Beyond Control

In a quiet village nestled between mountains and rivers, lived an old man named Ibrahim. He was known for his wisdom, humility, and deep connection with Allah. People from distant lands would come to seek his advice. But despite all the hearts he helped guide, there was one heart he could not reach—his only son, Zayd.

Zayd was different from his father. Intelligent and brave, but impatient and restless. He believed the world was in his hands and that logic and ambition were all that mattered. Ibrahim tried guiding him gently, reminding him of the temporary nature of the world, the beauty of submission to Allah, and the peace that comes with prayer. But Zayd always brushed it off, saying, “Father, I will make my own path. Religion is for those who fear the future. I build mine.”

Ibrahim would often cry at night. Not because his son rejected him, but because he feared for his soul. He would raise his hands in du'a, saying, “O Allah, guide him. I am only a servant, and You are the Turner of Hearts.”

Years passed. Zayd grew in worldly success—built businesses, traveled, married—but his heart remained distant from Allah. One day, he came home after a long time, and Ibrahim noticed something different. A sadness in his eyes, a heaviness in his walk.

They sat together as the sun dipped behind the hills. Zayd said, “Father, everything I built has collapsed. A business partner betrayed me. My wife has left me. I feel... empty.”

Ibrahim placed his hand on his son's shoulder and said softly, “Alhamdulillah.”

Zayd looked up, surprised. “You thank Allah that I am suffering?”

“No,” Ibrahim smiled, “I thank Allah that your heart has finally begun to listen. You see, my son, I tried to guide you with love, with reason, with patience. But hearts are not ours to mold. Even Prophet Nuh could not guide his own son. Even Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was told in the Qur'an:

‘Indeed, [O Muhammad], you do not guide whom you like, but Allah guides whom He wills.’ (Surah Al-Qasas: 56).”

Zayd lowered his gaze. “So all these years, you didn’t give up?”

“I couldn’t,” Ibrahim said. “But I also realized, I am not the Guide. I can only plant the seed, water it with du’a, and trust Allah for the growth.”

Tears rolled down Zayd’s cheeks. “I thought I had control...”

“We are all tested with what we love most,” Ibrahim whispered. “For me, it was you. Allah tested whether I would try to replace His wisdom with my will. But I learned that true tawakkul—reliance on Allah—is not just hoping for a result. It is accepting His decree even when your heart is breaking.”

In that moment, the silence between them was filled with something divine. Zayd asked his father to lead him in prayer. And for the first time, father and son stood shoulder to shoulder—not as teacher and student, but as two servants of the Most Merciful.