Mosque sick

Homesickness. It’s peoples number one excuse for why they don’t want to work in a new country. And to be honest when I first moved here I thought it would plague me. After moving to Qassim I was so upset I wasn’t in Riyadh I woke up from a dead sleep at 4am and cried because I wanted to go home so badly.

Alhamdulillah, those feelings have passed and I really love where I am. I never feel homesick to be honest. But I do miss something more than I miss Chipolte, and Allah knows I really miss Chipolte.

I miss my mosque. Like I really, really miss it. Women here don’t attend the mosque regularly like they do back home, so it’s not like I can try to find a new mosque.

But even if I did find a different mosque, it wouldn’t feel like home. It wouldn’t be my mosque, you know? The mosque in Huntington, while not big, has really had a huge impact on my life. It’s where I gave my heart over to Allah for the first time. It’s where I attended my first halaqa. I strengthened my bond with the Ummah in my masjid. I invited people to my mosque,and later they accepted Islam too. I have cleaned there, attended youth groups there, ate there, laughed there, cried there. I prayed for the first time in my mosque. I’ve stained the carpet with my tears during sujood there. And while I know it isn’t my mosque, it feels like my home.

There is proverb that says “Home is where the heart is.” Allah knows that my home mosque is my heart.

Salaam,

KC

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