While I was
serving as an adjunct professor with my alma mater, a local university in
central Florida, it was a custom for the student body to complete an anonymous
end of course survey for each of their courses.
And as a rule, my survey results fell in the
average to slightly above average range, which was not all that concerning,
since historically part-time faculty scored somewhat below tenured faculty;
given the fact that part-timers often worked fulltime jobs elsewhere, and there
is just so much time in a day for research and preparation.
Early on in
my tenure at Southeastern University, perhaps the initial semester, and after I
had released my class that morning, my dean stepped into my classroom, and
handed me a readout of my semester surveys.
It so
happened that among the numerical data, any and all optional student comments
were also printed. And among all the generally favorable comments, one phrase,
in particular, caught my eye.
“Your class was a joke!”
Uhhhh!
This comment
stood out on the list of fifteen or twenty others, as if it was highlighted in
a golden (or lack thereof) aura. And having read those five derogatory words, I
sensed an almost physical pain. It was as though I had been stabbed in the gut.
And as strange as it may seem to you, dear readers, (and to me at this
juncture) I actually offered to submit my resignation. Of course, my dean would
hear nothing of the sort.
Pt. 2
I attended a
relatively large church in Tampa while I served as a personnel clerk at MacDill
Air Force Base. And one week I attended several nightly revival meetings. As
the final service concluded, Pastor Matheny invited the congregation to ‘q up’
and say our ‘farewells’ to the visiting evangelist.
While I have long
since forgotten the name of the young minister, I will never forget one
especially peculiar trait which he displayed on a recurring basis. For you see,
at times he would get ‘so wound up’ that it seemed he needed to release his
emotional mainspring. And thus, after this admonition, or that bit of spiritual
insight he’d kick out his right leg, like he was punting a football, and shout,
‘Hallelujah.’
Be that as it
may, as the line drew down, and as I finally neared the somewhat quirky
evangelist, and reached out to shake his hand, he looked me square in the eyes,
and offered me what was perhaps the two most singular words of my entire life.
“Stay Encouraged!”
What an
absolutely amazing gift this good man gave me that evening, and from that day
forward I have emulated his words, and passed them on to countless others whom
God has set in my pathway.
I can tell you, his
words so impacted me that I count this dear man among a short list of my
spiritual fathers.
Afterward
I have often
reflected on the power of words; how they can build us up or destroy all hope.
Jesus said,
“My words are spirit and they are life.” (John 6:63) But, as I have inferred,
words can also be spirit and death, and have the power to ruin a day, or even an
entire life.
I think we should
always remember the innate power of our words; both spoken and written. While
my memory of that one excruciatingly hurtful comment, to which I alluded
earlier, is as clear as it was ten minutes after I read it, its impact on my
spirit has, thankfully, waned somewhat with the years.
Obversely, though
almost half a century has come and gone since I shook hands with that itinerant
minister, and though this dear man may have, by now, passed from the earth, I
have never forgotten his words, and they have buoyed me up, and afforded me
courage when I might have, otherwise, simply given up.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "(Mc)Donald's Daily Diary" Vol. 76. Copyright pending
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