Become A Husband Before the World Makes You An Uncle

Part II: A man should not be a doormat

When people tell boys their purpose is to serve others, they might not realize they’re effectively telling these young men they have no value except insofar as they are of utility to others. If you don’t get why that’s a problem, ask yourself what happens if these young men can’t one day meet the prevailing definitions of utility.

What people think they’re saying, in other words — be thoughtful! be there when others need you! rise to the occasion! — processes differently.

The result has been as unfortunate as it was predictable. Some men are turning to voices that might occasionally be right but are far more frequently wrong. Plenty of other men, raised not to rock any boats, become doormats instead. Now, who wants to be a doormat? Who wants to be friends with a doormat (except someone who’s not actually a friend)?

For the purposes of this series specifically, who wants to marry, let alone be raised by, a doormat?

Men, rest assured, we are not made to be doormats. Here’s the thing, though. We are made to hold doors open. Understanding the difference is at the heart of this second installment of the husband handbook. Back in part one, I shared the baseline condition for being considered husband material in an age when marriage isn’t a default any longer: Don’t be helpless.

Your first obligation is to learn how to take care of yourself, because then and only then can you pursue what matters most to you.

In part two, we rise to the next logical step: It’s one thing to be able to help yourself. It’s another to want to be recognized as someone who will rise to the occasion, who not only invests in his strengths but is keen to share them.

If men hold doors open (and to be clear, we should), that’s first and foremost only if we can. We cultivate strength so that whether in ordinary or unusual moments, we can be there for the people who need us—from ourselves to our families and friends, to our community and country, on to our ummah and planet. It’s the lesson we should learn by high school (inshallah): At least start to get ready before you’re called on.

Because, trust me, you’ll be called on before you know it.

Dubai Chacha

The author became a chacha, or paternal uncle, shortly before this picture was taken.

In short: Don’t let yourself be a doormat. That’s seriously unappealing. Don’t be someone who turns other people into doormats, either. That’s awful. If you’re a man who wants to be taken seriously as husband material by a woman who’d make a good life partner, you have to present as someone strong. But what is strength? Today, we’re going to focus on four kinds.

• Financial courage

• Physical rigor

• Emotional strength

• Existential fortitude

Of course, not all men are the same. We know this from our tradition and also just by looking around. These four strengths aren’t the only kinds of strength men can have, nor are they present in all men in equal measure, nor are they constant. But they should start to come together by the time you hit eighteen. Why do I say that?

Here’s a fun fact about South Asian cultures. We have plenty of words for different relatives, ranked by age, whether they’re maternal or paternal connections, their relationships to us and of course their gender. There’s lots of kinds of uncles, for example. Then, in contrast, there’s just the English word “uncle.”

Every South Asian has millions of potential uncles. Really.

In South Asian culture, an uncle is any man significantly older than you such that he is generationally distinct, deserves a degree of decorum and respect, sets the terms for social engagements (you have to salam him first, for example), but is not actually related to you in any genetic sense. Kids are taught to call men much older than them “uncle” (and similar women are called “auntie”).

Younger kids like to imagine uncles as NPCs, except of course these kids also literally live off of and depend on uncles and aunties to survive.

There’s a lot of hubris in youth. Some, though, carry this hubris into middle age, at least until they realize with horror they’re conceived of and called uncle by people they don’t realize are not their peers. One of the reasons you want to get married and settle down, exiting the permanent Peter Pan cycle, is because otherwise you age without realizing you’ve aged, which is, frankly, a bad look, and also makes it harder to marry. You want to try to tie the knot before the young’uns start calling you uncle.

If you still don’t understand what I mean, take this anecdote.

Two years ago, I was walking into Northstar Café on a fine spring day in Cincinnati. I don’t remember why, only what happened next: I reflexively paused at the entrance to hold the door open; my spidey-sense had let me know someone was behind me. When I turned, though, I saw a pair of persons: a desi couple, holding hands. They were sufficiently young, I realized, with great satisfaction, that they understood me, with my obvious South Asian gravitas, to be an uncle.

They concluded all this and, in that same split-second, immediately unlinked hands, for uncles possess great power over public spaces. Of course, however, I not only saw them untangle their hands but they saw me see them do so, and that was awkward enough; the worst thing in the world would’ve been for me to keep standing there, waiting, no longer respectfully holding the door but menacingly so. Naturally, that is exactly what I did, and they uncomfortably shuffled past, their visible discomfort amplifying their apparent guilt—though what were they were guilty of?

