Beyond the Surface

When someone openly strives to strengthen their faith, they inevitably draw attention—both admiration and scrutiny. There will always be those who question their sincerity, assuming that their display of piety is performative, a means to gain influence, credibility, or control. The irony is that these judgments often reveal more about the observer than the one being observed.

Faith is not something we can measure in others with certainty. Yet, some confidently assume they can decipher someone’s true intentions, as if they hold the ability to distinguish between genuine devotion and calculated portrayal. This assumption is flawed at its core. No one can truly know the depth of another’s sincerity, nor the personal battles they face in their spiritual journey.

The presence of struggle naturally invites different interpretations. Some will see it as a sign of resilience, while others will cast doubt, choosing to focus on what they think is an ulterior motive. But the purpose of witnessing another’s faith in motion is not to sit in judgment—it is to reflect. Rather than assume the worst, we should ask ourselves: What does my reaction to this person’s journey say about my own faith?

Instead of suspicion and negativity, understanding and self-reflection should take precedence. Judgment is easy, but introspection requires effort. When we see someone working towards righteousness, our role is not to decide whether they are deserving of the reputation they carry—it is to ensure that we are tending to our own sincerity first.

Many have misinterpreted my deepening faith, assuming I am using the loss of my father—may Allah have mercy on his soul—as a way to hold onto attention I never even sought. His passing five years ago did not create a need for external validation; it only solidified a truth I had already come to understand: I was no longer in safe hands, at least not in the way I once believed. The security I had once felt in my life shifted, and in that void, Allah’s higher calling became unmistakable. It was His guidance alone that provided balance where the assurance I should have felt from my husband had failed.

But when faith begins to manifest outwardly, when it shifts from an internal anchor to a visible truth, it naturally becomes a point of contention for those who think only on the surface. They argue not with understanding but with assumptions that serve only to confirm their doubts. To them, the deeper calling—the surrender to Allah’s will—appears as nothing more than a constructed scheme, an elaborate way to use faith as a platform to gain control. But control over what exactly? That remains unclear, even to them.

What they fail to see is that submission to Allah is not a strategy; it is a necessity. My father—may Allah grant him Jannah—left behind an inheritance, but long before he passed, my heart had already made its decision. I knew it was never meant for me. It was meant to be given away, in his name, as a trust that belonged to Allah all along. My father’s hard work was never mine to claim, just as my spiritual journey was never about crafting an image for others to accept or reject. Allah orchestrates our lives in ways we both understand and don’t, and it is that divine arrangement that calls for patience, clarity, and sincerity.

This is why we must be easy with one another—understanding rather than suspicious, lighthearted rather than cynical. To truly know Allah—to reflect on His 99 Names, His mercy, His justice—is to understand that faith is never a tool for manipulation. It is not a means to control circumstances or manufacture influence. Having prophetic DNA is separate from the struggles I faced, yet it became a lens through which I could better understand the deeper challenges in my life. It was never about seeking favor, but about strengthening my heart to uncover the truth of my circumstances—because I was already in tune with Allah’s call, and He knows best. We may invoke through words, but I promise, my heart called out for His help and guidance in the silence and patience I have endured-- Allah knew I needed His help all along.

Verses from Surah Waq'iah:

"Tell Me! The seed that you sow in the ground.

Is it you that make it grow, or are We the Grower?

Were it Our Will, We could crumble it to dry pieces, and you would be regretful (or left in wonderment).

(Saying): "We are indeed Mughramun (i.e. ruined or lost the money without any profit, or punished by the loss of all that we spend for cultivation, etc.)! 

Tell Me! The water that you drink.

Is it you who cause it from the rainclouds to come down, or are We the Causer of it to come down?

If We willed, We verily could make it salt (and undrinkable), why then do you not give thanks (to Allah)?

Then glorify with praises the Name of your Lord, the Most Great.

So I swear by Mawaqi (setting or the mansions, etc.) of the stars (they traverse).

And verily, that is indeed a great oath, if you but know.

That (this) is indeed an honourable recital (the Noble Quran).

In a Book well-guarded (with Allah in the heaven i.e. Al-Lauh Al-Mahfuz).

Which (that Book with Allah) none can touch but the purified (i.e. the angels)."