Load Limit

Lombok Reflections

Load Limit

I was making my way down from home to the southern coast of Lombok, following that long familiar stretch of road that winds past dusty paddocks, scattered banana trees, and old village homes shaded under clay-tiled roofs.

A haze clung to the horizon, and the midday heat pressed in through the glass, making the air inside the car feel heavier with every kilometre.

Somewhere between two bends, I pulled over near a small roadside warung to grab a cold bottle of water. Just a brief stop to cool down before continuing the drive. As I stepped back toward the car, a small black truck appeared in the distance. Groaning forward under a mountain of cargo, packed to the edge and somehow holding it all together.

What caught my attention wasn’t the truck itself, but what it was carrying.

It was loaded to the brim. No, beyond the brim.

Cardboard boxes were stacked precariously above the roof, leaning slightly to one side. Boxes filled with random goods , colourful cushions, crates, plastic chairs, mattresses, even rolled carpets were strapped to the sides and top with ropes. It looked impossible. As if any turn or bump would send everything crashing onto the road.

But somehow it held.

It wasn’t wobbling. It wasn’t breaking. It was just moving forward. Slow, yes, but steady.

And in that moment, I felt something click in my chest.

I thought of the weight that many of us carry. The load of stress. Family demands. Grief. Financial anxiety. Emotional fatigue. The kind of burdens that no one sees but we wake up and carry them, every single day.

And I remembered the verse:

“Allah does not burden a soul beyond what it can bear.”

(Surah al-Baqarah, 2:286)

It’s not just a phrase to recite when things get hard. It’s a divine guarantee that the One who created your shoulders knows exactly how much they can carry.

Just like that truck wasn’t loaded randomly. Someone had packed it carefully. They knew what could fit. They knew when to stop. The ropes were tied with precision. The weight was balanced intentionally. It looked chaotic, but it wasn’t. It was designed.

Allah does the same with us.

He allows hardship, yes, but never beyond our limits. He knows the precise threshold of your patience, your capacity, your breaking point and He never, ever crosses it.

But in the moment, it doesn’t always feel like that. Sometimes the load feels unbearable. The grief feels too heavy. The loneliness, too sharp. The exhaustion, too deep.

And yet, we wake up again. We keep walking. We keep believing. Because something in our fitrah knows we are being carried, even as we carry.

When the Prophet Musa stood at the Red Sea, trapped between water and Pharaoh’s army, the people around him panicked.

“Indeed, we are to be overtaken!”

But Musa said:

“No! Indeed, with me is my Lord. He will guide me.”

(Surah ash-Shuara, 26:61–62)

He didn’t know how, but he knew Who. That’s the secret.

When Maryam was alone, giving birth under the palm tree, she cried:

“Oh, I wish I had died before this…”

(Surah Maryam, 19:23)

Even the most righteous can feel overwhelmed. Even the beloved of Allah can feel at their limit.

But again, Allah responded. He provided water beneath her. Dates above her. And peace in her heart.

And when the Prophet ﷺ himself was wrapped in the blanket of grief, loss, and the weight of revelation, Allah reminded him:

“Did We not expand your chest for you?”

“And We removed from you your burden…”

(Surah ash-Sharh, 94:1–2)

You are not weak because you feel tired.

You are not faithless because you feel heavy.

You are not failing because you need a pause.

You are simply human. And your Lord is Merciful.

The Prophet ﷺ said:

“No fatigue, nor disease, nor sorrow, nor sadness, nor hurt, nor distress befalls a Muslim, even if it were the prick he receives from a thorn, but that Allah expiates some of his sins for it.”

(Sahih al-Bukhari, 5641)

That small truck reminded me that Allah equips us for what we are meant to carry. And He rewards us for every moment we do.

So if today feels like too much, pause.

Breathe.

Then keep moving. Slowly, if you must. But know that He sees you. And He knows what you can bear.

And maybe, just maybe, this isn’t a punishment.

Maybe it’s proof that He trusts you more than you trust yourself.

And maybe, on the other side of this weight, is the ease you’ve been making duah for.

“Indeed, with hardship comes ease.”

(Surah ash-Sharh, 94:6)

So carry your load with sabr. Tie your camel with tawakkul. And drive on, even if no one else sees the weight.

Because He does.

O Allah, lighten our burdens when they feel too heavy. O Allah, strengthen our hearts when they begin to tire.

O Allah, make us patient in hardship and grateful in ease,

and never let us forget that You are always near. Ameen.