The Faith of a Child

          It was 5:30 when we received a frantic knock on the door.  Jenna dismissed herself thinking it was the next door neighbor who had already dismissed himself three times when he did not get his way.  I had thought the same thing – but at the same time it was a more aggressive knock – one of panic not childish play.

          Jorge’s mother had a worried look in her eyes, “Is Jorge here?” she asked hopefully.

          “No, I’m sorry.  I haven’t seen him.  Did he come home from school?”

          “No.”

          Jorge and Jenna don’t even go to the same school.  I had no clue how to help her.  Her cell phone drowned out my question, “How can I help?”

          I worried along with Jorge’s mom.  And Jenna worried with me. 

          “What can we do?” she asked.

          “We can pray.”

          I said the prayer and pondered what to do – I didn’t even know their last name.  Before involving anyone else, I thought it would be better if I had more information to share.

I do know where they live.  So Jenna and I walked over to their house.  Jorge’s mother opened the door – Relieved and Happy.  She’d found Jorge!  I don’t know where he’d been.  The cell phone went off again and she jabbered into it in her native tongue.  Jenna and I excused ourselves. 

          As Jorge’s mother closed the door, Jenna said, “Well, I guess our prayer worked.”