I still remember the day someone placed a squirming a little infant in my arms and said, “Congratulations, Mommy!” Mommy. The word excites me, scares me and weighs down upon me like nothing has ever done before. I am to help this little child find direction in life, direct her towards what’s good in this life – and more importantly, a good life in the hereafter.

Outside, in the lit up parking lot of the masjid, you walk slowly towards your car, relishing in the gentle caress of the wind against your face and its playful tug at your hijab, inhaling deeply the warm, earthy scent lifting up from the ground where the rain fell fresh just moments before. “More generous than the strong, uncontrollable wind, he was,” you mouth the words to yourself lovingly, reverently.

I was on my way to the Ka’bah itself, and after taking a few steps forward, a man to my right caught my eye. He was lifting his arms upwards, visibly, so that you would have clearly seen his underarms if his clothes were not there to cover him. He was raising his hands, and praising Allah, and supplicating to His Lord, subhanahu wa ta’ala, in a manner full of humility and destitution, all the while crying.

At a community iftar at our masjid, they asked us both to hand out dates to the sisters. And so, holding onto my box of dates, I looked around, scanning the room for sisters who hadn’t broken their fast yet, while my friend darted quickly around, greeting people at the door as they came in, handing them dates to break their fast with before I even saw them.

This Ramadan… I will L.E.A.P. for every salah. And yes, I mean I will literally “leap” for it. Leave. Everything. And. Pray. I have fought way too many Nafs vs. Heart wars, and lost way too many times to give in to this anymore. Is not my Rabb the most important aspect in my life?