Every night before I went to bed I would pray. I would seldom pray for myself. I lay on my Barbie princess bed and press my hands together and press my eyes tightly shut and just go in. I would hope that Jesus and God would take away the illness and suffering. I hoped that somehow people wouldn’t have to know pain—true pain.
I revisit that childish dream often. Not because I am naïve, on the contrary, I’m a person who is quite skeptical and very in tune with the reality of the situation. I know that romance is nothing like I read in dozens of stories as a child. I know that people hate. I know that abuse, murder and mayhem exist. I know that someone somewhere wants to take their life or the lives of others amongst other things and I also know that most of all there is nothing I can do to immediately stop it all.
I don’t revisit my childish dream for wishful thinking rather because child me, despite knowing of the horrors of the world, still believed that somehow it could change. She thought and desperately believed that somehow the world could be truly beautiful for everyone everywhere. She was very aware but she dared to dream in the impossible. I admire that kid for that.
Do I still believe in that little prayer? The simple answer is yes, the more complicated response is I don’t know how anymore. I don’t know if we can change the direction of the world but what I DO know is that it’s going to take more than prayer and kindness.
How do we turn this world into one children believe in?
© Kyanna Kitt