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In a month’s time, I will have been Muslim exactly twenty-five years. In that time, I cannot say that everything has been easy. A lot of this period has been characterised by me tripping and stumbling onwards.

For years, every Ramadan I would resolve to sit and study the Quran, but more often than not would find it challenging me and my faith. The past two years — this Ramadan and the last — I seem to have made more progress. As a family we have established a daily routine. My wife and children follow the mushaf along to the recitation of Mahmoud Khalil Al-Hussary, while I follow on in time, reading an English rendering of the meaning.

For me, this seems to be helping. For one thing, I’m linking the sounds to the meaning better than ever before. But, more importantly, it is all beginning to make sense. At last, I am starting to make sense of passages in their proper context. Many narratives I now see as addressing historical incidents and episodes, whereas once I may have struggled with individual verses, hewn of all context.

Some of this improved comprehension is linked to a better internal state of mind. To do with taking steps to address my long-lasting brain fog, improving my cognitive function. Some of it to maturity, or more experience of the world. Some of it to humility. Some of it to an increased awareness of the historical narrative itself. Some of it down to fifteen years spent in the company of a wise sage, who lives a life as much as he is able centred around the Quran.

The lesson I take from this is to be patient. To persevere and struggle on along the road, no matter the trials and tests thrown in your way. I am not a good believer. I don’t count myself amongst the pious and righteous. I could be called a struggling servant, very far from the ideal of what a Muslim let alone a mumin should be. But, still, I struggle on, striving some days to be a better version of myself. And other days, just resigning to a medium course, neither very good nor very bad.

Often I do succumb to my scheming nafs. Sometimes I am in its hold — yes, even in the month of Ramadan, when my righteous brothers and sisters in faith are engaged in long nights of prayer, giving much charity and restraining themselves. Momentarily, I think I might make a change and join them, but I am often quick to stumble, sometimes at the start of the month, sometimes towards its end. But still I journey on.

In the end, I don’t know if I will ever do enough. If I will ever live a life worthy to be rewarded. I don’t know if I will ever be considered amongst the righteous servants of the One, my life and work accepted. On optimistic days I remind myself of that passage, “And who despairs of God’s mercy except one who has gone astray?”

On those days I feel capable of convincing myself that God’s mercy is unceasing. And so I journey on. And so must we all. Journey on. Journey on, back towards the One.