The line of buses, trucks and small vehicles on the highway stretched for miles. An accident down the road held us up for hours. A boy in the seat before me poked his nose above the head rest. He said hello and asked what would happen if the bus fell into a river. I assured him it wouldn't happen, but if it did... I hoped for his sake he could swim and escape the crocodiles. I didn't, really. He looked at the red hammer over my seat with a question on his face. "You can use it to break the glass if we fall into a river, and then we'll swim hard, okay?"
For a boy of around eight, he was unusually talkative at 5am on a bus that was at a standstill for a few hours. Suits me fine, I'm a better conversationalist before the sun hits its daily zenith. "Look, an elephant," he pointed into the distant mist. "Where?" I asked. "Can't you see it?" I looked out of the window. "No." The little boy almost stood in his seat, pointing with his index finger at lucid shapes. "There! You can see the trunk, the belly, the tail!" He wanted me so badly to join in his fascination of seeing this elephant.
'You need to be a little child to see this elephant,' I reminded myself. Slipping the spectacles of objectivity off my nose, I put on cool shades of possibility. I saw it, the elephant. "Can you see the baby elephant," I asked the boy. "Oh yes!" He was gushing like... well, an eight year old who just saw something fascinating.
Faith like a child. Seeing the shape of things to come. Believing in an Almighty purpose and design. If we see what could be, imagine what life will be and believing it into reality, is that not childish? Then we must learn to be childish in believing good things.
The sun has come, the mist has gone
We see in the distance our long way home
- Maya Angelou.
