause for reflection and questions I would not be able to change going forward.

As the seasons turn again, as they must, does the good I have done with my life outweigh the bad? How can I become a more compassionate and giving person? How have I benefited or harmed people and the world around me?

I think about the countless blessings I’ve been given, and remember “to whom much is given, much is expected” (Luke 12:48). How do I give back even more to those whom I love and to those whom I don’t know but who have a right upon me by virtue of being neighbors, community members, or, simply, fellow human beings?

How do I become the best daughter, sister, wife, mother (God willing), and person that I can be? What qualities do I need to cultivate within myself to remain grateful, patient, and optimistic in good times and bad?

As my parents grow older and the shadow of mortality lies more clearly upon them, they too, like yours, are more easily moved to tears and emotion. Their voices catch just looking at us or at their grandchildren. They weep, filled with love, in prayer and long prostration. How do I love, serve, and honor them with all my heart and soul before the parting that is sure to come to each of us, sooner or later?

The change of a decade is difficult, but it is also gift, if we choose to see it as such. A reminder that this life is precious – so very, very precious – but that it can slip through our fingers if we are heedless. A reminder that a well-lived and -loved life is one spent in conscious discovery of and in service to something greater than ourselves.

May the road ahead be made easy for you, and may you too realize the hidden but universal truth: that within distress resides comfort, and beside darkness, an always greater light.

May your 30s be filled with great love, light, joy, & peace for you, your husband, your little ones to come, God willing, and your families and friends.

May you build a life and soul so vast and beautiful that it fills all those around you with radiant love and peace.

Happy birthday, my dear friend!

Love you,
Baraka

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If you feel so moved, please share your wisdom and experiences on turning a year’s or decade’s corner too.