Imam with OCD

Thirteen minutes until the athan, I should refresh my ablution, but then I'll only have four minutes left to vacuum the congregation carpet. How many folks will attend this time? The more the marrier, they say, but I can't help but gravitate towards...the more the dustier. And carpets are best crevices for hide and seek, no matter the technology. My new bucket holds slightly more water than the one my wife Lamiya gifted me in July, which means I can change the contaminated water a tad less than I used to. I dip the sponge into the grapefruit bubbly water hoping that just today, particularly this time, noone will show up respectively early. I also realize that although today it feels like tomorrow I'd have come to peace with the fact, it'll probably feel the same way. Unlike our favourite meal, which we often wish didn't finish, right in front of us, or an engaging book with no sequel. Delaying the last few pages imagining a countdown before you greet the other cover. But dust isn't comparable, if only to showcase how opposite they are - it is endless. No countdowns, no check off list to cross out, and if dust were foreign spiced dishes that just kept coming, they'd be welcomed guests. With every step, every bow and prostration, as the prayers' clothes gently ride the backs of their masters, with snowflake mannerism but not charm, dust particles pace themselves, gliding onto the carpet.

"Assalaamu Aleikum Imam Mustafa," - greeted a visitor.

"Wa Aleikum Salaam brother, perfect timing. I can always depend on you to arrive first, Masha'Allah. You in turn, can pick any spot you wish," - I patted him on the back imagining dust particles escaping his rain poncho.

"I always return here, there is a distinct smell in this mosque, do you burn incents?" he inquired, shedding the poncho. He hung it on the metal decorative coat hanger someone recently donated to the mosque. It held between 5-25 jackets depending on if one wanted theirs to be accessible or not when they wish to flee to escape afternoon traffic.

"Hahaha, no brother, it must be the soap scent, I'm glad you noticed it, it's also my favourite. Do you mind grabbing those chairs and setting them up at the back of the room for those with back constraints?"

"No, Imam Mustafa, I'll let you collect the good deeds, please go ahead and set those chairs up yourself. You should hurry though, it's almost time," - the visitor rested on the floor, crossed his legs and began to fix his socks that have slipped off half way on his way to the prayer.

"Alhamdulillah, thank you Lord for gifting me sufficient patience to withstand every dust particle within this domed space, and if every particle replaces much more difficult hardship in my life, I shall be grateful to every visitor and what they leave behind, whether they're words or fragments of themselves."

"Imam Mustafa, after everyone's gone, I would like to stay behind tonight with my children to look after the carpet. You've exhausted yourself, get some rest, read some books if you wish, just be. You really need it. We need you to be healthy. Please," - his eyes pleaded reflecting his latest concerns.

My heart pained for an instant, not everyday you feel the depth of your own heart, when someone's consideration reaches so far in, it plays a string transitioning into a tear. But I hold myself back, and answer, "Insha'Allah, I'll take your advice akhi."