A Teacher To Be Praised

My elementary school days were very much routine, filled with the usual reading, writing, arithmetic, and (of course) playground antics that we all remember as kids in school.  Routine, that is, until the first day I sauntered into my 4th Grade Math Class thinking I was "all that" and sensed, at once, the stern gaze of Mr. Hernandez upon me.  Something that I couldn't quite put my finger on made me uncomfortable.  No problem, I thought, I'd had strict teachers before and this one would be no different - - I'd just do well on the work and he'd direct his time and attention elsewhere (just as my other teachers did), to the kids who really needed him.   And so, armed with my "it's no big deal" attitude and determined to remain as unattached as possible from him and the class, I surveyed the back of the room to pick the perfect seat.

What happened next was, at first, almost painful.  As I walked by him he stepped up, put his arm on my shoulder, and welcomed me into his class. In that instant, as I looked up into his stern yet caring face, I felt a rush of emotions:   denial (for the happiness I felt deep, deep inside for having been seen); pride (that came as I sensed, somehow, that being part of this class was a privilege); and anticipation (of how this man that I unexplicably knew I could respect would teach).   I felt my shoulders relax as I simply nodded in response and took my seat, right smack in the center of the front row.  I didn't want to miss a thing.

The rest "is history," as they say.  I didn't just learn Math that year at Leffingwell Christian School. I learned that I was someone special (as a student to him and as a unique creation to God).  And I learned, sometimes the hard way, that I was accountable for my words and actions. It was, without question, how I found (and learned to love) myself and my Lord.