Baby Ais's Garden of Patience

Abi gave Baby Ais a single sunflower seed, as small as her fingernail. "Plant this, sweetheart. By Allah's leave, it will grow ever so tall."

Baby Ais dug a little hole, dropped the seed in, and covered it with soil. "Bismillah," she whispered, copying Abi.

Then she stood up, hands on her hips, and waited.

One minute. Two minutes. Nothing.

"Abi! Why isn't it growing?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

Abi smiled. "Patience, sweetheart. A flower doesn't grow because we shout at it. It grows slowly, from the inside, in a place we can't see."

The next morning Baby Ais ran to the garden. Still just soil. She nearly cried. But Abi invited her to water it, a little each morning. "Bismillah," and a little water. "Bismillah," and a little water.

Day followed day. Baby Ais watered. Waited. Watered again. Sometimes she forgot, and the garden felt boring. But Abi always brought her back, with the very same patience he was teaching.

Then, one morning—

"ABI! ABI!" Baby Ais shouted. From the soil, a tiny green leaf peeked out, soft as a rabbit's ear.

Baby Ais was amazed. All this time, beneath the soil that looked so empty, something had been quietly growing. Her patience had not been wasted. She just couldn't see it.

"Good things take time," said Abi, hugging her. "Like a flower. Like a kind heart. Allah makes it grow; we water it with patience."

Indeed, with hardship comes ease.

A few weeks later, the sunflower grew taller than Baby Ais herself, its face turned toward the sun. And every time she looked at it, Baby Ais remembered: what is planted with patience will bloom in its time.