Use your time wisely: Appreciate your loved ones

 Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Kufa, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood.

Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of the childrens , the Elder's, had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for calligraphy and writing of the Holy Quran, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Kufa Quranic calligraphy and writing academy to study at the Academy.

After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin. The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his work or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.

They tossed a coin on a Friday after the Jumu'aa prayer. Ali won the toss and went off to the academy. Faizan went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Ali printings, his writings, and his designs were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his Quranic calligraphy.

When the young designer returned to his village, the family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Ali's triumphant homecoming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with tears and laughter, Ali rose from his honored position at the head of the table to praise and honour his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Ali to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Faizan, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to the Kufa academy to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you."

All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Faizan sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."

Finally, Faizan rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Kufa. It is too late for me. Look ... look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a pen or write, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother for me it is too late."

On the authority of Abu Hamzah Anas bin Maalik (radiAllaahu anhu) - the servant of the Messenger of Allah (Sallallahu alayhi wa sallam) – that the Prophet (sallAllahu alayhi wa sallam) said.