The Cry of the Children

Although I am little, I am a person.

Sometimes you may not understand the words I say . . . sometimes I may have no words at all . . . but don't be deceived.

I am aware.  I am wise.  I am valuable. 

I am vulnerable. 

You hold my life in your hands before you are aware I even have life. 

What you eat, what you drink, what you breathe, what you do . . . I experience them all.  What you choose for yourself you choose for me also . . . and I have no choice in the matter at all.

When I finally enter your world, I enter your world.  You still make all the choices for me.  You choose to hold me . . . or not.  To feed me . . .  or not.  To protect me . . . or not. 

Sometimes you think that because you are big and vocal and assertive and strong and independent you are always right. 

You are wrong. 

You think that if it's okay for you it is okay for me. 

You are wrong. 

When I come into your world, you have an obligation to me.  A responsibility to me.  You chose to bring me here.  That was your choice. 

With that choice, comes other choices.  You must choose to respect me.  I am a person.  I see the world differently from you.  From the very day of my birth, my perceptions are not your perceptions.  They are mine. 

My needs are not yours.  They are mine. 

As the person who gave me life, your job is to see my needs, my wants, my personhood and to value them.  To cherish them.  To nurture them.  To make me as strong and happy and healthy and loving and independent as you think you are . . . and to pray that I become better than you could ever dream of being. 

You are not to worship me.  But you should find it hard not to sometimes when you see my fragility and discover that within lies such strength and beauty and determination and courage that you could only dream of possessing. 

Keep your hands of hate away from me. 

Touch me with kindness.  With respect. 

For God's sake, touch me with love.