Reaching the Messenger of God

I walked faster and faster, hundreds of women pushing me forward. Women all around me cried in love and in pain. They pushed forth with a fervor that emanated from their hearts and took hold of their bodies. I continued to move forward. My heart raced; I don't know why. I might have been nervous. I might have been anxious. All I knew was that my heart felt as if it would beat right out of my body. My tongue fervently repeated, “Allahumma salli ‘alaa sayiddina Muhammad…” It was almost a year ago and this is was my first visit: I was going to be in the presence of Muhammad, peace be upon him.

My eyes swelled with tears and I was no longer able to hold it in.  I reached my destination, only a few feet from the grave of the Messenger of God.  My tears rushed from my eyes as if a waterfall, endlessly. My eyes, unable to see, and my body heavy with a burden I did not understand, stood in awe. I prayed earnestly that a future meeting with the Messenger would have me drinking from his hands next to his fountain.  I continued to send peace and blessings upon the Beloved of God.  I thanked God for bringing me here, for allowing me, in my pathetic state, to stand before the greatest man to ever walk upon this earth.

Every story and every description of the Messenger raced through my mind and heart. I imagined his feet, soaking with blood, as he ran from the insults jeered at him by the people of Taif.  I remembered the resolve and strength of my Messenger in those moments when he prayed to God, “O Allah! I complain only to You of my weakness, my scarcity of resources and my humiliation before the people. O Most Merciful of those who are merciful…So long as You are not angry with me, I do not care. Your favor is of more abundance to me…” I thought of him praying in the middle of the night whilst crying. His wife, Aisha, may God be pleased with her, asking him, "Why do you stay up all night and pray when all your sins have been forgiven- past and future?" His simple reply, “Should I not be a thankful servant?” I thought of the first generation and their love for the Messenger of God. I wondered how his heart must have felt when the companions, may God be pleased with them, came to him tortured day after day, after having given up everything because of the eternal Paradise he promised them. And I could hear Jaabir, may God be pleased with him, describing my beloved Prophet: "I once saw Rasulullah (the Messenger of God) on the night of a full moon. I looked first at the full moon, and then at the face of Rasulullah. And I swear by God that he was more handsome, beautiful and more radiant than the full moon.”

God had allowed my undeserving being to walk upon the same roads the Prophet had walked. Can you imagine? He had walked these streets, with rocks around his stomach, attempting to suppress the pangs of hunger. The best of creation went days and nights without food.  A smile always etched upon his noble face and his tongue immersed in the remembrance of His Lord. His companions attentively gathered around him, capturing every word and action of his. This city, Madinah, reminded me of the Prophet at every turn.

I was now so close to him inside Masjid un Nabawi… But what if I was actually in the presence of Muhammad, peace be upon him?  I asked myself this question as I slowly distanced myself from his grave and found a place to sit and gather myself.  All I imagined was the Day of Judgment. Often when I think of Rasulullah, I think of the Last Day. This is because when I was younger a teacher of mine was the first to tell me that on the Day of Judgment everyone would leave me. My friends, my family, and even my parents would abandon me. I would be left before God with nothing, except my deeds, which would be lacking for a surety. She said that mankind would go to each prophet asking for help and each prophet would reply, “Nafsi, nafsi”. “Myself, Myself.” They too would be filled with fear on that Day. Each prophet: Adam, Ibrahim, Musa and so on would reply “Nafsi, Nafsi.” And then she finally mentioned the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. Our Messenger, Muhammad, would  reply, “Ummati, Ummati.” “My Ummah, My Ummah.” As she said this, my teacher began to cry, as did I. How could I not love someone who loved me so dearly?

Our faith is not complete until we love the Prophet, peace be upon him, more than we love ourselves. I shamefully admit I thought little over the depth of this statement until I visited the grave of the Prophet, peace be upon him. In the days that followed- in the moments of self-reflection- I found myself repeatedly asking: Do I love Muhammad, peace be upon him, more than I love myself? A year later, I still ask myself this question and probably will for the remainder of my lifetime.

May God make us among those who follow in the footsteps of His noble messenger and take his example to be the best of examples. And may He make us among those who love the Messenger more than we love all else in this world.