But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most? -Mark Twain
My dad and I were in the car, on our way to run errands, maybe headed home, I don't remember exactly. I had recently professed to be a Christian, around the age of 5 or 6, and we were talking about the changes that that decision had brought about in my life. We talked about what scripture is was reading in my largely illustrated, rhythmical, rhyming Bible. Then we started to talk about prayer and I was excited to tell my father about who made the top of my list.
"Daddy, I prayed for Satan!" I told him at 500 decibels.
"That's sweet of you, Honey, but I don't think there's any hope for him."
"Oh," I said, assuming that my very knowledgeable, very devout father would know best on that subject. So, I probably shouldn't waste my time or prayers on someone for whom it wouldn't make a difference.
But the other part of me was not convinced. I had hoped that my rememberance and genuine concern for the Fallen Angel would somehow cut around his stone heart and find the little, tiny crack in it that I believed was there. I recognized there was a good chance the Lord of all darkness may not appreciate my prayer, but how could there be no hope based on the love of God I knew? Not even for Satan.
As an adult, I've realized that was probably my proudest moment, and I want to continue to believe with the heart of a child, that there is always hope and that God's love is wide enough and strong enough to cover even the one who has gone the farthest astray. The God I believe in loves everyone, no exceptions.
As I go into the world each day, I want to be the place where heaven meets earth; a sanctuary for the love that has no exceptions.