Tend to the Garden Within

I used to say that I needed to go up into the mountains to find God. People would laugh at me awkwardly, and the conversation would move on. But I meant it. I had a deep sense that the life I was leading wasn’t conducive to spirituality. Amid the chaos, the busyness of chasing degrees, careers, marriage, children, etc., I couldn’t commune with my Lord. I dreamed of retreating from the world, of being enveloped by the silence of the forests, so I could finally listen to myself, so I could finally breathe — so I could finally find my Rabb.

But I was wrong. It wasn’t the dunya that needed to change; rather, it was the world within me. Motherhood and a series of humbling moments slowed me down. They forced me to stop dreaming about an idyllic world beyond and reduced my world to no further than our sidewalk. While this might sound like constriction, it actually served as the greatest opening. In holding my son’s hand as he wobbled barefoot in our backyard, I learned that infinitude exists even within a blade of grass.

There’s no formula for this journey. All I can say is that loss breaks you. And if you lean in and allow the brokenness to mold you as you heal, the ground beneath you — your entire perspective — can shift. As ibn al-Qayyim al-Jawziyyah brilliantly reminds us: 

‍“When Allah tests you, it is never to destroy you. When He removes something in your possession, it is only in order to empty your hands for an even greater gift.”

After many years, I reflected and realized I had stopped aching for spiritual retreats to Bukhara or Djenné. While I still loved the idea of sitting cross-legged on a mountaintop, I found I could achieve the same sense of being overwhelmed by the reality of Allah’s rububiyyah just by walking in a meadow among wildflowers, following a creek, or drinking in the night sky. I didn’t need to go anywhere. Or I did — except the journey was within me rather than out there in the world. And that journey was always taking me back to Allah.

The secret lies not in complete renunciation of the dunya, but in finding the sacred within the profane. It lies in cultivating a maskan (an abode of tranquility) within yourself, rather than seeking it outside. It lies in rejecting conditionals like: “I will only find peace when ___” or “I will connect to Allah and pray only if ___.” These beliefs lead to a life lived in suspension, where contentment always remains just out of reach.

I think for the vast majority of us, we don’t recognize how far off course we’ve come. It’s often only when a tsunami of grief overwhelms us that we find we can’t possibly move forward without fundamentally changing. And that course correction can only come from Allah.

There is a way to live ignorantly through life, failing to heed the signposts sent to us by our Beloved. But every patch of turbulence sent to us has a message within it. Whether it’s to uncover a hidden wellspring of power within us, to open us to a difficult truth of life (e.g., that all people are fallible), or to allow us to witness Allah’s majesty, each event has a purpose. Everything you need to cultivate that maskan is already within you. Allah has already given you all the tools you’ll ever need. It’s just that we’re often not listening closely enough to the messages being sent.

So how do we tune in?

1. Self-excavation

“We will show them Our signs in the horizons and within themselves until it becomes clear to them that it is the truth.” (41:53)

Get to know yourself — what makes you tick, what gives you purpose. Put down your phone; stop numbing yourself. Read self-help books. Nourish yourself. Seek therapy. Surround yourself with people who inspire you and aren’t afraid to offer the wisdom you need to hear. Take opportunities to push the limits of what feels comfortable. What is your life trying to tell you? Dig deep.

2. Know yourself and know your Lord

“And be not like those who forgot Allāh, so He made them forget themselves.” (59:19)

Knowing ourselves is intimately connected with knowing our Lord. We can’t cultivate a relationship with our Creator if we aren’t learning and living His Words. The belief of “I’ll pray when I really feel like it” only leads to a dead heart. There may be years where prayer feels lifeless, where the Qur’an doesn’t seem to pierce your heart — and that’s okay. It’s that way for all of us at times. Just keep persistently trying to connect with Allah. And as you continue your self-excavation, with enough tears and pain, you’ll get to a point where you can read your own life in the Qur’an. His Words will move you. You just have to give it a chance.

3. Retreat every day (every week, or at least somewhat often!)‍

There’s a great account of some companions coming to our Prophet (peace and blessings of God be upon him) with different variations of spiritual escapism. While I may have proposed mountaintop retreats and vows of silence, the companions put forward ideas like fasting every single day, never marrying, and perpetual night worship. And every single time, our Prophet (peace and blessings of God be upon him) gave them a completely doable solution. They didn’t need to renounce the world; they just needed to cultivate a different kind of life, to shift their perspective so they could see worship in everything they did.

Spend an extra 15 minutes in the masjid after prayer journaling about your relationship with Allah. Pray outside in your backyard. Visit the graveyard. Set out on a hiking trail and spend it immersed in your favorite du’aa. Marvel at your baby’s smile and thank the Creator.

‍S l o w d o w n t i m e.

Create moments of eternity. Spiritual retreat is completely possible every single day.

Voltaire famously ends Candide with the exhortation: “We must cultivate our garden.” I ask us to tend to the garden within our heart — our life of worship. For a life lived as worship forges the believer’s path to the Eternal Garden.

O Allah, we ask You for Your Paradise. Ameen.