Some years ago, I had the opportunity to teach a group of children the story of Noah’s Ark. We talked about the ship, the animals, the flood, the rainbow, and all of the details in between. The children seemed to enjoy the story, and I, of course, loved telling it.

And then we moved on to the project. It was an art class, which I also loved, because each person got a chance to express themselves creatively. The task was to paint a paper plate blue, color an ark full of animals and then glue the ark onto the blue plate. It was interesting to see how each child’s way of completing their project reflected so much about them as a person.

One of the little girls, who was wearing a neatly pressed blue dress, painstakingly colored each plank of the ark brown and all of the animals their traditional colors. Another little girl colored the ark purple and all of the animals pink. The boys often went with blue and green.

As each child finished their creation, I held up their plate and complimented a unique aspect of their work. Then I looked around the room and saw a child whose little hands and arms had been colored more than the paper.

“Let’s finish up,” I said to the group.

Eyeing me, this child scribbled a bunch of whatnot colors and slapped the ark on the barely painted plate. Markers laid everywhere without tops, and the child’s name tag, which had been ripped off earlier, was now stuck to the floor. I complimented the whimsicalness of the artwork as I put it with the others to dry.

Then we started to pick up, and somehow all of the hands and arms washed clean.

When class was over, I picked up each child’s artwork and handed it to the student who had made it. Without even turning the plate over to check the name, I knew exactly who had made the scribbled one. But for some reason, I checked anyway. Haribool. The name didn’t match the name tag that had been stuck to the floor.

I walked over to the child.

“Is this yours?” I asked, holding the plate.

The child nodded. “Yup.”

“But this isn’t your name.”

“Yes, it is.” The child traced over the writing. “See? Horrible, that’s me.”

My heart sank.

As I handed the child the plate, I did my best to encourage good thoughts, good things. But I knew it would take more than that to bring change.

Soon afterward, I had the opportunity to attend a fundraising dinner for young people. Hundreds of parents from the community attended the gathering and then sat in chairs to hear inspirational music and the evening’s speaker.

When the man giving the speech took the stage, I thought: who is this guy? He had on blue jeans and a white, button-up shirt with the tail out. He smiled a lot. He laughed a lot. His name was Bob Goff.

Many of the attendees that evening had the opportunity to read his book ahead of time. I didn’t. But perhaps that gave me a bit of an advantage, because the la-de-da speech I was expecting turned out to be a humorous and wonderfully heartfelt story about life. It was about following your heart. About taking chances — and bringing hope to people’s lives.

It turns out our keynote speaker from California with his blue jeans and untucked shirt is an adjunct professor at Pepperdine Law School, the Honorary Consul for the Republic of Uganda, and shares leadership in the Washington law firm Goff & DeWalt. The book he had written? Love Does.

The audience sat that evening listening to Bob talk about his “office” on Tom Sawyer Island at Disneyland and how he’d found happiness by saying “yes” to those in need. Simply put, he had found love does. His words still make an impression on me.

Sometimes I wonder about the real causes for challenging behavior in children. When they act out, is it to bring even more negativity upon themselves, which is often the result, or are they desperately looking for a way to make things better?

And who will step in to help them?

I once read a wonderful quote by George Washington Carver, an American scientist and inventor. I think about it a lot when I hit a brick wall with something or someone I want to help. It is:

“Anything will reveal its secrets if you love it enough.”

Although not always easy, I’ve found it’s true.