Paper Hearts and Sandy Hook.

In a fallen world, we trip and break our hearts.

Sweet little man comes to me with his cut directly out of paper.

When you're five, you can do this. You can take a pair of scissors, grab a piece of paper, and cut your heart neatly out of a white, square, 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of computer paper.

This is what he brings me. A white paper heart.

He has tape in his hands.

"Will you do it, missy lou? I can't make it work." He holds out a roll of mangled scotch tape.

I am helping his brother with a spelling lesson. Decoding the letters of this world.

"What are you trying to do, sweetie?" I try to read him. He wants the heart taped in half? Taped to the wall? Taped to his folder?

"I just want the heart taped to me. Just right here." He points his finger at his chest.

His brother's erasing the paper too hard, wearing a big round whole right through the homework. "How do you spell receive? Is it the 'i' first or the 'e'?"

"E", I murmur quickly, trying to tear of a bit of tape.

"Just tape it right here," he says. He's pointing just above his own beating heart.

"And why are we doing this exactly?" I'm on my knees in front of him, half smiling, looking up into his baby blues, my thumb smoothing along the tape line of this exposed heart.

I ask the question, but my heart knows the answer. Wasn't it just this morning that we sat over toast and tears, talking about the horrid tragedy in Connecticut? Wasn't it just this morning that we talked about how we need to give love to others and embrace every moment?

I think this visual mnemonic is bold and brilliant, a walking sign of hope.

I'm usually the one to cup his face in my hands, but here he has me knelt down in front of him, so he takes full advantage of this moment. He cups my face in his hands, and he bends over slightly so his nose is touching mine. I can feel his breath.

"Because Lyssa..." he pats my head oh so gently. "... so we always know His love's around us everywhere."

He wants to wear a heart right across him so he never forgets.

He holds my face in his hands and I can feel it. I feel how we are held. Perfectly held. Forever.

Will he cut out a heart for me, too?

Will he lend me his sign? This simple declaration that has so elegantly painted the love of Jesus. The love of Jesus so magnificently gentle and wild. The love of my God who births stars into being in my darkness. The love of my Father who shapes His thoughts and pursuit of me into letters that I can read. The love of my Savior who redeemed my fallen life with nails driven right through His hands.

Huge and white, wearing God's heart right there on his striped shirt. He smooths it out. and it tears. right down the center. He looks down at the now broken heart.

I don't know what to say.

Is it his heart or His that's broken today? Maybe it's both.

In the face of deep waters and split-open hearts, God hovers close. The broken-hearted He binds up, swaddles near.

Will he understand this?

"It's okay, I guess. Even when a heart's broken"... his finger runs along it's raw edge..."Jesus still has his love all around me everywhere. and maybe the love gets in easier cuz it's tore?"

Yep. I'd say he has abundant understanding, sweet little love.

All day, he walks the house. Broken heart of love taped to his chest. All day, he reminds me that God is good. God is love. All day he sings "I can sing of your love forever," his song a broken-hearted hallelujah rising on wings of hope, trust, and incredible faith.

Sandy Hook elementary school, we love you. Connecticut, we love you.

God is just. God is love.

Love,
Lyss