Allah’s Help is Custom-Tailored

Parables, Power, and the Reality of Belief

Allah’s help comes in the most customizable manner. It doesn’t always show up as a clear event or visible support. Sometimes, it comes through you—through your story, your metaphors, your tests, and the exact way you’re called to carry His message. When others start to manipulate narratives to twist what’s real, Allah has you live out the truth in a parable of your own. It’s not something to joke about—it’s real, layered, and filled with meaning, insight, and unseen protection. These examples are reflections of all the different possibilities we’re exposed to—what we give, what we receive, and sometimes, what we must see in order to believe.

The core of belief is respect, regard, and trust in the unseen. That’s the realm where Allah protects, tests, and elevates us. Just because something in the Qur’an isn’t visible doesn’t mean it’s not real—it just means we experience it differently. Through parables. Through symbolic events. Through divine insight. The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) said that when someone is a Muttaqi—someone who is truly conscious of Allah—Allah Swt increases them in vision and hearing. That means your soul’s intellect has earned a different level of awareness. You begin to see things with more than just your eyes. You begin to hear things that speak directly to your conscience. That’s why we are all in different ranks of guidance, different stages of protection, and have different levels of angels assigned to veer us away from the bad jinn.

The bad jinn are real—and one of the main reasons we have to nourish the soul. When you’re imbalanced, it’s not just about how you feel, it’s about how far your values are drifting from what you speak, how easily you delay your prayer, or how you’ve slipped into comfort and forgot the discipline of worship. It’s not wrong to be imbalanced—what matters is that you keep trying. But when you stop trying, that’s when the arrogance creeps in. That’s when you become like Pharaoh.

Pharaoh wasn’t just obsessed with power—he was obsessed with control. He manipulated his followers, not because they trusted him, but because they believed his illusion. He loved the feeling of control more than truth. He disrespected his wife. He disrespected Musa (peace be upon him). He kept writing his own rules to hold on to a kingdom that wasn’t his. And all the while, his internal struggle was still active. He kept forging forward, blind and desperate. That’s what happens when you let arrogance become the author of your narrative—your history becomes something others have to recover from.

I knew a Pharaoh. Not the historical one—but one who wore the same desperation. One who masked sincerity with just enough effort to make you believe he had good intentions. He played the long game, using charm and politeness to maintain control of the narrative. But underneath, he was just trying not to be caught. He didn’t want to be in the wrong. He thought I wasn’t sharp enough to pick up on the shifts and signs, but he kept moving from one cover to the next.

Eventually, I stopped chasing. I gave it to Allah. Because I never wanted control—I wanted truth. He was disrespecting my knowledge, insulting my intelligence, and acting as if I wouldn’t notice. But I did. And I chose silence. I chose sabr. And as the years went by, we smiled at each other more. But behind those smiles, I knew the price I was paying. I knew what I was carrying. And I knew what he was hiding.

Allah revealed to me later—he had been exploiting me, spiritually and otherwise. Receiving deceitful money, playing with dark influences, while pretending everything was pure. But he didn’t care. He was so deep in the darkness that he forgot there was even light. He believed that his presence outweighed mine. But what he didn’t know is that I wasn’t holding a scale. I wasn’t racing. I wasn’t competing.

The battle wasn’t against me—it was against himself. The exploitation wasn’t because he rejected me—it was because he couldn’t face the reality. The light I carried was too direct. And instead of growing with it, he used me as a cover to reject it. 

We ask Allah to protect us from the jinn, from arrogance, from blindness that blocks truth. From narratives written in desperation and deception. May He keep our hearts clean, our vision sharp, and our hearing tuned to what matters. As the verses in Surah Al-Haqqah (25–30) remind us—those who let arrogance grow will one day cry out in regret, wishing they had not denied, wished they had seen the truth before it was too late.

Because when you let arrogance lead, you also have to accept the history that follows. And it’s not always one you can undo.