Maybe when one of my little sisters said, "why do you put makeup on? You don't need it."

That's when I responded with, "if I don't need it then why are you putting it on? You are beautiful just the way you are." "Yeah right," she'd replied. "Stop putting makeup on, okay?" She continued. "Whatever you say,"

Or when a random little girl and her younger sister came up to me and said they liked my shirt;

or perhaps it was the time when a beautiful young girl during VBS said that I was really pretty, and that she liked my shoes.

or maybe when a girl at church said she loved me;

I'm not sure

but they all

have touched

my heart and

for that I am

forever grateful.

I was alone.

Or at least it felt that way.

Tears streamed down my cheeks

Onto the script I had been working on.

Deep down, I knew something like this was going to happen.

But I had tried to convince myself it wouldn't.

"People never change." I thought to myself,

"No matter how many chances you give them, they never change. There is no humanity left in the mankind."

A little boy walked up,

He was probably about 3 years old.

I knew not who he was, or from whence he came, just a sense of direction.

I tried to look away, and not make direct eye contact, in fear the child would see me crying.

He looked at me, right in the eyes.

I expected him to walk away

Or get scared, But he didn't.

Instead, he came up and hugged me.

Then looked up at me and said,

"Why are you crying?"

I started crying even harder,

But this time for a different reason.

Children have a certain innocence

That gives hope to my heart

When it feels ever so empty.

Said by my little brother at age 6 or 7. I told him no, I can't sing, I sound like a dying whale.

There was another time recently on Veterans' Day when I asked him what I should draw, and he just so casually goes, "You should draw a soldier coming home." My heart did a full 360 degree end-over-end. So I drew it.

I was out a few years ago with my best friend and his daughter, Chanade who was just over two years old, we went to the park and sat by the lake, eating our sandwiches and feeding the ducks, this delighted little Chanade and she insisted on throwing her food into the water and screamed with delight as the ducks went crazy for the scraps.

We enjoyed our little picnic and played ball, Chanade running around as kids do and her Dad snapping photos on his phone.

We were having so much fun that I didn't notice a young boy approach us. He tugged on the back of my jacket and as I turned to see who it was he gazed into my eyes with the most heart warming expression in his eyes he pleaded;

"'Scuse me mista - I ain't got no one to play wiv, can I play wiv you?"

I smiled and nodded, we played ball and little Chanade found a new friend.

He looked nervous. His ring was made of foil, the flowers were dandelions. He was on his knee though, and he was serious. This was his life he was putting in the line because to him, this - this - was entirely possible.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, fairly sure of himself.

He was eight, and I loved him. He just didn't know that there are shades and lanes and a thousand kinds of love.

It didn't matter. I said yes.

And on those occasions when I can still visit, he calls me "honey" and asks how my days are going. He grins at me and blushes a little. He stands taller, takes his role as the love of my life seriously.

We've been perfectly married for years.

Out of the clear blue, one day when my son was about 5-years-old, he said, "You know what, Mommy? I love you with everything except lightbulbs."

A perplexing thing to say, to be sure.

"Why not lightbulbs, Simon?" I asked.

"Because lightbulbs burn out!"

I melted.