The Little Seed That Grew

The morning sun spilled like warm honey across the kitchen floor. Omar burst through the back door with his fist closed tight. "Zaynab! Zaynab, look what I found!"

Zaynab looked up from her drawing. Musa the cat, who had been curled in a soft grey loaf on the rug, lifted one sleepy ear.

Omar opened his hand very slowly, as if he were holding a tiny treasure. In the middle of his palm sat a small, wrinkly brown seed. "It was hiding under the apple tree," he whispered. "It's so little. How could a whole big plant ever come out of this?"

Zaynab tilted her head. The seed really was tiny — smaller than a raisin, smaller even than Musa's pink nose. "Mother," she called gently, "who makes plants grow?"

Mother came in, wiping flour from her hands, and knelt down so she was eye to eye with them. "What a beautiful question, my love. Come outside with me. I want to show you something."

They followed her into the garden. Musa padded behind, tail high in the air. Mother pointed to the soft brown soil, the apple tree above them, the bees humming around the flowers, and the bright blue sky. "Look at all of this," she said softly. "Who do you think made it?"

"Allah," said Zaynab at once.

"Allah," echoed Omar, his eyes wide.

Mother smiled. "Yes, my darlings. Allah is Al-Khaliq — The Creator. He made the soil, He made the sun, He made the rain, and He made the tiny seed in Omar's hand. He even made you and me, and our little Musa."

Musa blinked slowly, as if to say, of course He did.

"Can we plant it?" Omar asked, bouncing on his toes. "Can we, please?"

Mother handed them a small clay cup. Omar scooped in soft, dark soil. Zaynab made a tiny hole with her finger and gently laid the seed inside. They patted it down together and sprinkled cool water on top. Musa watched very seriously, as if this were an important matter.

"Now what?" Omar asked.

"Now," said Mother, "we trust Allah. He will do what only He can do."

Every morning that week, Zaynab and Omar rushed to the windowsill. Every morning, the soil looked the same. "Maybe it's broken," Omar sighed on the fourth day.

"Allah is working, even when we cannot see," Mother whispered, just like her mother had whispered to her long ago.

On the seventh morning, Zaynab gasped so loudly that Musa jumped. A tiny, curled green tip was peeking out of the soil — soft as a baby's whisper. "Omar! Omar, come quick!"

Omar ran in his pyjamas, his hair still wild from sleep. He stared, then beamed. "Allah did it! Allah made our seed grow!"

Mother gathered them both into a warm hug. "This is what Al-Khaliq does, my loves. He creates. He gives life. He makes the small become big, and the empty become full."

Zaynab placed her small hand beside the little green shoot. "Allah," she whispered, "thank You for the seed. Thank You for the soil. Thank You for the rain. Thank You for us."

Omar nodded. "And thank You for Musa!" he added, scratching the cat behind the ears.

Musa purred his loudest purr, as if he were saying Alhamdulillah too.