It’s often said: if you don’t want the truth, stay off the bathroom scale. Don’t ask a child what they really think. And by all means—don’t ask A.I. to analyze your writing sample.
Because if you do, you’re going to get the truth. Straight. No chaser.
On this Valentine’s Day, my mind drifted back to ninth-grade college prep English.
Cue the music: “Those were the days, my friend…”
I can still see Mrs. Fong at the front of the classroom—unyielding, unimpressed, and absolutely determined to stretch us beyond what we believed was humanly possible.
“You want us to memorize the spelling of random vocabulary words?”
(Words I’m certain I have never used in adult life.)
“Read and report on Homer?”
(Homer? That wasn’t even English!)
“And compose, analyze and recite romantic poetry? On Valentine’s Day?”
Oh. Em. Gee.
It was the perfect cocktail of adolescent fear: embarrassment shaken with insecurity, topped with a splash of imposter syndrome.
I can’t do that. Anything but that.
Looking back, I see it differently. Mrs. Fong wasn’t trying to torture us. She was trying to draw something out of us—something we didn’t yet know was there. Beneath the hormones, the bravado, and the awkwardness, she believed there was ability. Even in me.
The assignment required iambic meter—something about a rhythmic da-DUM, da-DUM. At the time, it felt like deciphering an ancient code. I would later navigate engineering equations and step into ministry leadership, but nothing quite compared to the terror of standing before my peers and reciting poetry—from memory.
And yet, somehow, I did.
Here was my ninth-grade Valentine’s offering:
Just a moment with you
Is all I want to do
Just a moment with you
Will make my dream come trueOn this Valentine’s Day
I have so little to say
My heart’s beating so true
Just a moment with you
That was it. No Shakespeare. No Homer. Just a teenager doing his best to survive English class.
Thankfully, sharing it now requires far less perspiration.
This morning, as I prayed beside my bed, I thanked God for allowing me to see another Valentine’s Day—a day curiously dedicated to romance, though that’s a discussion for another time. I thanked Him for loving me in spite of me—through my missteps, immaturity and wandering seasons.
And as I prayed, those ninth-grade lines came back to me. Every word. After five decades.
Maybe I do need professional therapy.
But perhaps it’s something else.
Perhaps those early attempts to express love—awkward and imperfect—left deeper impressions than I realized. Expressions of love always carry vulnerability. Whether offered horizontally to another person, or vertically to our Creator, love requires exposure. It asks us to risk being seen.
And as I reflected on those simple teenage words, I found myself turning them heavenward.
“Just a moment with You.”
How fitting.
After all these years—after engineering projects and sermons preached, after victories and failures, after life’s many ups and downs (as Gladys Knight sang)—what I still desire most is not applause, accomplishment or even understanding.
Just a moment with Him.
The older I get, the more I understand the psalmist’s cry in Psalms 42:1:
“As the deer pants for streams of water,
so my soul pants for you, my God.”
What felt like teenage poetry all those years ago was, perhaps, something deeper—a longing written into the soul itself.
Not just romance.
Not just nostalgia.
But thirst.
And even now, after fifty years, that longing remains beautifully unchanged:
Just a moment with You.
Categories: Acts17seventeen Bible Study Christian Christianity Community Follower Of Jesus God's time Hurt love Love covers Prayer Purpose Valentine
Pastor Mark
Mark, the eighth of nine children born to Reuben and Henrietta Meeks—dedicated church planters with nearly 30 congregations established across California’s Central Valley—is a preacher's kid who grew up immersed in faith and service. With over forty years of experience teaching, discipling, and ministering to communities, including the hospitalized and incarcerated, Mark responded to God's call to pastoral ministry. He holds degrees in civil engineering and public administration, as well as a Master’s in Theology from Fuller Seminary, equipping him to serve with both practical insight and spiritual depth.
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