My Source Of Motivation

Kisah menarik ini adalah tentang diri Ustaz Harun Din dan adik-beradik beliau. Memang telah diketahui umum, bahawa Ustaz Harun Din dan adik-beradik beliau mempunyai pegangan dan ilmu agama yang tinggi hasil didikan ibubapa mereka yang telah berjaya mencernakan roh Islam ke dalam diri anak-anak mereka hingga menjadi alim ulama, tempat rujukan umat Islam di negara ini, malah di tempat lain juga.

Diceritakan bahawa, ibu Ustaz Harun telah meninggal dunia semasa dalam solat Asar. Sebelum kematian ibu beliau, pada kebiasannya, ibu beliau akan bersembang-sembang dengan jiran-jiran. Para jiran tertanya-tanya ke manakah gerangan si ibu itu, kalau dikatakan pergi ke rumah anak-anak, tidak pula.

Setelah agak lama dengan ketiadaan si ibu itu, lalu jiran mengesyaki sesuatu telah berlaku terhadap ibu Ustaz Harun. Mereka kemudian menjenguk ke dalam rumah sambil memberi salam, tetapi tiada jawapan. Mereka kemudian memberanikan diri untuk masuk ke dalam rumah dan alangkah terperanjat para jiran itu apabila mendapati ibu Ustaz Harun Din dan kawannya telah pun meninggal dunia semasa dalam solat Asar.

Mereka terus menghubungi anak-anak Allahyarhamah. Pada kebiasaannya, apabila berlaku satu-satu kematian, di mana-mana pun akan kita dapati jenazah itu diuruskan oleh orang-orang kampung atau jamaah masjid, jenazah lelaki, oleh jamaah lelaki, manakala jenazah perempuan oleh jamaah perempuan. Tetapi berlainan pula dengan jenazah ibu Ustaz Harun Din ini.

Beliau sendiri beserta dengan adik beradik beliau (Ustaz Abu Hassan Din dan Ustaz Ishak Din) menguruskan jenazah ibu mereka.Dengan penuh belaian kasih sayang dan penuh hormat mereka memandikan ibu mereka, mengkafankan, serta menunaikan solat jenazah yang diimamkan sendiri oleh Ustaz Harun Din. Walaupun diminta oleh orang-orang kampung untuk melaksanakan urusan jenazah tersebut, Ustaz Harun dan adik beradik mereka dengan penuh sopan mengatakan kepada orang-orang kampung bahawa ini adalah ibu mereka yang telah berjasa melahirkan, memberi makan minum serta mendidik mereka sehingga menjadi anak-anak yang berguna. Oleh itu, sebagai penghormatan yang terakhir dan tanda kasih sayang anak-anak terhadap ibu mereka, biarlah mereka sendiri yang menguruskan jenazah ibu mereka itu.

Maka ramailah orang-orang kampung yang mengalirkan airmata mereka, mengenangkan tentang kebaikan dan kesolehan anak-anak hasil didikan tangan si ibu yang berjaya mendidik anak-anak dengan cahaya iman. Sehinggalah ke saat pengkebumian jenazah, urusan ini ditangani sendiri oleh Ustaz Harun adik beradik.

*******************

Sungguh menarik dan mengharukan kisah ini. Tanyalah diri kita sendiri. Bagi yang masih mempunyai ibu dan bapa, bagaimana nanti peranan kita semasa jasad ibubapa kita terbujur kaku. Adakah kita juga ingin menghulurkan bakti zahir yang terakhir sebagai tandah hormat kita kepada kedua-dua ibu bapa kita? Ataukah kita hanya menyerahkan bulat-bulat urusan itu kepada orang-orang kampung atau jamaah masjid untuk menguruskan jenazah mereka, tanpa ingin mengambil peluang terakhir untuk berbakti. Inilah bakti zahir yang terakhir yang dapat kita lakukan, disamping doa dan amalan-amalan baik kita yang kita hadiahkan kepada ibubapa kita.

