You Learn More Than You Think in School

You Learn/Learned More Thank You Think in School

Mercy and Compassion, Lincoln Elementary School, Layton, Utah

• Times Tables: Do you remember times table grids? The teacher would write the numbers 1-12 in random order along the top row and down the left column. The students’ task was to complete the grid within 5 minutes. At the beginning of the year, our teacher, Mr. Casey, promised to buy everyone a pop–in a glass bottle, no less–from the vending machine in the teacher’s lounge when we all got 100% on the quiz. We all worked hard that entire year to earn that unbelievably amazing prize! There was a problem though. There was one boy in our class who struggled … socially, academically, and in lots of other ways. Towards the end of the year, he was the one who couldn’t do it. Sure, all the kids in the class made mistakes once in a while, but we usually got 100%. Not this boy. He always missed just a few, or was too slow to get every single answer in the five minutes. And here is what I learned:
  • One day, Mr. Casey handed out the grids, set the timer, then told us to begin. We all began scribbling the answers as quickly as we could, furiously scrambling to fill in the grid! Then something different happened: our teacher left the room. He left! Bobby F. saw this as an opportunity. When Bobby F. was done, he scooted over and helped the other boy finish the grid! I knew it was wrong, and I certainly wouldn’t have done it, but I really wanted the pop so I got nervously excited! Bobby kept glancing at the door as he pointed to the grid and whispered the answers to the boy. We all watched him!  We all watched the door! The tension AND the hope were almost too much to bear! But they did it. Bobby helped the boy correctly fill in every single space before the timer went off. At least, I think it was before the timer went off. There might have been a desperate moment of helping him after the timer went off; I don’t remember.
  • All I know is when Mr. Casey walked back into the classroom, Bobby was back in his seat and we were all done. Then we each passed our paper to the kid behind us to check our answers.
  • We’d done it. Kind of. I did feel a little guilty, but not enough to say anything. We all felt that way… (um. Maybe Bobby didn’t–I don’t know. Bobby, if you ever read this, please tell me what you were feeling.) … as we marched behind Mr. Casey to the teacher’s lounge, told him which pop we wanted, marched back to class and savored the sweet taste of success with our pops.
  • The thing is, I realize now that Mr. Casey did that on purpose. He knew we had all worked hard. He knew the one boy couldn’t complete the task. He showed compassion! He looked the other way! He counted on at least one student helping the boy, and that one student was Bobby F.! And Bobby F. was brave enough to help! I don’t look back at it as cheating, even though I know, technically, it was. The whole thing seemed like a perfect example of mercy on Mr. Casey’s part. Justice would not have allowed anyone to get a pop. Mercy–on the part of Mr. Casey and of Bobby F.–made it so everyone did their very best, and everyone got the prize. And kindness. And cooperation. And… and… and I don’t know what else. The whole thing simply made a very deep impression on me. I’m proud of Bobby. I’m proud of the boy, and hope God has placed other people in his life throughout the years to help him succeed. And I’m grateful to Mr. Casey for showing me that there is a time when it is good to be merciful.
  • Let’s be clear: I am not condoning cheating. But I am condoning helping each other and winning together. I am condoning mercy.
• Compassion: When I was in that same class, I had to get head gear! What a torture that thing was! I was lucky that mine just strapped around my neck, not my entire head, but when I walked into the school late after my orthodontist appointment, I still felt horribly self conscious. And guess what. Of all the stinky luck, just before I got to my class, I saw a kid named Cory getting a drink of water in the hallway. Cory was a really cute kid–all the girls thought so–but he had a big attitude, and he could be … um … unpleasant sometimes. (No offense, Cory. I’m sure you’re a lovely person wherever you are these days.) Anyway, everyone knew I was getting headgear, but Cory wasn’t the first person I was hoping would see me that day, so I tried to use my hands to cover my mouth, and the thick wire, and the navy blue strap that went around my neck. When he saw me, he said, “Let’s see it.” I think I just shook my head. He said, “Come on, let’s see it,” (or something like that.) I knew I couldn’t hide forever, so I put my hands down, waiting for the laughter or some mean remark. But he just looked at me reassuringly and said, “It doesn’t look that bad.”
  • The lesson?
  • Cory might have been my favorite person that whole day. When I was expecting criticism, he gave me … well, he didn’t exactly call me beautiful, but it was reassuring all the same. He chose to show compassion.
  • I learned that a little kindness, even if it is just a very little, can go a long way. What I was expecting to be a horrible day, turned out to be “not that bad.” and I was 100% okay with that.
  • Thanks, Cory, wherever you are.

Challenge:

1. In your journal, write down an example of mercy or compassion that you’ve seen in your life. It can be from a long time ago, or from a few minutes ago. It can be big or small. Something everyone saw or something only you saw. It just has to be something that made an impression on you.
2. Think of a way you can be the kind of person who is merciful and compassionate. It might take a few minutes, and that’s okay. I hope you think of lots of ways, but I want you to find the one way that feels right for where you are and what is happening in your life right now. Who will you be merciful to or compassionate toward? How will you do it? Where will you do it? When will you do it? How often.
3. Write down your decision. Be specific: who, how, where, when, how often.
4. After you’ve tried to show mercy or compassion–and it might take several tries–come back and write down how you felt. Even if it didn’t turn out the way you wanted. Even if you felt dumb. Even if you actually felt good about your efforts. Write it down. Because . . .

. . . this is the learning that really matters in life.

→  If you feel like it, send me a message and tell me how it went. I might post it here on my website.