cerita budak malas

"Hey awak."

"Awak cakap dgn saya ke?"

"Ye la sapa lagi, takkan jiran awak kot."

"Lawak la tu, (cebik) ye kenapa."

"Kenapa awak malas baca buku tu? Esok kene tanya baru tau"

"Tau. Saya kompius sama ada saya ni penat atau malas."

"Dua-dua kot."

"Agaknya. Tapi kadang-kadang rasa marah dgn diri seniri sebab baca buku utk prepare nak jawab bila kene tanya. Berapa byk agaknya pahala kalau baca buku utk kejar redha Allah."

"Tau takper."

"Cis, malas nak layan."

Moral cerita ini:

Kejar redha Allah bukan redha manusia. Fokus pada apa yg anda boleh buat, jgn fokus pada apa yg mereka boleh buat.

Siapa mereka?

Tanyalah keluarga mereka.

kasih ibu membawa ke syurga, kasih ayah tak terhingga

"It is often said that the most difficult journey we ever undertake is through the birth canal."

Indeed.

My labour week teaches me a lot about love, sacrifice and most importantly the miracles of Allah SWT's creations. My heart pounded each time my hand feels the huge mom's belly hardens indicating the incoming contractions, and she would bear the pain with beads of sweats on her forehead and the whole body trembling like mad for each mounting contractory pain. I know now why mothers have a special seat of honour and dignity in Islam, like the Prophet SAW said "Paradise lies at the feet of your mothers" (Al-Nisa'i, Ibn Majah, Ahmad).

Last night the last patient I was with before my 3-11pm shift ended was this 39 years-old lady who was about to have her first child. She was calmly lying on the bed as her epidural anaesthesia kicked in, and her partner came in not long after I was there. The CTG showed few decelerations and baby's heart rates fell down at times. The midwife was as alarmed as myself, but we maintained calm for the sake of the parents-to-be. We all knew the lady has had previous history of endometriosis, underwent myomectomy, significant gynae history in the family and couple more risk factors including her age. C-section's down the line, of course the couple looked frustrated. I had to leave as it was past 11pm already. I wished them very best of luck and said not to worry too much, of course I was being irrational when I said that.

I changed into my casual gear and dumped the scrubs, went down and called the taxi. There he was the daddy-to-be with his most worried look at the main hospital entrance, trying to get some fresh air I supposed. I stopped by, "Do you think she's gonna be fine?" he asked. I don't know myself to be honest. To say everything's OK would give false hope if things turned out different way, and vice versa. "U know C-sections wouldn't be too bad, if that's the best option for her in this situation," I tried to be modest. He was about to say something but choked, his eyes pooled with water. Again, I bade him the very best of luck and left, I can't bear the sad look on his face. Deep inside I prayed may Allah SWT make things easy for them.

I went home with my parents' faces in my thoughts. Before this I always realized how I used to be difficult as a child, but never have I asked how did I treat them when I was still in Mak's womb and how was I being delivered. I knew mum had to be transfered to the hospital when my home delivery failed. I could now put into pictures how hard it must be.

And it still amazes me how my parents treat me with a lot patience, despite all the hardships I've caused them. I could freshly recall Abah woke me up for school, going to the bathroom I found a basin of lukewarm water for my comfort bath, ye lah at the time when electrical shower was still unpopular, and later after I finished bathing there was my school uniform nicely ironed on the bed. Breakfast would be savoury homemade nasi lemak or any kind of food that came out from Mak's expert hands, and I would always be given bekal for recess time in school. All of that, times 5, for I have 4 other siblings in the family. I never knew what time did my parents wake up everyday, until I figured one day they were up praying tahajjud at 4.30am and never went to bed again till 12pm that night. And how cruel I was being when I threw tantrums each time mom said she's tired and couldn't go out to town in the evening after she got home from work.

"Ya Allah, Ya Tuhan kami, ampunilah segala dosa kesalahan kami dan dosa-dosa kesalahan ibu bapa kami, serta kasihanilah ibu bapa kami sebagaimana mereka mengasihani kami semasa masih kecil."

"And We have enjoined upon man to be good to his parents - His mother bears him in weakness upon weakness.." (31:14)

selamat hari Jumaat

Satisfaction defines;

the ability to wake up early for fajr prayer and feed the soul with reminders from the Book,

the tranquility of strolling down the long corridor ward and having heard "Good morning Dr!" by patients on their ways to shower,

seeing the smiles on other people's faces, happily greeting the blessed Friday,

hearing the salaam given by fellow Muslims, knowing I'm well looked-after in the hands of my Brothers in Islam,

having to taste the sweet unpolluted Waterford's morning air,

being able to look forward for home later, without any regrets on the passing hours and days spent here.