Were they part of our community? Muslim? Engaged? I’d no idea.

But if you live in a thick community, like plenty of us do, a graying beard like mine and a long receded hairline like mine lends you an unlikely, awesome, enjoyable power. Maybe I knew their parents—maybe… I don’t know what they thought really. But I enjoyed this Uncle Energy. It’s what happens when you make a cumulative series of life choices such that you don’t crash into uncledom, you grow into it.

This young couple were headed into a fine establishment; having deprived the man of his chance to hold the door open for his date, I might’ve advised him that it was now even more important he pay the bill.

Which is to say, if we men all eventually become uncles of a kind, we don’t all necessary mature — we just become old. True strength is to grow into the age you’re at, which includes those four kinds of strength, beginning with the financial.

Perhaps we can define the Muslimness of a man in moments such as these: Did he hold the door open? Just as importantly, who is he when the bill comes—if he’s willing, even eager to reach for the wallet, including when it hurts, that’s a good sign. That’s a real uncle, a man whose character correlates with his age, who accepts and embraces the responsibilities of the world.

Men take the hit. Men absorb the blow. Want to be husband material? A husband is not a doormat. He’s the opposite: He doesn’t just hold the door open, though. He can be a door, open when he needs to, closed when he has to be.

He’s the first line of defense.

This isn’t financial strength in the sense of wealth; at least, not necessarily. I call this strength “financial courage” for a reason. There’s the man who clings to his money, because he believes this gives him life. Then there’s the Muslim man.

But Isn’t Dating Haram? (P.S. Paying Isn’t)

Of course, there’s situations when we can’t pay. But there’s lots of times when we can, and we hesitate, or we offer to split the bill, or otherwise make excuses.

The honor of a Muslim man, the depth of his faith, the immensity of his trust in God, begins in ordinary circumstances—which a prospective wife uses to judge who he might be in extraordinary circumstances: Are you willing to cover the cost for each and all? Naturally, you can’t do that all the time, and shouldn’t have to when you’re with friends, but the good-natured back-and-forth on the bill is necessary and salutary.

It shows that you’re not petty, miserly, stingy, or selfish. Friends look for that in friends. Partners should look for that in each other.

A strong Muslim does it for whoever he can. His generosity is his strength. His confidence makes him open; his openness makes him courageous.

In a low-trust world, he sticks out.

On your first date with a prospective partner, you should pay.¹ If that’ll be overly expensive, then use your brain and come up with a creative, romantic, thoughtful, meaningful occasion that doesn’t break the bank.

First, you still get to show you’re serious, decent and thoughtful.

Second, you get some good data. If your prospective partner insists on a wildly unaffordable first date, she is not the right person. After all, life likely gets more expensive. Someone who unnecessarily blows through money is as bad as someone who unhesitatingly keeps his wallet closed. This is going to be a partnership. You are half of each other’s faith.

Third, you flex a different strength: Conscientiousness, also a mark of strength.

Cash Money and Milk, Honey

Yes, women want a man with a job. That’s great. You should have a job, or be trying, or launching a company, or doing some other such thing. But guess what—that’s not enough. You should not only be able to earn, and actively earning, but good with money. Modest. Generous. Wise. If you make a lot of money, you help others with that money, invest intelligently, and care about the world beyond yourself. A man that doesn’t care about the world would not be a good father.

That’s not masculinity. That’s depravity. If we burn the world down (ahem), after all, our kids will have to live in the ashes.

If you can’t earn, for some reason, if you did and then, for reasons God only knows, you can’t get back to where you were, or you suffer an illness or injury, or you’re downsized or outsourced, there are still other ways to contribute. Around the house. With the kids. A real man is ready and willing to pick up whatever gets dropped. He doesn’t skip leg day, because he knows life requires heavy lifting.

If you’re a doctor, and making bank, awesome. What happens if your job becomes redundant, though—which is possible in years to come? (Hey, it can happen to many of us). If you’re physically strong, and otherwise strong, and were good with money, then you’ll pivot to contribute in other ways.

You can tell how good you are with money by simply asking yourself some questions. Do you have a budget? Do you save more or spend more? Are you able to avoid dubious purchases? Do you invest your money? Does it scare you to talk about retirement? There’s plenty of folks who work on ethical, Shariah-compliant, and furthermore manage money, available as resources. You don’t have to have a specific amount of money to start being reliable and responsible.

