Valentine’s Day hasn’t always been my favorite holiday. In high school and college, it felt like an annual reminder that I was alone—no date, no flowers, no grand romantic gestures. I resented the day that seemed to celebrate love yet left me feeling unseen.
Then, February 14, 2018, changed everything.
Seventeen beautiful lives were taken at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida—a tragedy that shook me to my core. As a former high school guidance counselor in Coral Springs, just minutes away, the grief felt deeply personal. It wasn’t just another headline. It was students, teachers, and a community that I knew. It's a community I grew up with, worked with, lived near, and loved.
It wasn't in the midst of that heartbreak that I felt I had to reclaim Valentine’s Day, but rather years later, when I knew I needed to overcome the anger, fear, and resentment I harbored. I needed to make it about love—the kind that uplifts, heals, and never fades. And so, a new tradition was born.
Every year, starting on February 1st, I place 17 paper hearts on my children's doors—one for each life lost in Parkland. Each heart has a message: a reason they are loved, a special memory, a scripture, or an encouraging word. For 17 days, they wake up to a reminder that love is not just something to receive—it’s something to give.
At first, it was just me writing the hearts. But now, without prompting, my children have begun doing it, too. They create their own hearts, placing them on my door, their siblings' doors, and even for friends. What once felt like an awful holiday has transformed into a season of giving, gratitude, and deep connection.
It reminds me of one of my favorite promises from God:
“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” – Genesis 50:20
Someone tried to take love away that day in Parkland, but love cannot be stolen. It endures. It grows. And it continues to heal through small acts—like a paper heart on a door.
This is what I see as love.
And this is why I wrote What I See is Love—to help children recognize love in the simplest, most beautiful moments of life. Love is in the way we speak, the way we listen, the way we show up for one another. It’s in the traditions we create, the hearts we leave behind, and the kindness we share.
This Valentine’s Day, I encourage you to find a way to reclaim love, to make it about more than romance, and to spread it freely. Whether through words, actions, or small paper hearts—love is always worth celebrating.
How do you see love?
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