Go to your secret place ascend to a time and space where you are untouchable where what they say and do can't reach you, can't hurt you. go there for a time until you have satisfied your soul, until your child's cries pierce the still night air. now return, survive, stand up and make your way again through the prison cells of reality do not despair when they try to extinguish the light in your eyes or when the dampness of time and sorrow has left you shivering and alone go to sleep one more night, cover your bones with impenetrable layers of patience. perhaps they will warm you, then perhaps tomorrow you will be free.

We raise our empty palms towards the sky when we make duʻa. When we request something from Allah—forgiveness, mercy, healing, health—we often stare into our empty palms, memorizing the lines of age and creases of our skin. Isn't it befitting that we ask what we need of Allah (swt) with outstretched hands?

It's our bare, outstretched palms that help us understand that without Allah, we would have nothing and we would be nothing.

The Prophet Muhammad (saw) said: "Verily your Lord is Generous and Shy. If His servant raises his hands to Him in supplication, He becomes shy to return them empty."

An excerpt from A Temporary Gift: Reflections on Love, Loss, and Healing by Asmaa Hussein.

Show me the burn marks on your hands. The hands that buried the loves of your life, the hands that stood limp by your side as you stood in the centre of your existence and wondered how you'd move forward through the chaos.

Show me your burns, I know you have them, because I've seen your faith. The faith that grabs hold of hateful words and pushes them back down your throat so you won't say something you'll regret. The faith that pulls you up each morning to pray, even though part of you would rather sleep and never wake up again.

Show me the scars you've gotten from holding onto this faith. They're there. I can see them, even when your hands are balled up into fists. Even when you're taking selfies and making small talk with friends you haven't seen in a long time.

Show me the scratches on your palms from the times you momentarily lost hold of your faith, and then crawled in the thorns of pitch-black darkness trying to find it again.

Show them all to me so I may run my fingers over them, so I can cry with you, so I can tell you that tomorrow, these scars will be transformed into light.

The Prophet Muhammad (saw) said, "There will come a time when holding on to your Iman (belief) will be like holding on to hot coals"

When my husband was killed, I didn't know what happened to his wedding band. He wasn't wearing it when I visited him for the last time in the hospital morgue. I know it was a strange thing to care about at such a time, but I did. No one knew what happened to it. I thought someone must've stolen it after he was shot.

At the janazah, one of Amr's friends handed me some personal items - Amr's wallet, phone, and keys. He had been holding on to them since he was with Amr on the day of the massacre. Some days later, I was going through Amr's wallet looking at his things. I felt a weird bump where he used to put his coins. I opened up that pocket and found his wedding band. The men who carried Amr's body after he was shot took all of his things off his person and kept them safe for his family. They knew what to do because there were so many people who died. They had a system.

I cried when I saw the ring...tears of happiness that it wasn't lost. A silly thing to cry over, perhaps. But it reminded me of so much.

It reminded me of the day we went to pick out our rings together. My name was engraved on the inside of his. His name was engraved on the inside of mine. We weren't married yet so we were shy about everything, reserved in our words. We both loved each other but never said so. Not til the day we were married. Then, I put his silver ring on his finger, and he put my gold ring on mine. And that moment was the start of an indescribable love.

For all the thousands of words I've written about Amr, I still can't quite capture everything he was or everything our union was. Words can only go so far - how can I describe a miracle of God with these mortal words? He was my miracle. He is my miracle. Our love is an ayah - a demonstration of the infinite love of Allah, a testament to His ability to join what was once separate, a small glimpse into what He has prepared for believers in the place of everlasting bliss.

The day I found his ring, I instinctively put it on. I never took it off again.

"It is He who sent down tranquility into the hearts of the believers that they would increase in faith along with their [present] faith. And to Allah belong the soldiers of the heavens and the earth, and ever is Allah Knowing and Wise.

هُوَ الَّذِي أَنزَلَ السَّكِينَةَ فِي قُلُوبِ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ لِيَزْدَادُوا إِيمَانًا مَّعَ إِيمَانِهِمْ ۗ وَلِلَّهِ جُنُودُ السَّمَاوَاتِ وَالْأَرْضِ ۚ وَكَانَ اللَّهُ عَلِيمًا حَكِيمًا

"[And] that He may admit the believing men and the believing women to gardens beneath which rivers flow to abide therein eternally and remove from them their misdeeds - and ever is that, in the sight of Allah, a great attainment" (48:4-5).

لِّيُدْخِلَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ وَالْمُؤْمِنَاتِ جَنَّاتٍ تَجْرِي مِن تَحْتِهَا الْأَنْهَارُ خَالِدِينَ فِيهَا وَيُكَفِّرَ عَنْهُمْ سَيِّئَاتِهِمْ ۚ وَكَانَ ذَ‌ٰلِكَ عِندَ اللَّهِ فَوْزًا عَظِيمًا

When Amr was killed, he didn't leave behind a car that I had to sell, an apartment that I had to pay rent for, a phone contract that I couldn't cancel, or more than a few thousand dollars for which I had to figure out inheritance.

He was gone, and that hurt beyond anything I'd ever imagined – but at the same time, my practical affairs were made incredibly easy...

I remember in the few days and weeks before I lost Amr, I was worried about the situation in Egypt and how it would affect us while trying to plan our trip back to Canada. In my worry, I was advised to say this dua: "Oh Allah! Nothing is easy except what You have made easy. If You wish, You can make the difficult easy."

So I did say it. Over and over again. At the time I didn't understand what that dua would mean for me. But in the midst of all the chaos following Amr's passing, everything in the external, material world was like putty in my hands: malleable, easy, and completed without resistance.

Someone else took care of Amr's death certificate and funeral arrangements. Someone else bought my plane tickets back to Canada for me. Someone else drove me to and from all the errands I had to do. Someone else put food on my plate at every meal and gave it to me.

Allah (swt) gave me the space I needed to tend to my wounded heart without having to worry about anything else.

That in and of itself was a beautiful mercy. That was the ease that I had asked Him for so fervently.

Verily, with every hardship there is ease.

So search for the ease that Allah has given you, then thank Him for it. And know that if you haven't seen the ease in your hardship yet, it's because you haven't looked.

"On no soul does Allah place a burden greater than it can bear" (2:286).

Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to look into the eyes of the man who killed my husband. I wonder what kind of words I would have for him if I knew his name, or where he lived, or what he looked like.

People will say, "Forgiving someone who wronged you is a better act of faith." And it is, but I am also human.

I can't imagine a day will ever come when I forgive him. No matter how beautifully I move forward with my life, no matter what I accomplish with God's help, no matter if I am 95 years old and own a lifetime of happy memories.

Enter the Quran:

"Indeed, the righteous will be within gardens and springs. [Having been told], 'Enter it in peace, safe [and secure].' And We will remove whatever is in their breasts of resentment, [so they will be] brothers, on thrones facing each other. No fatigue will touch them therein, nor from it will they [ever] be removed" (15:45-48).

Allah (swt) says He will remove whatever resentment and ill feelings we have from our hearts once we enter paradise. Whatever grudges we've kept, whatever pain we've held onto, whatever scars our hearts have had to bear will be gone.

Just by the mere fact that this is mentioned in the Quran means that Allah (swt) knows that we hold onto resentments. We try not to. We smile in the faces of the people who have hurt us again and again, and we tell ourselves that we've moved on. But something lingers there in the forgotten cavities of the heart, in the distant corners of memory, in wistful moments of looking through old photo albums.

Pain lingers. It's disguised as other things sometimes, buried under the rubble of time and niceties – but it's there. Each one of us has experienced it.

Allah (swt) knows that in the imperfections of our human mind and body, there is space for ill feelings between people – even believers. So He tells us that entering Jannah will obliterate these feelings. There's no place for resentment and grudges between the inhabitants of paradise. That is true freedom gifted to the believers by a Lord who knows us better than we could ever endeavour to know ourselves.

We might meet in Jannah someone who caused us pain in this world. I could meet Amr's killer in paradise for all I know. That's quite a hard thought to swallow considering all the pain he's caused and all the nights I've spent making dua against him. But perhaps this man will come to a time in his life where he'll repent and change, and Allah's Mercy is great.

If we meet the people we had conflicts with in this world, all our bitterness will melt away. That profound ability to change hearts lies with Allah alone.

