A Prayer for Children

We pray for children who give us sticky kisses,
who hop on rocks and chase butterflies,
who stomp in puddles and ruin their math workbooks,  who can never find their shoes.
And we pray for those who stare at photographs from behind barbed wire,
who never squeaked across the floor in new sneakers,
who've never "counted potatoes", who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead,
who never go to the circus, who live in an X-rated world

We pray for children who bring us fistfuls of dandelions and sing off key,
who have goldfish funerals, build card table forts, who slurp their cereal on purpose,
who put gum in their hair, put sugar in their milk, who spit toothpaste all over the sink,
who hug us for no reason, who bless us each night.
And we pray for those who never get dessert,
who watch their parents watch them die, who have no safe blanket to drag behind,
who can’t find any bread to steal, who don’t have any rooms to clean up,
whose pictures aren’t on anybody's dresser, whose monsters are real.

We pray for those who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories, who shove dirty clothes under the bed and never rinse out the tub,
who get quarters from the tooth fairy, who don't like to be kissed in front of their friends,
who squirm in church and scream when you're on the phone,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry.
And we pray for those whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything, who have never seen a dentist,
who aren't spoiled by anybody, who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
who live and move, but have no being.
We pray for children who want to be carried, and for those who must.
For those we never give up on, and for those who don't have a chance.
For those we smother, and for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind enough to offer.