You heard the Adhan for Fajr this morning. You know you did. Your phone alarm went off. You dismissed it. Rolled over. Said “five more minutes”—which became three more hours. And when you finally woke up, according to your behavior regardless of your claims of faith, you felt…nothing. Maybe a little guilty. Maybe not even that.
Now let me tell you about Abdullah ibn Umar رضي الله عنهما. When he heard verses about the Day of Judgment, he would cry so intensely and for so long that the constant flow of tears damaged his eyes. He cried until he lost his eyesight, as recorded by those who knew him.
Not for a few minutes. Not once in a while when he felt particularly emotional. According to authenticated historical reports, he cried consistently, constantly, out of pure fear of Allah ﷻ—until his eyes physically could no longer function properly.
And you? you can’t even cry during the last ten nights of Ramadan when the Imam is making dua. Your eyes are dry. Your heart is harder than stone. And you wonder what’s wrong.
They Couldn’t Sleep—You Can’t Wake Up
When Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said to Abdullah ibn Umar رضي الله عنهما through his sister Hafsah رضي الله عنها: “Abdullah is a righteous man; if only he would pray more at night,” as recorded in Sahih al-Bukhari (Hadith 7031), something changed forever in Abdullah’s life.
From that moment onward, according to his own sister’s testimony preserved by hadith compilers, Abdullah ibn Umar رضي الله عنهما never abandoned Qiyam al-Layl. Not once. Whether at home or traveling, in comfort or hardship, in health or sickness. According to authenticated reports, he would spend entire nights standing in prayer, reciting Quran, weeping, and begging Allah ﷻ for forgiveness.
They called him “the brother of the night,” according to those who lived with him as documented by Islamic historians. His family would hear him crying in the dark hours before Fajr. His servants would find him prostrated, his prayer mat soaked with his tears, as recorded in biographical accounts preserved by scholars who studied his life.
Now compare that to you. You set alarms for Fajr. You ignore all of them. When you finally pray—if you pray—it’s Fajr and Dhuhr combined after noon, rushed in five minutes, with zero presence of heart.
Qiyam al-Layl? According to your actions, you don’t even know what that is. The last third of the night—the time when Allah ﷻ descends to the lowest heaven and asks “Is there anyone calling upon Me?” —you’re either scrolling through your phone or dead asleep.
[Surah Adh-Dhariyat, Ayah 17-18]
“They used to sleep but little of the night, and in the hours before dawn they would ask forgiveness.”
That’s how Allah ﷻ described the righteous. They slept little. They stayed up begging for forgiveness. Not because they sinned more than you—they sinned far less—but because their fear of Allah ﷻ was real.
Your fear of Allah ﷻ, according to what your actions reveal, is theoretical at best. You claim to believe in Hell. You claim to believe you’ll stand before Allah ﷻ. But if you really believed it the way they believed it, you wouldn’t be able to sleep either.
One Verse Made Umar Sick
Umar ibn al-Khattab رضي الله عنه—the Commander of the Faithful, the man who conquered empires, the strongest companion after Abu Bakr رضي الله عنه —fell physically sick from pondering a single verse of the Quran.
One verse. That’s all it took. He read it, reflected on its meaning, understood what Allah ﷻ was warning him about—and according to accounts preserved by those who witnessed it, his body couldn’t handle the fear. He became ill. He needed time to recover.
The verse wasn’t even directed at him personally. It was a general warning. But Umar رضي الله عنه took it so seriously, feared Allah ﷻ so intensely, that according to the accounts historians preserved, his physical health was affected.
And Hasan al-Basri, the great scholar of the generation after the companions, was known for his extreme fear of Allah ﷻ. According to those who knew him, when people saw him, they would say: “This man has recently been struck by a great calamity.” His face showed such grief, such worry, such fear—that people thought something terrible had just happened to him.
But nothing had happened. He just lived in constant awareness of death, of the grave, of standing before Allah ﷻ, of the possibility of Hellfire. He lived as though every moment might be his last. And that fear showed on his face, in his tears, in his entire demeanor.
You’ve read the entire Quran multiple times. How many verses made you sick? According to honest self-reflection scholars encourage, how many kept you up at night? How many made you change your life completely?
Or did you read them like you read a news article—scanning, comprehending intellectually, and moving on without any real impact on your heart?
They Cried Over Small Sins—You Laugh About Major Ones
A companion named Tha’labah ibn Abd ar-Rahman رضي الله عنه accidentally saw an Ansari woman bathing. Just one glance. One moment of accidentally seeing something haram.
He was so terrified, that Allah ﷻ might reveal verses about him, might expose his sin, might punish him—that he fled. He ran away and hid in the mountains for forty days, as documented by early Islamic historians. Refusing to come back. Too ashamed. Too afraid.
The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ had to send people to find him and bring him back. And when they found him, Jibreel عليه السلام had already informed the Prophet ﷺ about Tha’labah’s location and his sincere fear of Allah ﷻ.
