I was just a stall boy in the market of Madinah, barely fourteen, and not anyone you’d remember. I wasn't a scholar, or even someone known for his worship. But that day—when he walked into the home of a sick man—I saw something that stayed with me for the rest of my life.
The story begins with our neighbor, Nafi’. He had always been quiet, a man who kept to himself. Weeks passed, and no one saw him. Some thought he had moved away. But then his cousin told us that Nafi’ had fallen ill—so ill he could not even rise to pray.
I felt a sting in my chest when I heard that. I had passed by his house many times and never once knocked to check on him.
Word spread quickly that the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was heading to Nafi’s home. The Prophet ﷺ—whom we Muslims follow as the last messenger sent by Allah—was known for his gentleness, especially with the hurt and weak. Many of us followed him quietly, unsure of what we’d see or even what to do.
When we entered, the room was dim. Nafi’ lay still, his face pale, his body trembling slightly even in rest. His eyes widened in disbelief when the Prophet ﷺ came close and sat down beside him, placing a hand on his chest.
He didn’t scold him. He didn’t ask why no one had come. He simply said, "Don't worry, this is purification."
I stood in the back corner, frozen. Why would someone so great come for someone like Nafi’? He wasn't a leader or a fighter for Islam. He was just... Nafi’.
But the Prophet ﷺ taught us something that day—not through a sermon, but through action. I later learned this: once, when asked why he worshipped so much, even though Allah had forgiven all his sins, the Prophet ﷺ replied, “Should I not be a thankful servant?” That hadith—collected in Sahih al-Bukhari—was echoed right there.
By visiting the sick, he was showing gratitude to Allah. He was teaching us that caring for others is itself a kind of worship. Gratitude isn’t only spoken with the tongue—it’s lived in the body, in footsteps taken toward a suffering brother, in hands that comfort, and hearts that care.
Nafi’ smiled that day. We saw his eyes well with tears—as did many of us. And though he was still ill, he seemed lighter, as though just being seen had healed something heavier than fever.
When we left, I walked alone for some time. I didn’t want to forget how I felt.
I learned that caring for the sick isn’t just kindness—it’s a chance to show our thankfulness to Allah, just like the Prophet ﷺ did. Even at fourteen, with no status and no knowledge, I knew I could do that. I could knock on a door. I could sit with someone in pain. And in doing so, I could be near the mercy the Prophet ﷺ brought to all of us.
Story Note: Inspired by reports in Sahih al-Bukhari (4836) and other authentic narrations about the Prophet’s visit to the sick and his deep gratitude in worship.
I was just a stall boy in the market of Madinah, barely fourteen, and not anyone you’d remember. I wasn't a scholar, or even someone known for his worship. But that day—when he walked into the home of a sick man—I saw something that stayed with me for the rest of my life.
The story begins with our neighbor, Nafi’. He had always been quiet, a man who kept to himself. Weeks passed, and no one saw him. Some thought he had moved away. But then his cousin told us that Nafi’ had fallen ill—so ill he could not even rise to pray.
I felt a sting in my chest when I heard that. I had passed by his house many times and never once knocked to check on him.
Word spread quickly that the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was heading to Nafi’s home. The Prophet ﷺ—whom we Muslims follow as the last messenger sent by Allah—was known for his gentleness, especially with the hurt and weak. Many of us followed him quietly, unsure of what we’d see or even what to do.
When we entered, the room was dim. Nafi’ lay still, his face pale, his body trembling slightly even in rest. His eyes widened in disbelief when the Prophet ﷺ came close and sat down beside him, placing a hand on his chest.
He didn’t scold him. He didn’t ask why no one had come. He simply said, "Don't worry, this is purification."
I stood in the back corner, frozen. Why would someone so great come for someone like Nafi’? He wasn't a leader or a fighter for Islam. He was just... Nafi’.
But the Prophet ﷺ taught us something that day—not through a sermon, but through action. I later learned this: once, when asked why he worshipped so much, even though Allah had forgiven all his sins, the Prophet ﷺ replied, “Should I not be a thankful servant?” That hadith—collected in Sahih al-Bukhari—was echoed right there.
By visiting the sick, he was showing gratitude to Allah. He was teaching us that caring for others is itself a kind of worship. Gratitude isn’t only spoken with the tongue—it’s lived in the body, in footsteps taken toward a suffering brother, in hands that comfort, and hearts that care.
Nafi’ smiled that day. We saw his eyes well with tears—as did many of us. And though he was still ill, he seemed lighter, as though just being seen had healed something heavier than fever.
When we left, I walked alone for some time. I didn’t want to forget how I felt.
I learned that caring for the sick isn’t just kindness—it’s a chance to show our thankfulness to Allah, just like the Prophet ﷺ did. Even at fourteen, with no status and no knowledge, I knew I could do that. I could knock on a door. I could sit with someone in pain. And in doing so, I could be near the mercy the Prophet ﷺ brought to all of us.
Story Note: Inspired by reports in Sahih al-Bukhari (4836) and other authentic narrations about the Prophet’s visit to the sick and his deep gratitude in worship.
