Walking Back!

There are nights I stare into the stillness and feel the weight of time pressing on my soul. It whispers to me:

You are passing through, and you are being watched. Each breath is a word written, each action a page turned, and every missed prayer—an empty space in your own story.

And then I ask myself:

What if the greatest regret is not a sin I committed, but the moments I withheld from the One who made me?

What if I don’t look at my prayer as just an obligation, but a invitation?

What if every time the call to prayer echoed, it was the echo of my own soul yearning to return to its origin—a home it forgot, but always remembered in my soul’s deepest silence?

I wonder:

When I stand before Him on that final Day, will I see my life not in years, but in prayer?

Will time stretches, not by the number of days I lived, but by the moments I truly stood—not physically, but spiritually—in front of Him?

Philosophers speak of existence as a question: Why are we here? What is our end?

But the worshiper knows that the answer isn’t in thought alone—it’s in the bowing of the body, the stillness of the heart, the whisper of You alone we worship, and You alone we ask for help.

Prayer is not just an act—it’s an alignment.

A protest against the illusion that we are self-sufficient.

When I pray, I do not escape the world—I remember its source.

But when I neglect it, I betray something sacred within me.

Not just disobedience—but dissonance.

As if I’ve denied the soul its rhythm, its call, its motion toward the Divine.

So I ask: when that hour comes, when the veils lifted and the soul stands exposed, will I regret not that I sinned—but that I lived so long without listening to the call that echoed inside me all along?

Because perhaps the tragedy isn’t being judged.

Perhaps the real tragedy is standing before the One who called me, endlessly, mercifully, and realizing…

I was always invited to return, but I just didn’t answer.

And yet, even now—He waits.

And even in my doubt, my distractions, my distance—He is near.

And that is the hope that keeps me breathing, and praying,and walking back toward the Light.