By Ammara Ishfaq
With the arrival of October, a quiet change begins to settle over the weather. The air becomes slightly cooler, the sunlight softer, and the evenings carry a strange sense of calm and seriousness. Perhaps it was because of this changing weather that one day I noticed a line of ants moving across the ground. Tiny ants were carrying pieces of food, some of them much larger than their own size, and moving forward in an organised line.
My son watched them for a while and then innocently asked, “Mama! Where are these ants going with food, and why are they walking in a line?”
I smiled and replied, “They are also preparing dinner, just like Mama.”
I said it casually, but that simple moment left a deeper question in my mind. If ants prepare for the days ahead, then why should humans not prepare for their future? But if a person remains worried about the future all the time, where does trust in Allah remain?
Nature often reminds us of thingsA Line in the October Breeze
With the arrival of October, a quiet change begins to settle over the weather. The air becomes slightly cooler, the sunlight softer, and the evenings carry a strange sense of calm and seriousness. Perhaps it was because of this changing weather that one day I noticed a line of ants moving across the ground. Tiny ants were carrying pieces of food, some of them much larger than their own size, and moving forward in an organised line.
My son watched them for a while and then innocently asked, “Mama! Where are these ants going with food, and why are they walking in a line?”
I smiled and replied, “They are also preparing dinner, just like Mama.”
I said it casually, but that simple moment left a deeper question in my mind. If ants prepare for the days ahead, then why should humans not prepare for their future? But if a person remains worried about the future all the time, where does trust in Allah remain?
Nature often reminds us of things that we forget in our busy lives. Some species of ants change their activities with the changing seasons. Before colder weather, some collect food, while certain species reduce their activity during the cold season. What is more remarkable than this behaviour is the system created by Allah, in which even the smallest creatures are given the instincts and means necessary for their survival.
An ant does not know what the coming months will bring. It does not make complicated plans for the future. It simply follows its nature, carries what it can, and continues moving. One ant carries a piece of food, another follows, a line is formed, and the journey continues.
And what about human beings?
We have intelligence, experience, planning and calculations, yet our hearts are often still restless. When today’s needs are fulfilled, we worry about tomorrow. When tomorrow is arranged, we begin worrying about the day after tomorrow. Sometimes, in worrying about the future, we lose the peace of the present.
Perhaps the problem is not in preparing for the future. The problem begins when, even after doing our best, we continue to live in fear.
Trust in Allah does not mean doing nothing. Allah has created this world through a system of means and effort. A farmer plants seeds, a student studies, a mother prepares food for her family, and a person plans for the future. These are all forms of effort, and effort is our responsibility.
But the moment we begin to believe that the final outcome is completely in our hands, the heart starts carrying a burden it was never meant to carry.
True trust in Allah means that our hands take the necessary steps while our hearts remain connected to Allah. We should work hard, plan wisely and fulfil our responsibilities, but we should not carry the entire burden of tomorrow in our hearts.
We often understand rizq—sustenance—only in terms of money, employment, a home or material possessions. But rizq is much more than that. Peace is also a blessing. Health is a blessing. Love, knowledge, good people and opportunities are all forms of rizq. Sometimes Allah opens doors for us that we did not even know existed.
That line of ants was probably nothing unusual for them. They were simply doing what they naturally do. But for me, it became a quiet lesson. It did not tell me to stop thinking about the future. Instead, it reminded me to fulfil my responsibility towards the future without allowing the fear of the future to control my heart.
We human beings are strange creatures. We try to save so much for tomorrow that sometimes we forget to live today. In our search for sustenance, we sometimes become so busy looking for rizq that we forget the One who provides it.
I still remember that October breeze, that tiny line of ants and my child’s innocent question. The moment lasted only a few minutes, but it left me with a question that stayed much longer:
How much should we plan? How much should we worry? How far should we struggle? And at what point should we leave the rest to our Creator?
Perhaps the answer is simple:
Effort is our responsibility; the outcome belongs to Allah.
We can learn hard work from the line of ants, but perhaps we can learn something even greater by looking beyond them—to the Creator who has provided for even the smallest creatures.
The October breeze will pass. The weather will change. That little line of ants will disappear into another direction. But perhaps its lesson will remain in the heart:
If the One who provides has not forgotten even a tiny ant, then when will we learn to truly trust our Lord?