A Tale of Two Teachers (part 2)

Of all of the teachers that I have had over the years, there are only a handful that I remember and even those I don’t remember very well. Some I remember fondly, others I could stand to forget. Mostly, I remember the phrases that they would repeat over and over again. “Use your time wisely,” one teacher would say in a nasally tone, at an elevated volume to speak over the noise of a class that was obviously not doing so. Or, “I’m a busy man!” from a hyperactive little man who was very caught up in his own importance and who wore his pants too high for his 97 pound frame. When this same man would vigorously erase the chalk board with his right hand, his left hand would work the air just as hard.

Others I remember for a particular moment in time, like the time our school was experiencing some pretty serious racial tensions and the school had gone on “lock down”.

“Mr. Jones, to the office, please. MISTER JONES!”

That was the signal for teachers to lock the doors and keep all of their students in the classrooms. It was supposed to keep the students from panicking, but everyone knew their was no “Mr. Jones.” So, naturally, everyone ran to the windows to get a look at what was going on. The teacher tried in vain to get us away from the windows and regain control of her classroom. She even suggested that we sing a song together. And so she started with the only song that came to her mind, “Happy Birthday.” No one joined in. I just looked at her in disbelief. As I recall, she was the only one panicked by what was happening. Everyone else just seemed curious. I wish now that I had tried to offer her some comfort.

But this is supposed to be a tale of two teachers, so please excuse the little side journey. The second teacher I wanted to tell you about was my English teacher in my senior year of high school. Whenever I think about the teachers that I have had, she is usually the first one to come to mind. I owe her a great debt of gratitude.

I don’t even remember much about her, but these things I do remember. She was kind. She smiled. She acted like she liked her students. She came off as a little out of touch with the present day, but in a wholesome sort of way. Most of all, I remember her as an encourager, to all of her students.

It was a time in my life that I was trying to build up my self-confidence. And she was trying to help me to find my gifts and reach my potential. It was something a slightly under performing student like myself really needed.

I remember a particular project that she had us do. My subject had something to do with different forms of poetry. We were to present our projects in front of the class, but also in front of a video camera. I was very nervous and can only imagine that it showed. I was reading some of the examples that I had written to illustrate my points. As I was finishing up, she gently interrupted me and encouraged me to share a few more of the examples I had written.

When the taping was done and the camera was off she commented on my work. She didn’t tell me I slouched or that I needed to take my hands out of my pockets. She didn’t tell me I needed to speak louder. She didn’t mention that I was shaking like a leaf or that I stumbled all over myself or that there was no flow to my presentation.

Instead, she smiled as she commented on how well she liked my examples. Then she said, “You command such a presence when you are up there.” I’m not sure I understood what she meant at the time, but I do know it felt good. It felt good because I knew that she saw beyond the obvious and saw the possibilities.

That is how I believe God sees us. And maybe--just maybe--because He can see beyond the obvious, it makes us a little more lovable.

Maybe if we could see others as God sees them, we might find them a little more lovable, too.