Letters from Ummi

There is a minute at the door when the suitcase is zipped and nobody knows what to say. Everyone looks at the car. Somebody says drive safe.

You will want to be brave on the phone. Your mother will hear the weather in your voice anyway. That is what a mother is for.

I have watched people leave and come back. The house will look smaller when you return. Do not be sad. The house was never the size you thought. You were.

Some small things, because a new life is built out of small things.

Find the qibla in the new room before you unpack the box you care about most.

Eat one real meal a day at a table, sitting down, even if it is only bread and tea.

Keep one thing that smells like this house. A scarf. A jar of the spice she uses. It will do more than you can explain.

Call on the days you have nothing to report. Those are the calls they are waiting for. Nobody needs your news. They need your voice.

You will make mistakes. You will spend money badly and trust someone badly. Come home anyway. The door does not lock behind you. It never did.

Go on. The world is wide, and it is His. He is with you when no one is watching. That is the company that counts.

If you want one written for a person you name, write to me at [email protected]. The price is $20, by card, only after we agree.