Bagaimana pula peranan kita sebagai ibu dan bapa kepada anak-anak kita yang sedang membesar? Bagi yang telah bergelar ayah/papa/bapa dan ibu/mama/emak dan sebagainya, bagaimana nanti agaknya perlakuan anak-anak kita setelah jasad kita pula terbujur kaku, menanti waktu untuk diuruskan pengkebumian?

Adakah anak-anak kita akan berebut-rebut untuk menguruskan, atau bertempiaran lari kerana takut atau hina memandang jenazah kita yang telah kaku? Sama-samalah kita renungkan ke arah mana diri kita sebagai anak dan juga sebagai ibu dan bapa kepada anak-anak yang sedang memerlukan didikan agama dari kita. Kita berilah didikan agama yang sebaiknya kepada anak-anak kita agar menjadi orang-orang yang beriman dan berguna kepada agama, bangsa dan negara, seperti contoh yang telah dipertuturkan di atas tadi.

It was so much fun, we proposed to each other all day long.

It was a typical Tucson winter day, cool and sunny. I met my boyfriend for lunch at a sandwich shop near the college I was attending. We had limited time so we ate quickly. Jeff had to get back to work; his afternoon would be busy. Before parting, Jeff asked if I wanted to go to Happy Hour that evening. I agreed and we kissed goodbye.

That afternoon biology class was dismissed early. I jumped into my car to drive home, change clothes, and freshen up before our date. As I headed up the ramp to the freeway, my cell phone rang.

"I'm off early. Had to go to the post office and bank," Jeff explained. He was in his car only minutes ahead of me.

"Isn't this great! We have plans and we both got out early!" "Where are you?" Jeff asked.

"Still a couple of miles behind you." I gave him my cross streets. Jeff suddenly interjected, "I'm sorry I haven't been very romantic lately." "No, I guess you haven't." I shrugged. "But we've been busy, it's okay." "Valentine's Day is coming up. I promise to do something romantic, at least get you a card."

"That's a start."

"Where are you now?" He asked, more impatiently. I looked at the street signs and read them off to him. "Well, hurry up. I want to get to Happy Hour."

We had plenty of time. Why the hurry? He was acting so strange.

"I can meet you at the restaurant if you prefer," I suggested. "Or, if we meet at the house we can ride together and catch up on our day." He agreed, and we hung up again. My cell phone rang again.

"Beth, I just got home. What happened to the garage door? Did you break it this morning?" The garage door was our main entry to the house.

"It was fine when I left. Maybe your automatic opener isn't working?" Minutes later I pulled beside Jeff's pearl white Acura in our driveway. I repeatedly pressed the button on my garage opener. Nothing. With a shrug, I walked up to the front door and turned the knob. As I stepped into the living room my jaw dropped and my eyes grew big. A camera flashed. I was swimming in a sea of balloons. Balloons on the floor. Balloons on the ceiling. Dozens and dozens … hundreds of colorful balloons. Jazz music played in the background. After my eyes adjusted, I saw Jeff was sitting on the couch, camera in hand. He said, "You said I wasn't very romantic, so I decided to whip something up."

Still in shock, I trudged through the balloons to hug him. I felt like I was in slow motion. Jeff nodded toward the coffee table. "You have something to open." There sat a bucket with a champagne bottle on ice, two crystal champagne flutes, two candles, and a blue ribbon … tied around a little blue box.

I picked up the box and slowly pulled the ribbon. Inside was a ring box. I lifted the lid and found … a gold stickpin? I looked at Jeff with raised eyebrows. He folded his arms across his chest, settled back, and grinned. "It looks like you have some popping to do."

"What? " I looked around the room. "Oh!" Not wasting a moment, I grabbed the pin and began sticking balloons. Laughing all the while, I searched for "the" balloon. But there were so many, I finally started shaking them and throwing them to the side.

"Don't forget there are balloons on the ceiling," Jeff reminded me. I looked up. "How am I ever going to find it?"

