Bringing a giraffe into the world is a tall order. A baby giraffe falls 10
feet from its mother's womb and usually lands on its back. Within
seconds it rolls over and tucks its legs under its body.
From this position
it considers the world for the first time and shakes off the last vestiges
of the birthing fluid from its eyes and ears. Then the mother giraffe rudely
introduces its offspring to the reality of life.
In his book, A View from the Zoo, Gary Richmond describes how a
newborn giraffe learns its first lesson.
The mother giraffe lowers her head long enough to take a quick look.
Then she positions herself directly over her calf. She waits for about a
minute, and then she does the most unreasonable thing. She swings her
long, pendulous leg outward and kicks her baby, so that it is sent
sprawling head over heels.
When it doesn't get up, the violent process is repeated over and over
again. The struggle to rise is momentous. As the baby calf grows tired,
the mother kicks it again to stimulate its efforts. Finally, the calf
stands for the first time on its wobbly legs.
Then the mother giraffe does the most remarkable thing.
She kicks it off
its feet again. Why? She wants it to remember how it got up.
In the wild,
baby giraffes must be able to get up as quickly as possible to stay with
the herd, where there is safety. Lions, hyenas, leopards, and wild hunting
dogs all enjoy young giraffes, and they'd get it too, if the mother didn't
teach her calf to get up quickly and get with it.
Great people don't get to that stage without fighting and struggling for it.
But every time they're knocked down they stand up.
You cannot destroy these people. And at the end of their lives they've
accomplished some modest part of what they set out to do.
The Road to Jannah isn't easy. It is only with strrugles and hard-work that it is achieved.