Spirituality & Practice

By Ameena Naqvi for KidSpirit’s The Myth and Magic issue.

The waves crashed softly against the boat, pushing it towards the shore. My grandfather stepped off the boat and tied the rope to the dock. That day my grandfather was going to teach me how to sail.

He described sailing as flying over water. It was like freedom to him, to set sail into the wide blue sea and leave his responsibilities on shore. However, I did not see the appeal of sailing as he did. The whole activity made me feel uncomfortable and vulnerable, as I was at the mercy of the waves and unpredictable weather.

With a deep breath i stepped on the boat . . .

By Sharon Lin for KidSpirit’s issue on The Heroic Spirit.

Interfaith Connections is a column for teens to dialogue about how their faith or wisdom tradition influences their view of life’s big questions. In each issue, three teens from different backgrounds respond to a question posed by the Editorial Board, based on the theme. This quarter the Ed Board asks:

What does your faith or wisdom tradition teach you about heroism?

Sharon Lin responds.

My path to Buddhism was not without unexpected twists.

Born into a family in religious flux, I often echoed my elders’ teachings, whether it was to heed the wisdom of the Buddha, honor my ancestors, or kowtow to the heavenly gods and goddesses that decorated our traditional silken red altar. While my grandparents had grown up with a strict Buddhist upbringing, my parents — first-generation Americans — had looser spirits about Buddhist practice.

Unlike many other children my age, I was raised primarily by my grandparents, in their cozy apartment in the middle of Queens. My toddler years were filled with innocence and a curiosity to observe everything around me. I can remember every morning waking up to find my grandma on her knees by the altar, upon which an assortment of oranges, jujubes, peanut-covered glutinous rice balls, and golden coins rested. The hypnotic chants of monks would fill the air as the incense closed in on me, and tentatively I’d take a seat beside her to observe this early morning ritual. As I listened to my grandmother’s tales of the past, brave heroes and stubborn children, compassion and tolerance, I paid them little mind. Little did I know they would become so much more.

My parents decided ...

By Kacey Sorenson for KidSpirit’s issue on The Soul of Gender.

Interfaith Connections is a column for teens to dialogue about how their faith or wisdom tradition influences their view of life’s big questions. In each issue, three teens from different backgrounds respond to a question posed by the Editorial Board, based on the theme. This quarter the Ed Board asks:

What does your faith or wisdom tradition teach you about gender roles, particularly the positive aspects?

Kacey Sorenson responds.

I am a Mormon female. My dad was my local church’s Bishop for five years. As a result, I was the “Bishop’s daughter” — categorized and occasionally referred to as such — for six years.

It bothered me sometimes because I knew I was more than just my father’s daughter, but still I was proud of his leadership position and my family’s position in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

My mom raised me to love being a girl ...

By Nimai Agarwal for KidSpirit’s Climate Change: Tending Our Planet issue.

When I was eight years old, my parents used to take me to the National Mall in Washington, D.C. We would go every week of the summer, spread out a blanket on the grass, and enact a tradition central to our monotheistic branch of Hinduism: singing devotional songs to passersby, often accompanied by a harmonium and brass hand symbols.

This type of singing is called kirtan and is meant to praise God. While they sang I would spend hours playing in the dirt and sand, making little houses out of twigs under the shade of trees. Even though I was focused on my work, I now realize that I unconsciously connected my time with the earth to my parents’ religious singing. These are my earliest memories of being in contact with Earth, and they were tied with my faith.

My connection to that child . . .

By Hannah Berkowitz for KidSpirit’s issue on The Word.

When I was 13, in the midst of preparing for my bat mitzvah, I decided I didn't believe in God. I walked into my rabbi's office for our weekly meeting about my torah portion and broke the news. I expected him to blow up, kick me out, and cancel my service.

I had comebacks prepared and had practiced my straight face, promising myself that I would stay calm, even in the face of his inevitable explosion. But all he did was tilt his head and ask one question.

"What God don't you believe in?"

By Niti Majethia for KidSpirit's Beauty and the Senses issue.

I was born and raised in Mumbai, India, a country full of different traditions and values.

India has a caste system with different classes in Hindu society: Gujratis, Kutchis, South Indians, Punjabis, and many more. Since each caste believes in a different god, India is adorned with many different beautiful temples. Each caste has its own set of rituals, beliefs, cuisines, colors, festivals — and there is so much variety. Variety like the colors in the sky; each color holds something fresh.

Today the caste hierarchy in India is disappearing, especially when it comes to celebrating festivals together and sharing cultures. That is what often astounds me. Each city has its own culture, its own cuisine, its own style. Everything is so different, yet every part of India shines with its own light. In every part of the country, people are not afraid to be proud of their culture. Living in Mumbai I have friends from all different cultures, all coming together and celebrating festivals.

One such festival is Holi, the festival of colors . . .

By Ella Lombard for KidSpirit's The God Issue.

And then there was — flight.

It wasn’t the usual sort of thing to actually experience, she mused, a flock of butterflies swaying upwards like an exhale, darting here and there before finally settling back on the branches of the bush. She stood in their midst and held her body still, her breath quiet, eyes soft. They flickered around her like bits of tiny tattered color in the intense blue of endless sky.

The first word that came to her mind was “miracle.” Because she believed in miracles, large and small, set out like presents wrapped in colorful paper. Just for her. A hint of summer on the wind. A glimpse of kindness in someone’s eyes. A moment in which she loved every single thing around her, because all of them together meant that she was gloriously, blissfully alive.

Alive! That was the second word.

Young people are brimming with vision and prophetic wisdom, and their voices are an essential part of conversations about spiritual life. Yet rarely are they invited to share their insight with other generations. KidSpirit, the sole spiritual magazine by 11- to 17-year-olds, empowers youth around the world to share their perspectives on questions of meaning in a spirit of openness and inclusion. Over eight years of publication, hundreds of young contributors from all backgrounds and traditions have expressed their ideas and aspirations about life’s big questions, creating a vibrant dialogue that readers of all ages find inspiring and rich for contemplation.

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