Little ones are hungry to hear about Jesus and read about him in the pages of their very own Children's Bible. The following is a piece of creative fiction, written in the voice of one of the orphans:

I can see an airplane from where I am. The tails of cloud widening out behind it. It looks like the flames of the birthday cake candle I saw on TV at Uncle Bandu’s and I can’t help but squint and pinch it with my outstretched fingers. Is it small or big? I have never seen one up close. They are always just dots against the wide, flat sky. And how do they stay up there? God must live in whatever country they come from.

I’ve heard of God and am sure he could make metal fly. At least that’s what Pratik says and he knows God. He met him in an alley down in Kerala.  He says he visits our orphanage at night sometimes so I often stay up past lights-out to hear him. Lying on my cot with my eyes closed so Babu Singh won’t see, I wait. Does he sound like wind? I have heard that he speaks Hindi and Tamil and can sing like a bird—at least that’s what Pratik says, but I don’t know if I believe him.

What if he spoke to me and I didn’t understand? Was the sound of the clouds hitting together, him? Or the rain tapping against the tin above me? There have been three rainstorms this month so I hope it’s nothing urgent. I tried to listen for a pattern but there was none. I have ruled out the voice booming across the square because it belongs to Kumar and he is very mean. God does not treat people like that. And Babu Singh tells us he is God but I know that can’t be true because I don’t think God would ever hit anyone –even if they did splash too much water while washing.

Because I think God made the water and I think he could make more. Pratik says it says so in the Bible. That’s the book that God wrote that Pratik hides under his blankets from Babu Singh, the one that is black and ripped and smells like old sandals. I want to read it but it’s in a language I have never seen where the letters are all separate and look like little buildings. But Pratik can read it and he says God made the water. So, when I take a bath, I fill the basin extra high and close my eyes. Then I ball up my legs and dunk my head until I’m completely covered. I hold my breath as long as I can and let the water wash all over me. It makes me feel like God is cleaning me, but Babu Singh says it’s a waste.

Pratik also tells me that God is our Father. I am not sure what he means by this because I know my father died when I was young by taking too much drugs, but I believe Pratik because I always wanted a brother and it makes me happy to know that someone will protect me when the older boys fight and throw rocks and curse at each other. I wish I could meet him though. I wish that if I waved my arm big enough the airplane would see me and come down and take me to meet God. Or at least maybe they could bring me a Bible that is written in Hindi so I could read it and see if Pratik is telling the truth because sometimes he lies about knowing famous people.  But the plane is so small now and I can hear the bell ringing for mealtime. It is echoing against the yard wall so it sounds like two bells. For a second I thought I heard a pattern, I thought I heard something but Babu Singh is shouting and I can’t hear past his angry voice yelling at me to stop walking with my eyes closed. It is mealtime now, but someday I will hear God. I know that he is there and I will not stop listening. 

You can help rush Bibles to poor orphans around the world just in time for Christmas with your gift before midnight, November 15. And be sure to check biblesfororphans.americanbible.org on Christmas day to watch a webcast from an orphanage to see children receiving Bibles that you helped provide!