Intro

I remember the girlhood days of fasting. The days of dry mouth and hunger pangs. When the mouth was so dry that it seemed pasty, filled with crud or wet sand. The headaches gave way to a surreal feeling of other-worldliness. “Ummi, is it time yet?”

“No, just a few more hours. Why don’t you take a nap?”

Sleep came, but no relief comes when dreams are filled with images of cold glasses of juice and fried chicken dancing like characters from a Disney movie. So young…what does one gain from fasting when you’re too young to reflect. I surely gained nothing from these Ramadans other than hunger and thirst. The Holy Qur’an states that fasting is prescribed for us that we may learn self-restraint. I can’t say with honesty that I truly learned self-restraint from fasting until I was much older.

In my family, the children started getting used to fasting by fasting half-days. That means we would fast from breakfast time until Iftar came. I remember feeling like I was participating in the fast. I felt so proud to fast those 6 or so hours. My parents helped to instill a sense of accomplishment. We were sometimes rewarded with toys or money for each day we “fasted.”

Eventually, we reached the age of reason and full days came into effect. It was quite a shock to my system. Suddenly I was expected to fast for 12 hours or more. Not only that, but we were no longer rewarded with trinkets. When we asked about them my parents would answer, “Your reward is with Allah.” Well, that was all well and good, but my ten-year-old self would have preffered a Barbie, I’m sure.

Eventually, I began to understand the true meaning behind fasting. In my opinion, abstaining from food and drink gives a Muslim(a) strength to avoid the temptations of this world. You certainly do feel like you can accomplish anything after going 29-30 days without eating or drinking during daylight hours. It makes the other challenges of the Dunya seem easier. It’s suddenly easier to say no to alcohol, fornication and the other trappings of non-muslim society.

Once my mental capacities could truly understand the meaning and purpose of the fast, fasting became much easier. In fact, I began to look forward to the month of Ramadhan, the month of fast, prayer, reflection and forgiveness.

Last year, as a pregnant woman, I did not fast save a few days. It was the first time since I was a girl that I didn’t fast. In Ramadhan of 2004, I was pregnant and attempted to fast, became dehydrated and suffered a miscarriage. While life and death are all in the qadr of Allah (swt), I chose not to fast last year, while pregnant with Zakiyyah. I felt as though I was “missing out” on Ramadhan. I truly wanted to participate in the fast.

This year, although I am nursing, I will attempt to fast. Inshallah, Allah will make it easy for me. I also plan to pray more than usual, read and contemplate Qur’an and give to charity. I would love to participate in Maliha’s 30 acts of kindness. I look forward to this Ramadhan in the same way my ten-year-old self looked forward to the toys and trinkets. ;-)

2 Responses

  1. Several months ago, I was listening to an essay on NPR called “Giving a Name to the Pain of Losing a Child” by Karla Holloway. She said that there are no words in the English language to describe a parent that has lost a child yet we many other words which describe similar situations.

    A woman who loses her husband is a widow.
    A man who loses his wife is a widower.
    A child that loses a parent is an orphan.

    It seems our society doesn’t know how to talk about this issue.

    The essay begins about 2min 15 secs in. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5511147

    May Allah subhanahu wa ta ala protect you and your family.

  2. Mashallah, I love that quote, makes me wanna write my own essay about the experience. Thanx…

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