The Journey That Cannot Be Delayed

By Shaykh Jamal Abdinasir
26 December 2025

﷽ 

All praise belongs to Allah, the One who created time, who allows it to flow, and who places meaning within its passing. We praise Him, we seek His help, and we ask Him to turn our hearts back to Him before time turns away from us.

Today is a Friday that feels heavier than most.

Not because of what has happened. But because of what has passed.

It is the final Friday of the Gregorian year, and many hearts are quietly unsettled. We look back and wonder how twelve months could feel so brief. How moments folded into one another. How days disappeared without announcement.

“This year went so fast,” we say.

And in saying it, we are speaking a truth the Messenger of Allah ﷺ already told us would come.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

The Hour will not be established until time passes quickly.

[Sahih Bukhari]

In another narration, he ﷺ explained that a year would feel like a month, a month like a week, and a week like a day.

The clocks do not change. The sun still rises and sets as it always has. But something else is lost.

Barakah.

And when barakah is lifted, life feels compressed. It feels crowded with movement, yet empty of depth. This feeling of time slipping away is not merely a modern complaint. It is a spiritual signal. A quiet reminder that we are moving, whether we are prepared or not.

Many people reflect at the end of a year on their worldly affairs. They measure success and failure in numbers, positions, and plans. Islam does not forbid this reflection. But it does not allow us to stop there. Because while we review our years, our lives are being reviewed without us noticing.

This year did not only take us closer to another calendar date.
It took us closer to the moment we will leave this world altogether.

Allah says:

Near. Not distant. Not symbolic. And we are heedless. Not unaware, but distracted.

We know death is real. We know the Hereafter is real. Yet knowing without preparing is a quiet form of forgetfulness.

Islam teaches us to live between two reflections: our beginning and our end. We did not enter this world by accident. We were nothing – no name, no title, no history – until Allah gave us life.

Allah says:

Everything we now associate with ourselves came later. And just as He gave us life, He will take it.

Just as this year came to its close, so too will our time. When that moment arrives, the world does not pause. Our families will grieve. Our loved ones will pray. Tears will fall.

And then life will continue.

But for us, an entirely new existence begins.

The Prophet ﷺ informed us that two angels will come to the grave and ask:

Who is your Lord?
What is your religion?
Who is the man sent among you?

[Sunan Abu Dawud]

This is not an exam of memory. It is a test of truth.

If Allah truly was our Lord, obedience will have shaped our lives.
If Islam truly was our way, it will have guided our choices.
If the Prophet ﷺ truly mattered to us, his Sunnah will have left marks on our character.

Faith is not proven by words spoken once. It is proven by directions taken over time.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

When the deceased is placed on the shoulders of men, if he was righteous, he will say, ‘Take me forward, take me forward.’ And if he was not righteous, he will say, ‘Woe to me! Where are they taking me?’ His voice is heard by everything except human beings, and if a human were to hear it, he would fall unconscious.

[Sahih Bukhari]

A righteous soul longs to move forward, eager for what lies ahead. A soul that lived only for this world recoils, wishing it could turn back. And between those two calls lies the story of an entire life.

This is why the passing of time should not only make us reflective. It should make us honest.

Were we always this age?
Did we always have these responsibilities?
Did we always look like this?

Once, we were children held in someone else’s arms. And one day, we will be carried again. Only this time it will be toward our final resting place.

Between those two moments lies our opportunity.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said:

I and the Hour were sent like these two, and he joined his index and middle fingers.

[Sahih Bukhari]

His coming was a sign. His passing was a sign. And the signs have continued.

Time feels shorter not because it is shorter, but because hearts are distracted from their purpose.

We wake up thinking about provision, forgetting that provision is already written. We chase more, while what truly matters waits patiently.

What if we measured our days differently? Not by what we gained, but by how close we drew to Allah.

Belief alone is not the destination. It is the doorway.

Allah describes Paradise as a reward for those who believe and act:

Faith rises and falls. That is human. But the wise believer raises his standard when faith is strong, so that when it weakens, something remains. If we settle for the bare minimum, what will be left on the difficult days?

Prayer anchors us. Remembrance revives us. Small, consistent actions shape our ending.

Every adhan is a mercy. Every iqamah is a reminder. Every Friday is a pause, inviting us back.

As this year closes, let us not only ask what we achieved.

Let us ask who we became.

Did we soften? Did we return? Did we repent?

And as the next year opens, let us not make promises that exhaust us, but intentions that guide us.

More awareness. More sincerity. More honesty with Allah.

And if Allah allows us to reach Ramadan, let us arrive prepared. Not rushed, not regretful, but ready.

O Allah, as time moves swiftly, do not allow our hearts to become distant. Make us people of reflection, repentance, and preparation. Grant us sincerity in our actions, light in our graves, and dignity when we meet You. Allow us to live the coming days with purpose and obedience. And allow us to reach Ramadan with hearts that are awake and souls that are ready.

Ameen.

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