Here is a short story called: In a small village surrounded by olive groves, there lived an old potter named Yusuf. He was known for his delicate clay jars, but he was even more known for his sorrow. Years ago, he had lost his eyesight in an accident. Now, he worked by touch alone.
When his daughter brought the bowl into the morning light, she gasped. “Father—the cracks catch the sunrise. It’s more beautiful than any jar you ever made.” 99 nom d'allah pdf
He whispered, “Ya Khaliq (The Creator), Ya Bari’ (The Evolver)—begin again with me.” Here is a short story called: In a