Allah created mercy, and spread one part of it among all the mothers on the Earth, the human beings, the jinn and the animals, that they should love and nurture their young, from the beginning of time until the end. And He saved ninety-nine parts of mercy for Himself to use when judging the children of Adam on the Day of Judgment. (Paraphrased statement of Prophet Muhammad ).

"Whah, whah, whah!" All night my 2-month-old baby Tariq cried. Six hours of wailing appeals. His rhythmic pleas were his desperate cries for help, an appeal to humanity. Pacing with my arms wrapped around his soft 12-pound body, he continued to howl, with back arched, red faced eyes pinched and mouth gaping in audible torment.

The dim night light in the open kitchen enveloped the adjoining living room in a brown film, as a fan on the counter hummed at full blast, unable to cut through the heavy humid air. The clock read 2:37A.M., and it was a sweltering summer night.

Every night was a repeat: my other-wise happy, healthy child would begin to fuss at around 6:00 p.m., and then his irritation would turn into all out war by 8:00 p.m., then continue into the night. Doctors told me it was colic, but with my husband working nights, to me, it was no less than a test of faith.

So, I bounced him. I walked him across the apartment and I sang every song I knew, and the summer heat cloaked me like a wet towel. Remembering that the faucet had been a good distraction the night before. I exclaimed in my mind, "Water!" and ran to turn on the water in the kitchen sink – at full blast, no less. The crying ceased. Tariq looked into the sparkling stream in silent surprise "Alhamdulillah", I sighed and leaned against the counter. At that very moment, he started screaming again; the novelty of the water had worn off. It was a short, but sweet achievement.

I turned my mind from problem solving to desperate making of duaa. "Please Allah, I am so in need, Oh please Allah, I need strength. Give my baby peace and give me patience. I have no power except by You, I have no strength except what you give me. I am your humble servant, and I need your help." Those moments I felt so vulnerable, so weak, so exposed and so painfully in need of Allah.

Tariq continued to scream, as if begging me for help. "Something hurts me, Mommy. Rescue me!” I heard him cry to his powerless mother.

As a last desperate attempt – and more to calm myself than Tariq – I began! to say the call to Salah as loud as I could, “Allah Akbar… Allaaaaaaaahu Akbar!” “Allah is the Greatest, Allah is the Greatest”, I thought to myself, “Allah is greater than this situation, Allah is greater than this moment of difficulty, Allah is greater than this weakness I feel.”

Apparently startled, Tariq stopped crying and looked at me with his round black eyes glistening in the glow of the kitchen night-light. “Ashadu an La illaha ill Allah.” I translated the words in my mind, “I bear witness there is no god but Allah.” And then something dawned one me. I remembered, “He is sufficient as a helper and He is sufficient as a friend.” I stopped silently for a moment suddenly realized that I was not alone.

I felt the weight of Tariq’s head as he rested it against my shoulder while I continued with my declaration, “Ashadu ann Muhammadan RasoolAllah” and translation, “I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah.” I let the profound meaning of this statement sink into my consciousness, now rendered pliant by my new found humility – ready to hear, ready to understand. “He is he Prophet of Allah”, I thought, “and what he said was Truth, absolute truth. I must believe it whole-heartedly.”

When Prophet Muhammad told a man to say home from jihad to take care of his mother because, "Paradise is at her feet," that was truth, and when he advised another to honor his mother three times above his father, that too, was truth.

I pondered over the fact that such status cannot be easy; such reverence is earned. There is honor in this endeavor and there is privilege in it. I was joining the ranks of some of the greatest and most important people in human history. I was a mother!

"Come to Salah, come to success." The words continued to resonate within me; Salah was the model for success in life. Success was submission to Allah's will. It was perseverance, patience, and was finding in myself the strength that could only be born in a trial. Success was discovering the great love that my heart was capable of, a love so strong that I would be willing to take a bullet for without a second thought. The whole experience itself was success and was not a struggle in vain.

An immense wave of tranquility had drowned my tension. The drone of the fan seemed imposing now in the new stillness of the room. The small couch and chair in the living room, my silent witnesses, were covered with a golden blanket of soft light, thrown upon them by the tiny lamp in the kitchen. Tariq's soft cheeks were pressed against my shoulder and he was sound asleep.

I looked down at my son, my test, responsibility and gift Allah had entrusted me with and was awestruck. There, in the dim light with his eyes closed, laced with long black eyelashes, his pink cheeks bulging into his button nose, and his heart shaped lips resting peacefully, I knew that he was a miracle, a sign of the Divine. I realized at that moment that to draw closer to the Merciful, I had to strive to enternalize His attributes as much as is possible with my limited human capacity.

This bittersweet journey called motherhood had brought me one step closer to the understanding of Ar-Rahman, Ar-Raheem—the All Merciful, the Most Benevolent. For I knew that the immense love, tenderness and compassion that I felt for my son and all of my unconditional love, all my limitless giving, was infinitely dwarfed by Allah's love and mercy for His creation. I was just one mother, one insignificant speck in the family of creation, sharing in the mercy bestowed on mothers by Allah.

Recognizing my smallness erupted in me an epiphany of Allah's greatness, and the magnitude of His benevolence. He had bestowed one part of mercy on the Earth for all mothers to share.

I felt hot tears well up in my eyes as I whispered, "Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, La ilaha illallaah—Allah is the Greatest, Allah the Greatest. There is no god but Allah," completing the ancient call to salah as it had been recited by billions before me for the past 1400 years. Yet on that night, I felt these words were spoken especially for me, like a personal letter from a friend.