It caught me by surprise, I wasn’t expecting it. The assignment was designed to be a fun activity. I was the reading specialist and it was Valentine’s Day. Six second graders sat at the round table in my remedial reading classroom. My instructions to the children were simple. “Inside the valentine write a few words to someone you love or care about. Use your best writing and say something nice. Then you can color the picture.”

We brainstormed some ideas and the children began. The students jotted “I Love You” and “You’re Nice” in the middle of a large blank heart being held by two sweet-faced pixies. Some children drew more hearts, flowers and people figures to make their picture extra pretty. All the children were extremely careful. They’re turning out nicely, I thought to myself, but then I stopped, startled.

One valentine heart was not happy like all the others. It was Mike’s*.

Mike had drawn a red squiggly line dividing the heart in two. There was a stick figure on each side of the dividing line. On the left side was a stick-figure boy with his arms reaching towards the center. On the other side was a stick-figure girl with her arms reaching towards the middle. The two figures stretched their arms towards each other trying to touch but the squiggly line was obstructing their efforts. They had sad faces and tears dripped from their eyes. “What’s this?” I gently asked as Mike finished.

It’s a cracked heart,” Mike paused a moment, “That’s me and my mom. I’m crying cuz I never get to see her.”

I knew his story, his emotional issues, and his intense longing to live with his mother. In his short life Mike had lived in several homes and attended numerous schools, and he was a victim of sexual assault by an older child and had viewed rank pornography with his abuser. His past experiences left their imprint. Mike’s birth mother had several children who lived with her even though he didn’t. He had not lived with her since he was an infant when he was removed from the home. Mike once told me that when he was a baby he had been thrown against a wall. His father wasn’t too present either, mainly called in when a punishment needed to be meted out. Mike was living with Grandma, but she was weary and didn’t know how to manage his behaviors. Mike’s curly, long black eyelashes, striking blue eyes, blond wavy hair, attractive, good looks didn’t seem to square with his unhappy life experiences.

It was obvious to me, Mike’s drawing was an expression of deep emotional pain; wounded, feeling unwanted, unloved, not belonging anywhere–a nothing. The cracked heart told his story more clearly than any words, if only I could be with my mother, everything would be okay and I’d be loved.

“Here, why don’t you make another one, a happy heart, for someone else who loves you, like Mrs. H****  (his teacher),” I said, trying to redirect his thoughts to something positive. I removed the first drawing and gave him a fresh copy.

“Nobody loves me,” he replied, his voice sounded dejected, his body language showed he believed his words.

“Sure they do,” I assured him, “I do,” but the words sounded flat even to me.

I wanted him to know that I care, that he matters and has value—for he does. We all do. But the truth in his picture was too raw. His next drawing was worse, of angry people, their eyes dripping blood, their faces mad. It was disturbing.

And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” I Corinthians 13:13.

The Good Book says, the greatest of these is love. Why not faith? It is a curious statement isn’t it? Why is love the greatest? For most of my adult life I have worked in church ministries with children and women. A common thread weaves through each area of service. It is this.  The words of the message must match the heart of the messenger. Those who preach love must live love. Scripture says we are nothing but a brassy, noisy gong if there is not a presence of love backing what we say. Why? Why is this important?

I think of Christ. He showed us by way of example what it is to love in the right way. He saw the heart of those who He rubbed shoulders with and then He addressed their physical and spiritual needs.

What was true then is still true today. Basic to all persons is the need to be wanted and the need to be loved. When felt-needs are not met, a person is left with an inner void, a great lack in their human spirit. Like Mike, we all have a sense of whether or not we are loved, truly loved.

As a reading specialist and educator and in my experiences as a church worker, I have found a central truth which holds true time and time again. When children and adults know you care, that you are on their side, that you want them to succeed, to “get it,” when they know you value and validate them, then they will trust you and are able to respond to you and have a desire to please you. Difficult people become less difficult. LOVE. It takes love. Love is necessary in the nitty-gritty of human relationships, and love transcends our many divisions as people.

Concerns like the homeless people in our communities and nation–the ones struggling with life–create in us an awareness that we have a responsibility to them, to love and care for them as individuals–for loving others is part of what we as Christians are supposed to do. Love is much more than belief, for love also has a verb tense. Love produces action. Again, why? Why is this important? It is for the following reason. People matter: You, me, the minister, entrepreneur, gangster, infirm, child, elderly, druggie, and the wounded, like Mike; all people matter.

Once we as a people grasp this concept and own it, we will act on the words of Christ, “Love one another as I have loved you.” “The greatest of these is love.” Love has the ability to cover human faults with grace.

—–

You may wonder what I did after Mike drew the cracked heart. I kept his drawing and then showed it to his teacher and also the principal. A meeting was already scheduled with his grandmother, his teacher, and a team of administrators and specialists. I was invited to attend. During the meeting, I shared the picture with his grandmother. She commented that it was a common occurrence, that Mike had drawn several similar pictures.

I’ve long since lost track of Mike. He moved out of the district. The odds are stacked against him. I find myself praying for him every so often. I know that his only hope, really, is for Jesus Christ to come into his life and give him a sense of value and belonging.

*name changed

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