One accidental glance. Forty days of hiding in terror. That was his response to a moment of unintentional sin.
Now think about you. You don’t accidentally see haram once and flee in terror. According to the reality of contemporary lifestyles, you seek it out. You follow accounts that post it. You watch shows filled with it. You scroll through it for hours. And not only do you not hide in the mountains for forty days according to your reaction, you don’t even hide your phone for forty minutes.
And instead of crying, you laugh. You share memes about your sins. You joke with your friends: “Yeah, I know it’s haram, but…” as if it’s funny that you’re disobeying the One who created you, as scholars lament when observing this casual approach to major sins.
The companions feared Allah ﷻ for unintentional mistakes. You have no fear about intentional, repeated, major sins.
[Surah Al-Mu’minun, Ayah 60]
“And they who give what they give while their hearts are fearful because they will be returning to their Lord.”
Aishah رضي الله عنها asked the Prophet Muhammad ﷺ about this verse: Are these the people who commit sins like drinking and stealing? The Prophet ﷺ said, as narrated in Jami’ at-Tirmidhi and authenticated by hadith scholars: “No, O daughter of Abu Bakr. These are the people who fast, pray, and give charity—yet they fear that Allah might not accept it from them. These are the ones who hasten to do good.”
Let that destroy you. According to this prophetic clarification, the most righteous companions—the ones fasting, praying, giving charity—were terrified that their good deeds might not be accepted. They did everything right according to Islamic standards, and they still feared.
You do everything wrong according to Islamic law—and according to your comfort with sin, you fear nothing.
Abu Bakr Couldn’t Stop Crying
When Surah An-Nasr was revealed—the chapter about victory and Allah’s help—all the companions rejoiced, as historians note. It was good news. Islam had triumphed. The message had spread, according to the apparent meaning.
But Abu Bakr رضي الله عنه, began to weep uncontrollably. He couldn’t stop. The other companions were confused, as historical reports describe. Umar رضي الله عنه even became somewhat agitated, according to these accounts: Why was Abu Bakr crying when everyone else was celebrating?
Because Abu Bakr understood what they didn’t immediately grasp. That Surah, according to his deep understanding of prophetic mission, was signaling that Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ time on earth was coming to an end. The mission was complete. Which meant according to the natural order, his departure was near.
And Abu Bakr loved the Prophet ﷺ so much, according to authenticated reports documented by scholars, that the mere thought of his death—even though it was inevitable—broke his heart completely. He wept, according to these historical accounts, not for himself, but at the thought of losing the Messenger of Allah ﷺ.
Earlier, when they were hiding in the Cave of Thawr during Hijrah according to authenticated Seerah documented by scholars, Abu Bakr رضي الله عنه cried again. The Prophet ﷺ asked him why. Abu Bakr رضي الله عنه responded, according to this authentic report: “I do not weep for my life, O Prophet of God, because if I die it is only the question of a single life. But if you die it will be the death of Islam and of the entire Muslim Community.”
He feared for Islam more than he feared for himself. He cried because he understood the weight of what was at stake, as scholars emphasize when teaching about true concern for the Deen.
When was the last time you cried for Islam? When was the last time you cried because the Ummah is suffering, because Muslims have abandoned the Sunnah, because we’ve become weak and divided, as contemporary reality shows?
You cry over sports teams losing. Over TV show endings. Over relationship drama. But for the state of the Muslim Ummah? For your own sins? For the people dying without Islam? Your eyes stay dry.
The Prayer That Made Their Feet Bleed
According to authentic hadith documented in Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim, Aishah رضي الله عنها described how Prophet Muhammad ﷺ would pray at night. She said, as recorded by hadith scholars: He would pray until his blessed feet would swell.
His feet would swell from standing so long. The man whose past and future sins were already forgiven—he still prayed until his body hurt from the effort.
When Aishah رضي الله عنها asked him, according to this same hadith: “O Messenger of Allah, why do you do this when Allah has forgiven your past and future sins?” He replied, as preserved by hadith compilers: “Should I not be a grateful servant?”
Gratitude to Allah ﷻ, meant worship even when tired, even when in pain, even when technically “not necessary” from a human perspective—because nothing we do can ever match what Allah ﷻ has given us.
The companions followed his example. Many of them would pray until their feet would crack, bleed, or swell from the hours of standing.
Your feet have never hurt from prayer. Because according to the actual time you spend in Salah, you’re barely standing long enough for your knees to feel the strain. Five prayers combined probably take you less than twenty minutes total. If you pray them at all.
[Surah Al-Muddaththir, Ayah 42-47]
“[And asking them], ‘What put you into Saqar (Hell)?’ They will say, ‘We were not of those who prayed, nor did we used to feed the poor. And we used to enter into vain discourse with those who engaged [in it], and we used to deny the Day of Recompense until there came to us the certainty (death).'”
