Last week I taught Sunday School class for a group of teenagers, as their assigned teacher was out of town. These are a group of typical (aka awesome!) young men and women, ranging in age from 14 to 17; boys, girls, athletes, scholars, actors, artists--and students all. Among them are several whom I have known since they were born.
In order to divide the youth into groups of three for a particular activity, I decided asked them to arrange themselves in order by birth month, January through December. Once they had accomplished this, I tagged them out of the line--three at a time--and assigned them to discussion groups.
I counted off the first few groups, and when I arrived at the last three students, I called them by name as I tagged them. Or so I thought! I called two out of their three names correctly, but I accidentally called Jordan--one of the kids I had known since his birth--by his dad's name! I realized my mistake immediately, and in mock horror apologized profusely for so insulting him. To make recompense, I--in all seriousness this time--promised him that I would bake him some cookies to atone for my error. And when class ended, I reminded him again of my intention to do so.
Yesterday evening I made good on my promise and delivered some homemade monster cookies to Jordan's house. He was at work, but his mom promised he would get them to him, a promise made the more sure because I had brought her some monster cookies of her own!
After church today, Jordan's mom told me that when he got home from work last night, he came into her room check in, and noticed the monster cookies sitting on her nightstand.
"Some of those cookies are for me," he said.
"You're right, they are," said his mother. "But how did you know that?"
Jordan replied, "Because the person who said she would bake me cookies always keeps her promises."
Have you ever had a moment when it seemed that time stood still? The realization that you had just experienced something profound and weighty? This was such a moment for me. I was stunned to realize that this goofy, accomplished, annoying, brilliant, sometimes smug, faithful young man saw me as a woman who keeps her promises. And I left that conversation with the determination never to give him cause to abandon that perception of me.
In the few short hours since, I have been reflecting both on the power of example, and on the power of the expectations of others that we will "walk the walk" and not just "talk the talk." And that has led me to consider the possibility that there are places--and relationships--in my life where my positive expectations could be more helpful--and inspiring--than my reminders, pleas, or nagging.
Perhaps you'd like to consider that possibility too.
In order to divide the youth into groups of three for a particular activity, I decided asked them to arrange themselves in order by birth month, January through December. Once they had accomplished this, I tagged them out of the line--three at a time--and assigned them to discussion groups.
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| "Birthday Cake" by Chris Campbell is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0 |
I counted off the first few groups, and when I arrived at the last three students, I called them by name as I tagged them. Or so I thought! I called two out of their three names correctly, but I accidentally called Jordan--one of the kids I had known since his birth--by his dad's name! I realized my mistake immediately, and in mock horror apologized profusely for so insulting him. To make recompense, I--in all seriousness this time--promised him that I would bake him some cookies to atone for my error. And when class ended, I reminded him again of my intention to do so.
Yesterday evening I made good on my promise and delivered some homemade monster cookies to Jordan's house. He was at work, but his mom promised he would get them to him, a promise made the more sure because I had brought her some monster cookies of her own!
After church today, Jordan's mom told me that when he got home from work last night, he came into her room check in, and noticed the monster cookies sitting on her nightstand.
"Some of those cookies are for me," he said.
"You're right, they are," said his mother. "But how did you know that?"
Jordan replied, "Because the person who said she would bake me cookies always keeps her promises."
Have you ever had a moment when it seemed that time stood still? The realization that you had just experienced something profound and weighty? This was such a moment for me. I was stunned to realize that this goofy, accomplished, annoying, brilliant, sometimes smug, faithful young man saw me as a woman who keeps her promises. And I left that conversation with the determination never to give him cause to abandon that perception of me.
In the few short hours since, I have been reflecting both on the power of example, and on the power of the expectations of others that we will "walk the walk" and not just "talk the talk." And that has led me to consider the possibility that there are places--and relationships--in my life where my positive expectations could be more helpful--and inspiring--than my reminders, pleas, or nagging.
Perhaps you'd like to consider that possibility too.
