umar al-khattab
06-01-03, 01:28 AM
In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful
As-salamu'alaykum wa rahmatullahe wa barakahtahu ikhwaani Kiraam
http://www.ghuraba.com/i/html/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=126
In the Masjid, the Imam is asking a group of young children about their ambitions. One wants to be a doctor, another a pilot, another an Alim. He notices a small, skinny boy in the corner and asks him “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
The little boy shyly stands up. In a firm voice which belies his slight frame, he replies “I want to be a Mujaahid and die a Shaheed.” The snig gering of the other children is barely concealed. He runs home, where his mother dries his tears and prays that his wish is fulfilled.
Many years later, he travels to the Kashmir valley with its bitter cold and merciless depth. It is a pitch black night, and he is on high alert to every sound in the dark. He struggles to slow the pounding of his heart at every screeching jackal, every mortar fired. Against his will his mind wanders to those he has left behind. Is his daughter missing him? Would he see her again? He worries about his wife’s difficult pregnancy. He remembers her laughter at his corny jokes. His mother fussing about him being too thin; his father’s admonition that his car is a death-trap. It all seems like another life.
The shelling has intensified. As he fires his kalashnikov, he is crying; begging his Lord to grant him the Shahadah he has desired since childhood. The back of his jacket has turned bright red. Bowing down into sujood, he whispers “Allahu Akbar”. His soul gently leaves his body to reside in the heart of a green bird in Jannah.
Four thousand miles away, a son is born to his wife. The family blink back the tears at this tiny mirror image of their son and husband. When the news reaches them of his Shahadah, they are grief-stricken, yet patient at the news. Friends and relatives are amazed at their steadfastness; how they are determined that his children will honour his memory and live up to his example. How they encourage everyone who visits them to support the Jihad with their wealth and their lives.
A few years later, in the same Masjid, another Imam asks another little boy: “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The little boy replies “I want to be a Mujaahid and die a Shaheed.” The sniger-ing of the class is barely concealed, but he doesn’t care. Instead, he thinks about the stories his mother has told him about the father whom he has never met. When these same class-mates will one-day be working in banks and comfortably enjoying the dhunia, he will travel the same journey, fight the same enemy and insha’Allah join his father as a Shaheed.
How are we raising our children?
And Allah Ta'ala Knows Best
Wasalamu'alaykum Wa rahmatullahe Wa barakahtahu
As-salamu'alaykum wa rahmatullahe wa barakahtahu ikhwaani Kiraam
http://www.ghuraba.com/i/html/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=126
In the Masjid, the Imam is asking a group of young children about their ambitions. One wants to be a doctor, another a pilot, another an Alim. He notices a small, skinny boy in the corner and asks him “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
The little boy shyly stands up. In a firm voice which belies his slight frame, he replies “I want to be a Mujaahid and die a Shaheed.” The snig gering of the other children is barely concealed. He runs home, where his mother dries his tears and prays that his wish is fulfilled.
Many years later, he travels to the Kashmir valley with its bitter cold and merciless depth. It is a pitch black night, and he is on high alert to every sound in the dark. He struggles to slow the pounding of his heart at every screeching jackal, every mortar fired. Against his will his mind wanders to those he has left behind. Is his daughter missing him? Would he see her again? He worries about his wife’s difficult pregnancy. He remembers her laughter at his corny jokes. His mother fussing about him being too thin; his father’s admonition that his car is a death-trap. It all seems like another life.
The shelling has intensified. As he fires his kalashnikov, he is crying; begging his Lord to grant him the Shahadah he has desired since childhood. The back of his jacket has turned bright red. Bowing down into sujood, he whispers “Allahu Akbar”. His soul gently leaves his body to reside in the heart of a green bird in Jannah.
Four thousand miles away, a son is born to his wife. The family blink back the tears at this tiny mirror image of their son and husband. When the news reaches them of his Shahadah, they are grief-stricken, yet patient at the news. Friends and relatives are amazed at their steadfastness; how they are determined that his children will honour his memory and live up to his example. How they encourage everyone who visits them to support the Jihad with their wealth and their lives.
A few years later, in the same Masjid, another Imam asks another little boy: “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The little boy replies “I want to be a Mujaahid and die a Shaheed.” The sniger-ing of the class is barely concealed, but he doesn’t care. Instead, he thinks about the stories his mother has told him about the father whom he has never met. When these same class-mates will one-day be working in banks and comfortably enjoying the dhunia, he will travel the same journey, fight the same enemy and insha’Allah join his father as a Shaheed.
How are we raising our children?
And Allah Ta'ala Knows Best
Wasalamu'alaykum Wa rahmatullahe Wa barakahtahu