Once, someone asked Ibrāhīm ibn Adham (رحمه الله) a peculiar question:
“Have you ever felt true happiness?”
He replied, “Yes, twice. Once, when I was sitting quietly and someone came and urinated on me. The second time, when a man walked up and slapped me across the face. Those were the two happiest moments of my life.”
Let us now ask ourselves: when do we feel joy? And what do those moments say about our desires—and our hearts?
Whenever children saw Uways al-Qarnī (رحمه الله), they would pelt him with stones. But his response?
“If you must do this,” he would say gently, “use small stones—lest I be wounded and find it hard to stand in prayer.”
Such was the kindness of those whose joy sprang from forgiveness.
You may yearn to bring happiness to everyone around you. Yet you may have neither wealth nor means. But listen to the words of the Messenger ﷺ:
“If you cannot help people with material gifts, gladden them with kind words and a beautiful nature.”
How many people do we meet in a single day? And when they part from us, do they leave lighter, or heavier in heart? It takes no long speech to wound someone—just a look, or a careless thought. Reflect for a moment: How many people did I hurt today, perhaps without even realizing it?
Peaceful people are the ones who can spread peace around them. But first, we must diagnose and treat the unrest within ourselves.
Let me offer you a remedy—one that soothes even the tightest knots of tension.
Someone once asked Dhu’n-Nūn al-Miṣrī (رحمه الله):
“Who suffers the most tension in life?”
His reply: “The one with the worst character.”
So the cure to many of life’s agonies lies within. Cleanse the heart.
The Qur’an says: “وَثِيَابَكَ فَطَهِّرْ” — “And purify your garments.”
Imām al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī interpreted it thus: “Refine your character.”
Let me tell you the story of a man whose character was as bright as the noonday sun.
His name was al-Ahnaf (رحمه الله). He was renowned for his gentle nature.
Someone once asked him, “Who taught you such fine manners?”
He replied, “Qays ibn ‘Āṣim al-Munqari.”
“And what were his manners like?” they asked.
Ahnaf told them this:
Once, a young slave girl entered his house carrying a large pot of boiling curry. Suddenly, she tripped. The scalding liquid spilled—right on the face of his young son. The boy died instantly.
The girl stood frozen in fear.
But Qays looked at her and said softly, “Do not worry. For the sake of God, I set you free.”
And he did so, without a single condition.
Let’s now hear from Fudayl ibn ‘Iyāḍ (رحمه الله). He once said:
“A kind-hearted sinner is a better companion than a worshipper with bad character.”
Here are some reflections on good and bad character from the sages of old:
• “Bad character narrows the heart.” It turns the soul into a tight prison fit only for itself.
• “Good character is praying without checking who’s standing beside you.” It means never making judgments, even silently.
• “The sign of bad character is a gaze that finds only the flaws of others.”
A person of gentle nature cannot bring themselves to hate anyone. They see in every soul the possibility of friendship and the path to goodness. They always wear the cloak of forgiveness—and for such people, every conflict is an invitation to understanding.
Let me share one final tale.
One day, Ma‘rūf al-Karkhī (رحمه الله) went down to the River Tigris to purify himself. He laid his cloak and his Qur’an upon the riverbank. While he bathed, a woman came along and stole them.
He ran after her.
“Sister,” he called gently, “I am Ma‘rūf. I will not scold you. But tell me—do you have a son or a husband who recites the Qur’an?”
“No,” she replied.
“Then please… return the Qur’an. Keep the cloak if you wish.”
And what of enduring hardship?
Someone once asked Ḥātim al-Aṣamm (رحمه الله):
“Should a man bear suffering from all people?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“But only if the suffering does not come from him.”
Such are the ones who walk among us clothed not in fine garments, but in garments of light. And when they leave, their fragrance lingers.
