Are you God?
A chance meeting
A venerable shaykh had taken residence in a quiet corner of the city, renting a modest apartment after journeying from the environs of Multan. Cloaked in simplicity, pure of heart, discerning of mind, and composed in presence, he bore upon his face the traces of serenity and profound reflection.
Every greeting began with the same gentle phrase: “My dear.” Each word he spoke seemed a quiet summons to patience, a subtle invitation to contemplation.
I often encountered him during my morning walks, wandering streets far removed from the clatter of the city. We shared a preference for silence. He would quietly recite his morning adhkār, while I followed the stillness within myself, as though we were both seeking a truth that could not be spoken. The mornings seemed deeper then, each whisper of the breeze carrying a question yet unanswered.
For three days I abandoned my walks. The fourth and fifth days also passed in idleness. On the sixth morning, I met him again.
“My dear, come to my home today. I shall serve you tea myself.”
Unusually, he folded his rosary, placed it into his pocket, and smiled warmly as he spoke. I followed him, my heart quietly stirred with anticipation.
A house of books
As I entered his sitting room, I felt I had stepped not into an ordinary apartment but into a great library. The walls were lined with rare and ancient books, some bound in smooth leather, others weathered by time, their yellowed pages carrying the fragrance of wisdom.
A solemn stillness filled the room, as though the echoes of centuries lingered in every corner.
While the shaykh briefly went into the kitchen, I wandered among the shelves, reading titles, glimpsing history, and silently listening to the faint whispers of minds long departed.
On the table lay several treatises on Sufism, opened beside a notebook and a pencil, as though the writer had only just risen, leaving both heart and thought resting upon the page.
Everything in that room spoke the language of longing, of the search for the deeper meaning of life.
The shaykh soon returned carrying a tray with two cups of tea, salted biscuits, dates, and two pieces of sweetmeat.
We sat together, drinking and conversing. His knowledge was vast, his insight profound, yet his words remained simple. Often, it seemed as though his speech drew hidden secrets from the very soul.
The story of the child
After a thoughtful pause, his eyes illuminated with quiet light.
“My dear, I once searched for the answer to a question that weighed heavily upon my heart. I found many answers within the pages of these books, yet my soul remained restless.
One day I walked to the market, as my servant was on leave, and I noticed a small boy walking ahead of me. His shoes were torn, so I called him.”
The shaykh continued:
“The boy came to me. I asked, ‘My son, why are your shoes torn?’
He replied in words that shook my heart: ‘My father has died…’
Then he fell silent.”
For a moment, it seemed as though the entire city had stopped, straining to hear.
The shaykh went on:
“In that instant, everything else disappeared. The books, the room, the tea, all vanished. Only the boy remained: innocent, sorrowful, surrounded by absence.
I took his hand and said, ‘Come. I shall buy you a new pair of shoes.’
I led him into a fine shop and instructed the seller to give him the best shoes available.
When he put them on, his face shone with such joy that it seemed as though the sun itself had poured warmth into his heart.
I also gave him some coins, bade him farewell, and continued on my way.”
The shaykh smiled gently before continuing.
“A few moments later, I felt someone clutching my leg. I looked down and saw the boy standing there again, his eyes wide with innocence.
He asked me, ‘Are you God?’
I lifted him gently and replied, ‘No, my son. I am only a human being, just like you.’
Then he said, with complete sincerity, ‘Then you are God’s friend. Yesterday I prayed to God. My father always told me that if I asked Him, He would grant my request. I prayed: O God, my shoes are torn. Please give me new ones.'”
The shaykh lowered his gaze.
Tears flowed freely from his eyes, as though the heart itself had written that moment in both words and water.
The meaning of friendship with Allah
After another long pause, he spoke softly.
“My dear, in that single moment I understood that becoming a friend of God is not difficult.
Pat the head of an orphaned child. Show compassion to a widow. Fulfil the need of a poor or destitute person. This is intimacy with God.
It requires no titles, no slogans, no distant abstractions, no printed books, and no eloquent sermons.
True friendship with God is found in daily deeds, in the mercy of the heart, in quiet care for others, and in moments of help offered without expecting anything in return.”
He repeated quietly:
“My dear, friendship with God is simple, but who truly seeks it?
We pursue distant paths to reach Him, seeking lonely corners, dark retreats, caves, and hermitages. We immerse ourselves in elaborate titles and difficult books, forgetting that God is near.
We draw close to Him through small, humble acts: a sincere smile, assistance given to the needy, and the prayer of a pure heart.
These simple paths bring us nearer than imagination can conceive, nearer than fantasy itself dares to dream.
Every hardship we relieve, every helping hand we extend, every sincere prayer we offer, every sorrow we remove from a weary heart, there the hand of God reaches towards us with gentleness and affection.
Be friends of God through deeds, not words; through sincerity, not pretence.
O God, grant us Your intimacy and make us among the righteous.”