You just need to have discipline and the desire.

Better a hard-working partner than a wealthy one, in fact. Because the wealth can go; in dire circumstances, the strong man is there for himself and his family and community even when his account isn’t—in fact, we all know or at least have heard of people raised in wealth who amount to very little. Character matters more over the long-run. Endurance beats indulgence.

Find Yourself a Ben To Work Out With

Let’s move on to our next three strengths: physical, emotional, existential.

The physical is obvious. You gotta be healthy. If the intention is vanity, then the outcome will be vanity. You get out what you put in. Nobody wants to marry a man who stares at his biceps for ten minutes a day. But as I noted in my first installment, there are different kinds of men. For example, I was never very good at or very interested in (team) sports.

It took me time even to learn how to have fun exercising—but eventually I did.

You can too.

I got active through tennis, thanks to my brother, who was home for a summer and needed someone to hit a ball around with. I also started going to the gym — shout-out to the Enfield, Connecticut, Planet Fitness² — thanks to Ben A., fellow Somers Spartan, who agreed to and wanted to be my workout buddy. I’ve never had a workout partner like Ben. Granted we could handle an hour of lifting and an hour of tennis.

We were young. But still: that was quite the summer.

Just a few months later, though, a terrible car accident meant I needed to reinvent what it meant to be healthy. I’m still working out these days, thank God, but I’m always mindful not to push myself too hard for fear of aggravating that injury or creating a new one, not to mention that I’m now in my forties, so I’m not trying to set records. I’m trying to keep myself healthy, capable and energized.

Plus it’s fun. Fun is good. That’s the exercise I prefer. While I like to watch basketball and football, I stink at the first, and have never even tried the second. I loved snowboarding, but I feel like snowboarding in my forties both asks for time I do not have and risks injuries I would rather not entertain. I wasn’t that good even years back, and God forbid I injure myself… people rely on me, after all.

None of us this specificity matters. My point is, find a way to be active.

Take a walk. Do some pushups. Play pickle ball. Just don’t be a lump. This is bad for you. This is against our religion. And this doesn’t make you marriageable, either. Also, God has a sense of humor. Man (Haroon) who was terrible at team sports is now in Ohio with three kids who love team sports, including sports I cannot understand (baseball, cricket) and sports I was never good at (football, basketball).

Some measure of physical competency ensures fathers can shoot around in the driveway or throw a football back and forth. That matters, if even to create a moment of connection every few weeks.

I’d hate myself if I couldn’t do that because of my own life choices.

Let me also just say: This is another reason not to delay marriage unnecessarily (advice especially for parents—stop forcing your kids to the terminal limits of their biological clocks on the most dubious of conceits).³ If your health is within your control, don’t take it for granted. The older you get, the less you can keep up. Having a twelve year-old at forty is a very different ballgame (literally) than at fifty.

He might find someone else to ball with and that will make you sad if there’s something you could have or could still do about it. (Also meant for parents: Don’t you want to be grandparents before you’re too old to enjoy that life stage—which also means depriving grandkids of incredible generational wisdom and a model of piety and dignity they might never find anywhere else?)

Because parents have responsibilities to generations they’ll never see.

The Technology of Tawakkul

The remaining two strengths for today are the emotional and the existential. They can in fact be captured by one simple, elegant Arabic word. Tawakkul — often translated as trust, though that doesn’t begin to capture the half of it. A deep trust in and reliance on God, really. That shows up immediately, in our emotions, and broadly, across the arc of our life—the existential.⁴

First, you should always be mentally strengthening yourself. Emotionally developing. Can you handle an emergency without melting down? What kinds of emergencies? Can you change a tire? Do you know what to do if a flight is canceled? Maybe it’s CPR. All of that is important, and specific, but handling an emergency also requires a measure of calm and sobriety, patience and focus.

When things don’t go your way, do you panic, freeze, or try to figure out what’s next? Part of the reason I’m writing this paragraph is because I know my wife will read this (naturally she will also share this while I share her beautiful Substack) and of course she will remind me of this very post the next time I’m stressed. In fact, I’m counting on it, because I don’t want to let myself off the hook.

That’s part of growing as a person. Hold yourself accountable however you can. That can be a Substack the love of your life reads and reminds you of. That can be a group of friends. That can be quiet time each night.

