From Barren to Blessed: When Hearts Become Houses of Allāh

As we reflect on how Allah ﷻ chose a barren, lifeless valley to plant the seed of guidance in Makkah, we can also see how the removal of Hājar and Ismāʿīl was not abandonment, but divine cultivation—an act of insulation that allowed for spiritual flourishing away from the corruption of old civilizations and the eye of envy. With that backdrop, we can now see how the emptiness of Makkah was transformed, not by wealth or power, but by worship.

After Ibrāhīm (ʿalayhi al-salām) left his wife and infant son in the barren valley of Makkah, there was nothing but dry land—no trees, no water, no people. It was completely empty. And yet, that is precisely where Allah ﷻ chose to begin something great.

In the ḥadīth collection of al-Bukhārī, Ibn ʿAbbās narrates that Ibrāhīm brought Hājar and her son Ismāʿīl, while she was still nursing him, to a place near where the Kaʿbah is standing today, under a tree above the Zamzam well. It was the highest place in what would be the mosque. During those days, there was nobody in Makkah, nor was there any water. He made them stay there and left them with a leather bag containing some dates and a small water-skin. He then turned around and set out homeward.

Ismāʿīl’s mother followed him, saying, “O Ibrāhīm! Where are you going, leaving us in this empty valley where there is no one, no company we may enjoy. There is nothing here?” She repeated that to him several times, but he didn’t look back at her. Then she asked him, “Has Allah ordered you to do so?” He said, “Yes.” She said, “Then He will not neglect us.”

In another narration she said: O Ibrāhīm! To whom are you leaving us?” He replied, “(I am leaving you) to Allah.” She said, “I am satisfied with Allah.”

Hājar didn’t need a detailed explanation. Once she knew the command came from Allah ﷻ, her heart rested. When she was reminded by her Prophet husband that she was in the care of Allah ﷻ, she was comforted.

Though the environment didn’t look the part—lonely, harsh, and silent—she knew she was ultimately safe.

Because what matters most is not where you are—but that your heart is turned to the One who is above all needs and beyond all limits.

She went back to her infant son and settled beneath the tree. Soon the water ran out. She grew desperate—thirsty, panicked—but not despairing. She began running between the two hills of Ṣafā and Marwah, searching for help.

Then she said to herself, “I should go check on the child.” When she returned, she found him on the verge of death. She couldn’t bear to watch him suffer, so she told herself, “Maybe if I go look again, I’ll find someone.” She climbed the hill of Ṣafā and scanned the horizon for a long time, but saw no one. In this manner, she completed seven rounds between Ṣafā and Marwah—driven by desperation, faith, and a mother’s unrelenting hope.

When relating this story, the Prophet ﷺ said:…and that is the origin of the people’s saʿī (ritual running) between the two hills.”

Again she said to herself, “I should go back and check on the child.” But just then, she heard a voice. Speaking into the unseen, she pleaded, “If you can help us—please, help!” It was none other than Jibrīl. He struck the earth with his heel—like this (Ibn ʿAbbās would demonstrate with his own foot)—and from that spot, water burst forth.

Hājar surrounded the water with sand, piling it up to create a pool and stop it from flowing everywhere, and as she scooped the sand she kept saying, “Zam zam, Zam zam”—which means “gather” in Syriac. And so the well of Zamzam was born.

Syriac is a dialect of Aramaic, which is said to have been Ibrāhīm’s language. This moment also reminds us of an often-overlooked truth: the Prophets of God—from Ibrāhīm (Abraham) to Mūsā (Moses) to ʿĪsā (Jesus)—were from that very region of the world. Some spoke Syriac, others Hebrew, or Arabic. They looked like the people of the Middle East and North Africa, and they lived and walked in lands that are now occupied by modern-day Palestine, Egypt, Iraq, and the Arabian Peninsula.

So when someone in America, consciously or subconsciously, views Islam as a foreign religion, it’s worth pausing to ask: Do you believe Abraham spoke English? Was Moses from Europe? Was Jesus born in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania?

These Prophets lived in the very lands we now call the Middle East. They spoke Semitic languages, wore simple robes, and worshipped God with humility and devotion—in ways that, today, often resemble the practice of Muslims more than any other group. Islam is not foreign to the Prophetic tradition. In many ways, it is its living continuation.

And it was in that same region—where Prophets once walked and spoke to their people—that a new chapter of divine purpose was being written, not through kings or armies, but through a mother, her child, and a spring of water.

