An American Muslim Journal

Look in on your children tonight and thank God, and then...

We came home from taraweeh prayers at the mosque this evening and put our children to bed.  It's a weekend and that means they're all camped out in our bedroom.  Even with perfectly comfy beds in their own rooms (full of toys and books and clothes), they still like to camp out in their sleeping bags all around our bed on the weekends.  Honestly, I don't mind it one bit.  It's comforting to lay down and look around just before closing my eyes and seeing my children peacefully sleeping.

All is well.  We are so blessed.  Alhamdulillah (Thank you God).

After everyone was tucked in I came down to update my FirstGiving.com site's "Ramadan Running 4 Relief" campaign.  While looking for news about orphans in India on Google (I'm trying to learn more about their plight each day) I ran across some images.  Here is one of them:

And then I came across this one:

I had to walk back up stairs.  I stood in the doorway of my bedroom and looked in on my family.  I stood there for a minute just looking at my children and my wife and I felt the need to bow my head and thank God and to pray for the millions of children in India (and throughout the world) who are suffering from homelessness, hunger and disease.  And that's exactly what I did, because in that moment there was nothing else I could do.

This is not to say that the condition of these children is hopeless, nor does it mean that I feel absolved of my responsibility to these children with one small prayer.  I've seen the suffering and now I have a responsibility to act.

I found a wonderful blog that chronicles a fellow American's ten day trip to India to visit orphanages run by The Miracle Foundation. His name is Kevin Brelsford and his blog - Making a Difference with the Miracle Foundation - has many photos of orphans in India living much healthier, safer and decent lives with the help of The Miracle Foundation (based in Austin, TX).  This group is doing good work for a small number of very needy and vulnerable children, so I'm doing my part to help them with their work (that's what this year's "Ramadan Running 4 Relief" campaign is about).

Helping The Miracle Foundation to help some of the 25 to 30 million orphans in India is meaningful because each and every human life they save is invaluable.  As wonderful as their work's results are, however, the reality is that The Miracle Foundation is merely - barely - scratching the surface.  

On the other hand, India has the capacity - if it wanted to make it a priority - to save all of its orphaned children. Similarly, the world's leaders have the resources - if they could muster the will to work for a common goal - to eradicate world hunger and to safeguard all children.  

Obviously those with the power to solve these problems are not motivated or enlighted to make the changes needed on their own.  Left alone, they lack the will put an end to the suffering.  People - you and I - have a responsibility to push them to make the right policy decisions and to support them when they make good choices.

In Ramadan I do handful charity work, and I believe the things I do make a difference.  Feeding a hungry person, even if it is just one meal, has made that hungry person's life a little better.  Lest I get too self-absorbed with my Ramadan good deeds though, I try to stay grounded by asking myself: "Did I just do that for me or for the hungry person?" When I'm honest with myself, often the answer is that I did it to feel good.

If I really wanted to do something to address problems like hunger and homeslessness, then I would commit to bringing about change on a broader scale.  Perhaps I need to do more than just help a handful of folks.  But how?

Feeding a hungry person is relatively easy because the benefits - to the person giving the charity and to the person receiving it - are almost instantaneous.  Trying to develop better policies and to then implement those policies in order to bring about system-wide changes is a slow process.  It's hard to see results in the short (or even in the intermediate term).

I think this is why it's easier to convince most folks to give money to feed hungry children than it is to get them involved in an advocacy campaign aimed at policy changes that address the core problems underlying child hunger (and granted, it's also hard to come to an agreement on what are those core problems).

But hard as it is to get motivated to work for sustainable, long-term solutions to these heart-wrenching problems (like orphans in India), it is a Muslim's duty to do so.  If all we do is feed and shelter orphans without, at the same time, working to reduce the number of children who become orphans, then we've lost faith in God.  

I believe God can do anything, that God intends to challenge us in this world and in the end, with God anything is possible.  If I were to put my faith and my beliefs into action, I would be able to work for a change that I may not see with my own eyes but pursue it passionately nonetheless knowing that relief for those in need is going to happen.  That, to me, is part of having faith in the Unseen.

If you are as moved by the images of children eating garbage off the ground and sleeping on filthy streets as I am, then be thankful that you have compassion in your heart.  You are lucky.  Many people are very hard-hearted about the poor.  Be grateful that your heart is shielded by compassion. Compassion is a shield that protects our hearts from becoming hard and cold from fear and from desperation.  

However, genuine and heartfelt though our tears may be, when we see a child living alone on the streets, our feelings of compassion alone will not ease that child's suffering.  Our compassion has to lead us to action. That action has to help address the immediate problem of sheltering and feeding the children, but it also has to include the much harder and far less (immediately) gratifying task of trying to bring about long term changes as well.