If you do break down, or rather when you break down, because we all do, don’t beat yourself up. Break the moment down.

Figure out why.

You can try therapy—I recommend cognitive behavioral therapy. There’s plenty of Muslim resources there and beyond, including spiritual exercises like tafakkur. Muraqabah. Muhasabah. Dr. Rania Awaad recently visited our masjid; check her work out. Please also look into Dr. Abdallah Rothman too, whose YouTube series on Muslim meditation is a brilliant Ramadan resource.

Dr. Suzy Ismail at the Cornerstone Institute is likewise an incredible asset for our communities.

Which is a nice pivot back to where we began.

When the bill comes and you freak out, that’s an indicator. That might be an indicator you spent too much and didn’t need to. That might equally be an indicator you don’t trust in God. That might be an indicator that you have issues with money.

The same goes for a crisis.

If we freak out and overreact, then let’s ask ourselves to reflect on that once we’re calm. Where is our faith in this moment? How come we couldn’t find it? What would it take to find it? When you go from the immediate and the specific instance to our general and the overarching position on our lives, you go from tawakkul in the moment (emotional regulation) to contentment for across all moments (existential assuredness), whatever these moments might be.

A man is always working to keep himself calm, focused and mindful of his obligations to God and self and others. But if he does not believe he has such obligations across all his life, on an existential plane, then he’s not ready for marriage.

Or, at least, he might appear to be — until a crisis hits. A man who is not existentially strong, who does not know that he exists for a reason, that he is who he is and where he is and how he is because God has decreed this, because God asks of him and has work for him to do, is not a man who will fight through the hardest parts of life. That enduring struggle of life — that requires real courage.

From Sahih Bukhari—the full text is as poignant as it is profound.

But real courage only comes if you know Who and what you’re fighting for. If that cause is bigger than you. If that cause can ask of you and you will respond. Though since we know we’ll be called on, why not start to prepare now?

If You Don’t Wake Up For Fajr Now, You’re Probably Not Waking Up For the End Times Either

Boys love to talk about the end times. It does sound sort of exciting… until we really consider the stakes… and then maybe not so exciting. In halaqa, they’re so sure they’d make the right choices when the chips are down. But then I ask them: Who here woke up for fajr? Who here even bothered to set an alarm? Who he even made a minimal effort, in a condition of security and ease, to face the slightest discomfort?

What if Imam Mahdi shows up at fajr time? I ask. Suddenly there’s lots of silence.

If you want to know who you’ll be in ten years, extrapolate from who you are now. We can’t predict what we’ll face. But we can fortify ourselves.

People say they’ll become more religious when they have kids, and sometimes they do, but as I’ve found, it’s not so much thoughtful piety as a desperate spiritual scramble. When you have kids, you have less time. You’ll be responsible for more, including their spiritual education, but you’ll be exhausted and otherwise frequently committed.

So if you’re a man who doesn’t know how to lead prayers, learn now. If you don’t know the fundamentals of your faith, get on that. If you can’t wake up for fajr now, then how are you going to when four kids have to be out the door? And if you’re not praying your prayers, and you send your kids to Sunday school to teach them what you can’t (and maybe because you don’t), trust me: they will notice the gap.

You’ll know they know, too, which is all the worse. What happens then?

Have Some Four-sight

I’ve been working to incorporate these four strengths into my classes.

The Physical

For the middle school boys, I make sure they have time to play, deepen their friendships, let off some stream, build their social skills and get that fresh air. Beyond making sure they’re safe, I leave them to handle disputes (fortunately, I’ve never had to intervene), decide teams, and model what they learn in games.

The Financial

With all of my halaqas, I include group exercises that involve budgets and debates about hierarchies of values and commitments — how should masjids prioritize expenses, for example, given that there is no unlimited spigot. We have to pick and prioritize and learn how to decide these among ourselves.

The Emotional

I push the high schoolers into debates on topics they’re invested in and then pick their ideas apart, to see how resilient they are, and to give them a little exposure to the many times in life when an employer, professor, colleague, frenemy or simply reality deconstructs what they hold most dear (and it isn’t easy to be put on the spot, I know).

The Existential

Earlier, I said the existential can be captured by tawakkul, by knowing we believe in God and then asking if we live up to our end. But there’s so much here, across the halaqas, that it’ll be necessary to come back to this in subsequent installments. In the course of future installments, I’ll also share some of the deeper disappointment I’ve had with halaqas and how, over the last week, this has led to a realization.

