In 1992 my wife and I were taking care of a very young child whose mother was down on her luck. She asked us if we could house and take care of her just until she got back on her feet. For privacy reasons, I’m not going to get into the details of how this child had been shuffled around from home to home and even abused. Needless to say after a period of time, my wife and I grew extremely fond of the child as if she was our very own. I remember walking her to the bus stop and then being there again to pick her up when she got out of school. I remember laying down beside her just until she fell asleep for her nap. She eventually went back to live with her mom (wherever that was). As a memory, I wrote this poem “Little Child Cry” as if it were this little child herself crying out to the Lord in desperate frustration.

Little Child Cry

I came out tonight, to look in the air
God, why can’t I see you? Are you really up there?

There’s so many things, that I don’t understand.
Will You answer my questions? Do You think that You can?

Oh please can You tell me, just why I’m so bad
God, what’s wrong with mommy? And where is my dad?

I’m catching a cold now, and I want to go in
but my mom says I can’t, because were moving again.

Where “do” we go this time? It won’t be our own
so where will I sleep? Will I be all alone?

And what about strangers? Will they hurt me again?
Will I get a new school? Will I make a new friend?

God please can you help them, to change if you could?
I need them to hold me, and tell me I’m good!

God why they fight? And why do they scream?
Why aren’t they nice? And why are they mean?

The names that they call me, is why my hearts torn
if I’m so dumb and stupid, then why was I born?

God please can you take me, away from it all?
Because being a child, is no fun at all.

By Dale Coolbaugh
4/14/92