THEY WERE PRAYING IN A CIRCLE—BUT NO ONE SHOWED THEM HOW
Right after snack time, while I was tidying up, I noticed an odd stillness in the room.
Intrigued, I walked into the play area and found four of the kids—Niko, Janelle, Izzy, and Samir—sitting in a quiet circle, their eyes closed, hands held together, whispering softly.
At first, I thought it was part of a game. But then I heard the word «Amen» and saw Janelle cross herself. They were praying.
In a public kindergarten, where religion isn’t part of the curriculum, this was totally unexpected. I knelt down and gently asked what they were doing.
Izzy opened her eyes just a crack and said, «We’re asking the sky to help us.» Niko added, “It’s for her mom,” nodding toward Janelle, who looked down.
Later that afternoon, Janelle’s mom didn’t show up for pickup. As minutes turned into an hour with no one responding to emergency contacts, I became more anxious.
Janelle sat quietly on the rug, twisting her hair, muttering that her mom had promised to come. Finally, an unfamiliar number flashed on my phone.
It was Nadine, Janelle’s neighbor. Janelle’s mom had been taken to the hospital for dizziness and dehydration, but she was stable. Nadine had been asked to pick Janelle up.
I reassured Janelle, explaining that her mom wasn’t feeling well but was getting the help she needed. When she asked, “Is Mommy okay?” I told her her mom would be fine and was getting better.
Nadine was on her way. Janelle’s face lit up with relief. “That’s why we prayed,” she whispered. Nadine arrived shortly after, looking both warm and worried.
She hugged Janelle tightly and promised everything would be okay. Before they left, I asked her to keep me posted on Janelle’s mom, and she agreed.
The next day, Janelle was absent. I kept glancing at the door, hoping she’d walk in. During circle time, Izzy asked, “Where’s Janelle?” I told them her mom was still recovering.
Izzy looked disappointed. “But we prayed,” she said softly. I explained that sometimes things take time, but we should keep hoping.
Later, we received an update: Janelle’s mom was improving and might return home soon. Janelle would stay with Nadine for one more night.
I shared the good news with the kids, and Izzy beamed. “That’s because we prayed, right?” she asked. I smiled. “Maybe your kindness made a difference in ways we can’t fully understand.”
A few days later, Janelle came bursting into class, grinning ear to ear. “Mommy’s home, and she’s okay!” she beamed.
Her friends embraced her, and they all gathered in their prayer circle again—hands held, heads bowed, whispering, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Janelle later told me that her mom needed rest, water, and a “pokey shot” to feel better. She added, “We prayed for her, and now she’s better.”
Then, almost to herself, she added, “I hope Mommy doesn’t have to work so hard anymore so she doesn’t get sick again.” I patted her shoulder gently, touched by her simple, heartfelt wish.
A week later, I saw Janelle’s mom at pickup. She looked better but still tired. “I’ve been working two jobs,” she explained. “I passed out at lunch today.
I’m embarrassed, but I’m grateful for everyone who’s helped Janelle. She won’t stop talking about you.”
I told her we were just glad everything was okay. She smiled at Janelle, playing with Izzy. “I will take care of myself,” she said.
Two weeks later, when I walked into class, I found the kids gathered in their prayer circle once more—only now, there were even more of them.
They looked up at me, grinning shyly as if they’d been caught doing something sweet.
I sat down nearby, listening to their soft wishes—for sick grandmothers, unemployed dads, and lost pets. When they were done, they high-fived and laughed.
In that moment, I realized something beautiful: these children weren’t taught how to care. They just did it. No lesson plan, no rules—just pure hearts offering kindness.
Looking back, I understand now: compassion doesn’t need to be taught. Kids feel, they care, and they act. Perhaps the true miracle lies in their willingness to try.