The first thing they’ll say about why they’re in Hell: “We were not of those who prayed.” Not “we committed major sins.” Not “we were bad people.” “We didn’t pray.”
Are you one of those who pray? Not just occasionally. Not just when convenient. According to Quranic and prophetic criteria documented by scholars: consistently, on time, with presence of heart?
Or are you, based on your actual behavior regardless of your self-identity, one of those who will say that same sentence in Hellfire?
What Broke Them
Here’s what you need to understand about the companions: They believed with such certainty—such absolute, unshakeable conviction— it physically manifested in their bodies.
They didn’t just believe intellectually. They believed in their hearts, in their souls, in every cell of their being. When they heard about Hellfire, they felt its heat. When they heard about the grave, they felt its pressure. When they heard about standing before Allah ﷻ, they trembled like someone standing at the edge of a cliff.
That belief, broke them in the most beautiful way. It broke their attachment to this world. It broke their arrogance. It broke their love for sin. It broke their comfort with disobedience.
And it built them into something extraordinary, according to Islamic history: Warriors who conquered lands. Leaders who ruled nations but lived in poverty. Scholars who memorized thousands of narrations but cried like children when they remembered death.
Your belief, hasn’t broken anything in you. You believe enough to call yourself Muslim. You believe enough to get offended when someone insults Islam. But you don’t believe enough to change your lifestyle, to abandon your sins, to prioritize Allah ﷻ over everything else.
And that’s the difference. They believed and it transformed them completely. You believe and it changes almost nothing.
What You Must Do
You can’t unknow this. You can’t read about their taqwa, their tears, their fear of Allah ﷻ —and then continue living like Islam is a cultural identity instead of a complete way of life that demands everything from you.
First: Start taking your sins seriously. Every sin you commit is a step toward a hardened heart. Every time you laugh about disobedience to Allah ﷻ, you’re one step closer to not caring at all. Stop treating major sins like minor inconveniences.
Second: Make your worship hurt. Not physically harm yourself—that’s not what this means. But push yourself beyond what’s comfortable. Pray longer. Stand in Qiyam even when you’re tired. Fast voluntary fasts. Give charity until it pinches your budget. Make your worship cost you something.
Third: Remember death constantly. The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ called death “the destroyer of pleasures”. Remembering death kills your desire for sin. Visit graves as scholars encourage based on prophetic practice. Think about your own death. Imagine your last breath. Picture your grave.
Fourth: Read the Quran like it’s your last chance. Read it slowly. Reflect on the verses of punishment and promise. Don’t just race through pages for quantity. Read with understanding. With fear. With hope. With the awareness that these are Allah’s direct words to you.
Fifth: Cry. Force yourself if you have to. The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said: “If you cannot weep, then make yourself weep.” Lock your door. Turn off the lights. Remember your sins. Remember death. Remember standing before Allah ﷻ. And according to this prophetic instruction, cry—or at least try to.
[Surah Al-Isra, Ayah 109]
“And they fall down on their faces weeping, and it increases them in humble submission.”
Weeping increases you in humility. It softens your heart. It connects you to Allah ﷻ. It reminds you that you’re weak, needy, and completely dependent on His mercy.
But you can’t cry, based on the hardened heart, because you’ve numbed yourself with entertainment, with sin, with constant distraction. Your heart is buried under layers of heedlessness.
The Reality You Must Face
The companions weren’t superhuman. They were people like you—with desires, weaknesses, struggles. Some of them had sinned before Islam. Some struggled with anger. With pride. With various human flaws, as biographical accounts honestly record.
The difference, according to what Islamic history clearly shows, wasn’t that they were perfect. It’s that they took Allah ﷻ seriously. They believed in Him with such intensity, according to authenticated accounts, that it changed everything about how they lived.
You have the same Quran they had. You have access to the same hadith, as modern technology makes even easier. You have the same Allah ﷻ watching you. You’ll face the same Judgment Day. You’ll stand in the same Fire or Paradise.
The only question, is: Will you follow their example? Or will you keep living like Islam is optional, like taqwa is for “extreme” people?
They cried blood. You can’t cry for five minutes. They lost sleep. You can’t lose one episode of your show. They feared Allah ﷻ until it broke them. You fear other people’s opinions more than you fear your Creator.
One day, you’ll meet them. The companions. The righteous. The ones who took Islam seriously. And you’ll see the difference between someone who lived for Allah ﷻ and someone who lived for themselves.
Make sure you’re on the right side of that divide. Before it’s too late. Before your heart becomes so hard that, even these words can’t crack it.
Start crying. Start fearing. Start taking Allah ﷻ seriously. While you still can. While the door of Tawbah is still open, as scholars emphasize about divine mercy. While your heart still has some life left in it.
Because, one day very soon, you’ll wish you had. And by then, wishing won’t change anything.