My first year as a teacher, I worked in a post-grad volunteer program in Chicago. Early in the year, one of the students, who was supposed to be in our second grade class, died of leukemia. I was very worried about my students and how they would handle the death of their friend. I was so concerned about helping them through the funeral that I neglected to think about how I would handle it myself. The funeral was held during the school day so that all of his classmates and teachers could attend. As his family walked into the church, following the tiny coffin, I lost it. As my body shook with sobs, I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, trying to get a grip on myself. It was then that I felt a small hand slip into mine. I felt this gentle pressure on my back, my shoulders, my arms. I opened my eyes to see all of my students who were within reach had laid their hands on me. At a time when I should have been comforting them, they were reaching out to me. More clearly than ever before in my life, I saw God’s love made manifest in each of them.