I’m starting another halaqa.

Call it a dose of my own medicine: I sat with, learned from, and adjusted my teaching based on where and how the halaqa hasn’t been working. If you’d like to hear more about this, and keep in the loop, remember: Sunday Schooled is free.

If you’re teaching, good on you. I hope you include elements of the physical, the emotional, and the financial alongside the existential as we traditionally teach it. That’s important because our Muslim kids don’t always receive the mentorship, resources and confidence they deserve (another reason why I’m leading a leadership development program in Spain come January 2026.)

If you’re specifically teaching men, think about the difference between men who become doormats and men who hold doors open.

We hold that door open not just because we’re people with dignity and compassion. But because we’re headed somewhere ourselves. We have work to do. Places to be. But even in the busiest course of our lives, we must never forget to look up and around, to see who else might need a hand to get where they’re headed.

Cake and the Afterlife

“There is a Crack In Everything, That’s How the Light Gets In”

Samar Kaukab’s latest is a beautiful reflection on how our Ramadans are in danger of becoming distorted. As she writes:

Even as our hearts break over the the incomprehensible suffering and ravaging impacts of war, hunger, and injustice, scroll through any social feed this month and you'll find an incoherent display of what it means to ‘do Ramadan’. Streaming through our screens, we see a parade of fanciful iftars, elaborate Ramadan decor, and perfectly plated dishes. (My own posts amongst them.) You'll see lists: Best Ramadan Recipes. Celebrated Muslims. We applaud our community’s success stories: meteoric career trajectories, the keynote address, the glittery awards ceremony after parties, all wonderful, hard-earned, and worthy of celebration.

While there is nothing inherently wrong with celebrating beauty or achievement, I worry that we've begun to apply the logic of the algorithm to our spiritual lives—elevating only what appears ‘ascendant’, or even at times, perfect.

Many of us, despite our inborn Gen-X/millenial skepticism, are now fully latched onto climbing the ascendant ladder of success. We are ambitious, successful, and aspire to be better. And while these are laudable qualities in balance, the "Instagramization" of success has infiltrated even our holiest month. The most aesthetically pleasing suhoor is daily clickbait on my feed. The most impressive taraweeh stamina. The most photogenic mosque visit.

What is my Ramadan, if it’s fed and sourced by an algorithm?

Her reflections should be read in full, especially her recommendations, which include a call for us to “invite those who may feel excluded from conventional Ramadan celebrations—the recently divorced, the single parent, the unemployed, the ill, the newcomer, the questioning, the differently observant, those grieving.”

Regular readers know I frequently share Aaron Renn’s Substack; over the years, Renn has become increasingly influential in Christian and conservative spaces. He’s now made it to The New York Times too, as the subject of a lengthy profile that the paper picked this week as one of its “great reads.” I was honored to share my perspective:

Haroon Moghul, a Muslim commentator, found Mr. Renn’s work during the 2016 presidential campaign, when he sensed that many of his fellow Democrats were not taking Donald J. Trump’s appeal seriously. (Disillusioned since then by the Biden administration’s support for Israel in the war in Gaza, Mr. Moghul said he no longer considers himself a Democrat.)

He has traveled to see Mr. Renn speak, and the two men have met a few times over the years. He said he saw Mr. Renn as a “measured voice” on pressing questions around what it means to be a person of faith in a pluralistic society.

As a rubric, the “negative world” framework is helpful in a descriptive way, in Mr. Moghul’s view. But as a member of a religious minority for whom the United States has never been “positive world,” he said he did not see neutral- or negative-world occupancy as catastrophic.

“Just because wider society isn’t embracing me or rejoicing over me doesn’t mean I get to lash out in response,” he said. “The culture may be opposed to you, but that doesn’t mean you’re not legally and politically secure.”

The Muslim Voices Project at Indiana University-Bloomington is truly incredible; if you live in or around Bloomington, get on their email list—they have some incredible events and resources (that we should all take advantage of!) Their Instagram account is featuring daily Ramadan memories, recordings each under a minute long — mine went up and, well, there’s cake and the afterlife. What’s not to like?