The opposite is also true. Inhabitants of hell will be constantly blaming one another for their fates and bickering:

"And they will turn on one another accusingly. They will say: 'You came to us from a position of power [i.e. ordered us with polytheism, and stopped us from the truth].' They will reply: 'No! It was you who would not believe - we had no authority over you - and you were already exceeding all limits. Our Lord's sentence on us is just and we must all taste the punishment. We led you astray as we ourselves were astray'" (Quran 37:27-32).

What a stark contrast. May Allah save us from it.

When I first got married I was a terrible cook. I actually didn't know how to cook anything at all – not even plain rice. The first few days and weeks of my cooking attempts lead to some strange and confusing meals. I combined spices that shouldn't be combined, I burned the bottom of every pan I used, and I turned great ingredients into leathery, rubbery messes.

But Amr ate every one of those meals, even though I knew they tasted pretty odd. He never gagged or pushed the plate away, he never reached towards the phone to order a pizza instead – God knows he my have wanted to. He ate the meals, and then he thanked me for cooking them.

And every meal I ever cooked for him from the first (terrible) one to the very last one, he thanked me for. At the end of every meal he'd say, "Alhamdulillah. Thank you, Asmaa."

I'm reminded of a beautiful story in the life of Prophet Muhammad (saw) when a poor man came into his gathering of companions and presented the prophet with a gift of grapes. The prophet accepted the gift, and seeing as how the man looked on eagerly, the prophet ate one. Then he ate another one. Then he slowly finished the entire bunch. This made the man very happy, then he left.

The companions sitting around the Prophet were surprised because usually the Prophet would share whatever gift was brought to him. This time he didn't, so they respectfully asked him why he did not offer any grapes to those present.

The Prophet smiled and replied: "I ate all the grapes myself because the grapes were sour. If I would have offered them to you, you might have made funny faces and shown your distaste of the grapes. That would have hurt the feelings of that poor man..."

He suffered the taste of sour grapes so that the man who brought them would be happy. This is the kind of mercy, love, and respect he had towards believers.

When was the last time we put the feelings of someone above our own, or above the need to always be right? Oftentimes we hold the quivering hearts of others in our palms, not understanding that what we say or do can damage them. We think being completely honest trumps protecting hearts and feelings. And yes, sometimes it is more important to be honest, but in some situations, it isn't.

When people offer us something – a meal, their company, a gift – they open themselves up in a way that's hard to do. They're giving you something they believe is worthwhile.

So even if it means grimacing through a not-so-pleasant meal, or being in the company of someone we don't find particularly interesting, or pretending to like a gift even though we think it's kind of terrible, we do it.

We do it out of love, out of respect, and out of a desire to emulate our beloved Messenger...

It takes personal sacrifice to protect someone else's feelings. But it's a sacrifice that comes with a great reward.

I'm a better cook now. I'm better now at most things actually. And it's because "thank you, Asmaa," was Amr's response to everything I tried. Instead of making me doubt myself or feel embarrassed because I couldn't do things perfectly, he equipped me with the confidence I needed to continue. He put my feelings above his own, and for that I ask God to raise his status in the hereafter. Ameen....!

Growing pains.

We come to expect pain in our muscles when we exert more physical effort than usual. Pain is how we grow.

Personal trainers will tell you that you have to push your body to its limit, but not beyond. You only push it to a point where you're building strength, not damaging yourself. And the next day? Well, the next day hurts a lot.

The heart is just a muscle you know.

If it were up to us, though, we'd never exercise it, never build its strength, never make space for pain. And even if we wanted to strengthen it, we'd never know how far to push ourselves. One wrong move and we'd destroy it. One extra burden and it would be crushed.

It is only God who can determine the "right" amount of weights and trials to train our hearts, and to fortify our faith.

"And your Lord creates what He wills and chooses..." (28:68)

He will give us precisely enough heartache and joy to build up the muscle in our chests...every atom, every heartstring, every valve.

Allah (swt) says in the Quran that He doesn't burden a soul more than it can bear. He knows what each of our hearts can bear, and He chooses for us.

So when the burden is placed there, square between your shoulders, right in the centre of your being, you have to stand up and lift. It's going to hurt, but you'll be stronger next time.

O Turner of hearts, strengthen our hearts on this path of truth and struggle.