I love my job, I'm sipping every sweet moments of it carefully, I'm grateful that Allah has opened this path for me and I pray that I would become someone beneficial for my religion and my country. Ameen.

A time to ponder

I am currently away in Waterford for the whole week since Sunday evening, on my own in an apartment shared with 2 fellow groupmates; an Irish girl and an American guy. My sick partner called me when my cab just few meters departed from home to the train station saying she couldn't make it to Waterford on Sunday with me, leaving me to pick up my not so independant pieces together to move on. I took the bus instead of train (that saved me EUR13) and it got worst when it got delayed for another hour. "I'm going to the hospital to pick up the apartment keys and drag my stuff to the apartment later," I kept on repeating that in my head; in the midst of trying to push the 'believe button' in me. I hate walking at night on my own, I have terrible night vision. Man I was so shamefully weak.

I reached the apartment OK and the 2 fellas were there, I agreed on the stupidest thing that was to toss coin to determine who's getting which room. Of course I got the double room, not ensuite, and the guy got the double room ensuite while the girl had the single one. "So later when Mary comes she'll be staying with u OK Wan!" said her. I couldn't believe I lost it to them again, stupid me. I'll live with my hair covered all week long. You bet I will. First night was closed to tears, I fought hard. All I have is my Only God the Almighty, I kept on praying.

Hey the rest of the week weren't so bad, they were in fact great. I have a new partner from the American Carribean University who turn out to be the nicest guy, the doctors are so into teaching and the consultant is simply superb. I mind my own business, which means staying late in the hospital library and go home for dinner and sleep. The flatmates weren't that bad either, I just closed my eyes pretending not seeing anything when they brought home a carton of Heineken the night Benfica played against Liverpool, but we did sit down together when Desperate Housewives were on telly on Tuesday. It's just today I think I'm feeling a bit sick of frozen food, I want my nasi and ayam masak lemak cili api so badly. And I broke my own record of eating lamb kebab, I repeat, I ate LAMB! That was the only halal meat I could find in nearby LIDL (and that was frozen kebab ok), afterall, it's a new record!

Today I checked my mail and this story was sent to the mailing list. I couldn't express my gratitude better than this, for if it's not for Allah SWT I would probably be broken to pieces now. How funny it is to be sent miles away on my own to re-discover myself and my faith. Forgive me Allah for my lack of contemplation, and please guide me to become a better person in upholding my faith.

I'm heading home to Dublin tomorrow, hurray!

********
ALLAH IS SO GREAT

This story was written by a Muslim doctor who worked in Africa.

One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do she died leaving us with a tiny premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter.

We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive, as we had no incubator.(We had no electricity to run an incubator.) We also had no special feeding facilities. Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts.

One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool the baby would be wrapped in. Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst. Rubber perishes easily in tropical climates.

And it is our last hot water bottle!" she exclaimed. It is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles. They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.

"All right," I said, "put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts. "Your job is to keep the baby warm." The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me.

I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle. The baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.

During the prayer time, one ten-year-old girl, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. "Please, Allah," she prayed, "send us a water bottle. It'll be no good tomorrow, Allah, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon."

While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added by way of a corollary, "And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?"

As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say, "Ameen?" I just did not believe that Allah could do this.

Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything. The Holy Quraan says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way Allah could answer would be for a package to arrive from the homeland.

I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever received a parcel from home. Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!

Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there, on the verandah, was a large twenty-two pound parcel.

I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly. Excitement was mounting.

Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly colored, knitted cotton jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas-that would make a batch of buns for the weekend. Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the...could it really be? I grasped it and pulled it out -- yes, a brand-new, rubber hot water bottle, I cried. I had not asked Allah to send it; I had not truly believed that He could.

The ten year old was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, If Allah has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!"

Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted.

Looking up at me, she asked: "Can I go over with you, Mummy, and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Allah really loves her?"

That parcel had been on the way for five whole months. Packed up by my former school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed Allah's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator. And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child-five months before -- in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it "that afternoon."

"Before they call for prayer, I will answer all prayers!"

Allah wants us to ask of Him. And he will surely answer.