Lili Learns About Rain

Lili the Lamb did not like the rain.

She stood at the edge of the Gratitude Garden with her nose pressed to the gate. Big grey clouds had rolled over the meadow, and now fat drops went plip, plip, plip on the rose leaves.

"Ooh," said Lili, frowning. "Rain spoils EVERYTHING."

She had wanted to count the new buds today. She had wanted to follow the bees. She had wanted to be outside, not stuck under the garden arch with wet wool.

"Rain, rain, go away," she grumbled.

"Now why would you wish away a gift?" said a warm voice.

It was Ramis the Rabbit, pushing his cart up Learning Lane. His cart was full of carrots in every color — red and gold and even a little rainbow one for baby Zuzu. Rain dripped off his ears, but Ramis was smiling.

"A gift?" Lili wrinkled her nose. "Rain is cold and grey and it ruins my whole day."

Ramis parked his cart and sat beside her under the arch. "Let me show you something," he said. "Watch the garden, little one. Just watch."

So Lili watched.

The rain fell softly on the roses. It washed the dust from their petals until the red glowed bright. It filled the little dish where the bees came to drink. It pattered into the soil where Ramis's carrots slept, waiting to grow.

"Those carrots," said Ramis, pointing a wet paw at his cart, "every single one started as a seed in the dark ground. And do you know what woke them up?"

Lili thought. "The… rain?"

"The rain," said Ramis. "Allah sends it down from the sky, and it soaks deep, deep into the earth, and the sleeping seeds open their eyes." He chuckled. "No rain, no carrots. No carrots, no happy bunnies at my gate tonight."

Lili looked at the rainbow carrot. She thought of all thirteen bunnies waiting for their favorite colors. She had never thought about where the colors came from.

Plip, plip, plip.

"It's still cold," Lili said. But she said it more quietly now.

"It is," Ramis agreed. "But cold things can be good things. When my paws are cold, I know the carrots are getting their drink. When I feel the rain, I remember to say thank you." He cupped his paws and caught a few drops, and he said softly:

"Allahumma sayyiban nafi'an."

"What does that mean?" asked Lili. (She could never hold a question for long.)

"It means: O Allah, make it a rain that brings good." Ramis smiled. "My grandmother taught it to me. When the rain comes, we don't grumble. We ask for it to bless the meadow."

Lili looked at the rain again. It did not look so grey now. It looked busy. Useful. Kind, even — watering things that could not water themselves.

She cupped her own little hooves the way Ramis had. A raindrop landed in them, cool and round and shining like a tiny jewel Gina would love.

"Allahumma…" Lili tried, "…sayyiban nafi'an."

"Beautiful," said Ramis.

Just then the clouds began to thin, and a soft gold light slid across the wet garden. Every leaf sparkled. Every web between the rose stems hung with silver beads. The bees came back out, shaking their wings, and went straight to the full water dish.

"Ooh!" Lili gasped, and for once it was a happy ooh. "It's like the garden is wearing diamonds!"

"That," said Ramis, standing and brushing off his fur, "is what the rain leaves behind. You just had to wait for it." He took the handles of his cart. "Now, I have thirteen bunnies expecting their carrots, and a wife who's had a long day. Walk with me?"

Lili trotted out from under the arch. The grass was soft and wet between her toes, and she did not mind one bit.

"Ramis?" she said. "What does your wife's favorite color of carrot taste like?"

Ramis laughed all the way down Learning Lane.

That night, when the rain came again, Lili did not press her nose to the gate and grumble. She sat by the window, cupped her hooves, and whispered her new du'a. Then she watched the meadow drink — and she said thank you for every cold and shining drop.

And somewhere in the dark soil, a seed opened its eyes.