Springtime is nearly over. The trees have almost lost their spring green. That light green, with a hint of yellow, has almost fully matured into a dark dense green. But not quite. A few more weeks will do the trick. The birds of spring, shy and a little unsure of their voices after such a long winter's absence (and we must not forget they were hard at work, the younglings coming, die house to be gotten ready), now they sing with such cocky happiness it makes one laugh in wonder-and they start so early too, a good half hour at least before Fajr comes in. They are good servants of God. They praise Him each morning in the last third of the night, and with such joy too. The toads and the crickets, let it be known, were the first (and loudest) spring choir. They commenced straight after the first spring showers. And only grow louder as time seeps into summer. The toads are of a bass and deep tenor. The crickets symphonize in alto and soprano. The concerts go on all night. And for free. All you need to do is leave your window open. And let us not forget the poor bees that are disappearing from the face of die earth and die flies (that, I'll admit, are a repulsive nuisance, but must have some point in life besides being the unfortunate and rather squished victim of a flyswatter).

Springtime. There is a certain joy that comes with spring, an uncontainable delight that spills out in bursts. It's in the air, literally. There is no mistaking that fresh, clean breeze that fills the lungs. Even your lungs feel rejuvenated and relieved, as if they had not taken a full breath all winter, and only now just realized their long struggle. The sun too, in spring, is tender and soft. She goes through the day, a kind nurse gently caring for the worn out and sick. Her light shines without its summer glory and triumph, but rather with so much warm understanding and sweet love. Her light plays on the light green leaves, the spring green grass, or your hand, and tells all she touches that everything will be alright. And, for some wordless reason, you believe her. Everything will be alright.

My Lord, make the Qur'an the springtime of my heart. That is what the Prophet, sallallahu alayhi wa salam, prayed for. We know, intuitively, that springtime is a "good" thing. But the Prophet, sallallahu alayhi wa salam, was far more precise in his duaa to his Lord, in his desires and hopes and fears and dreams. He, more than anyone, understood the importance and supremacy of language in the human experience: the divine guidance, after all, was delivered to him in words, and it would be its word and his words that would be the only meaningful inheritance for mankind.

Spring and all its healing and hopeful wonders come only once a year. And weather will not always be nice or wholesome or pleasant. Sometimes the storms come and destroy what we love most and leave us devastated in its aftermath. Sometimes we ourselves create those storms. And that knowledge breaks us even more. Weather is not always clement.

But we, the fragile creatures that we are, are ever in need of spring-time. The All-Clement, in his mercy, did not leave us at the mercy of inclement weather. He gave us a springtime that may be entered at anytime of year, in any weather. It is the Qur'an, and the key to opening its door is the sincerity of our hearts. The light of spring is but a reflection of the Qur'an itself. The Prophet, a man who was clement in his nature and was in perfect harmony with his environment (spiritual and physical, internal and external), prayed that his heart would be filled with die springtime that the Qur'an holds in its words and meanings and melodious recitation.

The Qur'an is not some dry text, void of feeling, a bunch of don'ts, a list of commandments. It is the most faithful friend of our hearts. It warms the coldness of our emotions. It fills our world with light when the clouds overcast. It brings life to deadened sensibilities. When all you know is sadness it gives you hope of happiness. It bears die promise of fruition of lost dreams and wasted effort. It is a place to repose with solid comfort and joy when everything else in your shattered world has fallen to pieces. When you feel you have sunk so low and have disappointed everyone including yourself, this divine springtime tells you that it still believes in you and has faith in you. It is a season to lean on.

But like the wonders of spring, the springtime of the Qur'an will pass you by utterly unnoticed until you reach out and embrace it.

So reach out. Embrace it.

Article provided by Al Jumuah Magazine, a monthly Muslim lifestyle publication, which addresses the religious concerns of Muslim families across the world.

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