Dust and Tribe is proud to feature this guest post by Ibrahim Ismail. He is an avid bowhunter and outdoorsman from Santa Cruz, California where he is currently studying environmental sciences and wildlife management. You can find him on Instagram (@feral.ismail) where he shares his passion for archery as well as hunting, fishing and all things outdoors.
The outdoors has always been a place where I felt safe: safe from people, sickness, and my own thoughts. It has also been the place I felt closest to God.
On this June day, I clocked out of work and raced to one of my favorite backcountry backpacking locations. I knew that my late start was going to have me hiking well into the night but that was a minor factor. I had prepared an abundance of night hiking gear and I was confident that I could tackle anything the trail threw at me.
I arrived at the trailhead with thunder rumbling in the distant canyons and a gentle rain that I assured myself would either dissipate in the next hour or remain light, soothing me through the many sweaty miles ahead. Even though I had not foreseen any precipitation on this trip and I had not prepared for it, I smiled at the thought of a hike in the rain.
As I hiked, I reveled in the raindrops as they slowly fell to the ground, releasing the pungent odor of pine trees and wet earth. Then the rain came harder. Not unbearable, but enough to soak my clothes and the surface of my pack. I assured myself that the minor waterproofing would hold and that the contents were quite alright.
Even so, I could feel my face shifting from a beaming smile into a strained one. I was still excited for the trip but I was coming to realize that there would certainly be an added hardship to this adventure. And I was still sure that my abilities and experience would overcome any obstacle that was thrown at me.
Then the hail came. Small stones at first, but they slowly grew into large marbles. By this point, I knew I was in for a very uncomfortable night but my pride in my strong constitution and ability to thrive in any discomfort would not be so easily shaken. So I carried on, knowing that I was stronger than anything this storm could throw at me.
But by then I was no longer smiling. I was grimacing, proving to the summer storm that I was master of the woods and nothing could drive me away. I only thought of the heroic stories I would tell of my precarious adventure in the night and the great battle I waged with nature.
My battle quickly turned into a slaughter as the mass of the storm finally moved overhead. The rain fell thick and heavy, soaking all before it. Hail stones pelted the earth with a vengeance. Thunder boomed so mightily that the very mountain beneath my feet quivered. And lightning struck so close that I could smell the burning stench of ozone as it struck hundreds of yards away from me.
I was no longer master and in my arrogance I had ventured into battle against an opponent that has no equal. At this point I fell to the ground and raised my hands in supplication. My throat stuck with a silent sob as I called out to God, begging with more emotion than words. I can’t say what I asked for. It may have been His Mercy, His Forgiveness, or His Pleasure. All I know was that I had thought myself great but had found the greatness of God’s Magnificence and Majesty in that storm.
‘Abdullah ibn Mas‘ood related that the prophet Muhammed said (may God’s peace and blessings be upon him):
“No one will enter Paradise in whose heart is even an atom’s weight of arrogance.”
I recognized my arrogance that night. In my hubris I had ventured into a storm only to realize that the storm raging within my soul was the one that could have killed me. I found God that night. I saw his Might in the wind and hail, his Wrath in the thunder and lightning, and His Mercy in the gentle rain.
My pride was cracked and it will be my lifelong journey to chip away at what remains.
I challenge you, dear reader, to find your storm within and for the sake of God, master it. It is the only storm any of us have a chance of conquering.
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