Well, it happened last Sunday afternoon. I bumped into a young (at my
age they are all starting to look young) middle aged man at Home Depot, what
Susie calls this DIYer's "home away from home," who came up to me, extended his
hand, introduced himself as John (not his real name), and said, "Dr. Schmier,
it's been a long time. You don't remember me, but I want to tell you that I've
never forgotten you. Your outlook on life and on the students are still with
me. I was in your history class back in 1999....I didn't think I belonged in
school. But, your courageous acts of respect and trust each day told each of
us that we did. I mean you were aware of each of us and paid so much attention
that none of us could help but feel important enough to be noticed....Somehow
you were alert to what each of us was doing and saying. It's was truly
amazing. You had such an intense mindfulness about you for each of us. You
deeply cared about each us. You had such faith and hope, and love, for each of
us. It was like you were on a mission of sorts. And, when on that last day
you said you loved each of us, well. Yours was my favorite class in college.
All those hands-on project that you asked us to use in imaginative and creative
ways. At first, I thought they were so childish, but by the end of the
semester I realized how they were helping us to use our imagination and
creativity while we had fun learning, rather than being mere memorizers for a
test and grade. Goodness, you were instilling those intangible qualities of
character building for working with others and respecting and trusting and
relying on them...You were preparing us for living, not just to get a
job....You know, I have my own stack of "My Words for the Day," and all those
sayings you wrote on the board that we talked about before we got down to
working on the history projects. To this day, I use them when I talk with my
parishioners before services start. I want you to know that I stayed in
college and went on to seminary school because of you, and only because of you.
I never stopped hearing you tell me that if I wanted it, I could do it; and,
if I could do it, I should do whatever it took to do it. And I did....While I
got you, I have a question. When you came into class, what mattered to you,
what really mattered the most to you?"
Without a hesitation, I answered, "You know the answer. You already
said it. Each of you did. I was all in when I was in class with you because I
knew that however I lived my life it will live on in your lives."
He smile, "I thought so. That's why each of us felt we were important
to you. And, you know what? It scared me at first because I had become so
accustomed to feeling undeserving of respect. Your class made me ask myself
what you saw in me that I hadn't. Your class was the first time I ever felt
worthy. I've never since stopped feeling that worthiness no matter what
anyone said or did. That's the way I treat each of my parishioners. Your
class meant that much to me....And, now thanks to you, I think I just wrote my
sermon for next Sunday: 'Act as if you matter, because you do." Thank you.
You know you were really a man of the cloth in that class. After all, you were
passionately and compassionately ministering to each of us...."
All I could muster was a quiet "thank you, I truly appreciate that,"
and a smile. We shook hands and he left me in a state of immobilizing shock.
After I got over that stunned moment, I rush out to the car, forgetting why I
had come to Home Depot, to find a piece of paper to write down his words as
best I could while they were still burned into my soul.
Why do I share this and other moments? It's not to toot my own horn.
Natalie Goldberg says a writer really puts something to paper twice. The first
is to have a second chance to relive her or his experience, plumb its depths,
explore its details, find its meaning, and digest it into the fiber of her or
his being. The second is to touch and share those around her or him out of
care and compassion, to add to their cornucopia of experiences, so they might
have the opportunity to enrich what they think, feel, and do. Now, minister
though John was, there they were. All those little-big words: passion,
compassion, aware, attention, alert, caring, faith, hope, love, mission, and
mindfulness. But, when he used "ministering," that got to me. I wonder how
many us realize how extraordinary each ordinary moment is. I wonder how many
of us wonder at the wonder in each person. I wonder how many of us realize the
enormity before us as we walk into a classroom. I wonder how many of us
realize the uniqueness and power of those very moments. How many of realize
that each moment matters. Every moment is filled with possibilities of plowing
and fertilizing the field, and planting seeds, not just to help get that ticket
for a job, but to get that ticket for living the good life as well. Every
ordinary moment is extraordinary. Every moment is an opportunity to reach out
and touch someone. There's really no such thing as small, for every drop is
grand in the grandeur of the ocean; every grain is vast on the expanse of the
beach, every step is great in the great journey. Every little opportunity is
big, for it can make a great difference, a difference, as John personifies, far
beyond the confines of the classroom and campus. Every minute is a chance to
do something magnificent and meaningful that lives on in the lives of others.
Remember, we act on what we focus on. I truly feel for the
distrustful, disappointed, eye-rolling cynics of such up-beat emotions as
openness, warmth, kindness, faith, hope, and love. Too many uninformed faculty
derisively label what they call "fluff' and "touchy-feely" as coddling. I call
it applying what has been learned from the leader in the field of brain
research on learning. And, you know, recent research has shown that joyful
emotions make us--faculty and students alike--want to explore, try new things,
be imaginative and creative, build trusting and respectful relationships with
other people, offer kindness, support, and encouragement, and feel secure. I
truly wish a lot of faculty didn't snub their noses at those in most need,
those supposed "don't belongs" and those "they're letting anyone in." How they
clog their intellectual and emotions pores with a joyless disdain that too
often breeds an annoyance and even bitterness. They don't see so many wondrous
possibilities. They miss so many golden opportunities. They don't live the
miracle.
No, if you want to do something, if you want an energy and spirit and
drive, if you want to cultivate a sense of stirring awe, if you want a
commitment and persistence and endurance, if you want to stay powered up, a
stifling dystopia is not the way; it not the way in anything. A blazing
faith, hope, and love--what John called those "courageous acts of respect and
trust"--are.
And, let tell you a deep secret. It's not necessarily all about
helping each student help him/herself become the person she or he is capable of
becoming. It's as much, if not more, about helping ourselves become the
persons each of us are capable of becoming.
Make it a good day
-Louis-
Louis Schmier
http://www.therandomthoughts.edublogs.org
203 E. Brookwood Pl http://www.therandomthoughts.com
Valdosta, Ga 31602
(C) 229-630-0821 /\ /\ /\ /\
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/ \/ \_ \/ / \/
/\/ / \ /\ \
//\/\/ /\ \__/__/_/\_\/
\_/__\ \
/\"If you want to climb
mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole
hills" - / \_
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