As we sat at the breakfast table discussing memories good and bad, my Bertha said something so special I wrote it down just so I’d get it right.
We have a wagonload of memories of God’s people who have loved us and cared for us. But we also have painful memories that we wish we could edit out of our lives. But the Holy Spirit has shown me that if He took out the pain and strife, He would also be removing the lovely things that happened during that same time. Or, that happened as a direct result of the bad event.
It brought up a painful memory from my junior high days. A teacher said something really harsh that forever left its mark on me. Over the years as I have sometimes reflected on that incident, my primary focus has been on the painful hurt he caused. I’ve thought about that teacher, why he said what he did, what it meant, and how I took it. But I realized something from what Bertha said.
He helped me.
The teacher who scarred the kid
I was a new student in that school. There were a hundred of us seventh-graders from across that part of the county, and that day we had been herded into the gymnasium. The band director–Mr. Keating was his name–called us to order and announced that today we would be electing class officers.
Now, for four years I’d gone to school in rural West Virginia and then we moved back to Alabama in time for my sixth grade in a two-room rural (I mean really, really rural!) school. So, now, we would ride the bus on into the county seat of Double Springs, AL for the rest of our schooling. Junior high and senior high classes were all held in the same building.
Of the hundred students in our class, perhaps half lived there in town. Since the rest of us were from across the county, only the town kids knew each other. So, when class officers were chosen, they nominated people they knew. As a result, the town kids were nominating one another. Only they were being elected.
So, I raised my hand.