On the purpose behind every prayer, every act, every breath

Self-Reflection & Islamic Meditation Series

I keep coming back to this question. Maybe you do too.

What purpose did Allah place behind my existence?

It sounds almost too big to hold. And yet — when I sit with it honestly — something clear keeps rising to the surface. Allah created us through mercy. Not because He needed us, not out of some cosmic requirement, but from an overflow of His mercy. And if that is how we came into being, then it makes sense that mercy would also be woven into what we are here to do: to be merciful with one another, to carry each other, to serve each other on this strange, short journey we share.

But I don’t think that’s the whole answer. It’s part of it — a real and important part. There is something underneath it, though. Something that has been sitting with me lately.

We pray. We fast. We give. We remember Allah throughout the day. We do all of this ibadah — and if you’ve read the previous piece in this series, you’ll know I mean ibadah in the broadest sense: every conscious act, every breath of effort offered sincerely in His name. But still — what is all of it actually pointing toward? What is the destination?

“And I did not create the jinn and mankind except to worship Me.” — Surah Adh-Dhariyat, 51:56

We have heard this verse our whole lives. And we nod. Of course. We were created to worship. But I think sometimes we stop there — as if worship is the final answer, when actually it might be the road, not the destination.

So where does the road go?

Subhanallah — every prayer, every fast, every deed done with intention is preparation for something. A meeting.

On the Day of Judgement, we will stand before Allah. That’s certain. But what strikes me — what I can’t let go of — is that we’re not just meant to meet Him then. We are meant to find Him now. Here. In this life, before that day comes.

Think about what that means. To find Allah in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday. In the fatigue after a long day. In the gratitude that surfaces when something unexpectedly goes right. In the moment you realise your heart is still beating — again, again, again — and you never once asked it to. That finding, that recognition — it’s not a side effect of the spiritual life. It is the point of it.

All the ibadah, all the remembrance, all the striving — it is not a checklist we complete to stay on the right side of judgment. It is a way of training the eye. Training it to see Him in what He made.

Allahu Akbar — He is greater than everything He created, and everything He created is a sign pointing straight back to Him.

This world is genuinely beautiful. Allah filled it with things that draw us in — and that’s not an accident or a trap. The beauty is real. The gift is real. But it’s possible to spend a whole life enjoying the gifts without ever really looking for the Giver behind them. That’s the mistake I think we have to watch for in ourselves.

He gave us 99 names. Not as a theological inventory to memorise — but as a kind of map. A map of who He is. Ar-Rahman, the Most Merciful. Al-Khaliq, the Creator. Al-Wadud, the Loving. Each name is an invitation to draw closer, to discover something about Him that we didn’t see before. And discovering those names — truly, slowly, in the lived texture of our days — that is the work of a lifetime.

So the purpose, as I understand it now, is this: not just to be merciful, not just to worship — but through mercy and worship and thankfulness and contemplation, to find Him. To know Him. To arrive at that meeting not as a stranger, but as someone who already loved what they were walking toward.

Which of His 99 names have you heard many times — but perhaps never really sat with long enough to let it change you?