Below is an award-wining story written by a Muslim brother, for a nationwide essay competition in Canada:
STRANGER IN THE DARK
A few months before I was born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our small town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer, and soon invited him to live with our family. The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into the world a few months later.
As I grew up, I never questioned his place in our family. In my young mind, each member had a special niche. My brother, Bilal, five years my senior, was my example. Fatimah, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to play big brother and develop the art of teasing. My parents were complementary instructors- Mom taught me to love the word of Allah, and Dad taught me to obey it.
But the stranger was our storyteller. He could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries, and comedies were daily conversations. He could hold our whole family spell-bound for hours each evening. If I wanted to know about politics, history, or science, he knew it.
He knew about the past, understood the present, and seemingly could predict the future. The pictures he could draw were so life like that I would often laugh or cry as I watched. He was like a friend to the whole family. He took Dad, Bilal, and me to our first major league baseball game. He was always encouraging us to see the movies and he even made arrangements to introduce us to several movie stars.
The stranger was an incessant talker. Dad didn't seem to mind but sometimes Mom would quietly get up while the rest of us were enthralled with one of his stories of faraway places, go to her room, and read her Quran and pray. I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would leave.
You see, my dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions. But this stranger never felt an obligation to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our house-not for some of us, from our friends, or adults.
Our longtime visitor, however, used occasional four letter words that turned my ears and made Dad squirm. To my knowledge, the stranger was never confronted. My dad was a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in his home, as good Muslims should. But the stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened us to other ways of life. He offered us beer and other alcoholic beverages often.
He made cigarettes look tasty, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (probably too much, too freely) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing. I know now that the stranger influenced my early concepts of the man-woman relationship.
As I look back, I believe it was the grace of Allah that the stranger did not influence us more. Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents.
Yet, he was seldom rebuked and never asked to leave. More than thirty years have passed since the stranger moved in with the young family on Wangee Road. He is not nearly so intriguing to my Dad as he was in those early years. But if I were to walk into my parents? den today, you would still see him sitting over in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures.
His name you ask?
We called him TV.
Our Lord! Forgive us our sins and expiate from us our evil deeds, and make us die in the state of righteousness. (Surah Al- Imran Ayat 193)
Oh Allah! I love you and I need you, come into my heart, please.
"It will be said to the pious believers in Islamic Monotheism: 'Oh you, the one in complete rest and satisfaction! Come back to your Lord well rested and well pleased!
salaamz
jus thort i'd share dis lil passage wid u ppl
enjoy
take care
w/salaamz
The stranger in the house
A few months before i was born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our small Tennessee town. From the beginning, dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer, and soon invited him to live with our family. The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into the world a few months later. As i grew up i never questioned his place in our family. In my young mind, each member had a special niche. My brother, Yusuf, five years my senior, was my example. Samya, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to play "big brother" and develop the art of teasing. My parents were complimentary instructers - mom taught me to love Allah, and dad taught me how to obey him. But the stranger was our story teller. He could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries and comedies were daily conversations.
He could hold our family spellbound for hours in the evening. If i wanted to know about politics, history, science he knew it. He knew about the past and seemed to understand the present. And the pictures he could draw were so life-like that i would often laugh or cry as i watched.
He was like a friend to the whole family. He took dad, Yusuf and me to our first major league baseball game. He was always encouraging us to see movies and he even made arrangements to introduce several famous people. The stranger was in incessant talker. Dad didn't seem to mind, but sometimes mom would quietly get up, while the rest of us where enthralled with one of his stories of faraway places, and go to her room to read the Qur'aan. I wonder if she ever prayed that stranger would leave. You see our dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions. But this stanger never felt an obligation to honour them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our house, not from us, not from our friends, or adults. Our stranger, however, used occasional four letter words thats burned our ears and made dad squirm. To my knowledge the stranger was never confronted.
My dad was a tea-drinker who never permitted alcohol in his home.
But the stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened us to other ways of life. He offered us beer and other acoholic beverages often.
He made cigarettes look tasty and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (probably much too freely) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive and genrally embarassing. I know that my early concepts of man-woman relationships were influenced by the stranger.
As i look back, i believe it was Allah's mercy that the stranger did not influence us more. Time after time he opposed the values of my parents. Yet he was seldom rebuked and never asked to leave.
More than 30 years have passed since the stranger moved in with the young family on Morningside Drive.
He is not nearly so intriguing to my dad as he was in those early years. But if i were to walk into my parents' den today, you would still see him sitting over in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures.
Sister, don't worry because even if you had already posted it before it really doesn't matter because we can read something interesting for the second time. Besides that we have newcomers daily that can be able to have the chance to read good things like this.
Do your charity in the name of Da'wah and help us out
wow masha Allaah! its really krazy because nearly every single person has a tv in there house, we waste soo much our lives on it.. i've heard of some people who broke there tv'z lol because they never wanted to watch it again.
wow masha Allaah! its really krazy because nearly every single person has a tv in there house, we waste soo much our lives on it.. i've heard of some people who broke there tv'z lol because they never wanted to watch it again.
