I had questions for Allah after my wife called to tell me that our toddler, Nusayba, had Stage 4 cancer. “Why?” was the main one, repeated over and over.
Allah answered me with silence.
I was in Vancouver preparing to give a talk. When I got the news, I paced my hotel room, punched the pillows and tried to find some meaning in this cruelest of tragedies. There was none. Nusayba was 2, her life just beginning. Like many parents who have endured similar trials, I bartered. I bargained. I asked Allah to let me switch places with my daughter. If Abraham’s sacrifice of his son was accepted, maybe a middle-aged dad who builds Lego sets and wears Costco pants could make a similar offer, only in reverse.
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