Pledge of Love Rumi
hope

Deborah's steps came to a halt, in front of the mosque's entrance gate. He glanced for a moment at the clothes he was wearing, a dress that was only limited to the knee?

when did he want to enter the mosque with this little open dress?

There is a thought that makes it barren to enter. because it is not ethical alone, enter the mosque with such an appearance.

Though he himself was actually very curious about the man who was preaching in the mosque. To make Debby go silent for a long time with wandering thoughts, thinking about whether she would stay there, or stay in. Buty?

A mature woman in the back suddenly just touched her shoulder. Makes the girl look up.

"Neng, What else? How do you stay here?" Ask the woman.

"Anu...? I want to go in, but I wear clothes like this. So not good." Answer Debby.

"Owh, may or may if you want to enter mah. Later on inside can wear mukenah. Hayu is in... The Ustadz is young, casep again." Say those mothers. Debby chuckled.

"Can I really come in?" Debby asked again.

"Because, this is the house of God. Anyone can come in." Ask her to hold Debby's hand. The two entered, they turned to the side door, where the women congregated. But before that Debby stopped her steps, peeking at Ustadz who was still standing on top of her pulpit.

"Sister Rumi?" Debby murmured, her smile instantly bloomed perfectly, rightly guessed. He did memorize the voice of Rumi, and did not expect that the man was conducting a study at the mosque near the Church where he worshiped.

"Come or neng" asked the woman again. Debby gasped, making her step back to follow the woman who had walked in droves, into the mosque.

Once he was the center of attention for not hijab, but quickly the woman immediately gave him face, and told him to wear it quickly.

"Thank you Ceu." Debby.

"Together, neng." They also sat next to each other while listening to the lecture of Ustadz Rumi, as a substitute Ustadz because Ustadz who usually studied there was not present.

There Rumi was still talking, discussing about the privilege of Prayer.

"Allah SWT, very happy to His servants who like to pray. It was serious, there was one of the Prophets who prayed the most, know what his name was?" Tanya Rumi, who was there still quietly guessing that there were people who called the Prophet Muhammad, some also answered all the Prophets.

"Yes, all the prophets, they were happy to pray. But there was one Prophet who until Allah praised him with the phrase, happy to pray. Prophet Abraham as." Rumi answered later.

"Prophet Ibrahim as it has the nickname of the servant Awwahun Halim. What is awwah? Awwahun in the tafsir language is Da'an or in the sense that it can be called a person who prays a lot. If you ever pray it's called Da'in. The one who calls also Da'in or what we usually hear as Da'i. (ujibu da'watad da'in) so does it sound? 'I invite or allow the person who prays' if his prayer occasionally? But if the prayer has been frequent, the clothes are tasydid, tasydid it means affirmation. No longer Da'in but Da'an."

"The meaning of Da'an, it means that his prayers have often been, have been very long. And Abraham said his prayer just as we read the Qur'an two juz. While we read the Qur'an that is rich in do'a, short and dense, but not clear huh?"

All chuckle.

The congregation laughed again.

"God does not like us who pray but rush. Moreover, those who never pray, feel that he is able to do anything on his own, without praying. It was already another nickname, his name was arrogant. We don't need God."

"Even though the Prophet Muhammad, also ordered us to ask for anything like Allah SWT even if only salt. Just salt, huh...? That would be very trivial, salt just ask God moreover, mate." Rumi smile. "Jomblo like this, Mulu's soul mate language yes."

Chuckle again that's there.

"So never, we are rich in underestimating God. Because what? God is ashamed when His servants raise their hands together, praying? but God did not grant. What matters? Patience... Not that prayer now, 'O Allah I ask a million to pay the debt.' brukkk directly in the one million. Isn't that it? But through an intermediary, either her husband who works, or his wife... Or maybe we're playing around knowing someone is giving a million? Money is a surprise huh hahaha."

"Anyway, Allah will grant every prayer of His servant. The minimum is equal to what we ask, or even more than we ask, provided that our request is good. If not granted means that our request is not good or the ration will harm us later, why should we be more prejudiced to God, so what? We're getting good things after that."

Rumi's lecture was still running until a few minutes later, while Debby began to feel her phone vibrate. He took it out of his bag.

'astaga, mama telfon?' debby's inner self, she's still at home there but since she came to that place with her father and mother, she had to go home.

He quickly folded his face and ran out of the mosque.

On the other hand, it was just a glimpse of Rumi Like seeing a woman passing by from a side window without wearing a hijab.

But he immediately shook his head and refocused on his lecture.

Debby, who was outside, kept running to her mother and father who were standing in front of their car.

"Yes God... Where the hell are you?" Ask the mother who in a slow motion lowered the phone in her ear, at the girl who was just a crybaby walked over.

"Sorry, Debby was thirsty. So get a drink." Debby answered without telling her to open the middle cabin door, then entered the car with a loud breath.

While his parents were just shaking their heads, they got into the car later.

An increasingly twilight day, raises the orange sunlight that is quite blinding because it penetrates the windshield.

Debby smiled alone there, she really admired the man a lot. Even until there is a dream he can enter into his religion and live with the man he has determined to be his future priest, yes... Even if it was just a delusion and his only hope.

The rest, it all depends on Rumi, as well as God.

'the candidate of the priest. You're absolutely perfect.' The girl's inner self while touching her thumping chest.