The Tower That Wouldn't Give Up

Baby Mo had one big dream for someone so small: to build a block tower taller than his own head.

He stacked a red block. Then a blue one. Then a yellow one. Higher… higher… and—

CRASH!

The tower tumbled across the floor. Baby Mo pursed his lips.

He tried again. Red, blue, yellow, green. Higher… higher…

CRASH!

Four times. Five times. Each time the blocks fell like a rain of wood. Baby Mo's eyes began to glisten. He wanted to throw all his blocks far, far away.

From the sofa, Abi didn't rush to tidy up. He only said softly, "Take a breath, sweetheart. Look — why does it fall?"

Baby Mo wiped his eyes. He watched closely. It turned out the very bottom block was always crooked. Slowly, he fixed the bottom first. Straightened it. Pressed it down to make it firm.

"Bismillah," whispered Baby Mo.

Red. Blue. Yellow. Green. Purple. His hands trembled, but he held his breath. The tower rose… and rose… past his chest… past his chin… until—

Taller than his head!

Baby Mo squealed with joy. "Yaaay! It's standing! It's standing!" He clapped for himself, then turned to Abi for applause too.

Abi clapped the loudest in the whole house. "You didn't give up," he said. "That's greater than the tower."

Baby Mo gazed up at his soaring tower. It turned out that falling didn't mean failing. Falling only meant: try again, a little more patiently.

Indeed Allah loves that when one of you does a task, he does it well.

And the tower that wouldn't give up stood all afternoon — just like the little heart that built it.