After an eternity, I shook a red balloon. Something rattled! When I poked it with my gold stickpin, shiny heart-shaped confetti cascaded around me. A blue ring bag fell to the carpet.

Trembling, I tipped it open until a ring fell into my hand. Jeff gently took it and urged me to sit on the couch.

"You know me. I have to do this the traditional way." As he lowered himself to one knee, his brown eyes gazed into mine. He asked me to be his wife and slipped the princess cut diamond on my finger.

After my eager "Yes!" and many kisses later, Jeff said, "Oh … and … by the way … we are not going to Happy Hour."

It snowed like crazy on our wedding day. Not a piling up, traffic-paralyzing kind of snow, but the kind that leaves the trees sparkling and the streets looking like a river of licorice slush. My mother closed all the drapes as if blocking the view would somehow force an end to it. But it didn't work. By the time my father and I were ready to leave for the church, the driveway and street were slathered with a generous portion of a semi-frozen grayish sludge.

My father had cleared a path in front of the house but when it was time to go, Mom still insisted I wear plastic bags over my shoes to protect them "just in case." As luck would have it, the only two plastic bags in the house were empty bread bags. Somehow my little girl dreams of this day never included parading to the church with bread bags peaking out beneath the hem of the gown I'd waited my whole life to wear. Still, snowflakes continued swirling down and no alternate plan prevailed. So, on went the bread bags over my shoes, and off we went.

Carefully we made our way out the front door and to the rented silver Mercedes waiting to take us to the church. Ed, the driver, never said a word, but the look on his face was priceless as he watched me approach with blue-and-yellow-plastic-polka-dot clown feet. As we started out of the driveway, I realized that never before in my life had I taken a ride with my Dad without him driving. Gripped by this piercing moment of truth, I turned my head to look through the back window and watched our house-and my childhood-shrink slowly out of sight.

One lone tear trickled down my cheek while Dad sat quietly beside me. Then I felt him reach over and take my hand. This small, quiet gesture spoke volumes of what he, too, must have been feeling-but never said.

The freshly fallen snow transformed a relatively short ride into a slow and cautious journey through the landmarks of my youth. As we passed the playground, the schoolyard, and even the corner candy store, each seemed to call my name and whisper good-bye. As much as I looked forward to all the future held for my husband and me, this intense feeling of ending my girlhood pierced my heart. Sensing this, my father squeezed my hand and drew me close to his side. His warm embrace assured me everything would be all right. While Ed parked the car at the church, Dad and I simultaneously looked at each other, then cast our eyes down to the polka-dot Wonder Bread "booties," which by now had taken on a role of their own and seemed to be staring back at us.

My father turned to me and said, "Do you really want to step out of this car with clown feet?" "Well, not really, but what else can I do?" The street and sidewalk surrounding the church had been on the receiving end of a barrage of goulashes, snow tires, and shovels since early that morning. What started as a pristine blanket of white now appeared to be nothing more than a dirty mess. And one that threatened to ruin my shoes as well as whatever part of the dress and train that would end up getting dragged through it.

"Lose the boots," Dad said. With those words he got out of the car and walked around to the door on my side.

I leaned forward and slipped the bags off my feet to reveal lovely white satin ballet slippers with the pale pink satin ribbons that twirled about my ankles and came to rest in a delicate bow. I dreaded the thought of how they would look by the time I reached the church steps.

I methodically gathered up as much of the dress and train as I could, and stepped out of the car trying to keep it all from touching the ground. As I turned toward Dad, suddenly I felt my feet lift off the ground and in an instant I was swept into his arms. Just that quickly my dress and shoes were safely out of harm's way and my heart had wings to fly. How many years had it been since Dad had carried me in his arms? How much like a princess I felt, and how appropriate it seemed to close the door on my childhood in such a poignant way.

Dad carried me from the sidewalk all the way up the steps and into the vestibule of the church where my mother and bridesmaids awaited our arrival. Setting me down in front of my mother he kissed me on the cheek and said, "Now that was fun. Wasn't it?" To which I replied, "Let's go do it again!" We all laughed and a few moments later he walked me down the aisle where I joyfully stepped forward into the future.

