Can God use a little girl and a simple craft to change a hardened heart?

The Little Girl with a Big Heart

“You can’t be serious. I’m not making a Valentine’s Day box!” Harold shouted as the teacher set a shoebox in front of him. “I’m an old man, and I don’t fiddle with pipe cleaners and all that nonsense. The only reason I signed up to help with this after-school program was because my daughter told me I needed to get out more.” He turned to the woman beside him. “It was either this or she was signing me up for water aerobics, and I’m not doing that.”

Miss Feltman cleared her throat. “I understand, Mr. Palmer, but you’re here to help the kids in our community who might not have a parent or grandparent who can give them a hand with school projects. So, keep that in mind, and lose the attitude.”

Harold’s face warmed as his mouth slid open. No teacher had ever spoken to him like that before, especially one who looked like she wasn’t even old enough to tie her own shoes yet. Ironically, the thought pricked his pride since he had to switch to slip-on shoes about the same time he stopped rebuilding carburetors for a living, thanks to his arthritic fingers.

Miss Feltman opened the door. “Who’s excited to design their own Valentine’s Day boxes?” she sang out as a group of second graders poured in from the hallway, suspiciously staring at the strangers sitting at their tables.

Harold did a quick assessment. Most of the kids seemed as uninterested as he felt, whining or moaning like this was the dumbest idea. A boy with sweaty hair and ripped jeans folded his arms across his chest. Harold hoped to work with him and maybe teach him a thing or two about engines, even convince him to make a car out of his box. He stared at the tiny fold of paper Miss Feltman had given him earlier with the number twelve and began hoping the boy, who probably already liked muscle cars, would draw the same number.

“Everyone, take a slip of paper,” Miss Feltman instructed as she passed out a small basket to the children. “And then we’ll match each of you with a helper.”

“This is stupid. I don’t need a helper.”

Harold chuckled, knowing the boy with the tough attitude would be perfect for him. But unfortunately, when Miss Feltman called out the number twelve and Harold raised his hand where the thick scar remained from his run-in with a motorcycle’s exhaust pipe, a timid creature with red hearts on her leggings and tangles in her brown curls quietly approached him.

The girl stared at her shoes. “I’m Izzy.”

“Okay. I’m Harold.” He didn’t know if he should stick out his hand, so he didn’t.

Miss Feltman instructed each helper to take an assortment of festive decorations from the front of the classroom for their child’s box and return to their seats.

“Remember, helpers, please allow the students to take charge of their design.”

“So, basically, we’re gofers,” he said to the woman beside him, who was busy trying to convince the boy Harold had wanted that this wasn’t a stupid project.

As Izzy sank into the empty chair at Harold’s side, he got up and grabbed handfuls of girlie things he thought the child might want: pink heart stickers, pink pipe cleaners, pink gemstones, and a bottle of glue.

But when he dropped the things in front of Izzy, she shook her head. “I need lots of cardboard tubes, white paper, and glitter. That’s all.”

Rather than question her strange request, he thought it best to be the girl’s puppy dog for the next hour and fetch exactly what she wanted. That way, they could get this over with, and he could get his daughter off his back. And he’d never have to hear of water aerobics again.

So, Harold slumped beside the girl and watched her small fingers fold, glue, and glitter paper around cardboard rolls. Others around them discussed what they were making while Izzy quietly worked alone.

Finally, Harold leaned over and asked, “What’s that supposed to be?”

“A city,” she said.

Harold thought it was a strange place with toilet paper cardboard tubes wrapped in white, standing upright as they held up paper roofs.

Suddenly, the spark of an idea ignited in his mind. “Well, every city needs cars.”

“Not this one.”

“What kind of city doesn’t have cars?”

“Heaven.”

His jaw dropped. “Why do you want to make a Valentine’s Day box like that?”

While making a stream of glue and sprinkling gold glitter over the wavy white current, Izzy said, “Because my grandpa lives there now, and one day I will, too.”

Harold sat like a lump of coal, speechless.

“Grandpa said heaven is going to be really pretty, and everybody is going to love each other because they all have Jesus in their hearts.”

Feeling his heart ache from the void, Harold continued listening while she glued and erected, as he understood it now, a white support column into the city he doubted he’d ever see.

“Grandpa said he’s going to help fix up my room if Jesus will let him.” Izzy’s glitter-frosted fingers froze as she finally turned her warm, brown eyes to Harold’s softening stare. “Do you have a room in heaven too?”

Like staring at fresh snow on a sunny day, the glaring truth hurt, casting a dark shadow across his mind. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you want one?”

Harold’s eyes burned. He hadn’t paid much attention to God since he felt God hadn’t paid much attention to him. His life hadn’t been an easy one. Two divorces and two bouts of cancer delivered a heaping pile of debt, which led to the humiliating experience of filing for bankruptcy. Not to mention, he lost his ability to work with his hands, which meant wandering around his property like an old mule with nothing to do but wait around to grow older and—

“If you don’t have a room in heaven,” Izzy asked, “where will you go when you die?”

“I’d like a room there,” he said, gazing at the cardboard heaven in front of him, mostly to hide the sadness blurring his eyesight. “But I think it’s too late for me.”

“Just tell Jesus you’re sorry for all the bad stuff you’ve done and ask Him to come into your heart, and then you can have a room in heaven, too.” Izzy set the glue bottle down and, with a determined gaze, said, “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

So, Harold did just that, not caring about the others at the table. He bowed his head, closed his eyes, and apologized for the countless times he’d hurt and sinned against God; an apology his daughter had pleaded with him to make over the past several years. Harold asked Jesus Christ to come into his heart, not knowing how it would happen, but believing it did as he sat beside the little girl with a big heart and her cardboard version of heaven.

When he opened his eyes, Izzy reached for another cardboard tube to cover and glitter.

“Now I can put your room right beside mine.”

Harold wiped the tears from his weathered cheeks with the back of his hand. “Thanks. I’d like that very much.”

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