I looked at the young boy standing before me. He was ten years old, with intense blue eyes, a snub nose and freckles that covered his small face. He looked like an angel – and had the reputation of a devil. I’d been warned about this boy on the very first day of my very first year as a teacher. He was incorrigible, unruly, disrespectful, disobedient, and just plain all-around trouble. And now I’d had to keep this little cherub after school once again.
It was my habit in those days to keep kids occupied in that after-school time by giving them work in the areas where they had the most difficulty. So, after my usual stern reprimand I gave “Danny” a sheet of math problems. He took the paper, and looking me dead in the eye, crumbled it into a ball and threw it into the trashcan next to my desk.
It seemed like a long time that I sat there, eyeball to eyeball with this child. All kinds of possibilities ran through my head, and a couple of them were probably illegal. He watched me with the practiced eye of a skilled manipulator, clearly trying to calculate what I would do.
Not taking my eyes from his, I reached into the trashcan and retrieved the paper. Settling it on my desk, I proceeded to smooth it out, getting rid of as many wrinkles as I could. Then I handed it to him again and told him to take his seat and get busy.
Something like laughter filled his eyes, and even – dared I think it! – respect. I had very little trouble with Danny that year, and told everyone who would listen of his changed attitude. I hoped he would be able to move forward free from the reputation he’d built for himself.
In the moments after he’d thrown my paper into the trash, I’d considered that multitude of possibilities. They largely revolved around choices between my ego and Danny’s best good. I’d prayed long and hard for Danny that year, and that was good. But I discovered later that his mother had prayed long and hard for me, and clearly that was even better. Grace is a wonderful thing. I firmly believe that mother’s prayer helped an inexperienced teacher make a good choice that day, and I am grateful. We often don’t know the good our prayer accomplishes with the grace of God. But it most certainly does accomplish good.
It was my habit in those days to keep kids occupied in that after-school time by giving them work in the areas where they had the most difficulty. So, after my usual stern reprimand I gave “Danny” a sheet of math problems. He took the paper, and looking me dead in the eye, crumbled it into a ball and threw it into the trashcan next to my desk.
It seemed like a long time that I sat there, eyeball to eyeball with this child. All kinds of possibilities ran through my head, and a couple of them were probably illegal. He watched me with the practiced eye of a skilled manipulator, clearly trying to calculate what I would do.
Not taking my eyes from his, I reached into the trashcan and retrieved the paper. Settling it on my desk, I proceeded to smooth it out, getting rid of as many wrinkles as I could. Then I handed it to him again and told him to take his seat and get busy.
Something like laughter filled his eyes, and even – dared I think it! – respect. I had very little trouble with Danny that year, and told everyone who would listen of his changed attitude. I hoped he would be able to move forward free from the reputation he’d built for himself.
In the moments after he’d thrown my paper into the trash, I’d considered that multitude of possibilities. They largely revolved around choices between my ego and Danny’s best good. I’d prayed long and hard for Danny that year, and that was good. But I discovered later that his mother had prayed long and hard for me, and clearly that was even better. Grace is a wonderful thing. I firmly believe that mother’s prayer helped an inexperienced teacher make a good choice that day, and I am grateful. We often don’t know the good our prayer accomplishes with the grace of God. But it most certainly does accomplish good.
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