This is me at the end of my first day of school. My parents, both teachers had decided to wait until I was in school to teach me how to read so that there would be no confusion caused by differences in curriculum and approach. This made school of paramount importance. My fifth birthday was a little angry when I demanded to go to school and discovered it wasn't in session yet. They could have explained that before.
My first day of school was amazing and exhausting. I could barely summon the energy to empty my satchel, let alone do something civilized with all that work. I was in heaven. Thanks to Miss Briggs, the Miss Piggle-Wiggle of kindergarten teachers, I stayed there all year. Five is still my lucky number.
I love Malala. If you've been living in a haze recently, she is the young woman from Swat, Pakistan who was shot for insisting on getting an education. She is still insisting on getting her education, but now her speeches are given at the UN instead of during recess. Suffering has such an amplifying effect on good it is a wonder that evil resorts to it at all.
I love Malala for many reasons, but I think my favorite is how much she loves her home, her culture and her faith. She has her ticket out, but what she talks about the most is going home. I'm praying with her for that, and that it will be a homecoming of great joy following great change. I am praying that along with all those other girls from Swat that she will be safe. Will you pray with me?
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