Gary Davies sits in with Sienna Miller

I’m a third of the way through Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting, and it’s been a toughie. There’ve been rumbles in the tum, eyeballs to the clock as I countdown to iftar – the breaking of the fast – and I’ve bitten my tongue a little harder so as not to swear when pushed over the edge. But despite all that I deny myself, I run into the arms of this month, enfolding myself in the beautiful sacred energy I so need for the rest of the year. 

Ramadan is always the beloved I cherish, the balm to my soul, but to be honest, I was at an all-time spiritual low before it began. I was in a fog, looking at what I don’t have in life. While I have more than I could fit on both sides of an A1 piece of paper, I couldn’t see the wood for the trees, the flour for the cake, the rice for the biryani (need to stop thinking about food.) I opened the Quran a few days ago. “Be thankful to God,” the words reminded me, “for whoever gives thanks benefits his own soul’. Seems so simple. But I’ve found gratitude to be hard work – mainly when you don’t get what you want in life. 

Do I thank God when I don’t get the go ahead on a project I’ve been desperate to land? Do I thank God when the guy I liked didn't follow through? But maybe that project wasn't good for me, maybe that guy legging it means there's someone or something better for me later down the road. I heard a sermon by a Muslim scholar who said that sometimes the worst things are answered prayers. I guess, even we don’t know what’s good for us, I guess being denied, as with fasting, is something to be grateful for too. Al-Jawziyya, the fourteenth century Muslim theologian said, “When God tests you it is never to destroy you. When He removes something in your possession it is only in order to empty your hands for an even greater gift.” Maybe I’m staring at the gift right now. For the promise of empty hands means they can be filled – just as my empty stomach will be filled with the delights of iftar tonight.