The Night the Stars Whispered to Hamza

Hamza was nine, and Hamza could not sleep. He had counted sheep. He had counted camels. He had even counted his little sister's stuffed animals, which was a LOT, because she had forty-two. Nothing worked.

So Hamza did what he always did when he couldn't sleep. He tiptoed up the stairs, opened the little door to the roof, and lay down on the cool tiles to look at the sky. The stars were extra bright that night — like someone had polished them.

'Assalamu alaikum,' Hamza whispered, just to be polite. And to his complete shock, a tiny, twinkly voice answered, 'Wa alaikum salaam, Hamza.' He sat up so fast he bonked his head on the laundry line.

'You can talk?' Hamza asked. The brightest star twinkled. 'We do many things people don't notice. We guide travelers across deserts. We helped sailors find their way home for hundreds of years. Did you know,' the star added proudly, 'that the Quran mentions us in Surah An-Nahl?'

Hamza shook his head. 'I just thought you were… pretty.' The star laughed, which sounded like little bells. 'Pretty is fine. But everything Allah made has a job, Hamza. The bee makes honey. The mountain holds the earth steady. The cloud carries the rain. Even you have a job.'

Hamza thought hard. 'What's my job?' The star twinkled extra bright. 'To learn. To be kind. To take care of the things Allah gave you — your family, your neighbors, the little plants in your garden, even the ants on the wall.' Hamza nodded slowly. 'That's a lot of jobs.' 'Yes,' said the star. 'But you have a whole life to do them.'

Hamza yawned a giant yawn. He climbed back down the stairs, slipped under his blanket, and fell asleep in about four seconds. And somewhere up above, a small star winked, as if to say: goodnight, little khalifah. We'll see you tomorrow.