Tale#26: Bedtime Tales: Episode14:Power of Bismillah| Saturday
The Shield You Can’t See
The sky was perfect.
Just the right shade of blue. Just the right number of clouds. Just the right breeze for a picnic.
Aymen spread out the blanket under the biggest tree in the park. Her kids, Zayn and Sara, were already off—Zayn balancing on the edge of the sandbox like it was a pirate ship, and Sara chasing a butterfly with her shoe in one hand and a water bottle in the other.
It was supposed to be the day. The fun day. The no-school, no-rules, play-until-sunset kind of day.
But something was off.
It started small.
Zayn came running back. “Mama, the zip on my bag broke. My pencil case fell into the mud.”
Aymen looked over. “You weren’t even going to draw today.”
“Yeah, but still. It’s the only pencil that works.”
Then Sara appeared, frustrated. “I stepped in a puddle. With socks on. Now it feels like I’m walking with fish in my shoes.”
They sat on the blanket, tired and grumpy. Zayn reached for his sandwich, unwrapped it, and immediately dropped it—peanut butter side down—into the grass.
“NOOO! This is the WORST day!”
Sara opened her juice box. The straw snapped in half.
“I didn’t even get a sip!”
Aymen raised her eyebrows but said nothing at first. She just watched her two kids, huffing and puffing over everything going wrong.
Then she asked, calmly:
“Hey… did either of you say Bismillah before we started today?”
They froze.
Zayn looked at Sara. Sara looked at Zayn.
“Uhhh…” Zayn mumbled. “I was going to say it before the sandwich… but then I got distracted by how hungry I was.”
Sara shrugged. “I forgot. I was chasing the butterfly.”
Aymen nodded slowly, her voice kind. “Sometimes when we forget Bismillah, it’s like stepping out of the house without locking the door.”
“What door?” Zayn asked.
“The one that keeps Shaytaan away. The one that opens the way for barakah.”
Sara blinked. “So… Shaytaan made me step in a puddle?”
Aymen chuckled. “Maybe not directly. But when we forget Allah, we leave ourselves open to more trouble. Small things go wrong. We feel frustrated. The barakah—the special goodness Allah puts in our day—feels like it’s missing.”
Zayn sat quietly, brushing crumbs off his shirt. “I just wanted a good day. Why does a little word matter so much?”
Aymen leaned in, brushing his hair away from his forehead.
“Because it’s not just a word. Bismillah is how we say, ‘Ya Allah, I need You with me.’ It’s how we protect our moments from Shaytaan. It’s how we ask for peace, even when little things don’t go our way.”
Sara whispered, “Is it too late to say it now?”
“It’s never too late,” Aymen smiled. “Let’s say it now—and see what happens.”
The kids sat up straighter. They each took a deep breath and said together, slowly:
“Bismillah.”
This time, Zayn picked up his second sandwich. The peanut butter didn’t fall.
Sara opened a fresh juice box. The straw fit perfectly.
They looked at each other.
No explosions. No mess. No soggy socks (okay, those were still wet—but somehow, even that didn’t feel so bad anymore).
The rest of the afternoon unfolded like a quiet gift.
They laughed harder.
The swings felt higher.
The breeze felt softer.
Even the daisy Sara picked didn’t wilt in her hand like usual.
Later that night, Zayn wrote one word on the whiteboard in the kitchen: Bismillah.
Sara added a doodle of a shield beside it.
And before bed, when they curled under the covers, Aymen peeked into their room and whispered her own quiet prayer:
“Ya Allah, let this word always be on their lips… and in their hearts.”