My faith "shāh māt" at red light.

When I was in fourth or fifth grade, there was a story in our Urdu textbook that I still remember to this day.

It was a simple story about integrity, doing the right thing even when no one is watching, and remembering that Allah always knows what we are doing.

Here are a few words I still remember from the story: It was early morning. A father had just finished milking the cow. He wanted to add water to the milk so he could make more money. His young daughter was watching him.

She told him, “Abu, this is not right. What if the Khalifa finds out? You will be in trouble.”

The father replied, “The Khalifa is not here. No one knows, and no one is watching us.”

The daughter quietly answered, “But Allah is watching us.”

That little story stayed somewhere in my heart for many years.

Fast-forward many years.

My daughter is now 15. One day, we were sitting in the car near our home. The traffic light turned red. There were no cars coming from either direction.

She looked at me and said, “Why don't you just go? There is no car coming.”

I said, “Because I would be breaking the law. And,  Allah is watching us.”

Suddenly, that childhood story came back to me. I thought, What a great moment to pass this lesson on to my daughter, the same lesson I learned when I was her age.

I was hoping to see at least a little change in her expression, as if a great life lesson had just landed on her. Instead, she asked me a question I had never really thought about before.

She said: “If Allah wasn't watching you, would you have gone through the red light?”

For a few seconds, I had no idea what to say.

So I told her, “Meri bachi, I have never thought about it that way. Give me some time to think about it, and I will get back to you.”

Two days later, I was driving her to a class. I told her, “I have thought about your question. Even if Allah wasn't watching me, I would not go through the red light.”

I was feeling pretty good about my answer because I had also talked to one of my very good friend about it. His advice was simple:

“Just tell her the truth. What would you really have done?”

My daughter's response was very casual:

“Okay.”

And that was it. But for me, it did not end there.

It opened a flood of thoughts.

I started thinking about all the books I have read, the talks I have listened to, and the lessons I have learned over the years.

Maybe my daughter had asked a much deeper question than she realized.

Are we doing the right thing because we are afraid of being punished?

Are we doing it because we hope for a reward?

Or do we really reach a point where we do the right thing because our heart knows it is right?

I have been coaching squash for many years, and I have coached many children. In the beginning, almost every child is afraid or shy to try. So I don't push them too hard. I make it fun.

Sometimes I tell them, “Just hit one shot, and I'll give you an ice cream.”

They hit one shot. Then another.

After a while, they start playing better and start enjoying game. The child looks at me and says: “I don't care about the ice cream. I just want to play.”

Maybe our spiritual journey is the same.

In the beginning, we need rules. We need reminders. We need healthy fear. We need rewards and consequences to help us learn and keep ourselves grounded.

But perhaps the goal is not to remain there forever.

 As we grow, we begin to understand that,

We start with fear then we discover hope, then gratitude, And love.

Hazrat Ali is attributed as saying:

“I did not worship You because I am afraid of Hell, nor out of greed for Your Paradise. I worship You because I found You worthy of being worshipped.”

Rabia al-Basri expressed a similar idea in her famous prayer, asking that love of God not be based only on fear of Hell or desire for Paradise.

And Rumi reminds us:  “You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens.”

Maybe that is what growing in faith really means. first, we do what is right because we are afraid.

Then we do what is right because we understand the consequences.

Then we do it because we are grateful. and eventually, we do it because our heart has learned to love what is right.

My daughter's question made me realize something very important.

Perhaps just saying, “Allah is watching,” is only the beginning of faith.

 The real question is:

If no one were watching, not even Allah. What kind of person would I choose to be?

Perhaps the answer reveals something about what is truly inside our hearts.

When we eventually leave this world, our wealth, titles, achievements, and the honor will stay behind.

What remains is what we cultivated inside our hearts:

Humility.

Gratitude. 

Mercy.

Honesty.

kindness.

And capacity to love.

Maybe the ultimate goal is not simply to live our lives because we are afraid of punishment or hoping for reward.

Maybe the ultimate goal is to develop a heart that naturally wants to do what is right because it has come to know and love its Rabbal Alamin .

When the time comes for us to meet our Rabb, perhaps the greatest thing we can bring is not a list of accomplishments, but a humble heart that can say:

“Ya Allah, I tried to live my life in a way that was worthy of Your love.”