"There's a new student waiting in your room," my principal announced, hurrying past me on the stairs. "Name's Mary. I need to talk to you about her. Stop in the office later."

I nodded and glanced down nz shox at the packs of pink, red and white paper, and the jars of paste and boxes of scissors I held in my arms. "Fine," I said. "I've just come from the supply room. We're making valentine envelopes this morning. It'll be nike tn a good way for her to get acquainted."

This was my third year of teaching fourth-graders, but I was already aware how much they loved Valentine's Day (now just a week away), and making these bright containers to tape to the fronts of their desks was a favorite activity. Mary would surely be caught up in the excitement and be chatting cheerfully with air chaussure new friends before the project was finished. Humming to myself, I continued up the stairs.

She raised her head and looked into my eyes. The smile on my face froze. A chill went through me and I stood motionless. The eyes in that sweet, little-girl face were strangely empty - as if the owner of a house had drawn the blinds and gone away. Once before I had seen such eyes: They had belonged to an inmate of chaussures air a mental institution, one I'd visited as a college student. "She's found life unendurable," the resident psychiatrist had explained, "so she's retreated from the world." She had, he went on, killed her husband in a fit of insane jealousy.

But this child - she could have been my own small, lovable niece except for those blank, desolate eyes. Dear God, I thought, what horror has entered the life of this innocent little girl?

I longed to take her in my chaussures nike air max arms and hug the hurt away. Instead, I pulled books from the shelf behind her and placed them in her lap. "Here are texts you'll be using, Mary. Would you like to look at them?" Mechanically, she opened each book, closed it and resumed her former position.

There was little time to worry about Mary that first hour. I took attendance, settled Mary into her new desk and introduced her. first joke The children seemed subdued and confused when she failed to acknowledge the introduction or even raise her head.

Quickly, in order to divert them, I distributed materials for the envelopes and suggested ways to construct and decorate them. I placed materials on Mary's desk, too, and asked Kristie, her nearest neighbor, to offer help

With the children happily engrossed, I escaped to the office. "Sit down," my principal said, "and I'll fill you in." The child, but the Jackdaw she said, had been very close to her mother, living alone with her in a Detroit suburb. One night, several weeks ago, someone had broken into their home and shot and killed the mother in Mary's presence. Mary escaped, screaming, to a neighbor's. Then the child went into shock. She hadn't cried or mentioned her mother since.

"Mary's been hurt badly," I explained gently, "and she's so quiet because she's afraid she'll be hurt again. You see, her mother just died, just as loud till and there's no one else who loves her. You must be very patient and understanding. It may be a long time before she's ready to laugh and join in your games, but you can do a lot to help her."

Bless all children. How loving they can be once they understand. On Valentine's Day, Mary's envelope overflowed. She looked at each card without comment and replaced it in her container. She didn't take them home, but at least she looked at them.

She arrived at school insufficiently dressed for the bitterly cold weather. Her raw, chapped hands - without mittens - cracked and bled. Although she seemed oblivious to sore hands and the cold, I sewed buttons on her thin coat, and the children brought caps, scarves, sweaters and mittens. Kristie, like a little mother, helped Mary bundle up before she went outdoors, and she insisted on walking to and from school with her.

In spite of our efforts, we seemed to be getting no closer to Mary as the cold, dreary March days dragged by. Even my faith was wearing thin. My heart ached so desperately, wanting this child to come alive, to be aware of the beauty the wonder, the fun - and, yes - even the pain of living.

Why not? I thought. Anything to lift our spirits. This time the papers we selected were beautiful pastel colors - with brown strips to weave into baskets. I showed the children how to weave the baskets and how to fashion all the flowers we welcome in early spring. Remembering the valentine incident, I expected nothing from Mary; nevertheless, I placed the beautifully colored papers on her desk and encouraged her to try. Then I left the children to do their own creating, and I spent the next half-hour sorting scraps of paper at the back of the room.

We fastened her basket in the very center of the border at the front of the room. It remained there until school ended in June. On the last day, Mary held it carefully as she carried it out the door. Then she came running back, pulled a crocus from her basket and handed it to me. "This is for you," she said, and she gave me a hug and a Mary moved away that summer. I lost track of her, but I'll never forget her. And I know God is caring for her.

I've kept the crocus in my desk ever since - just to remind me of Mary and of the enduring power of love and faith. czp