I was probably ten years old when, one evening at the dinner table, I finished my silent prayer and looked up to see my mother still praying, her eyes closed. Something in me wondered what she was saying. Without moving or speaking, I asked God in my mind, “Let me hear my mother’s prayer.”
The response was immediate.
I began hearing her words in real time—starting mid‑sentence, as if I had simply tuned into a broadcast already in progress. It was her normal voice at a normal volume, but the sound came from inside my head, not from across the table. She was nearly finished, so I only heard the last few sentences.
When she opened her eyes, I told her what had happened and repeated those final lines back to her.
“That’s right,” she said, smiling.
To this day, I don’t know exactly how it worked. Maybe God allowed it. Maybe an angel or spirit bridged the gap. Maybe it was a moment when my own deeper mind reached farther than usual. I can’t say for certain.
But I do know this: I heard her prayer clearly.
And the experience has stayed with me as a reminder of what a child can do before anyone tells him what is or isn’t possible. At that age, I had no mental blocks—no inherited doubts, no learned limitations—standing between intention and clarity. The world was still open, and so was I.