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What do people think of when they hear the words of Surah al-Ankabut, ‘Do the people think that they will be left to say, “We believe” and will not be tested?’

Does it conjure up pictures of war, famine, abject poverty, homelessness and flooding? Do we imagine the shaking of the earth, columns of refugees streaming across a border and an extraordinary oppression? These are some of the thoughts that occur to me.

Yet as life wanders by it becomes apparent that many a test is more mundane. Are we not tested in our arguments and quarrels with one another? Are heated words, accusations and irritations not a trial? Does every situation in our life and every relationship between us not require us to make decisions? Shall we delve into our faith and act with wisdom and light, relying only on the One who created us as if nothing else mattered, or shall we follow those inner whispers that promise us the illusive instant victory?

Why do the husband and wife that scream at one another as their children wish themselves away upstairs not stop for a moment and remember that this little battle is their trial? Why must they wait until the sky has fallen in before they delve into the sunnah and take refuge with their Lord? Why must they shun patience now, as if they must store all of it up for the coming of the dictator of dictators? Why, when the gloom descends, do they not say, ‘This is from my Lord,’ as they promise they will say when the cruise missiles shower down on them from an army ready to pounce?

A friend of mine is often quick to remind me of his rights and to point out to me my numerous faults. On occaision his advice numbs me completely, distracting me from my work; I feel moved to respond with a counter-attack, to take part in a round of mutual counsel, polishing off a list about everything that bothers me about him too. Of course that would be petty, but nevertheless fair — according to the lower self — an eye for an eye, and all that.

But it occurs to me instead that these strange petitions are a test of my faith and my practice of the small morsels of knowledge that I have been blessed with. For our deen contains guidance on how to interact with one another, on what to do when someone insults us, on our use of words, on anger, on dampening the calls of our nafs, on the rights of our friends, neighbours, kin and parents.

And so, just once more, I shake off the offense, take the good of his advice and push everything else aside. Patience, after all, is a word that I keep on reencountering in the Qur’an. Should I take issue with the latest particularly rude email, or just give my brother in faith his seventy excuses and them some more? The answer is quite apparent to me. I’m not going to go chasing calamities as if this life is the dress rehearsal. In our relationships there are tests for one another.

Instead – I remind myself – reflect on your Creator’s great generosity and be grateful. There is much to be grateful for.