Logbook.

Power is the greatest weapon one can wield. And faith is its only weakness.

History keeps proving the first part. Whoever holds power writes the rules to our lives, and more often than not, referees them. The court, the government, the boardroom, the system – they tend to protect who’s on top. That’s not cynicism, just a recognised pattern.

But there’s a second half to that sentence, the part that power can’t account for.

حَسْبُنَا اللَّهُ وَنِعْمَ الْوَكِيلُ

Hasbunallahu wa ni’mal wakeel — “Allah is sufficient for us, and He is the best Disposer of affairs.” (Quran 3:173)

Think about that verse.

So often we face challenges that sit entirely outside our control – outcomes we can’t shape, difficulties we can’t prevent no matter how hard we try. Preventing them isn’t just hard. It’s a myth.

And so often, we feel small against ‘life’ itself. It could be a boss, a parent, an institution – some force that simply overpowers you, and not always fairly.

From a young age we’re handed the same explanation for it: life’s not fair. Say it enough times and it stops sounding like a warning and starts sounding like a verdict.

For most people, this is where the story ends. Overpowered, outnumbered, told to be afraid – and so they are, and so they stop.

But the soldiers at Uhud didn’t get that ending. Wounded from the battle they’d just survived, they were told a bigger force was coming for them. And they marched out to meet it anyway, exclaiming: “حَسْبُنَا اللَّهُ وَنِعْمَ الْوَكِيلُ”

Not after. Not once the danger had passed and they could look back and call it faith in hindsight. In the middle of it. Wounded, walking toward the thing they were told to fear, and still – Allah is sufficient for us.

That’s the part most people miss about this verse. It’s not a verse about giving up. It’s not resignation dressed up in religious language. It’s what gets said by people who are still moving, still doing everything within their power, and only handing over the part that was never theirs to control in the first place.

You don’t beat corruption. Not with your best effort, not with your cleanest hands, not with the strongest case. The powerful win. They almost always do.

But dwelling on it is its own defeat. It doesn’t slow corruption down; it just empties you while corruption carries on, unaffected.

So the move isn’t to keep fighting for an outcome that was never guaranteed to begin with. Be wise. Keep doing the work, keep showing up honest in a system that isn’t. And be faithful with what’s left; the part that was never yours to control anyway.

Power will call that weakness. Handing over what you can’t win. But it’s the one thing power can’t touch – it can rig the outcome, it can’t rig the reaction.

Power is the greatest weapon one can wield. But faith was never meant to fight it. Faith was always the weakness power could never plan for.

إِنَّ مَعَ الْعُسْرِ يُسْرًا

“For indeed, with hardship comes ease.” (Qur’an 94:5)

If I could pick one verse of the Qur’an that has truly stayed with me, it would be this one.

Not because it promises a life free of hardship. It doesn’t.

It promises something much more profound. Allah tells us that ease doesn’t simply wait at the end of suffering; it exists alongside it.

Life guarantees hardship. Some of it is transformative—the loss of a loved one, illness, failure, heartbreak, uncertainty. These are the moments that test our patience and draw out our strength. They aren’t obstacles to life, but rather a part of it. They shape us into people with greater empathy and resilience. They mould us into wiser, stronger people, so long as we let them.

Then there is the lesser hardship: the daily inconveniences and irritations. They seem minor at face value, yet we often let them consume us and do more damage than we’d like. A traffic jam, a delayed reply, a tiring argument, a missed opportunity—these are inevitable, yet insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Still, we dwell on them. We replay them in our minds. We allow them to steal our peace.

We mustn’t.

Life is too short for such worries. Every frustration we unnecessarily entertain only adds more stress to our lives. The effects are often invisible. Biologically, chronic stress raises cortisol and places our bodies under unnecessary strain. Emotionally, it steals our peace of mind. Spiritually, it distracts us from gratitude and from placing our trust where it truly belongs.

Not every inconvenience deserves your attention.

One of the most beautiful parts of this ayah is a single word: with.

Allah doesn’t say, “After hardship comes ease.” He says, “With hardship comes ease.” That means ease isn’t always waiting at the finish line. Sometimes it’s already there—in the people who support you, in the lessons you learn, in the strength you discover within yourself, or simply in the reassurance that Allah has not abandoned you.

Perhaps that’s why Allah repeats this promise immediately afterwards. Not because we didn’t hear it the first time, but because we need reminding every time hardship convinces us otherwise.

So when you face your next hardship, remember this ayah.

Let the major hardships mould you. Let the minor ones fortify your patience.

Don’t allow small frustrations to rob you of the peace you’ll need for life’s real battles.

And above all, have faith in your Lord. Have tawakkul. Trust that even when you can’t yet see the ease, Allah has already placed it alongside your hardship.

Because He didn’t promise it would come after.

He promised it would come with.