When I think of Sunday school, my heart sinks. Not from fear or doubt, but from a kind of quiet joy, almost tears. I see before my eyes little children who run with a smile into the classroom, where not only toys and lessons, but warmth, acceptance and faith await them.

I remember when I was once searching for answers myself. I wanted to understand why all this - life, labor, pain, joy. And then my grandmother once told me about God, not as a distant ruler, but as a loving Father. That's where it all began.

And now I want other children to be able to feel that too - not someday, but now. So that they can have a place where they can just be themselves, where they are listened to, where they can ask any question and not be afraid to be wrong. So that faith is not an obligation, but a source of light.

I want to build a Sunday school not for the sake of a building and not for the sake of a check mark. I want to build a home for children's hearts. A home where you can grow, where you can learn to love and forgive, where you can hear for the first time that you matter, that you are loved, that you have meaning.

And when I imagine that day - the ringing laughter of children, their voices intertwined with songs, the smell of paint, fresh paper and sweet cakes after class - I realize: this is not just a dream. It is a call. It is an answer to something deep inside me.