#31: The House That Allah Gave Me
A Father's Legacy to His Children
A Prophetic Duʿā for My Children
“Uʿīdhukumā bi-kalimātillāh al-tāmmāti min kulli shayṭānin wa hāmmah, wa min kulli ʿaynin lāmmāh.”
“I seek refuge for you in the perfect words of Allah from every devil and every poisonous creature and from every evil eye that harms.”
— Prophet Muhammad ﷺ (Sahih al-Bukhari)
This was the duʿā he ﷺ made for Hasan and Husayn, and I make it now for each of you. May Allah guard your hearts, protect your minds, preserve your bodies, and shield your souls. May you live by truth, be known by light, and never bow except in sujūd.
Khadijah — The Compass
You were the first rhythm in a quiet house. Before we had patterns, we had you.
Not the softest, but the sharpest. Not the loudest, but the most listened to. You did not fill cups — you built the well they draw from.
You became the axis without asking. The one who leads when no one knows what leading looks like. When the house tilts, you steady it. Not with noise, but with presence. Not with reaction, but with resolve.
You are not the assistant. You are the reason the rest of us can breathe.
“Khadijah — the one who guards the house, not from the window, but from the spine.”
Ruqayyah — The Grace
You don't seek the light — you become it when needed.
The helper without instruction. The healer without fanfare. The daughter who fills in the gaps without ever asking who left them. When the mother is away, you are already halfway into her shoes.
Quiet. Loyal. Available. Not loud — but heard.
You are the lift in the middle of fatigue. The calm in a house full of wind. The love that doesn’t rush, but always arrives.
“Ruqayyah — the one who elevates not herself, but the whole home.”
Muhammad — The Pillar
You are the one everyone needs, all the time — and somehow, the one most often forgotten in thanks.
Not because you are lesser. Because you are constant. The watcher, the rememberer, the one who knows where everything is — and more importantly, why.
You are scolded most because you are trusted most. You are the memory, the logic, the hidden support beam of this house.
A philosopher in a child's body. A brother who is the eldest among the elders, and the youngest among the young.
"Muhammad — the rhythm the house breathes by."
'Īsā — The Mercy With Laughter
You are the sun after frost.
Still small, but already immense. You greet the masjid like a king in disguise — salām with a slap of sincerity. You praise food like Jannah cooked it. You comfort pain before it is spoken.
You are not just laughter — you are the kind of joy that knows sadness and still chooses light.
You love heroes because you are on your way to becoming one.
"Īsā — the one whose smile lifts the room, whose words mend hearts."
Zainab — The Fire That Dances
You are royal — not by title, but by certainty.
You enter the room like it belongs to you. You speak like the words were waiting. You fight, love, laugh, and throw pillows — all with the same conviction.
You don’t assist — you declare. You don’t whisper — you sing. You are the force that pulls people into remembering that life is not only duty, but joy with teeth.
"Zainab — the thunder in the rose, the bloom that breaks the silence."
Final Words
This house — the one Allah gave me — is not made of brick or soil. It is made of you.
You are not just my children. You are my compass, my quiet, my fire, my rhythm, my balm.
Each of you carries a piece of the prayer I never said aloud — and still, Allah answered.
May He guard you.
May He guide you.
May you always find each other.
— Your father