BOOM! Who's Afraid of Thunder?

That night the rain came pouring down. Then the sky flashed white for a moment — lightning! — and after it:

BOOM!

Baby Mo leapt under the blanket faster than lightning. All you could see were two small, trembling feet.

Baby Ais, on the other hand, pressed her nose to the window. "Mo! Look! The sky is like a camera flash!"

"Don't want to!" came Baby Mo's muffled voice from under the blanket.

BOOM!

The blanket shook even harder.

Umi sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't pull the blanket away. She just whispered, "Mo, want to play a guessing game? We count from the flash to the sound. The bigger the number, the farther away the thunder is."

From under the blanket, one eye peeked out.

Flash! Umi and Baby Ais counted, "One… two… three… four…"

BOOM!

"Four!" cried Baby Ais. "Far away!"

Abi came in with a glass of warm water. "Did you know, Mo, the thunder is actually saying something?"

Baby Mo peeked out with both eyes now. "Saying what?"

"The thunder is glorifying Allah. Praising Him. Like a giant drum saying Subhanallah as loud as it can. That's why, whenever they heard thunder, a companion of the Prophet would say this du'a." Abi said it slowly:

Subhanalladzi yusabbihur-ra'du bihamdihi wal-mala'ikatu min khifatih.

"So the thunder isn't angry?" asked Baby Mo.

"No. The thunder is praising Allah. We can praise along with it."

Flash! "One… two… three… four… five…"

BOOM!

This time, from under the blanket, came a small voice: "Subhanallah…"

Another flash! Baby Mo pulled the blanket down to his chin. "One… two… three… four… five… six…"

BOOM!

"SUBHANALLAH!" shouted Baby Mo, louder than the thunder. Baby Ais laughed so hard she rolled over.

The thunder moved farther away. Seven. Eight. Nine. Now it was only a little "boom", like a drum from the next village.

Baby Mo was sitting beside Baby Ais at the window now. Still holding the corner of Umi's shirt — but sitting at the window.

"Ais," he said, "the thunder is tired of praising Allah."

"Our turn," Baby Ais replied. And together they whispered, "Subhanallah."

That night Baby Mo fell asleep counting. Not counting his fears. Counting praises.

Subhanalladzi yusabbihur-ra'du bihamdihi wal-mala'ikatu min khifatih. — "Glory be to the One whom the thunder glorifies with His praise, and the angels too, out of awe of Him." (Narrated in Imam Malik's Al-Muwatta')

Talk it over with your little one: at the next thunderstorm, shall we count and say Subhanallah together? ⚡