Prayer Makes Me Grow

Mina’s sock slid on the smooth hallway floor, and she grabbed the banister with a squeak. The house smelled like warm toast and laundry soap, but her stomach didn’t feel warm. It felt jumpy, like a little bird flapping inside her.

“Shoes first,” Nana called from the kitchen. Her voice was calm, not loud, like a lullaby you could hold in your hands. Mina stood still and looked at the small paper sign taped to the front door. IT’S STORY TIME TODAY, it said in big, friendly letters. Mina loved story time. Her favorite part was when everyone sat close and listened to the grown-up words float through the room.

But when Mina stepped into the living room, the chairs were already lined up. Her cousin Eli was there, too, bouncing on his knees as if he were made of springs. And beside the bookshelf sat Mina’s special notebook-the one she used to draw her prayers in. Only now it wasn’t in her spot. It was on the floor, under the coffee table, half hidden by a dusty toy truck.

Mina’s cheeks warmed. “It’s not mine,” she said quickly, as if the room might argue with her.

Eli’s eyes flicked to the notebook. “I didn’t touch it,” he said. He sounded honest, but his mouth still made a small frown. “Maybe it fell.”

Mina knelt, the carpet scratching the back of her knees. She reached for the notebook and pulled it out. The cover was smudged with a thumbprint, and one corner looked bent. She held it like it might break. Her fingers smelled like old crayons and dust.

When Nana came in with a bowl of grapes, she paused. “Oh, Mina. What happened?”

Mina opened her mouth, but the words tangled. She wanted to say, I’m upset, I’m worried, I don’t want it ruined. Instead she blurted, “Eli was here. Maybe it got pushed.”

Eli’s eyebrows lifted. “I was sitting right there,” he said, pointing at his spot. “I didn’t even get up.”

Nana set the grapes down softly. The bowl made a small clink, like a bell. “Let’s look,” she said, and her voice made Mina feel steadier. Nana didn’t sound mad. She sounded curious.

Mina looked at the room. The coffee table was low and the toy truck had been parked near the edge, as if it had scooted there on its own. The notebook had slid under, and the bent corner could have happened when it landed.

But Mina’s thoughts didn’t stay in the room. They ran ahead. What if her drawings were ruined? What if the pages got stuck together? What if her prayers looked different, as if they belonged to someone else?

Eli sat back down, careful now. “Maybe you can just use another notebook,” he offered.

Mina shook her head so hard her ponytail bounced. “No. That one is special.” She hugged it to her chest. “I write my prayers in it.”

Nana’s eyes softened. “Prayer is special,” she agreed. She reached for a blanket on the couch and draped it over Mina’s shoulders like a warm cape. “And when things feel messy, we can bring our hearts to God.”

Mina swallowed. She wanted to be brave, but her throat felt tight. “I don’t know how,” she whispered.

Eli scooted closer, not too close, like he knew Mina needed space but also didn’t want her alone. “Maybe you talk to God,” he said, trying the words like they were new shoes. “Like… you tell Him what happened.”

Mina blinked. The living room was quiet enough to hear the refrigerator hum and the soft tick of the wall clock. Mina could feel the notebook’s rough cover against her palms. She could also feel the worry still buzzing.

“I tried yesterday,” Mina said, surprising herself by saying it out loud. “I said, ‘God, please help.’ And then I just waited. Nothing happened.”

Nana nodded slowly. “Sometimes waiting doesn’t look like fireworks,” she said. “Sometimes it feels like a calm space inside. Do you want to try again right now?”

Mina stared at her bent corner. “What if God thinks I’m silly?”

Eli’s voice was gentle. “God already knows you,” he said. “He knows when you’re scared and when you’re mad.”

Mina took a breath in. It smelled like grapes and toast. She took another breath out, and the air felt cooler in her nose. “Okay,” she said, barely louder than the clock. “But what do I say?”

Nana sat on the floor so she was near Mina’s level. “You can say anything,” she replied. “Tell God how you feel. Then listen with a calm heart.”

Mina’s eyebrows wrinkled. “Listen… for what?”

“For peace,” Nana said simply. She pointed to Mina’s chest. “And for the next right thing.”

Mina held the notebook open. Inside, Mina’s messy handwriting curled across the page like sleepy worms. There were drawings of a little sun, a tall tree, and a heart with tiny stars around it. Some prayers were short, like notes you pass on a playground. Others were longer, like letters.

Her stomach still felt jumpy, but now she had something in her hands that belonged to her. She looked at Nana, then at Eli.

“I’m going to try,” Mina said.

Eli nodded. “I’ll be quiet,” he promised.

Mina pressed her lips together for a moment, then let the words out to God the way you might talk to someone you trust....