I am usually thirsty when I am in my room at home. I had been planning to get some sort of water dispenser to fill up and keep in my room, along with an empty cup to fill 'er up whenever the thirst pinches my throat. Just like good 'ol Amman. Two years later, I finally found a wonderful clear and sleek dispenser for six dollars, and purchased it with excitement that my fajr dry throat will now be quenched.
I placed it at the end of my dresser, at the corner. I made sure it was sealed tight. A week after I purchased it, I woke to find the faucet was turned at an acute angle, which indicated that the seal was most likely broken. I didn't check the water level. I focused on the faucet. I realized it leaked a little. I fixed it's position, and brought some tissues to clean up the water. A(n?) half hour later, I came back to my room to get some clothes from my workout drawer, which was in the same plane as the water dispenser. I noticed a darker spot on the wood. I felt it. It was wet. I looked up at the dispenser, and 80% of the water that was in it the day before was gone. It was leaking throughout the night, and I had only just noticed.
I quickly began to remove the contents of the drawer. And lo and behold, subhanAllah, I had placed all the letters I had ever received from my loved ones in that drawer. All drenched. All soaked. All dripping. Ink staining the inside of the drawer. I felt a small twinge at the potential loss, and immediately felt neglectful. It took for a whole gallon of water to spill for me to pay attention to a source of love that I had long overlooked.
Once I regained focus, I collected the letters, whimpering slightly. Yes, like a puppy. I had a very limited time to workout, as my schedule was packed for the day. But I decided without hesitation that salvaging whatever letters I can was a higher priority.
On a slight but relevant tangent, I was feeling temporarily betrayed at that time in my life, in reaction to a specific event. Reducing the amount of perceived attention and love I felt to an intolerable amount. Feeling as if all those that proclaimed they would be my companions had utterly and easily failed me. Repeatedly. I felt no human presence. God was always there, of course.
I prayed to Him. Asking Him to remove this doubt from my heart. To reinstill my sureness in His creation's goodness and ability to not be deceptive. I prayed He return the untameable light that had always emanated from my spirit. To remind me that I had not been left for the wolves. That it was quite the contrary, that I was engulfed in a love unattainable by those who sought it, that it could only be a blessing. And I prayed that He protect me from the evil that wishes to convince me otherwise.
I carried the letters carefully to my mother's bathroom, I didn't want their fragility to win. They could have easily ripped. I placed them down, still in their envelopes, separating them from each other, one by one, side by side. They stared at me. Each one transporting me back to a time when things were different, when things were better, or harder. Times when I was on an adventure, and my family wanted to reach out to me. Or on an escapade and a distant friend wanted to remind me of our friendship. Or celebrating an achievement and someone wanted to warmly congratulate me.
I learned once that you can steam open an envelope, and reseal it after. My mom's little hairdryer started to blow away at the folds of the envelopes. And they started unraveling, allowing me a peak at the letters they had failed to protect. I was reminded of Frank Abignale, Jr., when he was drying all those false checks. As I recall he was in search of a love that would not betray him. And as I reflected, I realized I had rediscovered for myself what he was in search of. Although I would have loved to fake being a pilot.
I began to aim the dryer at the folds intentionally, to peal away the envelope. I picked up the letter slowly. After carefully searching for the space between the two thirds, I unfolded it and anxiously began to read. It spoke to a different me, an ancient one, a Leena in development. Not that I was or am done growing, but I had a longer way to go simply because it was an historical me. But the person who wrote it, my sister, loved me the same. Spoke to me the same. Cared for me the same. It was as if the love God blessed me with was in a naturally frozen state and lived in Antarctica, where it would never change. It was my goggles which fogged up every once in a while. He would always provide a way for me to clear them up.
I read the next, and it was a friend, writing to me at camp, and another one from a different friend, writing to me from across the world, long and beautiful letters, filled with specificity, indicating their care.
The letters felt like a small avalanche. Like rain after a hot day. Like shelter after a storm. Like dry land after swimming for too long. Like the comfort of your mother's arms. Embracing you like nothing else matters. Like an instantaneous answer to my prayers. What I first thought to be a loss (damaged letters), and what I first thought to be a source of inconvenience (a dripping faucet), turned out to be a microcosmic hero, and a mask that would guide me to it, respectively.
How could I forget these letters? How can I lose sight of the overwhelming love God Has blessed me with? All blurred in a moment. No matter how sharp your vision is, once your eyes well with tears, they become blurry, and no longer convey the truth of the visible world to your brain. And thus is our heart. Once tainted with a slight and momentary sadness, it is as if the memory size of our brain that stores happy moments is reduced to 1KB.
The lesson here, my friend, is that when you lose sight of human mercy, God will return it to you, but if you lose sight of your Lord's Mercy, you simply lose your sight. God restores everything He wishes to restore. It may be down a path that appears difficult, it may be that God sends you blessings guised by pain. He may decide to destroy something precious in your life, to replace it with something better. He may destroy something that you believe to be important, only to draw your attention to something that transcends it, into the heavens.
This story is not dramatic, no lives were lost, and it didn't change me from the core, but it is a moment that serves as a powerful reminder.
You can never over-estimate God. That in itself is an unfathomable concept. Everything has a limit. But here is a way to try to understand His greatness. Our understanding of what is limited is in comparison to something that is limitless. To understand that something cannot keep going is to know that there is something that does keep going, that we are contrasting the brevity of life or short-lived anything to His Omnipotence.
Yes, it does all come back to God. Always. We are to Him, and to Him we return.