The Big Big Room

     I have a friend who grew up in war-torn Guatemala. She told me that, as a child, she thought she could stop all wars if she could just get everybody in one room and talk to them. "But I had a problem," she said. "I couldn't find a big enough room." So I wrote this little story for her.
     I hope my friend will forgive me for a touch of adult skepticism. I wish that the scene were really possible. But human effort has proved a failure. The diagnosis is too serious. Happily, there is a long-term cure, and the littlest of children can come unto it.
    But here's a small tribute to one child's dream. I picture a fiercely earnest little girl with a wild mop of curly hair and very keen, dark eyes: my visionary friend in miniature. We'll call her Esperanza.


If I could find a big, big room, I'd have everybody come.

If the room was big enough, everybody in the world could come.

When they came, I'd tell them what I want to tell them.

If only I could find a big, big room.

If I could get the whole world into one big room, I'd say, "You're all here now, so listen!" (I'd have to stand on a tall, tall chair.)

I'd look at all of them and say, "You need to stop fighting so much."

The whole world would be surprised, to hear me say that.

"You should share, instead of being greedy," is the next thing I'd say.

If only I could find a big enough room!

With everybody in one room, I could tell them, "You shouldn't hurt anybody, just because they're smaller than you."

They'd have to hear this, too: "Don't go around stealing things! Stealing is just plain bad."

Everybody in that big, big room would be thinking.

 "Don't call people ugly names," I'd say. "Why would you want to be so mean?"

The whole world would hear, because they were in one big room together.

"When you tell lies, it just hurts everybody--even you."

Everybody would have to agree, if they were all there.

I'd need to say this, too: "Stop cheating. Who wants to live in a world of cheaters?"

And everyone would say, "Not me!"

With the whole world together, I'd see the different faces and remember to say, "Don't hate people just because they're different. Do you want people hating you?"

Everyone would start looking around at everyone else. They'd shake their heads.

If someone in the corner of that big, big room hollered, "I'm going to do what I want to do, and that's that!" I'd holler back, "Don't be selfish!"

Then the people would whisper to each other--one big whisper in that big, big room.

Somebody in the middle would raise a hand and ask, "How are we going to do all that?"

Then that big, big room would get very, very quiet. And I would have to think very, very hard.

"I think," I'd say, "we ought to do what we ought to do. We ought to love."

That's what I would say.

But I have a big problem.

Where am I going to find a big enough room?