"Is heaven really perfect, mommy?" the little girl asked, her brown eyes wide with amazement.
"Yes, Kita, it is," Mrs. Bouni said while knitting the sweater. She was sitting on her rocking porch, knitting a sweater for Kita. Winter was coming and she did not want Kita to become cold. Kita sat on the ground loyally beside her mother looking at pictures from the Soran, a holy book. Her three-year-old hands turned the page to see a picture of a fiery place.
"What is this, mommy?" Mrs. Bouni glanced at the picture sharply and her face turned white.
"That's hell. Now turn the page. I don't want you looking at that," she replied in a voice that signaled that the discussion was closed. Kita, however, was not ready to give it up. She turned the page but did not look at the picture. Instead, she turned up to her mother and asked, "Why is hell red?"
Mrs. Bouni sighed.
"Red is the color of blood. If you're bad during your life, hell is where you go after you die. Now give me the Soran. You're too young to be looking at these kind of pictures." Obediently, Kita handed the Soran to her mother. Mrs. Bouni put the book into her knitting bag and continued to knit. After a while, Mrs. Bouni became aware of Kita's stare. She realized that for the past half-hour, the three-year-old had done nothing but wait there patiently.
"What?" Mrs. Bouni asked. Kita's eyes widened.
"Nothing, mommy. I was just waiting until you told me I could go inside," Kita said innocently. Mrs. Bouni's face softened.
"You just needed to ask. You may go."
Kita got up and went inside as Mr. Bouni came outside. He sat down beside his wife on the bench.
"She amazes me sometimes," he said. Mrs. Bouni stopped knitting and looked at her husband.
"Who, Kita?" she asked. Mr. Bouni looked up at the sky.
"Yes. Haven't you noticed that she is such a good girl?" Mrs. Bouni frowned.
"What's wrong with that? Would you prefer her a naughty girl who will eventually get pregnant at the age of 14?"
Mr. Bouni held up his hands in defense.
"No, but she's a little too good. I mean, look at her and then, look at other three-year-olds. There is a big difference," he said. Mrs. Bouni picked up her knitting from her lap and started again.
"Yes, you've got a good point. It's as if she's gifted. With obedience. We're blessed to have such a child. She acts as if she's God's daughter." Mr. Bouni stared at the ground, then at his wife.
"Well, do we really deserve God's daughter?"