by Sia Martinez (formerly known as “La Raging Brown Wolf”)
This month, they say, is special. This month, they say, should move me.
They say it’s haram.
They say it’s a permissible blessing.
This month, my family historically does nothing.
This month reminds me of the conversations I had right before my shahada.
I was concerned, at that moment, how could I proceed if I did not know or love the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ? How could I be a Muslim without this ingredient?
They say it’s permissible, and so I check it out and attend a local Mawlid celebration, and for the first time in my life as a Muslim, I am triggered. A little Roman Catholic PTSD emerged as I witnessed the procession of selected VIP children (the Imam’s selection) carry a flag, reciting some Arabic, and I am utterly confused. But I am taken back to the countless processionals I witnessed for our beloved Maryam, the virgin Catholic Mary, as her statue is carried, a girl wearing a blue hijab to represent her. Here, the community is not involved. We only watch. I yearn to be special enough to be chosen next year.
This month, they say, is special. This month, they say, should move me.
The debate continues year after year. They say it’s haram.
They say it’s a permissible blessing.
They say to give gifts to our Beloved Prophet ﷺ symbolically, as we do birthday gifts.
But what does that mean to a person who has never gotten gifts? Or celebrated birthdays? Or does not celebrate birthdays?
I was told not to worry that I did not love the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ at the moment of my declaration of faith. I won’t deny I felt a little bit of a fraud. Will Allah accept?
Does He know? That I don’t know? That my soul and spirit were already in sujood, even though I had not been taught salah yet?
True Submission.
This month, they say, is special. This month, they say, should move me.
This month brings me a little uncomfortable vibe.
But why?
Every other month, I sing with my four-year-old songs like “I want to be like the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ.” Why does this month feel any different? Every other month of the year, I dedicate salawat. Every day I do. It has become a habit.
Every other month, I take time to listen to the seerah. Every other month, I dedicate time to discuss, to learn, to share about our Beloved Prophet ﷺ.
How does love for our Beloved start? I remember hearing the man that was courting me tell my Catholic father he loved the Prophet ﷺ more than he would love me. I was in awe. What did that mean? Was I okay with that? Why did I yearn to feel the same way? To love the Prophet ﷺ more than my future husband sounded so exciting. Simultaneously, did I want a husband who didn’t love me first?!
For me, it was a deeply simple mystery that finally hit my heart one night. At a sister’s Islam 101 halaqa about the Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ life, the teacher’s eyes sparkled, and her tears of joy and love wet her face so very uniquely, that the love in me naturally expanded my chest.
What a beautiful man we have been gifted with as Muslims!
The deepness is simple, and my longing sprouted roots.
This month, they say, is special. This month, they say, should move me.
They say it’s haram.
They say it’s a permissible blessing.
Fifteen years later, it looks like this debate will never cease.
As I honor and make peace with my Catholic past, focus and learn my present, I am moved. I have become one who longs, whose eyes sparkle and fill with tears of joy at the limitless Mercy and Love Allah has given us through the gift of Muhammad ﷺ.
Praying, supplicating my sons embody even a fraction of his light!
Dreaming of another life where I was one of the first Muslimahs, or dreaming that I was one of his daughters to experience the love of a father, dreaming how amazing it would be to have him stop by and check on me and my husband: “How is your marriage going, Beloved?” Dreaming, dreaming asleep and dreaming awake, of a life where all the ummah truly practice his Sunnah, even the simplest one: a smile, I rarely see.
I honestly can’t imagine a time where there is no more philosophizing, no more debating, but dedicating time to truly living it. Can you?!
The mystery of our faith is deep and simply clear. I am moved beyond words, and moved into tears that flow down my river of the great Magdalena, calling me to wash into the Atlantic coast that brought my family in shackles, y los indios en la selva masticando hojas de hierba buena, buena porque buena es la tierra de mis antepasados, trying to find the true connection to an African past, the Motherland calling her babies, not realizing they don’t belong to her. But I am her long-lost daughter. As the great sage explains, your Mother is but a temporary home; although she carries, births, and raises her children, they were only meant to be temporary gifts. Ya Allah.
I can’t imagine, BUT I do imagine us free.
Aha, ahaaa, ha, ha ha ha, the breath of life, inhaled and exhaled to a rhythm that is deeper than the Alegre drum or the Djembe, for those are only instruments made to replicate the sacred beats of our souls,
birthed in unison. We were all ONE, and separated by the world of the unseen to become seen.
Rabi’ al-Awwal.
Fact is, this month is special. This month does move me.
10/02/2022