*Need a Blessing?*
[[---- Part 7 ----]]------------------
بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم
In our relentless pursuit of happiness, success, and peace, we often look outward—striving for better jobs, more wealth, and ideal circumstances. Yet, we sometimes overlook a fundamental pillar upon which all these blessings rest: the preservation of family ties
Some people's lives might feel devoid of barakah (Allah's blessing). Yes. They pray, fast, and give charity, yet their efforts feel fruitless, wealth feels insufficient, and homes lack peace. This accelerated punishment can manifest as constant anxiety, financial hardship, fractured relationships with their own spouses and children, and a general feeling of discontent—a life from which Allah's mercy has been distanced.
On this,
Abu Ayyub al-Ansari (r.a.) reported: The Prophet (ﷺ) said, “It is not lawful for a man to forsake his Muslim brother for more than three nights, ....” 📚(Sahih al-Bukhari & Muslim)
While this refers to Muslims in general, the ruling is even more severe for blood relatives. If we cannot abandon a fellow Muslim for more than three days, how grave must it be to abandon our own flesh and blood for months or years?
This reminds me,
His father’s final words were a simple request: “Forgive your brother, Zubair. Let the past go.” But pride was a fortress around Zubair’s heart. The old argument over a piece of land felt more important than blood.
When their father passed, Zubair didn’t call his brother. He inherited the family home and the land. He worked tirelessly, dawn to dusk, yet his efforts felt hollow. His business deals, though shrewd, inexplicably soured. His wealth seemed to leak away through unseen cracks. His home, once filled with laughter, was now just a large, empty space. The barakah was gone.
Years later, a desperate knock came at his door. A stranger stood there, holding out a worn-out envelope. “Your brother,” the man said softly, “He passed away. He asked me to find you and give you this.”
With trembling hands, Zubair opened it. Inside was a faded photo of them as boys, arms around each other, grinning. On the back, his brother had written: “I waited for you every day. I forgave you long ago. The land was never what mattered.”
In that moment, standing in his silent, so-called blessed house, Zubair finally understood. He hadn't just lost a brother. He had severed the very vein through which Allah's mercy flowed into his life.
The Major Lesson:
The ties of kinship (silat ar-rahim) are a direct channel for divine blessing. When we sever them out of pride, anger, or greed, we are not just cutting off a person; we are slowly starving our own lives of the spiritual sustenance and hidden grace that make our efforts fruitful and our hearts content. Reconciliation is not a defeat; it is the key that unlocks the door to barakah.
To be continued.
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