A few months before I was born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our
small town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting
newcomer, and soon invited him to live with our family. The stranger was
quickly accepted and was around to welcome me into the world a few months
later.
As I grew up I never questioned his place in our family. In my young
mind, each member had a special niche. My brother, Yusuf, five years my
senior, was my example. Samya, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to
play 'big brother' and develop the art of teasing. My parents were
complementary instructors- Mom taught me to love Allah, and Dad taught me
how to obey Him. But the stranger was our storyteller. He could weave the
most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries and comedies were daily
conversations. He could hold our whole family spell-bound for hours each
evening. If I wanted to know about politics, history, or science, he knew
it.
He knew about the past and seemed to understand the present. The
pictures he could draw were so life- like that I would often laugh or
cry as I watched. He was like a friend to the whole family. He was always
encouraging us to see the movies and he even made rrangements to introduce
us to several famous people.
The stranger was an incessant talker. Dad didn't seem to mind-but
sometimes Mom would quietly get up- while the rest of us were enthralled
with one of his stories of faraway places- go to her room, read the Qur'an.
I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would leave. You see,
my dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions. But this
stranger never felt an obligation to honour them. Profanity, for
example, was not allowed in our house- not from us, from our friends, or
adults. Our longtime visitor, however, used occasional four letter words
that burned my ears and made Dad squirm.. To my knowledge, the stranger was
never confronted. My dad was a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in his
home.But the stranger felt like we needed exposure and enlightened us to
other ways of life. He offered us beer and other alcoholic beverages often.
He made cigarettes look tasty, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished. He
talked freely (probably too much too freely). His comments were sometimes
blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing.
I know now that my early concepts of the man-woman relationship were
influenced by the stranger.
As I look back, I believe it was Allah's Mercy that the stranger did not
influence us more. Time after time he opposed the values of my parents.
Yet he was seldom rebuked and never asked to leave. More than thirty
years have passed since the stranger moved in with the young family. He is
not nearly so intriguing to my Dad as he was in those early years.
But if I were to walk into my parents' den today, you would still see
him sitting over in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk
and watch him draw his pictures.
-
-
-
-
His name you ask?
-
-
-
-
We called him TV.
So any thoughts inshalah..... cud give views and example of ur own of tv?
All i hope is for my mums happiness.Shes my light.Shes my dunya.Her tears are my weakness.Her sadness breaks my heart.She is my mirror.A mirror that keeps me alive.Without her am nothing.shes my saaya.How can i leave her.I pray to Allah(swt) to keep me with her forever inshAllah.
Re: The stranger......cum and find out...wot it is?
You let a transvestite into your house for 30 years?!
Hello dishdash it appears that you have not posted on our forums in several weeks, why not take a few moments to engage in an argument with another member in any one of our forums?
A few months before I was born, my dad met a stranger who was new to our small Tennessee town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanted newcomer, and soon invited him to live with our family.
The stranger was quickly accepted and was around to welcome into the world a few months later. As I grew up I never questioned his place in our family. In my young mind, each member had a special niche. My brother, Bill, five years my senior, was my example. Fran, my younger sister, gave me an opportunity to play big brother and develop the art of teasing. My parents were complementary instructors - Mom taught me to love the Word of God, and Dad taught me to obey it. But, the stranger was our storyteller. He could weave the most fascinating tales. Adventures, mysteries, and comedies were daily conversations. He could hold our whole family spellbound for hours each evening. If I wanted to know about politics, history, or science, he knew it all. He knew about the past, understood the present, and seemingly could predict the future. The pictures he could draw were so lifelike that I would often laugh or cry. He was like a friend to the whole family. He took Dad, Bill and me to our first major league baseball game. He was always encouraging us to see the movies and he even made arrangements to introduce us to several movie stars. My brother and I were deeply impressed by John Wayne in particular.
The stranger was an incessant talker. Dad didn't seem to mind, but sometimes Mom would quietly get up while the rest of us were enthralled with one of his stories of faraway places, go to her room, read her bible and pray. I wonder now if she ever prayed that the stranger would leave.
You see, my dad ruled our household wit certain moral convictions. But this stranger never felt an obligation to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our house - not from us, from our friends or adults. Our longtime visitor, however, used occasional four-letter words that burned my ears and made Dad squirm. To my knowledge the stranger was never confronted.
My dad was a teetotaler who didn't permit alcohol in his home - not even for cooking. But the stranger felt like we needed the exposure and enlightened us to other ways of life. He offered us beer and other alcoholic beverages often. He made cigarettes look tasty, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished.
He talked freely (probably much too freely) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing. I know now that my early concepts of the man-womanly relationship were influenced by the stranger.
As I look back, I believe it was the grace of God that the stranger did not influence us more. Time after time he opposed the values of my parents. Yet he was seldom rebuked ad never asked to leave.
More than 30 years have passed since the stranger moved in with the young family on Morningside Drive. He is not nearly as intriguing to my Dad as he was in those early years.
But, if you were to walk into my parents den today, you would still see him sitting over in a corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and look at his pictures. His name?
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The Stranger In The House
The stranger......cum and find out...wot it is?
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