ONE LOVE, TWO CONTINENTS
I'll Put Your Name in Every Prayer

In chastity the servant stands with one i’tikad of numbers that none of humanity understands the mystery of the implicit and express verse. Glory to Your servant who is aware of the unity of heart and soul for a bondage to Your servant.

Servant set the heart of the servant in the submission of the effort after the servant completed, now with a deep heart accept the servant who is aware of all the shortcomings and weaknesses because You are the Greatest of the greatness that man cannot imagine.

Servant confronts soul and face in one qoda’ and qodar that You set for servant, all evidence of the Great Thing-Maha-an Mu. No one is able to ally and ally with you.

Praise be to You alone, the Lord of timescales and gestures of creation and space we cannot touch. The human king of kings. Where else would I lay all this hope and self-sacrifice if not for You?

Show the way that only You know, the way of Your former servants whom they fully understand the meaning of loving and being loved. The soul is warmly touched by the affectionate embrace of the Most Compassionate and Compassionate of the Most Merciful. Those who know gratitude are filled with souls who are never lonely and disappointed with dependence because their love reaches the portico of the Lovers.

And do not wrath us as Your wrath is against those who do not realize the meaning of Your Faith. Servants glorify Thee, O Most High, high from the design of the human mind of Thy true nature.

We cannot escape Your watchfulness, even as we whisper and curse in our hearts, I believe You are All-Hearing.

All hope and sorrow, sorrow, love even the sorrow of Your servant.  It is also good for Your beloved who loves You more than he loves others.

A teenager who grew up in glory and his dignified way of life, a husband of a sholehah wife, a father of a noble son and a war leader who fought with custom and adab war, and a, for him humanity and his ethical compassion. The glory of the rulers and their descendants, Muhammad ya Musthofa. Greetings from one virtue.

Five hours have been fulfilled his duty. Now is the time to share time with my mom. There is much to say and question.

The doors of the mosque were closed and Syahrel began to turn off the lights one by one. Haji Arsyad bin Umar waiting in the courtyard of the mosque, something to be conveyed apparently. Haji Arsyad's right hand clenched hundreds of thousands of dollars, from afar he observed Syahrel.

“Rel, Shahrel!” sounds were heard from the courtyard of the mosque.

Syahrel's eyes looked carefully at the old man who had a white sacrifice, at him.

“Pak Haji? I think who called me. What's up Sir?”

“This is a message from the mosque manager." Give him that money.

“What is this?”

“Slight money from your efforts," said Kong Haji as people usually accost.

“Ah, Pak Haji is-just about it!”.

“Lumayan Rail for just mengupi ame cigarette.”

“Aduh Pak Haji, I sincerely work at the mosque.”

“That's why only God judges and people give little in return. Uda...receive aja!”

“Thank you Mr. Haji.”

“How is your Mother?” asked the old man born in Jakarta sixty years ago.

“Alhamdulillah, good Mr. Haji.”

Along the way they are engrossed in talking, sometimes tucked into laughter, not knowing what the two are talking about. Until the junction of the chat road they were cut off because of the difference in the road.

Arriving at home, the mother had prepared a meal for Syahrel. But the mother had fallen asleep quickly, maybe tired of waiting for the shahrel that never came, so that the sound of the door opened was not ignored.

Syahrel took a step slowly, afraid that mother woke up.

“Have home son?”

Surprised Syahrel, “Newly Mother.”

“Quick eat, Mommy has prepared from earlier.”

“Iya, later only. I'm not hungry yet.”

“One time back?”

Mother also moved from the bed, a little caught he walked.

“Mother where to go?”

“Take ablution water, Mommy has not prayed.”

Taking a chair, Syahrel crept into the ceiling of the house, two bamboo segments were taken.

Apparently two piggy banks of bamboo. It's been almost two years and it's not known. Proceeds from the sale of newspapers and wages from the mosque were separated. Suddenly...

“Rel, what are you doing?”

Sreeet.gubrak. Syahrel was shocked and fell. Fortunately, his savings did not fall. Mother rushed to Syahrel.

“You okay Rel?”

“Slightly sick Mother," replied Syahrel while rubbing the head that hit the chair.

“What are you doing above?”

“There was a disturbing sound there, so I kicked it out.”

“Why are you surprised?”

“Bunda voice. I think you haven't finished praying.”

Mommy took the kencur, rubbed it all over the body of Syahrel who was sick.

“Wear your shirt.”

“It's better Mother.”

“Rel, something you want to ask. This morning you saw you in front of Mr. Anggoro's house. What are you talking to Dita nak?”

“We only buy tabloids and newspapers for his college assignments Mother, that's it.”

“There are things you should know, not forbid you to be close to him, if just friends you can still accept. Mother is worried that you put your heart with her. Don't kid, we're all different. More religious issues.”

Syahrel cut off the talk of mother, “I already know Mother and I was surprised to see the necklace she was wearing. But Mommy don't worry, I have a limit to it.”

“Good son if you can do that. Find a simple girl and be with us. Insha Allah your life is more peaceful in simplicity, than in abundance of wealth but stands on religious differences and do not let love blind your common sense. Hear what Mother says, believe me son.”

“Yes, I must have listened to Mother's advice.”

“Only that's Mother's message and don't sleep too late, love your body.”

“Iya Mother.”

Clock-clockwise beats sounded in the ear, no longer heard people activity. He glimpsed the clock perched on the wall, at exactly Twelve o'clock at night. A dilemma in feelings, lying with circumstances.

A bad start to the step, Syahrel is heavy to choose. On one side of Mother's soft speech but in her gesture, on the other side the curiosity to know Dita changed the feeling of love.

But there is a fundamental difference to this relationship: religious differences. What should Syahrel do?

If only Dita knew the feelings Syahrel stored. What's he supposed to do? Maybe as far as Dita Syahrel is only a newspaper seller. Without realizing it, Syahrel secretly put his feelings towards him.

Could this happen, God? Is it a sin to put feelings above differences?

Give me your persuasive servant. Do not for love blind the servant and make far from you, pin the holy love.