We often hear stories about Allah’s divine power.
How He saved Nabii Yunus from the belly of the whale, parted the sea for Nabii Musa, made the fire cool for Nabii Ibrahim, and cured Nabii Ayub after decades of illness (aleyhim assalam). Everywhere we turn, we are reminded that Allah can do the impossible.
And yet, a quiet thought sometimes slips in. They were His prophets. Who am I, a simple, flawed human, heavy with sins, small among billions of His creation? Why would Allah turn up for me?
This is the beauty of our Lord, though. He is not only the Lord of prophets. He is the Lord of the pious and the sinner, of the one who falls and the one who returns, of the rich and the poor, of the known and the unseen. And when He decides to do the impossible for you, He simply will. And when it happens, it catches you completely off guard. It leaves you in awe.
This is exactly what happened to me some months back. It was a quiet afternoon, and a friend and I were reminiscing about our younger years, about a conversation we had more than a decade ago. Curious as always, I logged into Facebook to search for that old exchange. I did not find the conversation, but I found something else. A message sent four months earlier by a stranger living in Germany.
I began reading it. It was long, warm, and thoughtful. She had come across one of my articles and said it deeply touched her. She reflected on the topic and shared how she had written about something similar. It felt like one writer speaking to another across continents. I was honoured. Truly honoured. No mutual friends, no shared circles, just words travelling across the world and landing in her heart.
Towards the end of her message, she said she wished to send me a small gift, a token of appreciation and support for my work. We exchanged contacts, and soon after, she noticed my books and expressed interest. We exchanged our books, simply as writers do, with no expectations attached. She stayed up through the night reading mine and sent the most beautiful review. Then she brought up the gift again and asked for my PayPal account. But PayPal had some technical issues.
And then, unexpectedly, only two days after the initial PayPal attempt, she told me that her colleague would be travelling to Mombasa, Kenya, in just two days’ time. At that point, she did not even know I lived in Mombasa, only that I was in Kenya. Subhanallah. She then asked where the colleague could deliver the amanah. I gave her the location of my workplace. Shortly after, she sent me a screenshot from Google Maps showing her colleague’s route. When I first glanced at it, I was confused. The route shown was from my home area to my workplace. How does she know where I live? And then it dawned on me. Her colleague would be staying in the very same locality as my hometown. Goosebumps. Wallahi, goosebumps. Subhanallah! She was in tears, and I was in tears. Mind-blowing, how Allah arranges matters, how rizq travels, how nothing is random.
The week her colleague arrived in Mombasa, I met him. He handed me what I can only describe as a gift from Allah: crisp euro notes, an amount I had never held in my life. I was not just speechless. I was undone. Ya Allah, You did this for me? The flawed me? The sinful me? The broken me?
But this story did not begin here. It began more than a week earlier, while I was still at Umrah.
Remember the Umrah trip, and how I had prepared so extensively for it before everything fell apart? My finances had been aligned, and I was ready for the journey, until I wasn’t. By the time the trip finally happened, I found myself struggling. No one had warned me about the shock of international currencies, and suddenly, what I thought was sufficient wasn’t enough. Every exchange rate felt like a quiet blow. I struggled. I went into debt just to make ends meet. And beneath it all, I carried a quiet shame. I should have prepared better. I should have known better.
But in that sacred land, stripped of pride and plans, I did what I knew best. I made du’a. Sincere, bare, unfiltered, and I ended it with these words:
اللهم أرني عجائب قدرتك في دعائي Oh Allah, show me the wonders of Your power in my supplication.
It was not a dramatic du’a. It was not eloquent. It was simply desperate. And indeed, He did.
One week after my return, the message from the stranger in Germany appeared. When I later told her how Allah had used her as the means through which that du’a was answered, we both cried. Even then, I knew this was not about who I am, but about who He is, As-Sami’ The All-Hearing, Al-Qadeer The All-Powerful, Al-Mujeeb The Ever-Responsive, Al-Kareem The Most Generous. He heard the whisper I made in a moment of vulnerability, and He responded in a way I could never have arranged.
Reflecting on this incident still brings tears to my eyes because the lessons within it are profound.