On that note, of course, you can follow me on Instagram — and you should also follow InPairs, which for the second year in a row features short videos every night from a different masjid — sort of like Ramadan reviews. They’re genuinely fun, a chance to vicariously experience the richness of American and Canadian Islam, but also a lighthearted metric by which we might seriously ascertain how our mosques are doing.

I’m almost finished with the audiobook for Zack Beauchamp’s The Reactionary Mind: How America’s Most Insidious Political Tradition Swept the World. This has been an undeniably valuable listen, particularly now. We cover some of these topics in our halaqa; I encourage the students to think about what role they, as Muslims, should play in our country’s current moments.

I ask them, for example, to think about strategies we discuss in Muslim spaces and whether these have achieved positive outcomes. I ask them about different types of power.

We talked about Dave Chappelle’s place in American culture a few weeks back. I was therefore intrigued when James Carville made the case for an unlikely Democratic response to Donald Trump—citing Muhammad Ali as his inspiration. Just think on that: One of America’s more prominent Democrats made a case for pushing back against Trump by citing… an American Muslim.

Where is that cultural capital now?

Yesterday, I started what sounded like a promising episode of Open to Debate, Is Religion A Cure for Loneliness? Sadly, though, the debate rarely moved beyond dated categories. Still, it’s worth listening to and sharing with older high schoolers, who should be advanced enough in their faith (emotionally and intellectually) to engage. How do we measure the value of faith? What is the purpose of belief?

They should also know what to do with the incredibly unfortunate moment when, making the case for religion, Duke University’s Harold Koenig noted that all the world’s great religions understand God as merciful and loving—“even Islam.”

Bruh.

In better news, I’ve finished New York Times’ columnist Ross Douthat’s Believe: Why Everyone Should Be Religious. Consider this great graph from the first pages, describing Douthat’s framework:

Reason still points Godward, and you don’t have to be a great philosopher or a brilliant textual interpreter to follow its directions. Ordinary intelligence and common sense together are enough. One of this book’s recurrent themes is that if the religious perspective is correct, its merits — and with them the obligation to take religion seriously — should be readily apparent to a normal person, to a non-genius and a non-mystic experiencing human life and observing the basic order of the world.

A similar vision informs how I teach—we should educate students who can articulate their faith in a compelling, engaging way. I was excited to read the case from a conservative and Christian perspective. What would it take to make that case from Muslim perspectives? Or maybe that’s why we have Sunday Schooled and that’s why you should join this growing community.

In weeks to come, I’ll share the remaining installments from this husband handbook, plenty of other great resources, books and upcoming events, plus a sneak preview of… AP Halaqa. Yeah. I’m about to reinvent the halaqa entirely.

1. I realize some folks wince at the word “date.” But if you’re getting to know a young woman for the purpose of marriage, I believe you should take her out. At an event in Aspen, Richard Reeves was once asked what he hoped for out of his boys. In the course of his answer he said that a fine young man has the courage to ask a girl out and the decency to make sure she makes it home safely if even she turns him down. That’s quite profound.

I’m just filling in the blanks in a way I suspect he’d agree with: If she says yes, on the other hand, how he prepares for and behaves across the evening says a lot about him in so many ways, too. It’s data that’s almost impossible to replicate otherwise, which is why, especially in this day and age, when we might not know each other’s background, families, or mutual friends, we need to proceed with more insight, not less.

2. I believe this Planet Fitness has been open at least since George W. Bush’s first term in office. This is a level of consistency and reliability that the highest levels of our government have been unable to equal in all that time. Planet Fitness for President?

3. Of course, this decision—about whether and when to have kids—is up to the couple themselves. Sometimes it’s out of their hands, however: Not everyone can have kids. That is not of course what I am focusing on here.

What I reject, instead, is a reflexive attitude, often coming from parents and elders, that our youth must wait practically until they are middle-aged to even start looking, which I don’t believe is very healthy and in fact makes marriage and parenting harder (if there’s a decision to have kids, that is). If we think forward into the future, there’s benefits we overlook to starting on the path to family earlier than what my generation was told was ideal.

Really, we should have them thinking about what marriage means far earlier in life, so that they can grow into an awareness of what to look for — and have the maturity to approach the decision with the right set of tools and considerations. If your kids can’t see red flags in their college years, for example, that’s probably itself a red flag. Because they should know what to look out for before they are seriously looking.

4. If you want an outstanding and excellent primer on tawakkul, here’s some great Ramadan reading—Imam al-Ghazali on the topic.