“Teacher, who is Jesus?” Tshilaba’s big brown eyes peeked quizzically through her matted braids woven with scraps of brightly colored cloth. She whispered the question, embarrassed that she didn’t know who the other children were talking about. I pulled her into my lap. “Jesus is the Son of God,” I began. Her brow furrowed deeper. “Who is God?”

Tshilaba was an orphan. Although she didn’t know her age, we guessed her to be about six when she began coming to the literacy center my sister and I opened for Romani gypsy girls. Along with a few teen girls who volunteered to help, we taught reading, writing, basic math, hygiene, life skills, and Bible. 

My mind reeled at Tshilaba’s question. How do you explain God to someone with no concept of a deity? I searched for a simple way to make her understand. “God is the Creator of the world. He made everything, including people, and He loves each of us very much.”

Tshilaba sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. “He made the trees?” Yes. “He made the sky?” Yes. “He made the dogs?” Yes. “He made me?” Yes. Her eyes widened in wonder, and she cupped my face with her small hands. “Are you sure? Even me? He knows about me?”

“Yes, Tshilaba, He made you. He thinks about you every day. He loves you so much, and He will always love you, no matter what!”

Tshilaba jumped off my lap and dashed into the schoolyard. She ran from classmate to classmate, excitedly sharing her newfound concept of her Father God. “Did you know that God made me? Did you know that He loves me?” 

She returned to the kitchen breathless and plopped down in front of the woodstove where I was preparing dinner, her eyes shining and inquisitive. “Tell me more about God. I want to know everything!”

• Twitter