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| For as long as I can remember, I’ve been worried about the world. Flowers get along. Puppies get along. Snails get along. Babies get along. So…why can’t everyone else get along? There are cities where they start to fight on Monday, end on Sunday and then begin all over again on Monday. For some families, it’s right in their backyard. Bullets zip through their windows, bombs come down on their heads, darkness falls even when it’s day. The children don’t have clean water to drink, clothes to wear, or a school to go to in the morning. The world calls it “war.” I call it crazy. |
| On one particular night, not so very long ago, the possibility of A New War had people nervous and fidgety. This included me. Unhappy thoughts made figure eights in my head and they wouldn’t go away. How would war stop people from hating each other more than they had ever hated before? |
| More than ever, I wanted to fall asleep and find peace. |
| At least once a week, and this has happened since as long as I can remember, I dream of an angel named Peace -- the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Peace has a body of soft, thick, layered feathers, large see-through wings, sparkling hazel eyes and a smile as brilliant as a sunset. In my dream, Peace beckons me forward, choosing me to play with, making me a friend. When I see Peace, all my worries, fears and harsh thoughts melt away. |
| If I had one wish, it would be that Peace could be with me all the time. I often think about where Peace lives and if I’ll be able to find Peace one day when I’m awake. |
| I had finally fallen asleep when a loud rap-tap-tap on my door woke me up. I looked at my clock. It was one in the morning! I threw on my robe and woolly slippers -- the ones with a chunk of the right heel missing, thanks to my dog Ange -- and headed for the door. I had named my dog Ange (pronounced ‘onje’) because it means angel in French. She hadn’t been an angel the day she had bitten the heel off, however. |
| “Open up,” a man’s voice encouraged from the other side. |
| I lowered my voice and hoped it would make me sound taller than I was. “Who’s there?” I replied. |
| “Luther’s my name,” he responded sincerely. “I’ve been sent to get your help.” |
| “Help?” |
| “To set Peace free.” |
| “The angel Peace?” I asked, astonished. |
| “That’s right. Aren’t you Peace’s friend?” |
| “Yes, I guess I am.” |
| “Good.” He sounded relieved. |
| “What’s happened?” |
| “Peace has been taken prisoner, locked in an unbreakable glass box and can’t get out.” |
| “Oh, no.” I said in disbelief. |
| “Oh, yes. Peace’s wings have started to droop. Peace needs you before it’s too late.” |
| Something in the way he spoke convinced me he was truthful, and although my parents told me never to open the door to strangers, his voice didn’t feel strange at all. I cracked the door a little to check him out. Lo and behold, there stood a large, handsome, brown bear. He wore a black suit, an ironed white shirt and a thin, black tie tied neatly around his neck. In his paw was a handkerchief which he used to pat his forehead. |
| “We have to hurry,” he said. He extended his paw through the open door to shake my hand. |
| I couldn’t believe how soft and furry his paw felt. It made me want to pet his entire arm, but instead I stared speechless. I had never spoken with a bear before. |
| “Yes, you have,” Luther said. |
| What? He read my mind! I suddenly realized Luther looked exactly like the teddy bear my Aunt Rosie had given me when I was three years old. I had talked to that bear all the time. |
| “Where are we going?” I finally blurted out. |
| “To find the Three Keys.” |
| “The Three Keys?” I repeated. |
| Luther sighed. “To unlock the box where Peace is captured. Peace needs to be free. It’s the only way.” |
| “Why me?” |
| Luther gazed past my concern and into my soul. |
| “You care about Peace, don’t you?” |
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