From one woman’s faith and one man’s obedience, life returned to a dead valley. And worship began to settle into the landscape. Eventually, the tribe of Jurhum—an Arab tribe—passed by. Seeing the birds flying in a circle above the well, they realized water was there. They sought permission to settle, and thus Makkah was born.

As Ismāʿīl grew up, he learned Arabic from the Jurhum people and eventually married into their tribe. From this blessed union, the roots of the Arabian people were nourished. And centuries later, from the descendants of Ismāʿīl, Allah ﷻ would send the final Messenger ﷺ to complete the message of his forefather Ibrāhīm.

Years later, when Ismāʿīl had grown, Allah ﷻ gave Ibrāhīm the command to build His House:

﴿وَإِذْ يَرْفَعُ إِبْرَٰهِيمُ ٱلْقَوَاعِدَ مِنَ ٱلْبَيْتِ وَإِسْمَٰعِيلُ ۖ رَبَّنَا تَقَبَّلْ مِنَّا ۖ إِنَّكَ أَنتَ ٱلسَّمِيعُ ٱلْعَلِيمُ﴾

"And [remember] when Ibrāhīm and Ismāʿīl were raising the foundations of the House [saying], ‘Our Lord, accept [this] from us. Indeed, You are the Hearing, the Knowing.’” (Sūrat al-Baqarah 2:127)

This was no ordinary structure. It was built not just with stone, but with sincere duʿāʾ and prophetic guidance. It became the earthly center of heavenly connection. And from that day, worshipers began to arrive.

Once the House was built, Allah ﷻ said:

﴿وَأَذِّنْ فِي ٱلنَّاسِ بِٱلْحَجِّ يَأْتُوكَ رِجَالًا وَعَلَىٰ كُلِّ ضَامِرٍ يَأْتِينَ مِن كُلِّ فَجٍّ عَمِيقٍ﴾

"And proclaim the pilgrimage among the people—they will come to you on foot and on every lean camel; they will come from every distant path.” (Sūrat al-Ḥajj 22:27)

Ibrāhīm (ʿalayhi al-salām) stood in the barren valley, a place lifeless just years before—where he once left his wife and infant son in the sand with nothing but faith and a water skin. Now the House of Allah stood completed. And with it, a command: not to fight, not to claim sovereignty—but to call to the Divine.

Confused, Ibrāhīm asked, “O my Lord, how will my voice reach the people?”And Allah ﷻ replied, “Call out. We will convey it.”

So he stood on the mountain and raised his voice: “O people! Your Lord has built a House—so come to it in worship!”

And the earth listened. The mountains humbled themselves, lowering into the ground so as to not impede his voice.

Allah carried his words across deserts and oceans, into every city and village. Even those not yet born—still hidden in the wombs of their mothers or the loins of their fathers—heard that call. And all who were written by Allah to respond until the end of time cried out—

“Labbayk Allāhumma labbayk!” "At Your service, O Allah—here I am!”

This was not just a call to a sacred site. It was a summons to surrender. A beckoning of hearts across generations to respond to the eternal invitation of guidance.

From one voice in the desert, the world was awakened.

From one House raised in obedience, the hearts of billions found their center.

From a mother’s trust and a father’s devotion—faith took form, and worship found a home.

What unfolded in that barren valley was not merely a geographical miracle—it was a map for the human spirit. Just as Allah ﷻ prepared that land for His House, He prepares the human heart to become His dwelling—if it is made ready.

Just as Makkah transformed from a lifeless valley into a center of divine presence, so too can the human heart. It begins barren—clouded by confusion, stirred by desire, weighed down by distraction and sin. But when emptied for Allah ﷻ, purified outwardly through obedience and inwardly through trials and remembrance, it becomes a sanctuary for light and guidance. 

Imām al-Wāsiṭī (رحمه الله) says:

“When the self (nafs) and the heart become tranquil in this way, and the servant becomes habituated to uprightness (istiqāmah), maintaining a consistent fear of Allah in the unseen—as Allah ﷻ has said:

﴿إِنَّ ٱلَّذِينَ يَخْشَوْنَ رَبَّهُم بِٱلْغَيْبِ لَهُم مَّغْفِرَةٌ وَأَجْرٌ كَبِيرٌ﴾

‘Indeed, those who fear their Lord in the unseen—for them is forgiveness and a great reward’ (Sūrat al-Mulk 67:12)—

at that point, the outer self has been cleansed of all blameworthy traits, and the inner self—the heart, which is the house of the Lord—has been purified of all that Allah dislikes and detests.”

