What are you “shopping for” this Ramadan?

Today at Jumu‘ah, the khutbah didn’t just inspire me… it exposed me a little.

Because one of the things I’m most intentional about as a mom is teaching my kids to show up for the community. Help stack chairs. Carry boxes. Set up tables. Check on elders. Be the kind of people who don’t ask, “Who’s going to do it?” — but quietly become the answer.

And I’ll be honest: sometimes people read that as “strict.”

Like I’m not letting them be kids. Like I’m stealing their fun. Like I’m asking too much.

But the truth is the opposite.

I’m trying to raise them to be the best of who they already are — and to understand that in Islam, being “a kid” doesn’t mean being careless. It can mean being full of reward. Full of purpose. Full of barakah.

Ramadan is a marketplace

One line from the khutbah hit home immediately:

“Ramadan is a marketplace.”

Later, my son asked me, “What does that mean?”

And I loved that question because it made me slow down and actually picture it.

When you go to a marketplace, you don’t just wander around aimlessly. You go with intention. You choose what you want. You spend your time and energy on what matters to you.

Ramadan is like that.
Except what you’re “shopping” for isn’t clothes or groceries — it’s blessings.

There’s so much available in that marketplace:

• fasting
• salah
• Qur’an
• zakat
• sadaqah
• du‘a
• dhikr
• smiling at people
• feeding someone
• forgiving someone
• showing up when it’s inconvenient

So much to choose from.

But you have to decide: what are you trying to leave Ramadan with?
Because people can walk through the exact same marketplace and come out with completely different “bags.”

Use your youth before it’s gone

Another reminder in the khutbah felt like it was spoken directly to this generation — and honestly, to me:

Take advantage while you’re young, before you can’t.

Use your youth for worship. Enjoy your youth by fasting, praying, reading Qur’an, giving, serving… because you don’t know what your situation will look like later. Or even tomorrow.

And that part really shook me, because it’s so easy to assume we’ll always have “later.”

Later I’ll be more consistent.
Later I’ll memorize.
Later I’ll give more.
Later I’ll slow down in salah.
Later I’ll get serious.

But later isn’t promised.

We go hard for dunya… and rush our deen

The khutbah also held up a mirror that most of us try to avoid.

So many of us give our absolute best to dunya:

We go to the gym and push until we’re shaking.
We show up early for work.
We grind for goals.
We plan, track, measure, perform.

But when it comes to salah?

We rush.
We multitask.
We give Allah five minutes and call it “done.”

We buy what we want without hesitation… but when it’s time for zakat, suddenly we can think of a thousand reasons why we “might need that money later.”

We starve ourselves for a body goal… but struggle to fast the fasts that are obligatory.

And I’m not saying this to shame anyone — I’m saying it because I felt it. I recognized it. And I want to teach my kids to recognize it early, before it becomes a lifelong pattern.

The unseen rewards of “moving chairs”

This is where my mind went immediately:

The blessings of youth aren’t only in long taraweeh or fasting with ease.

Sometimes the blessings are in the physical ability we take for granted:

• carrying chairs back and forth into the musallah
• setting up tables for iftar
• cleaning up after everyone leaves
• lifting boxes, refilling water, organizing shoes
• making space for elders
• serving quietly without needing attention

Because imagine this:

An elder sits down comfortably because your child carried that chair.
A family breaks their fast together because your child helped set up that table.
A new Muslim feels welcomed because your child smiled first.

Do we understand what those rewards might look like on the Day we need them most?

That’s what I try to teach my kids.

Not “miss out on fun.”
But trade temporary fun for lasting reward — sometimes.

Not every time. Not in a harsh way. Not in a “you can’t be kids” way.

But in a way that trains their hearts to ask a different question:

“What’s this worth in the akhirah?”

Youth is a limited-time gift

We don’t realize the gift of our bodies until they start changing.

When we’re young, we can bend fully in sujood. We can sit on the floor. We can stand longer. We can lift without pain.

Then one day, knees hurt. Back hurts. Memory fades. Sight weakens. Energy drops.

So the khutbah made me think:

Read and memorize Qur’an before sight and memory fade.
Give zakat before money becomes complicated—or disappears.
Fast while strength is still there.
Serve while your body can carry and lift and move.

Because those are blessings of youth.

And youth passes quietly… until it’s not there anymore.

What I want to leave Ramadan with (and teach my kids too)

I don’t want Ramadan to pass like a blur of exhaustion and recipes and late nights.

I want to shop properly.

I want intention.
I want consistency.
I want something real to show for it.

And I want my kids to learn — gently, steadily — that community service isn’t “extra.” It’s part of who we are.

That their hands can be a source of mercy for others.
That their strength is a tool for worship.
That the masjid isn’t just where we take… it’s where we learn to give.

So if I seem strict sometimes, I pray Allah lets it be the kind of strictness that produces softness later.

Soft hearts.
Serving hands.
Strong faith.

And when we walk out of this Ramadan marketplace…

May we walk out with bags full of barakah.

What are you “shopping for” this Ramadan?