Being A Good Muslim By # 3.3

A Cold July

      “Bye, Mom,” I called out as I stepped into the warm July air. “I’m going to meet Jane at the park in a few minutes.” Pausing slightly to fix my hijab in front of the car mirror, I continued walking down the block in the direction of the park. As I walked under the hot sun, I started to think about my friendship with Jane. In middle school, we were the very best of friends despite our differences in beliefs, me being Muslim and her Christian. Regardless, together we would do everything and anything … at least, as long as it didn’t go against Allah and His Messenger’s commands. And since we were only little preteens and in middle school, there wasn’t much we could do that would go against it.

      But everything began to slowly fall apart since middle school ended a month ago and high school was in our near future. My differences with Jane became apparent as she began doing things this summer that I wouldn’t dream of doing, like sneaking out at night to watch a movie or going out with guys. I often felt left out because I, as a Muslim, wasn’t allowed to do those things. But I knew the consequences of disobeying Allah SWT if I took part in Jane’s plans. As much as I wanted to, I certainly wasn’t going to test His patience by doing unpleasant things with my American-raised friend.

      “Husna!” someone called out. I looked around to see who had shouted my name. I was so into my thoughts that I hadn’t realized I had arrived at the park already and Jane was calling for me. I smiled as I walked up to her sitting at the park bench. She smiled at me coldly.

      “Did you ask your parents about going to my party this weekend?” she demanded. I sighed because I knew that my answer would sadden her.

      “I‘m not sure,” I replied.

      “Oh, come on! You never do anything with me anymore! At least come to my party. It’ll be fun! There’ll be music and dancing and guys and everything! It’ll be a blast!” Somehow, she wasn’t convincing me in the slightest.

      When would she realize that I don’t do those kinds of thing? She couldn’t see how important my religion and faith was to me. I was, or at least trying to be, a good Muslim and wouldn’t let anything try to weaken my Iman. Sadly, that’s a very hard thing to accomplish do here in America where committing the worst of sins is okay and sometimes even encouraged.

      “No,“ I replied firmly. I knew that eventually, I would stand alone by myself in my quest to be the best Muslim I could be. But I was certain that if I continued to obey Allah’s commands, despite the hardships I would face by doing so, I would never be truly alone because Allah would always be with me. In my heart.