When I walk at night alone in the deep wadis of her sobs or when I know that each time I drive fast or laze the reply to her letters; when I know that at midnight she sits up praying to her God to keep me warm and whole, when I know that she will still bless me though I give her eyes cause to tears, when I know that all my warts and ways will turn to gold at her simple touch, then I see through her the God she sits rotating her beads to and then I know that her God will always be there for me to reach out and touch. The writer is the Ibn Khaldun Chair of Islamic Studies, School of International Service, American University, Washington, DC