Two months after I began reading Suratul Baqarah consistently every day, my life began to shift in ways I did not anticipate. I had known the hadith in which the Prophet (peace be upon him) described Suratul Baqarah as a source of blessing, but I think I understood the word “blessing” in a very limited way. I imagined expansion, relief, visible goodness. And yes, after a long and draining season of tarmacking, I did receive a job. But what unfolded alongside it was not ease. It was a kind of isolation I had not prepared for.
Not the obvious kind. Not the dramatic withdrawal from people. But the kind where life becomes overwhelming enough that you are forced inward. Work demanded more than I expected. My social life tanked from being a humble 2% to being negative 2%. Friends became immersed in their own journeys. My health demanded attention I had postponed for too long. Even when surrounded by people who loved me, I could not ignore the emptiness within. I grew tired of explaining myself, tired of trying to translate exhaustion into language that others could fully grasp.
It was during these years of introspection and reflection that I came across the nasheed by Hamid Althufiri, من لي سواه. Such a beautiful, soul-touching love of Allah. I would listen to it often, and whenever it reached this part, I would weep and weep and weep:
“At His door, it is sweet to stand.
I pray and my hands tremble.
Words choke in my throat.
Oh Lord, do as you wish.
My trust in my Lord never fails.
He is the Most High, the Near.
Whenever I complain to Him, He answers,
and I continue to whisper in prayer.
Who do I have besides Him?
And is there anyone other than Him?”
Honestly, the English translation loses much of the sweetness of the Arabic. You gotta listen to it yourself to understand what I mean: https://youtu.be/WAi84o5oQPU?si=ztxfxwoDmXzPNOIZ. To me, it perfectly encapsulated that phase of my life, the theme I was experiencing deep in my heart.
Around that same time, the exhaustion I had been carrying became unbearable. My doctor suggested hospital admission. And so, last Ramadhan, I quietly packed my bag and admitted myself. My family asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to take someone along?” because they knew I do not do well in isolation, especially in emotional moments. I declined, because by this point, I had come to understand the wisdom of Allah’s doing, or maybe… undoing. I had to be by myself. I had to sit with my own thoughts and feel my emotions fully. I had to complain my pain and grief to Him alone.
And so, I started making this duʿā’:
يَا رَبِّ ٱزْرَعْ فِي قَلْبِي حُبَّكَ، ٱشْغَلْنِي بِكَ وَحْدَكَ، قَرِّبْنِي إِلَيْكَ أَكْثَرَ،
كَيْ لَا أَبْكِيَ إِلَّا مِنْ أَجْلِ شَوْقِي لِنُورِ وَجْهِكَ،
ٱللَّهُمَّ حُبَّكَ وَعَوْنَكَ وَرِضَاكَ، ٱللَّهُمَّ لُطْفَكَ،
ٱللَّهُمَّ ٱلْحَاجَةَ كُلَّ ٱلْحَاجَةِ إِلَيْكَ.
“O Lord, plant in my heart Your love. Occupy me with You alone. Draw me closer to You. Let me not weep except out of longing for the light of Your Face. O Allah, grant me Your love, Your help, and Your pleasure. O Allah, Your gentleness. O Allah, the need, all of it, is for You.”
I did not fully understand what I was asking for. To ask to be occupied with Him alone is to risk being emptied of distractions. To ask to need Him entirely is to have your dependencies gently exposed.
It was in these quiet moments of reflection that I began to understand something fundamental: my neediness, my clinginess, my impulses to seek reassurance from others, all had a proper resting place, and that place is with Allah alone. He is Ar-Rafeeq, the constant Companion who never leaves.
And when you experience that awakening, there is no going back.
You begin to sense Allah’s presence in everything. Nothing feels random anymore. It is no longer coincidence, but careful design. Each person, each circumstance, each blessing plays the role it is meant to play, not because of who they are, but because of Who Allah is.
The friend who loves you? It is because Allah drew their heart towards you. The colleague who supports you? It is because Allah softened their heart in that moment. The bonus or unexpected opportunity you receive at work? It is not merely your effort. It is Allah arranging circumstances, guiding hands, opening doors, and even concealing your faults so that others see only the best in you. Even the moments that feel empty, challenging, or isolating are by His design, teaching your heart to rest in Him alone.
This awareness slowly changes how you perceive life and relationships. You learn to love people deeply, to appreciate the blessings they bring into your life, but without letting your heart depend on them for what only Allah can give. Nothing is random, and everything, the people you meet, the opportunities that come, the trials you face, is part of a design far wiser than your own. It teaches the heart to rest, to trust, and to lean only on Him. Every blessing, every trial, every moment of solitude reminds me that He alone is enough. He is Al-Kafī, the Sufficient One. He is also Al-Walī, the Guardian, Protector who shields my heart in ways I cannot see, and An-Nāṣir, the Helper who lifts me in moments of trial and exhaustion.
Just as He gives, He takes. And even in the taking, He gently shifts your life until you confront a truth you may have recited for years but never truly lived:
“Is not Allah sufficient for His servant?” (39:36)
It is a question that echoes differently once you have been emptied of what you thought you needed.
And He says:
“And whoever relies upon Allah, then He is sufficient for him.” (65:3)
Sufficient. Entirely.
When we reflect on the story of Al-Khidr and Musa, we see this reality unfold in a way that unsettles the heart. A child beloved to his parents is taken without warning, without explanation. Yet behind what appeared to be devastation was divine protection. Allah knew what they did not know. What felt like loss was in fact mercy unfolding in a form they could not yet understand (Surah Al-Kahf, verses 60–82).
How often are we living inside that same unseen mercy?
Perhaps what was taken from you was not deprivation, but protection. Perhaps what you thought you could not survive without was the very thing preventing you from learning that He alone is enough.
And when that realization begins to settle, your perception shifts. What once felt like isolation becomes seclusion with Allah. What once felt like hardship becomes the refinement of character. What once felt like separation becomes detachment.
Blessing is not always found in what is given; sometimes, it is hidden in what is taken.
This understanding also makes you more graceful with others. Because you begin to realize that perhaps you were asking from them what only Allah could give in the first place. Expecting constancy from those who are themselves struggling. Seeking completeness from those who are also incomplete.
Even when human beings love you deeply, even when they are amazing people, they may still hurt you and disappoint you, just as you may hurt them and disappoint them. It does not make them bad people, just human.
And this understanding also changes how we see those we admire from afar. How often do we place celebrities, public figures, or even peers on pedestals, giving them more weight than they were ever meant to bear, and then feel disillusioned when they falter? Even if they make mistakes, that is their journey. The real question for us is why we put our hopes and dreams on them. Why we elevated them above what any human can truly carry, apart from our beloved Prophet ﷺ and his pious predecessors?
We are all just human beings, trying, in our own fragile ways, to live this life with some form of decency. We are all carrying battles we rarely articulate. We are all limited.
When you understand that, your expectations soften. You stop holding people hostage to roles they were never meant to fulfill. You stop measuring their love against a standard only Allah can meet. You forgive more easily. You excuse more generously. Not because you are above them, but because you see yourself in them.
And that, too, is part of realizing that He alone is sufficient.
This journey is not linear. It has dips and peaks. We fall short again and again. Yet in His mercy, Allah keeps teaching the same lesson until it finally settles, not just on the tongue, but in the heart.
وَكَفَىٰ بِاللَّهِ وَلِيًّا وَكَفَىٰ بِاللَّهِ نَصِيرًا
“And sufficient is Allah as a Guardian, and sufficient is Allah as a Helper.” (4:45)
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