SOMEONE ONCE TOLD me that if you are going to ask Allah for your rizq, then don’t ask for little. Ask for immense wealth, so much that you never have to worry about money again. After all, Allah is ar-Razzaq, the Provider, and He gives without limit.
To support this idea, he quoted the words of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ: “If one of you wishes for something, let him ask Allah for a great deal of it because he is asking his Lord, may He be glorified and exalted” (ibn Hibbaan)
Also the saying of the Messenger ﷺ: “When one of you makes a supplication, he should be firm in the supplication and not say, ‘O Allah, if you like, give to me.’ Allah cannot be forced against His will.” (al-Adab Al-Mufrad)
There is truth here. Duʿāʾ is an act of worship, and it is beloved to Allah. To ask Him openly and confidently, for the matters of this world and the next, is to acknowledge our complete dependence on Him.
But with time, I have come to see that this advice, while well-intentioned, is incomplete.
I have lived long enough to witness the dangers of great wealth. I know people with immense resources who live in a constant state of anxiety, fearful of loss, competition, and decline. They can afford almost anything, yet peace remains elusive. At the same time, I have met people with very little who seem genuinely content, even joyful.
This contrast forces an uncomfortable question: If wealth alone brought ease of heart, why does it so often fail to do so?
It was while reflecting on this tension that I came across a duʿāʾ of the Prophet ﷺ that perfectly reframes how we should think about provision, especially in an age of economic uncertainty, rising costs of living, and constant comparison.
Before turning to it, it helps to recognise two features of modern Western life that quietly intensify our anxiety about wealth.
The Illusion of Scarcity
We live in a society built on the assumption that everything is scarce: opportunities, security, success. Survival appears to belong to the most aggressive, the most productive, the most strategic.
Even when we have more than previous generations ever dreamed of, we are constantly reminded that it is not enough.
This mindset is reinforced by economic systems that reward accumulation at the very top while placing increasing pressure on everyone else. Most people have little control over these forces, yet they internalise the fear they generate. Rizq begins to feel like a competition rather than a gift, and trust in Allah is quietly replaced with trust in endless striving.
Fear of Missing Out
Alongside scarcity is the illness of comparison.
Social media ensures that we are always aware of someone who made the “right” investment, took the “right” risk, or entered the “right” market at the perfect time. Watching others strike gold can leave us replaying our own decisions with regret: *If only I had done this earlier… If only I had taken that chance…*
Over time, this creates a low-level dissatisfaction with Allah’s decree, a sense that we are always one step behind the life we were meant to have.
It is precisely these anxieties that the following duʿāʾ addresses.
A Duʿāʾ for the Anxious Heart
The Mesenger ﷺ said:
اللَّهُمَّ قَنَّعْنِي بِمَا رَزَقْتَنِي، وَبَارِكْ لِي فِيهِ، وَاخْلُفْ عَلَيَّ كُلَّ غَائِبَةٍ بِخَيْرٍ
Allah, make me content with the provision You have given me, bless me in it and replace everything I have missed out on with that which is better for me. (Al-Adab al-Mufrad)
In a few short words, the Prophet ﷺ captures exactly what the anxious heart is seeking.
The duʿāʾ does not reject rizq, it asks for it. But it places contentment before increase. Whether what we are given is more or less, the first request is for a heart that is at peace with Allah’s allocation.
Then comes the request for barakah.
Barakah is not something that can be measured or predicted. It is the quiet blessing that allows limited means to stretch, time to feel sufficient, relationships to flourish, and effort to bear fruit. Two people can earn the same amount, yet one finds only stress while the other finds ease. The difference is not the number, it is the blessing Allah places within it.
And finally, the duʿāʾ addresses the fear we rarely name out loud: the fear of having missed out.
What about the opportunities I didn’t take? The paths I didn’t choose? The wealth others gained while I stood still?
The Prophet ﷺ teaches us to place all of that in Allah’s hands. Not by obsessing over what could have been, but by trusting that whatever Allah withheld was replaced with something better, even if we do not yet see how.
Rethinking What We Ask For
Islam does not teach us to ask Allah timidly, nor does it place limits on what He can give. But it does teach us to be cautious about what our hearts attach themselves to.
Perhaps the real question is not whether we should ask Allah for abundance, but whether we are prepared for what abundance does to the soul.
In a world that constantly tells us we are behind, lacking, or late, this duʿāʾ reminds us of a deeper truth: rizq is not proven by how much we hold, but by how at peace we are with what Allah has chosen for us.
And that, perhaps, is the kind of wealth worth asking for most.
Living For Islam 