Full Moon

But we forget that each Ramadan gifted to us is exactly the gift we need at that time.

This photograph was taken around the fifteenth of Ramadan in 2021.

The world was beginning to stir back to life after COVID, and we were in the midst of what had been, in many ways, a deeply successful and life-changing move to Dubai. Our family had flourished there. At that point, we had no intention of leaving.

But just before Ramadan arrived, circumstances aligned in a way that meant it was suddenly time to return home to Scotland.

Although we were blessed to make this decision ourselves, and although there were exciting prospects ahead, the arrival of what would be our last Ramadan in Dubai carried a heavy sadness. I was grieving the thought of leaving a Muslim country, a place where Islam was woven into daily life, where my children’s Muslim identity was never questioned, where the whole country changed its routine for this one month.

The thought of returning to the UK filled me with fear. During our time away, so much had changed- in schools, in public discourse, in attitudes towards Muslims. I worried about what my children would absorb, the friendships they would form, and whether they might begin to question who they were. I worried about how hard the transition might be, even for me as an adult who was born and brought up in Scotland. Our family dynamic was also shifting in ways that felt fragile and uncertain.

These thoughts weighed heavily on me before Ramadan began.

Yet, as many can attest, the arrival of Ramadan carries its own mercy. With it comes a peace, an unmatched ability to block out the noise of worldly problems, to focus on nothing but the month in front of us.

One of the many blessings of living in Dubai was the safety of being outdoors even in the early hours. I developed a routine where I would eat suhoor with my family, then go out for a walk before Fajr, usually between 3am-4am. During this time, I would make dhikr, listen to Qur’an, or just enjoy the stillness of that portion of the night.

It was during one of these walks, in the first half of Ramadan, that I saw the full moon glowing in the sky. As I took this photograph, I remember wishing that the moon could remain full, that it wouldn’t begin its slow retreat into darkness as Ramadan edged towards its end, because I wasn’t ready for what came next.

The end of Ramadan would mark the beginning of real upheaval: leaving behind our home, friends who had become family, and a life that we loved. Here I was, enjoying the cool breeze and safety of a post-suhoor stroll, the light from the full moon brightly guiding my path. Ramadan would never look like this again.

But actually, this full moon is what shifted gears for me with my ibadah that Ramadan. I clearly remember the urgency that came into my duas as the last ten nights started. I remember the long conversations I had with Allah to offload all my worries and make it all His problem.

And today, looking back at this picture, I can see clearly how He responded. The road that followed this Ramadan was not easy. But I know, with certainty, that the duas made in those last ten nights carried me through the months and years that followed. I can see how Allah held my hand through all that uncertainty, bringing me to a place where I can now see the wisdom behind our move back to Scotland. When the next Ramadan came around, the ache I felt during that walk was not just softened, but healed through the joy of exposing my children to the familiar Ramadans of my own childhood: iftars with extended family, and taraweeh in our local mosque.

Perhaps that is the reflection.

Maybe you’ll be married by the next Ramadan. Maybe you’ll be divorced. Maybe you’ll be a mother. Maybe, like me, you’ll be moving countries. Often, we don’t even know what will change by the next Ramadan, or if we will even be granted another one. How many of us are grieving the loss of a loved one since last Ramadan? In all these situations, we begin grieving for the Ramadans that were.

But we forget that each Ramadan gifted to us is exactly the gift we need at that time. The conversations we need to have with Allah may be different – different fears, different vulnerabilities, different wounds to lay before Him. But one thing never changes: His response. He will respond as He always has – by holding our hands through all the fear and doubt, and leading us back to Him alone.

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We have come to end of our Ramadan series – we hope you enjoyed reading from our community members. In shaa Allah, we’ll be back in your inbox from the 27th of March. We pray that Allah accepts all our fasts and grant us the best in this life and the hereafter. Eid Mubarak in advance!

While you wait for our return, we’re excited to share that our friends at With Bite are hosting an Intro to Short Story workshop with Jan Carson on March 16th at 7pm – with half the tickets available at Pay What You Can. We’d love to see any aspiring writers in our community join this wonderful opportunity.

With love and duas,

Suad from Qalb Writers Collective