I was only ten years old when my father came running into our home with tears on his cheeks. That wasn’t something I had ever seen before. My father was a strong man. But that night, he seemed full of both fear and wonder.
“Something happened,” he said, breathless, looking at my mother. “He was taken. By night.”
He meant the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ—may peace and blessings be upon him—who had been preaching in our city, Mecca, about one God—Allah. Many people listened, but many others hated him for it. I had seen stones thrown at him. I had seen him pray alone.
But that night, something had changed.
I wasn’t there when the Prophet ﷺ returned, but I heard what people said: that he had been taken from Mecca to Jerusalem in one night. That he had risen through the heavens and spoken to prophets we only knew from stories—like Prophet Musa (Moses), Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham), and many more. That he saw things no one else had seen.
Some people laughed when they heard it—they said it was impossible. But I didn’t laugh. I believed it. Because I saw something else: his face. When he passed by me in the street, I saw it. It glowed. Not with light, like fire, but with something deeper—peace, strength.
A few days later, I asked my uncle, “Is it true? The Prophet ﷺ went to the heavens?”
He looked at me and nodded. “It is true. And do you know what he brought back?”
I shook my head.
“Prayer,” he said. “Salah. At first, Allah told the Prophet ﷺ that we should pray fifty times a day. But then—our scholars say this—Prophet Musa, who had faced a stubborn people before, told the Prophet ﷺ to return to Allah and ask for fewer.”
The Prophet ﷺ went back and forth, my uncle explained. And in the end, Allah, in His mercy, made it five prayers a day. Only five, yet each one worth more than ten. A gift, not a burden.
That night, I went to sleep thinking: If Allah took His Messenger to the highest heavens and brought down the prayer as a gift… how could I ever miss it?
The next morning, I stood beside my father for the dawn prayer—Fajr. The sky was still dark, quiet. As I raised my hands and said, “Allahu Akbar,” meaning “Allah is the Greatest,” I felt like I was part of something bigger. Not just standing on earth, but connected all the way to heaven.
And now, every time I pray, I remember that night journey—Al-Isra and Al-Mi’raj. I may never see what the Prophet ﷺ saw, but I know that in every sujood—every time I bow with my forehead on the ground—I am near to the One who sees all.
Because prayer is not just a duty. It is a gift, carried from the heavens, straight into my heart.
—
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Al-Isra (17:1) and authentic hadith recorded in Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim about the Night Journey and Ascension (Al-Isra wal-Mi’raj).
I was only ten years old when my father came running into our home with tears on his cheeks. That wasn’t something I had ever seen before. My father was a strong man. But that night, he seemed full of both fear and wonder.
“Something happened,” he said, breathless, looking at my mother. “He was taken. By night.”
He meant the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ—may peace and blessings be upon him—who had been preaching in our city, Mecca, about one God—Allah. Many people listened, but many others hated him for it. I had seen stones thrown at him. I had seen him pray alone.
But that night, something had changed.
I wasn’t there when the Prophet ﷺ returned, but I heard what people said: that he had been taken from Mecca to Jerusalem in one night. That he had risen through the heavens and spoken to prophets we only knew from stories—like Prophet Musa (Moses), Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham), and many more. That he saw things no one else had seen.
Some people laughed when they heard it—they said it was impossible. But I didn’t laugh. I believed it. Because I saw something else: his face. When he passed by me in the street, I saw it. It glowed. Not with light, like fire, but with something deeper—peace, strength.
A few days later, I asked my uncle, “Is it true? The Prophet ﷺ went to the heavens?”
He looked at me and nodded. “It is true. And do you know what he brought back?”
I shook my head.
“Prayer,” he said. “Salah. At first, Allah told the Prophet ﷺ that we should pray fifty times a day. But then—our scholars say this—Prophet Musa, who had faced a stubborn people before, told the Prophet ﷺ to return to Allah and ask for fewer.”
The Prophet ﷺ went back and forth, my uncle explained. And in the end, Allah, in His mercy, made it five prayers a day. Only five, yet each one worth more than ten. A gift, not a burden.
That night, I went to sleep thinking: If Allah took His Messenger to the highest heavens and brought down the prayer as a gift… how could I ever miss it?
The next morning, I stood beside my father for the dawn prayer—Fajr. The sky was still dark, quiet. As I raised my hands and said, “Allahu Akbar,” meaning “Allah is the Greatest,” I felt like I was part of something bigger. Not just standing on earth, but connected all the way to heaven.
And now, every time I pray, I remember that night journey—Al-Isra and Al-Mi’raj. I may never see what the Prophet ﷺ saw, but I know that in every sujood—every time I bow with my forehead on the ground—I am near to the One who sees all.
Because prayer is not just a duty. It is a gift, carried from the heavens, straight into my heart.
—
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Al-Isra (17:1) and authentic hadith recorded in Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim about the Night Journey and Ascension (Al-Isra wal-Mi’raj).
