I’m destitute, devoid. I would not be anything at all if Allaah didn’t speak me into being. The splendors I seek are in actually His. The rich palette of my creativity is actually His. The love that transmutes every pain, every failure, every shame, every loss into wisdom is in fact His. I’m a vessel, and I continue to empty myself so that I can experience the divine. I humble myself by acknowledging that I’m really not all that, but that I don’t need to be in order to feel it. My suffering could have remained just that. But He made it into a masterpiece. He molded my wounds into constellations. Through my brokenness, I saw what I was not and I sought what I had lost but mistakenly thought it was mine. I sought to know Him. He’s beautiful. He’s kind. He’s extremely deep. I would describe Him as poetic if it were not for the fact that that’s unbefitting a description. He’s love. He really is.

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