Courage the Size of a Mustard Seed

Click. Umi turned off the bedroom light.

Suddenly Baby Mo's room felt very big and very dark. The shadow of the wardrobe looked like a giant. The shadow of the coat hooks looked like long reaching arms. Baby Mo's heart thumped fast.

"Umi…" he called in a small voice. "Mo is scared."

Umi did not turn the light back on. Nor did she say "don't be scared" — because she knew the dark really does feel big to someone so small. She sat at the edge of the bed and held Baby Mo's hand.

"Sweetheart," whispered Umi, "do you know who watches over Mo in the dark?"

Baby Mo shook his head in the darkness.

"Allah," said Umi. "Allah never sleeps. When Mo can't see anything, Allah still sees Mo. And Allah keeps Mo safe."

Then Umi taught him one little sentence, small as a mustard seed. "Try saying: A'udhu bikalimatillahit-tammah… I seek Allah's protection."

Baby Mo said it slowly. His voice trembled on the first word. Steadier on the second. And when he finished, something strange happened in his chest — the fast thumping began to slow.

He looked at the wardrobe shadow again. It was just… a wardrobe. The coat-hook shadow… just coats. The dark hadn't changed. But Baby Mo's heart had.

"Brave doesn't mean you're not scared," whispered Umi, kissing his forehead. "Brave means you're scared, but you still trust that Allah is watching over you."

I seek refuge in the perfect words of Allah from the evil of His creation.

That night Baby Mo fell asleep with a courage the size of a mustard seed inside his chest. Small. But enough to make the whole dark feel safe.