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A new day dawns and suddenly I find myself incredibly grateful. Grateful that I acted a fool and received my dressing down. Grateful that I felt that pang of pain in my heart when I read the respondent’s words and realised what I had done. Grateful that He humbled me and reminded me of my lowliness. Grateful that He reminded me that I am nothing and that He is everything.

As I sat reading the Qur’an after fajr this morning, these were the thoughts that kept interrupting. But they weren’t the only ones. I also noticed how easily the ayahs came off my tongue, and so I felt ashamed, for I have been attending Qur’an class for three and a half years, but have barely memorised a handful of them. While my wife and her friend memorised the last juz, I must have been preoccupied. For each lesson I struggled to learn the verses, but now I ask myself why? Can I not ingest one of those short surahs each day? Is that really too much to ask?

Last night, nursing my bruised ego, I realised that my only sanctuary is in Him. My flight was not from the anger of a respected soul and their sudden contempt for me, but from myself to Him. I was reminded last night that even when our knowledge is meagre like mine, we must continually act upon it in order to keep it real, for if we don’t it becomes stale and useless. I may not know the rulings on intricate matters, but I know that our Lord hates arrogance in His servants. What then stops me acting on the latter, purifying my heart of every ill trait?

So at last I rolled out my prayer mat and forced myself to pray the sunnahs preceding isha, and those that follow it. Reminding myself of the great depth to which I had plummeted, I stopped myself from rising quickly afterwards as has become my habit, and instead began marking dhikr on the segments of my fingers. Then, suddenly conscious of my huge remiss, I raised my hands before me in prayer and asked that He might cure my soul.

Alhamdulilah, then, for the fool that got carried away and alhamdulilah for the wise soul that reproached him. My problem, though, is constancy. This is not the first time I have arrived at this destination and I am certain it will not be the last. What will come of me in an hour’s time, or in a day, or a week? Will I remain steadfast and patient, pursuing the prayers even when the multitudinous distractions call me? And how long before I am wise-cracking again, speaking nonsense and abandoning the best of adab?

My life is entirely cyclical. Three weeks ago I resolved to dedicate myself to my deen, to finally lodge the Arabic script in my head, to sit down to read the Qur’an, to abandon my foolish ways.  And then all of a sudden my descent back into the foolishness I had promised to abandon months earlier. Not only did I fail in the tasks I set myself, but I replaced my do-nothing laziness with doing something bad. I make my resolutions and all of a sudden I have fallen further than before.

And so what of this renewal? Rely upon Allah, a wise friend instructs me, and don’t rely upon yourself. Ask Allah to grant you constancy, he says, don’t think you will achieve it on your own. And those words of the Qur’an are calling me, whispering of the reward for those that patiently persevere.

As I write this, the sun is ascending high into the sky and all of a sudden the frosted field across the valley is glistening. A new day has dawned, and at this instant there is hope.