Dad faced his own moment of truth that day. My husband and I were married on my parent's thirty-sixth wedding anniversary. I imagine walking his last baby down the aisle on this day surely brought home to his heart that life was moving on; no turning back the clock. My husband and I celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary this year. Life moved on for us as it did for Dad-who now smiles on us from heaven.

It was a typical Tucson winter day, cool and sunny. I met my boyfriend for lunch at a sandwich shop near the college I was attending. We had limited time so we ate quickly. Jeff had to get back to work; his afternoon would be busy. Before parting, Jeff asked if I wanted to go to Happy Hour that evening. I agreed and we kissed goodbye.

That afternoon biology class was dismissed early. I jumped into my car to drive home, change clothes, and freshen up before our date. As I headed up the ramp to the freeway, my cell phone rang.

"I'm off early. Had to go to the post office and bank," Jeff explained. He was in his car only minutes ahead of me.

"Isn't this great! We have plans and we both got out early!" "Where are you?" Jeff asked.

"Still a couple of miles behind you." I gave him my cross streets. Jeff suddenly interjected, "I'm sorry I haven't been very romantic lately." "No, I guess you haven't." I shrugged. "But we've been busy, it's okay." "Valentine's Day is coming up. I promise to do something romantic, at least get you a card."

"That's a start."

"Where are you now?" He asked, more impatiently. I looked at the street signs and read them off to him. "Well, hurry up. I want to get to Happy Hour."

We had plenty of time. Why the hurry? He was acting so strange.

"I can meet you at the restaurant if you prefer," I suggested. "Or, if we meet at the house we can ride together and catch up on our day." He agreed, and we hung up again. My cell phone rang again.

"Beth, I just got home. What happened to the garage door? Did you break it this morning?" The garage door was our main entry to the house.

"It was fine when I left. Maybe your automatic opener isn't working?" Minutes later I pulled beside Jeff's pearl white Acura in our driveway. I repeatedly pressed the button on my garage opener. Nothing. With a shrug, I walked up to the front door and turned the knob. As I stepped into the living room my jaw dropped and my eyes grew big. A camera flashed. I was swimming in a sea of balloons. Balloons on the floor. Balloons on the ceiling. Dozens and dozens … hundreds of colorful balloons. Jazz music played in the background. After my eyes adjusted, I saw Jeff was sitting on the couch, camera in hand. He said, "You said I wasn't very romantic, so I decided to whip something up."

Still in shock, I trudged through the balloons to hug him. I felt like I was in slow motion. Jeff nodded toward the coffee table. "You have something to open." There sat a bucket with a champagne bottle on ice, two crystal champagne flutes, two candles, and a blue ribbon … tied around a little blue box.

I picked up the box and slowly pulled the ribbon. Inside was a ring box. I lifted the lid and found … a gold stickpin? I looked at Jeff with raised eyebrows. He folded his arms across his chest, settled back, and grinned. "It looks like you have some popping to do."

"What? " I looked around the room. "Oh!" Not wasting a moment, I grabbed the pin and began sticking balloons. Laughing all the while, I searched for "the" balloon. But there were so many, I finally started shaking them and throwing them to the side.

"Don't forget there are balloons on the ceiling," Jeff reminded me. I looked up. "How am I ever going to find it?"

After an eternity, I shook a red balloon. Something rattled! When I poked it with my gold stickpin, shiny heart-shaped confetti cascaded around me. A blue ring bag fell to the carpet.

Trembling, I tipped it open until a ring fell into my hand. Jeff gently took it and urged me to sit on the couch.

"You know me. I have to do this the traditional way." As he lowered himself to one knee, his brown eyes gazed into mine. He asked me to be his wife and slipped the princess cut diamond on my finger.

After my eager "Yes!" and many kisses later, Jeff said, "Oh … and … by the way … we are not going to Happy Hour."