why women cry

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why women cry
nehar
04/23/01 at 16:11:57
[slm]

this is a foward i recently got, i thought it was kindda cute.  Let me know what u guys think.
[wlm]
ur sis in islam

nehar

>         Why Women Cry?
>
>  "Why are you crying?", a young boy asked his Mom .
>  "Because I'm a woman", she told him.
>  "I don't understand", he said.
>  His Mom just  hugged him and said,"And you never will, but that's
> o.k.".......
>  Later the little boy asked his father, "Why does Mom seem to cry
for
> no
>  reason?".
>  "All women cry for no reason", was all his Dad could say......
>  The little boy grew up and became a man, still  wondering why women
> cry.
>  Finally he asked a wise man "Why do women cry so  easily?"
>  The wise man answered......
>  "When Allah made woman, He decided she had to be special.
>  He made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the
world,
>  Yet,made her arms gentle enough to give comfort...
>  He gave her the inner strength to endure childbirth ,
>  and the rejection that many times will come even from her own
> children.
>  He gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going and take care
of
> her
>  family and friends,
>  even when everyone else gives up, through sickness and
fatigue,without
>  complaining....
>  He gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all
>  circumstances.
>  Even when her child has hurt her badly....
>  She has the very special power to make a child's boo-boo feel
better,
>  and to quell a teenager's anxieties and fears....
>  He gave her strength to care for her husband, despite faults
>  and He fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart...
>  He gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his
wife,
>  but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside
him
>  unfalteringly
>  For all of this hard work, He also gave her a tear to shed.
>  It is hers to use whenever needed and it is her only weakness....
>  When you see her cry, tell her how much you love her,
>  and all she does for everyone, and even though she may still cry,
>  you will have made her heart feel good.
>  She is special!"
Re: why women cry
meraj
04/23/01 at 19:15:44
slm,

mashallah.. thats so nice, and very true... where did you get it from btw? reading this reminded me of br muhammad al-shareef's khutba about marriage that someone posted in some other thread a while back.
Re: why women cry
Barraa
04/23/01 at 19:17:02
Subhanallah!
that touched my heart alot! i wish i could be in any mothers place...
anyway herez one in my next message...
Re: why women cry
Barraa
04/23/01 at 19:20:05
The Room

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in a room. There were no distinguishing features save for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings.

As I drew ne ar the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "People I Have Liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory could not match.

A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I Have Betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I Have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed At." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've Yelled at My Brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger," "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.


Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 30 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I Have Listened To," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it. The title bore "People that I Have Taught About Allah". The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the over-whelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. The above is exactly what we're going to take with us when we die. The person merely had a dream but in reality, we're going to have to answer for every card that's stored in our own little rooms. There'll be no locking up and hiding the key then.



THAT TOUCHED ME ALOT, I WONDERED WHAT WAS IN MY ROOM??
Re: why women cry
Barraa
04/23/01 at 19:20:47
if u want more or anything, email me at barraa89@hotmail.com
thanQ
Re: why women cry
nehar
04/24/01 at 03:53:58
[alm]

meraj, it was a foward from a friend.

[wlm]

nehar


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