We found ourselves in the art room again.
That seems to be the place Luciano runs during these moments of intense anger, sadness, and frustration. Tears were gushing from his eyes as he paced around the room, shoving tubes of paint and unfinished art projects off the tables, kicking chairs, and repeating the words, “I can go to the home! I can go to the home!”
The first and second grade classes are often together, except for this month where Erin and I have chosen to teach them separately, recognizing that’s the only way to keep control of the classroom and allow the students to actually learn. There are two older boys in second grade, bothers named Mattias and Nico. It seems that more often than not when Mattias, Nico, and Luciano are together, fists start flying and right hooks are exchanged. Today was one of those days; before Erin or I knew what was happening, Luciano had jumped on Mattias’ back, an arm wrapped around his neck, and after the two fumbled to the floor Luciano stood up, kicked Mattias, and ran down the hall.
That’s what brought us to the art room.
I crouched low, but confidently, in the doorway, unsure of what to do in this situation. I start to speak softly, “Luciano, it’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to be mad. It’s okay to cry. You can do that.” He continues to pace the room, yelling, “I can go to the home,” avoiding eye contact with me. Every few minutes he tries to run out of the room, but I hold out my arms in front of the door, like the welcoming of a hug. A hug being the last thing Luciano wants, he turns around and crawls behind a book shelf.
“Luciano, it’s okay. You can be angry. It’s okay to be angry, but I want to know what’s wrong. What happened?” I continue to try and get him to speak, try to get him to talk through the things he is feeling. Through anxious stutters and continuous tears he starts to say, “Mattias and Nico are always mean. They are always mean to me. From the first day, they are always mean.”
He crawls out from behind the book shelf, picks up a water bottle and sends it hurdling across the room, smashing against the wall it explodes all over the hardwood floor. I grab a towel, and hold it out to him as if to say, “alright, let’s clean this up,” and watch as he slides to the ground in protest on the other side of the room. The tears are even more intense and he’s so emotionally distraught that foam begins to form at the corners of his mouth.
In this moment, I’m not mad at Luciano. I’m not frustrated with him, even though he’s yelling, and throwing things across the room. In this moment what I feel for Luciano is overwhelming love and compassion, and I just want to find a way to let him know.
“Luciano, you are right, Mattias and Nico are being mean. They should not be mean to you. No one should be mean to you. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be mad. But Luciano, even when Mattias or Nico are mean, it is not okay to hit, it is not okay to punch or kick them. It is not okay to hit anyone. It is not okay for them to hit you either. No one should ever hit you.”
He’s still crying, but I know he’s listening because he reluctantly stands up and walks over to the towel I’ve laid over the water-soaked floor boards. “Yeah, let’s clean this up, buddy,” I whisper, as he steps onto the towel with both feet. He shuffles around in the puddle with an attitude that says, “Just because I’m doing this doesn’t mean I want to.”
As he mops up his mess I continue to speak out loud, and pray he hears what I’m saying, “Luciano, you are good. You are smart. You are not mean. You are a good boy, Luciano.”
Because how often do people define us by our mistakes and missteps? How often are we locked into the labels of our actions instead of being called into something better, something true, something Holy?
I want Luciano to know the same things God wants us to know in our moments of mistake: You are still good. You are still loved. You have not lost your place with Me.
Did you hear that?
Don’t miss the power, love, and grace of God in those three short sentences…
“You are still good. You are still loved. You have not lost your place with Me.” – Abba
Thanks for reminding me of who You are and how You see me through Luciano, Abba.
