I remember when I was a child and I would pray. I would pray until my parents and my brothers shook with laughter. I would start by praying for the same three kids from our church, and then I would pray for the whole world.
I only remember the name of one of those three kids; it was Cassie. I do not even remember her last name. What I do remember is that she was sick, and I prayed that she would get better every night. Cassie lived a magical life, she simply shined; there is no other way to say it. Perhaps it is the last stubborn remnant of my naïve childhood faith, but I am sure that my prayers played a part in the life she led.
Back then I prayed to God effortlessly. He was God, and I wanted to talk to him, just like I wanted to talk to everyone. There was no doubt about whether he heard me or not. There were no questions about how to pray to him. I simply talked and he listened.
I was the perfect human as a child. Not only in how I prayed, but also in how I repented. When I realized I had done wrong, I was grieved and I did not do it again. I used to lie a lot. I think it was just because I wanted to exercise my power to lie. Once I realized it made people not like me, I stopped. That is another thing, I loved and was fascinated by people without barrier or hesitation.
I used to help Buford with his yard work. Buford, who all the other kids on my cul de sac were afraid of; the sixty-something year old man who would drag his broken lawn mower out into his yard once a week, and spend half an hour cussing at it for not working, for all the neighborhood to hear. I would hold the black garbage bag with the yellow drawstring open while he dumped leaves in; I would help him, and he was kind to me.
When we first moved to that neighborhood I went around to every house and introduced myself. I met Buford two houses down. I met Dennis, a thirty-something bachelor on one side of our house, and I met Eric on the other side, a troubled teen who would play basketball with me, catching my four-year-old attempts at shots and flipping the ball up into the basket claiming it was my power that got it there. He showed me his nun chucks, and medieval mace on Halloween. I met Bill who would be my brother's best friend and would one day save my life. I met Amanda whose cat I would pet and who first showed me a big trampoline, and whose family would feud with Bill's. This was San Gabriel Court, and throughout my days there I would move between these lives easily, almost without transition. It is the closest I have ever come to loving like Jesus.
In those days I simply liked people without question. I was interested in their complications, and intrigued by their difficulties. Perhaps on some level, my childhood self sensed the child in each of them. I saw the complications and they did not make sense to me, because when I was with them they were simple, like the child who loves God and talks to him without question.