First, the timing. The lady had sent the message four months before I ever saw it. Four whole months. I rarely open my Facebook account, let alone the inbox. Yet subhanallah, Allah guided me there, and I saw that message after all that time. Again, what are the odds? That a colleague would casually mention he was travelling to Mombasa, of all times, just then, rather than any other?
I cannot help but think about the concept of rizq. That provision was already written for me. It existed. It was on its way. But Allah chose to release it at the exact moment I was struggling, when debt felt heavy, when shame lingered quietly in my chest. It makes me reflect on how often we grieve over what we think are unanswered du’as. Perhaps they are not unanswered. Perhaps they are already written. It is only a matter of time.
This humbled me in ways I cannot fully articulate. As much as I have always known that Allah can do the impossible, I never truly thought He would do it for me. For someone still striving, still flawed, still struggling to be a better Muslimah. Yet He showed up for me in the most unexpected way. Not because of who I am, but because of who He is. And here is the part that still leaves me in awe: this same rizq could have come through a freelance gig, a work bonus, a regular reader, someone within my circles, or even someone from my country. Any reasonable channel. But instead, He used someone who had read one blog post, just one. A stranger across continents. Almost as if to say: so you know this is from Me, so you know this is My power.
Something else dawned on me in that moment. That rizq was already written for me, but maybe the only thing left to unlock it was for me to raise my hands and ask. Not with polished words. Not with entitlement. But with sincerity and vulnerability. اللهم أرني عجائب قدرتك في دعائي. And He did.
And just like that, Allah lifted me from the debt that had weighed so heavily on my heart. Even now, it brings tears to my eyes. That Allah heard me, responded to me, the me who is still striving, still imperfect, still far from the ideal Muslimah I hope to become. And yet, He responded in the most beautiful, deliberate way. I do not share this story from a place of pride, nor to suggest I am deserving in any special way. I share it with humility. Because if Allah can show me the wonders of His power, then who are we to limit what He can do for us?
This Ramadhan, open your heart fully before Him.
Ask boldly, ask vulnerably, ask for what feels impossible. Do not shrink your du’as to match your fears. Do not measure Allah’s power against human logic. He is Al-Qadeer, The All-Powerful. He is Al-Mujeeb, the One who responds. And if the response does not come in the way or time you expect, remember He is already arranging matters, already moving pieces, already writing a story you cannot yet see. Perhaps tonight, revise your du’a list. Revamp it. If you don’t have a list yet, it’s never too late. Start as you are, wherever you are.
Let your duas reflect who Allah is, not the limits of what you think is possible.
May Allah reward this wonderful soul who became a reason through which Allah answered my du’a in the most beautiful way. May Allah reward her with abundance in this life and the next, and may it be a means through which she is elevated in status. May she also earn rewards for anyone else who might be inspired by this story.
But this story is not just about her. It is also about the many other ways in which Allah has shown up for me through countless people along my journey. To friends, readers, family, mentors, and anyone who has gone out of their way to support me. Your encouragement, generosity, prayers, and contributions have meant more than words can express. I am deeply grateful for each and every one of you. May Allah bless you all, multiply your rewards, and grant you goodness in this life and the next. Ameen.
Last Ramadhan, we had an exclusive Ramadhan newsletter, available for a small charge. It was a humble effort, and I poured my heart into it, but I realized that it wasn’t reaching as many people as I had hoped.
This year, I want to do things differently. The special Ramadhan content will be open to everyone. If you feel moved to give, you may contribute whatever works best for you (The poster for contribution is attached below). And if you cannot, that is completely okay. Your duas are far more important than anything else. Please remember me and my family in your prayers this Ramadan.
A couple of quick reminders: I do collect zakat and share it with deserving parties (I have a looong list). If you would like to give your zakat, please feel free to reach out to me at 0704731560. If you send anything, kindly text me to clarify that it is Zakat. Your contribution could be the reason someone feels relief, hope, or receives sustenance this Ramadhan.
And for those who love gentle, reflective reading, my books are available and recommended for Ramadhan. The Striving Soul (1250/=) and Reflection and Resurgence (1500/=) are written to be companions for quiet reflection and healing.
Ramadhan Mubarak, my beloved readers! May this month bring peace, reflection, and countless blessings to your hearts. May it soften the hardest places within us and make our hearts feel lighter and nearer to Allah. Ameen.













