Boy oh Boy

Lombok Reflections

Boy Oh Boy

The afternoon sun was warm but not harsh, casting a soft golden glow across the shoreline. The tide moved in its steady rhythm, reaching forward and pulling back, leaving behind smooth, damp stretches of sand that sparkled under the light. A faint breeze carried with it the scent of saltwater and the quiet hum of the ocean’s breath.

A little further ahead, two boys knelt at the point where the sea touched the land. Their small hands scooped, pressed, and shaped the sand with quiet focus, each movement deliberate but unhurried. Every so often, a wave would slide forward and blur the edges of their work, softening its shape. Without a word, they would start again, no frustration, no hesitation, almost as if this interruption was simply part of the process.

There was no rush, no noise, no need for anything beyond what they had: the sand beneath their fingers, the water at their feet, and the joy of creating something together. They weren’t building for approval or reward. They weren’t looking around to see who might be watching. They were building a sandcastle because, in that moment, building was enough.

I slowed my steps and let my gaze rest on them, and a thought came to me…this is the fitrah.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

"Every child is born upon the fitrah, then his parents make him a Jew, or a Christian, or a Magian..." (Sahih Muslim, 2658).

The fitrah is that pure, uncorrupted state that Allah creates us upon, naturally inclined to truth, submission, and goodness. In it there is no pride, no deceit, no craving for the gaze of others.

Watching those boys, I saw it in action: simple, sincere, and content.

How easily we lose this as we grow. Life’s tides wash over us and pull us into building for the wrong reasons, not for Allah, but for people; not for the akhirah, but for the fleeting approval of the dunya.

Their simple act of play brought to mind Allah’s words:

"Know that the life of this world is but amusement, diversion, adornment, boasting among yourselves, and competition in increase of wealth and children—like the example of rain whose growth pleases the farmer; then it dries and turns yellow; then it becomes scattered debris..." (Surah Al-Hadid, 57:20).

Everything we build here, whether careers, homes, reputations, or influence, are no different from the sand structures before me. They may stand for a time, admired by others, but the tide will come. And it always comes.

But the Prophet ﷺ reminded us that there are fortresses which remain standing even when the tide of death washes over everything else:

"When a human being dies, all of his deeds are terminated except for three: ongoing charity, beneficial knowledge, or a righteous child who prays for him" (Sahih Muslim, 1631).

These are the castles that survive, not in the sand, but in the records of the angels, in the balance of our deeds, and in the mercy of Allah on the Day of Judgment.

I kept watching the boys as another wave swept further in, blurring a whole section of their creation. They didn’t pause to mourn what had been lost. They didn’t glare at the water or abandon their work. They simply began again.

And isn’t that exactly what tawbah (repentance) is meant to be?

We sin, we slip, we lose part of what we’ve built, but rather than despair, we return to Allah, start again, and continue building, over and over, until the time comes when no more building is possible.

Allah says:

"Indeed, Allah loves those who are constantly repentant and loves those who purify themselves" (Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:222).

The boys didn’t see the wave as an enemy. It was part of the environment they had chosen to build in. Just as for us, hardship, loss, and failure are part of the environment of dunya that we must build our akhirah within. If we run every time the tide reaches us, we will never complete anything of worth.

It made me think of how often we invest everything into protecting our worldly creations from being undone. Businesses, reputations, wealth etc. etc. Yet, spend far less effort building the one thing that truly matters: the soul.

The Quran warns us:

"And We shall turn to whatever deeds they did, and We shall make them as dust dispersed" (Surah Al-Furqan, 25:23).

That Day is coming, and on that Day, the only structures that will remain standing are those built sincerely for Allah.

Standing there, the scene felt almost like a parable Allah had placed before me. A reminder written not in words, but in sand and water.

I made a silent dua:

O Allah, return us to the purity of the fitrah. O Allah remove from our hearts the need for approval except Yours. O Allah let us build what the tides cannot touch. O Allah make our hands busy with good,our hearts sincere in intention, and our lives a preparation for the life to come.

Ameen.

The boys continued their work, unaware of the lesson they had just taught me. And as I walked on, I thought about how many such lessons we pass by in life without noticing. Moments when Allah sends reminders in the simplest forms.

Here in Lombok, these reminders seem to come often, in small, quiet ways. And each time, they are an invitation to return to the fitrah, to sincerity, to the building that lasts forever.

And may we never lose the ability to learn from children. Those quiet teachers who show us that joy, focus, and sincerity are still here, if we are willing to see them.