The Lesson of Gratitude

The Lesson of Gratitude

BY:Khan

The school bell rang, and I quickly grabbed my bag, ready to leave for home. Just as I was stepping out of the school gate, the watchman called my name loudly.

“Ahed Abdullah!”

I rushed toward the gate where my father stood waiting for me on his old motorcycle.

“Baba, you’re late again today,” I complained, wiping the sweat off my forehead. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting? Look at this heat!”

My father only smiled at my frustration. “Young sir,” he said playfully, “first, hop onto the bike, and then I’ll explain why I was late.”

I adjusted my school cap and climbed onto the seat behind him. Just as he steered the bike onto the crowded road, my eyes fell on a shiny white Mercedes gliding smoothly in front of us. Inside, I spotted my classmate Ali, sitting comfortably in the back seat.

“Baba, can I ask you something?” I said hesitantly, though the question was already burning inside me.

“Of course, my son. Ask whatever you like.”

“Why does Ali’s father have a Mercedes? He comes to school every day in an air-conditioned car while we only have this old bike. It makes so much noise, and it’s so hot sitting on it. Honestly, I don’t like it at all.”

I frowned, staring down at the motorcycle as if it were the source of all my discomfort.

My father chuckled softly. “But my dear son, isn’t a bike also a ride? What’s so wrong with it? At least you don’t have to walk all the way from home to school.”

“But Baba,” I protested, “it doesn’t have air conditioning! It’s nothing compared to a car like Ali’s.”

His voice grew gentler. “My son, that is Allah’s distribution. He gives different things to different people. Some get more, some get less. But in every situation, we must remain thankful.”

I grew silent for a moment but then whispered the question that troubled me most. “Then why doesn’t Allah give us a Mercedes? Why isn’t our house as big as Uncle’s house next door? Why does He always give more to others?”

My father was about to answer, but just then, the motorcycle sputtered and came to a sudden halt near a construction site.

“Get down,” Baba said.

I looked at him in confusion. “Why are we stopping here, Baba? I’m thirsty, and it’s so hot. Can’t we just go home first?”

But he gently took my hand and led me under the shade of a tree. Then he pointed to the group of laborers working nearby.

“Look there, Ahed,” he said softly.

I followed his gaze. Men and women were toiling under the scorching sun, breaking stones, and laying down the new road. Among them were children, some not much older than me, carrying heavy buckets of sand.

“Do you see them?” Baba asked. “They don’t even have a simple house like ours. Look at those huts over there—that’s where they live. Their children don’t get to go to school like you. Do you think they don’t dream of sitting in a classroom, wearing a school uniform, and carrying books? But their parents can’t afford it. Instead, they work here in the heat to survive. Even their children have to join them.”

I watched silently, feeling a lump in my throat.

Baba continued, “If you keep looking only at people who have more than you, you will always feel small and unsatisfied. But if you look at those who have less, you will realize how blessed you are. Allah has given you health, a home, food to eat, and the chance to study. Shouldn’t we be grateful instead of complaining?”

His words pierced straight into my heart. For the first time, I noticed the dusty faces of the children working under the sun. What if I had been one of them? What if instead of carrying a schoolbag, I had been carrying bricks?

I bowed my head, ashamed of my earlier thoughts. Silently, I whispered a prayer of gratitude to Allah and asked for forgiveness for my ungratefulness.

My father gently placed his hand on my shoulder. “That’s the spirit, my son. Always thank Allah in every situation. Those who are patient and grateful are the ones dearest to Him. They may not own much in this world, but in the Hereafter, their patience will be rewarded with eternal blessings.”

As we walked back to the motorcycle, I felt lighter, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my heart. I no longer cared about Ali’s Mercedes or Uncle’s big house. What I cared about was the realization that gratitude was the true key to happiness.

That evening, as the sun set behind the trees, my heart quietly repeated the same words over and over again:

Thank You, Allah… Thank You for everything.