Pen Marks

Once upon a time in a far away place, there lived a man and his sons. This man didn’t have two sons, or three, or four, not even five. He had twelve sons. Yes that’s right, 12. And he them all dearly. However he did have his favorite.

A beautiful boy full of akhlaaq and iman. His name was Yusuf. Now the other boys realized that this young brother of theirs was their father’s favorite. So what happened?

They got jealous of course.

So now shaitan took this opportunity and filled their hearts with anger and fury to the point that they wanted to kill him. So they made a plot. They were going to throw him into the well. And they eventually did.

Now this father was waiting patiently for his sons to come back. And when they did, he saw that his beloved Yusuf was not with them. He panicked.

Where is he?

A wolf ate him.

What?

Here’s his shirt….covered with blood.

I always find it amazing how patient Prophet Ya’qub was when they showed him the shirt. The feeling of grief and sorrow of loosing a beloved one filled his heart and overflowed through his eyes. But he never said an innapropriate word out of anger and he never complained to anyone. Except Allah. Even the few words that he cried out when he was given the horrifying news with weren’t much of a complaint either.

‘I shall exercise patience without any complaint, and I shall seek Allah’s assistance against what you have devised.’

So imagine you had someone you really loved, and you would do everything it took to make sure that they weren’t harmed. But in the end, you let him go out with people who you know could harm him, and when they come back they give you a blood stained shirt of his. I don’t think any of us would be able to sit and take that news and just say Sabrun Jameel let alone live with those people for another decade or two. May Allah have mercy on Prophet Ya’qub.

First Post of Pen’s Reflections