So, tonight, please look at these pictures of real children living in utter desperation.  Next, look at your own children sleeping in relative comfort, and then commit yourself to making a real difference in the short term and in the long term.

In Loving Memory of Bilal Mallick - Reflections on the untimely death of a wonderful young boy

Bilal, a smiling and engaging young 15 year old son of a childhood friend, died on Sunday.  He suffered from leukemia and was only a few weeks into chemotherapy when he succumbed to an infection that robbed us of all the incredible promise that was his future.  Why? 

To God we belong and to Him is our return.  That’s what we believe as Muslims, and we say it aloud and to ourselves when we hear of the death of a fellow human being.  Perhaps it’s meant to remind us of the bigger picture and maybe also to soothe some of the ache that comes with the parting from a loved one. 

Honestly though, there are times, such as at the grave when Bilal’s coffin was taken from the hearse and his father lovingly and bravely (he sustained such composure throughout) supervised the passing of the casket in our hands - family, friends and anonymous community members - all the way to the grave site and then into the ground, when there is very little that can hold back a crushing sense of emptiness. 

As I stood at the grave along with hundreds of others, and also many of Bilal’s high school classmates, my thoughts wandered to when his father, many of the other men present, and I, were Bilal’s age.  Many of us have been friends for 20, 30 or more years.  For us 15 was a crazy, fun, challenging age that we probably took for granted, just as we did 16, 17 and all the years through our 40s.  But here we are and Bilal is gone.  Nothing but the existence of a Merciful and Loving God to whom we must all one day return can make sense out of this randomness. 

There is hope, though, for Bilal’s parents, for life without him in it.  I wouldn’t know myself.  But I see it being done and it is through the example of others that I draw hope for Bilal’s mother and father. 

Two of the men I recognized at Bilal’s funeral are fathers who have buried their children.  One is a member of my family and another is a dear friend.  Perhaps these fathers and their wives can give Bilal’s mother and father courage through their own examples.   

I hope so, because I myself have very little to offer my friend.  There is prayer, of course.  In fact, the way I see it, God is all that stands between Bilal’s parents and despair, so I’ve been praying - for Bilal and for his parents and for my own family as well. 

I’ve found my prayers since learning of Bilal’s death have changed.  On Sunday night, after learning that Bilal died earlier that afternoon, I helped my wife put our kids to bed, and then I stood in my bedroom for Isha (night prayers).   

That night’s prayers were different.  It took me longer to complete them.  Partly it was because, standing in prayer, I sensed a very strong yearning for a spiritual connection.  Even as my own children slept peacefully nearby, I could not help but put myself in my friend’s place.  And standing in that painful place, even just imagined, I felt the dark, heavy wave of despair bearing down on top of me.  And the fear that sensation evoked in me bowed my head like nothing else ever has. 

As I placed my forehead to the ground I found myself staying in that prostrated position for seemingly long periods of time.   In a position of complete submission to God I tried hard to sense His presence because I wanted Him to hear me.  With my forehead to the ground I prayed.  I prayed for Bilal.  I prayed for his mother and father and for his siblings.  And I spent quite a bit of time praying for my own children. 

In my life I’ve seen the pain of parents watching their new born baby die.  I’ve seen the pain of parents who loved and cared for daughters over 10 and 12 years as they suffered painful, debilitating diseases and then saw their daughters die of these incurable ailments.  And now I’ve seen the pain suffered by parents who lost their boy suddenly and with almost no warning. 

I believe that this is God’s Will.  But I believe also that all that happens in the circle of this life is interconnected somehow.  Today I’m reminded to cherish each day and to thank God for every blessing no matter how small because, as I’ve seen this day, the most precious things in our lives can be taken from us and we are powerless to do anything about it. 

Bilal’s death shall not be in vain.  Nor shall the deaths of the other children whose lives have touched mine.  With God’s Help I will try to find the lessons He intended for me to learn.  Through one another’s lives and experiences, I believe, God intends for us to better ourselves and the world in which we live.  God-willing, I will try to find some meaning in today’s painful experiences. 

God Bless Bilal, his mother, his father, his siblings and his entire family.  You are all in my prayers.

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UPDATE: 2/17/11

This is from one of Bilal's relatives:

As we were embarking on a national bone marrow match campaign, Bilal himself was the strongest supporter of helping others in addition to him, so we are going to continue that effort and make sure that we honor Bilal and help others by getting people into the registry. We don't want to wait for this to happen to someone else we know. Let's save lives proactively.

Here's how to connect with various drives being planned:

www.facebook.com/curebilal

www.twitter.com/curebilal

www.curebilal.org

Also, please read this story in the Chicago Tribune about Bilal and the inspiration he's been to help others.