This is the true Bayt Allāh in the life of a believer—not only the Kaʿbah we face, but the heart within us that faces Him with sincerity, fear, and love.

And just as the people of Makkah were eventually called to glorify Allah around the Kaʿbah, we are called to glorify Him within our hearts. What began with Hājar and Ismāʿīl in isolation would echo through time in the form of talbiyah, takbīr, and tawāf—worship that moves both body and spirit.

Think about what we say when we arrive at the House?

لَبَّيْكَ اللَّهُمَّ لَبَّيْكَ، لَبَّيْكَ لَا شَرِيكَ لَكَ لَبَّيْكَ، إِنَّ الْحَمْدَ وَالنِّعْمَةَ لَكَ وَالْمُلْكَ، لَا شَرِيكَ لَكَ

“Here I am, O Allah, here I am. Here I am, You have no partner, here I am. Truly, all praise, favor, and dominion belong to You. You have no partner.” (Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim)

This is not just a chant—it is a spiritual declaration. You are saying: “I am here, O Allah. I left my home, my comfort, my schedule—because You called. And I have responded.” The word لَبَّيْكَ comes from alabba, meaning to remain devoted and present in a place—as if the pilgrim is saying: “I am firmly settled upon Your obedience and command.” The repetition of لَبَّيْكَ expresses not just arrival, but continued presence—a commitment upon a commitment, a state of surrender that renews itself with every step. It is a formula without a singular form, indicating abundant devotion. 

In the first ten days of Dhul Ḥijjah, we are encouraged to fill our days and nights with takbīr:

اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ، اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ، لَا إِلٰهَ إِلَّا اللَّهُ، وَاللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ، اللَّهُ أَكْبَرُ، وَلِلَّهِ الْحَمْدُ

This takbīr al-muṭlaq (unrestricted glorification) is not only a sunnah—it is an act of inner expansion. Every "Allāhu Akbar" strikes down an idol within. Every repetition proclaims that Allah is greater than our fears, desires, distractions, and attachments.

Just as the Kaʿbah was built in an empty valley, your heart is a sacred valley. And if it feels barren, that’s not a curse—it’s an invitation. When you remove distraction, Allah builds His House there. And that house is a vessel of divine gnosis, love, reverential fear, and ultimate trust.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

إِنَّ لِلَّهِ آنِيَةً مِنْ أَهْلِ الْأَرْضِ، وَآنِيَةُ رَبِّكُمْ قُلُوبُ عِبَادِهِ الصَّالِحِينَ، وَأَحَبُّهَا إِلَيْهِ أَلْيَنُهَا وَأَرَقُّهَا.

“Indeed, Allah has vessels among the people of the earth, and the vessels of your Lord are the hearts of His righteous servants. The most beloved of them to Him are the softest and the most tender.”

When we build our lives around worship—when dhikr becomes our foundation—then our hearts become places of divine nearness, just like Makkah.

There are times when some of us feel disconnected. We feel dry. But that’s exactly where the story of Makkah began. And it’s exactly where your story can begin too. Begin with the emptiness.

Fill it with takbīr.

Fill it with talbiyah.

Fill it with sincere prayer.

Even if you are not among the ḥujjāj, you can still make your heart a sacred house.

And as Allah ﷻ says:

فِي بُيُوتٍ أَذِنَ ٱللَّهُ أَن تُرْفَعَ وَيُذْكَرَ فِيهَا ٱسْمُهُ

“In houses which Allah has permitted to be raised, and His Name to be remembered therein…” (Sūrat al-Nūr 24:36)

Let your heart be among those houses by first cleansing it, purging it of the cares of this world, so that it can be filled with remembrance of Allāh.

O Allah, just as You brought life to a barren valley through worship and trust, bring life to our barren hearts through Your remembrance.

O Allah, fill our hearts with light, just as You filled Makkah with Your worshipers.

O Allah, let Your House be established within us, built on sincerity, dhikr, and tawakkul.

O Allah, if we are not among those making Ḥajj this year, let us still be among those accepted, purified, and elevated through these sacred days.

O Allah, turn our emptiness into abundance, our silence into glorification, and our longing into nearness.

Āmīn.