"A LASTING MARK" Sometimes, a photograph from the past comes to you… And you discover that it was never merely a photograph. It was a message delayed. Today, we received a photograph that had been taken about a year and a half ago. And yesterday came the news of the death of the man in it, in Malaysia… I stared at the photograph for a long time. How strange the human being is… You may see someone frozen in a photograph, while behind that single image lies an entire lifetime of moments and deeds that we knew nothing about. After Fajr prayer, the conversation was about him… Not about a position he held. Not about wealth he accumulated. Not about achievements people had written into his biography. The conversation was about a man who understood the meaning of family. He made Friday a gathering that was never missed. He would bring together his family, and his children. Hearts would meet before the dining tables did, and he would honour them with a meal that brought them together. As though this man understood something we so often forget: Some dining tables are not meant merely to feed bodies… They are meant to keep family bonds alive. Then I learned something else… He had a business, and he was involved in a restaurant. But every Friday, he would set aside a large container of food for the people of Gaza. It would be packed into individual meals and sold outside the Islamic centre his family had established in Nairobi, with the proceeds dedicated as charity for the people of Gaza. Ya Allah… How great a human being seems when he does not make his wealth solely for himself. How beautiful commerce becomes when there is, within its accounts, a share for humanity. And how food becomes something greater than food when it is transformed into mercy that reaches people whose names we do not even know. Then came another piece of news… He had been in Malaysia visiting his son and to enroll his daughter for studies... And there, his journey came to an end. And there, he will be buried. How extraordinary life is… A person leaves his home simply to check on his son, never knowing that Allah has decreed that his final journey would be to the very place where he would be laid to rest. But I do not want to stop at death… I want to stop at what came before death. At the Fridays when he would gather his family. At the container of food he would set aside for the people of Gaza. At the centre that remained a witness to his family’s goodness. At the son he travelled to check on, only for that son to bid farewell to his father in a distant land. There, I realise that a person’s value is not measured by how long he remains… But by what he does with the days he is given. Perhaps many people knew none of this about him. Perhaps he never spoke about any of it. And perhaps that is the most beautiful part of the story… To do good, and then move on, without waiting for anyone to see you. To feed your family, and keep love alive. To feed someone in need, and keep mercy alive. To establish a place of goodness, and leave behind a lasting أثر. To raise your children upon purpose before appearances. And then you depart… Only to discover that the person you thought had lived an ordinary life had been leaving behind extraordinary things. May Allah have mercy upon you O Khidr…