I try my best not to take on freelance work — an odd thing to say, perhaps, in the midst of what many describe as the world’s worst recession — but somehow these jobs seem to find me. A couple of years ago a very amiable chap pursued me for weeks in an effort to persuade me to put my typesetting hat back on and assist him in his work. Apologising profusely, I had to turn him down, for the timing was just not right; well, it was more than that: his own work was of such a high quality that I feared being unable to match it. I hope I was not rude when I stubbornly turned him down.

The past few weeks have been a bit like that all over again. I get a phone call asking if I still do freelance work. I say no. They say could I make an exception? I say, well I’m terribly busy. They say, well just think it over. I say okay, I’ll consider it. They call back telling me they’d really like me to take it on. I give in, agree.

I would probably still be stubborn had I not read some words somewhere that put these requests into perspective. I can’t find the passage now, but it went along the lines of, do not refuse anything good anyone should offer you, because that good is really a gift from God. Accepting this poorly paraphrased wisdom, I now find myself submitting to the requests for my time. It appears that God has some sort of plan for me, although I cannot see what it is at present.

So I take on more work than I really have time for, eating up my evenings and weekends. Count your blessings, you say. Yes, Alhamdulilah, God is ever generous and kind, despite my sorry state. Perhaps it is the answer to prayers, the kind of substitution that replaces time for sin with no time at all. The devil finds work for idle hands and all that — or rather, the devil tempts all other men, but idle men tempt the devil. Tis one thing after the other.

Yes, Alhamdulilah, I should say. After work and dinner, and after the children have gone to bed, it is back to a second round of work. So far it has all been web work — like this website for the Curriculum for Cohesion project — but one chap talks of a book to be produced. I have tried to suggest that he needs an expert, a scholar, someone of fine repute, but once more my reluctance is ignored.

Years ago, when I was actively seeking work, I tried my best to turn down a typesetting job for a very important work. Back then I needed the work and the money, but I felt the task was too important to be given to me. Instead I recommended all of the typesetters I most admired whose skills far outweighed my own, but somehow, in the end, the job came back to me. I tried to refuse it, but it was destined for me. It is humbling to see what happens when we give up trying to be masters of our own destiny. Sometimes there are good reasons why our reluctance is ignored.

The days of immense folly still return to the mind, often whilst bowing in prayer, causing an instant pang of regret, but soon the blessings of the moment overtake me. Despite myself and my far too numerous sins, we have witnessed blessings drive down on us more ferociously than August’s torrential rain. With the signs within and without comes confirmation that our Lord wants us to succeed.

At every juncture of personal failure, when sins have won out over the pursuit of righteousness, the One who alone is worthy of worship has made Himself known through the words of others, through the arrival of an unanticipated guest, through those blessings that descend so unexpectedly and abundantly.  I have fallen far this past year, and so God’s generosity is unmistakable.

May this Ramadan form a stable foundation for the year ahead. May it be purification for the soul and a fountain of reform.  May what follows be better than what went before. Indeed, may it be Mubarak!

Four and a half years ago, when I sought guidance and truth, He sent me a teacher and advisor, learned and perceptive, positive and wise.

Two weeks ago, just as the prolonged absence of my beloved was taking its toll, He sent me a guest and comrade, an example and mentor, a brother in faith.

Half an hour ago, just after I had fallen headlong into sin, He sent me Mrs Hasan’s lesson of the day, each pearl of wisdom addressing the exact need of that exact instant, responding to my failings like a parent to a child.

Throughout my life, despite myself, I witness my Lord continually showering His bounties on me, steering me away from the harm I would heap upon myself—protecting me from me.

Wherever I turn He is there. I wonder why the lower self fights Him, for His signs are perfectly clear. He does not want me to fail. But I fail myself.

As a so-called blogger with the seed of La Illaha Il Allah in his heart, I am tempted to say thank you very much. But I did not sit down to write this post because I have a high opinion of myself and feel slighted by the despairing words of social commentators. Instead I had in mind the very many wonderful blogs that continue to inspire and delight the wanderers of the electronic wayfares by day and night.

I have never been convinced that there’s anything particularly special about a blog that differentiates it from a traditional website. My first encounter with the blogosphere was in 2005, but I had been publishing articles on a little-known GeoCities website entitled My Journey since 2001. When I discovered Blogger, I simply migrated the old content across and carried on, impressed by a platform that allowed me to edit a site inline without fiddling with HTML and CuteFTP.

A blog, for me, is merely a website by another name, and a website is merely a tool. Like a newspaper, book or television programme, it is the tool used to convey a message. When I first started writing in the early 1990s, I combined two tools to get my message out: DTP software and a photocopier. Right now, one of my tools of choice is WordPress, but the output is the same. It may be presumptuous for me to attempt to speak for other so-called bloggers, but surely this is true of all of us. The tools we choose to use are only relevant in functional ways.

Personally I don’t much care whether the medium of exchange is a book, a magazine, a blog, a podcast, a video or graffiti on the wall. What matters to me is whether what is conveyed adds something to my life, whether it inspires me or increases me in understanding or knowledge. The lamentations for the alleged demise of the Muslim blogosphere seem to make more of the medium than the message, whereas we ought to take the good from wherever we find it.

I don’t share the view that the Muslim blogosphere is fading into obscurity. We have perhaps lost—and in many ways this is a good thing—the blogging equivalent of the Mega-Church, which drew in vast audiences, but also a sheepish following. The days of the pop-star blogger may be behind us—alhamdulilah— and the great blogging hub that set the agenda for all others may have quietly fizzled away, but left behind in the after-glow stands a scattered community of writers still inspiring the wandering wayfarers. On the quiet backwaters of the internet, far from the noisy conurbations of the mass media, sail some of the loveliest of blogs and websites, brimming with real pearls of wisdom and guidance for those in need.

Some such writers do not post daily—some only once or twice a year—but it does not matter. When they do finally sit down to write, their impact is almost immediately felt. Some others write prolifically for an absent audience, conversing mostly with themselves, but this does not matter either; sometimes we stumble upon a gem via Google three years late which feeds the soul for days.

Their blogs may not feature in the newsfeeds of the coolest website of our sectarian-compliant portion of the web, in chaotic, neglected blogrolls or in intellectual conversation, but they trundle on. So what if they have a regular audience of just ten, including two web-bots? I once wrote a novel that was read by just four people. There are posts on this site that have never been opened. Does it matter? Not to me.

To say that the Muslim blogosphere is dying out, that all the good blogs have disappeared or that the Muslim blogging phenomenon has run its course strikes me as somewhat disrespectful to the many writers that benefit the likes of me. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, of course, but where some see only worn-out, lacklustre, monotonous drivel, I find myself blessed to discover great beauty, diversity and much-valued stimulation.